Doing a thing called the crocodile rock: State Of The Asylum update · 7:42pm Nov 12th, 2017
For lack of FIMFic having a Reply All button.
(I've been in the Discord chat on a few nights. I could, in theory, go up to Knighty and directly ask him if it's possible. I'm mentioning this because if you ever look at my userpage and see a permanent strikeout mark through the name, that's probably what happened.)
But at this point, it's probably best not to perform blog necromancy. So I'll talk about what's happened since the last posting, and then I'll paste in names and questions from that earlier Comments section. I'll try to provide answers and in truth, I'm probably going to fail. There's only so much I know, and I can't trust quite a bit of what I was told. I'm piecing together rumor and, in at least two cases, sorting through what was probably self-serving lies.
I know I've been radio-silent on this. It's a bad habit: when things go dark, I frequently go quiet, at least on the communications front. I let Emails pile up. Phone calls on the landline go to the answering machine for screening. (Actually, I usually let the machine pick up first. I get a lot of robocalls, plus there's one collection company which won't take "She gave you a false number on purpose" for an answer.) I got one private message here which explained a lot, and... I haven't replied to it. Maybe that's because there's only so much I want to think about this on any given day, and the amount I was being inflicted with in the way of daily reminders felt like Too Much Already.
Or maybe it's because I just go quiet sometimes.
At any rate, I'm sorry for being so silent. I'll say what I know, what I suspect, and what I've been lied to about.
As I just said on Twitter, this is essentially writing down a slow scream.
She hasn't called in a while.
She was calling. From the -- well, we could call it a mental health facility, but let's call it an asylum. The first call came a couple of days after she'd been admitted. It was enough time for me to start making calls of my own.
In one case, someone called me. The woman who'd originally contacted me on her behalf and touched off my involvement in the latest stage. With no means of talking to the detained, I did what I thought was right: I told her about my attempt to speak with the claimed birth father, and then gave her all of that contact information. Maybe she could get through where I couldn't. Get a slightly longer dismissal. At the very least, her number hadn't been blocked yet. She said she'd see what she could do, and -- I haven't heard from that one since. So don't ask me how that went, because I don't know. Maybe he was significantly ruder during Take Two.
Beyond that... there are certain things which have to be done when someone's been committed for an indefinite period. One of the first was looking after her housing. Someone went to her complex and tried to tell her landlord that she would be in the hospital for a while. Medical absence: that should prevent eviction if rent goes unpaid, right? But it's so much easier to just empty things out and then claim no one spoke to you at all.
I don't seem to be thinking very much of humanity this week.
One of her sons may still be living in that apartment. (Again, as she's on housing assistance programs, this is still against the rules.) I doubt he's paying rent. He may have custody of her government assistance food card, Social Security deposit, and everything else: I don't know. There was probably a small war between her children about who would get power of attorney over her affairs, and I was no part of it.
I spoke with one of the sons, briefly. This was the first of the times I could have been actively lied to. They have their own issues, multitudes of them, and every time I hear one talk, I wonder how long it'll be before I'm placing a hand atop the Constitution and swearing to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth about what he said -- words which might have contained no truth at all.
Here's the main ?lie? he wanted me to believe: after the car theft, the police finally located her at her own apartment, unconscious on the floor -- with a sheathed knife next to her hand.
If this is true, it probably goes a long way towards explaining the involuntary hold period. Threat to others, threat to herself... that's the tipping line you need to remove choice away from the one being observed. It accounts for a lot. Maybe it accounts for too much.
He also claimed that he had nothing to do with that ultra-fast drop in her pill bottle content. She'd been taking them and forgetting about them, or just taking extras for the sake of taking them. Riding the borderline of overdose. Also explains so much, right? But I couldn't get a word out of him about who was paying her rent, if that was anyone at all. What had happened to her resources, if her possessions were still in her apartment as opposed to sitting in the display window of a pawnshop. Those weren't subjects he wished to discuss and when I pressed on them? *click*
People tried to make sure that she wouldn't lose her housing due to non-payment. (Remember, she already neglected her last rent check before being committed.) But there are things no one can do. Policing the residence isn't realistic. Controlling her finances is only possible for those tied by blood -- or paperwork which she probably can't sign because currently in an asylum, so that's not exactly "Being of sound mind..." for legal purposes, is it? Filling out forms for her: not a legal option. Watching her children at all times to make sure they're not using this downtime for cleaning her out: lack of hours, lack of range. I ran out of options quickly. Then I ran out of possibilities. When the fantasies went dry, it was time to stop.
But then she called me.
(Hey, she gets phone calls!)
She was, of course, angry. (Cue second source of possible deliberate lies. Get that copy of the Constitution ready and warm up my witness seat.) They weren't giving her drugs. Or rather, they weren't giving her enough of them. They were drying her out, somehow under the opinion that she'd been taking too much, and so she had to go on minimal for a while. They claimed to be determining what she actually needed, as opposed to what she'd been swallowing. And of course they were lying. She hadn't been overdosing at all.
I got no commentary on the supposed knife.
They wouldn't let her smoke. They wouldn't let her have eight cans of soda a day, none of which she would ever completely finish. (I darkly considered that if not for her sons, a long asylum stay might leave her in the best financial shape she'd seen in years. So much of her income goes to tobacco and caffeine...)
She claimed no one had come to see her. Possible: it's a little over a hundred miles each way from where I am, and I'm probably one of the closer residents. But still... well, I don't expect that much from her sons. Still, they'd need her to get POA, or at least one of the doctors, right? But at least one has access to her cards and I'm pretty sure the PIN is the birthdate of the youngest.
And then she got down to the heart of it.
Once again, she wanted me to get her out.
It would have been impolite -- if extremely timely -- to tell her she was nuts. Instead, I pointed out the obvious: I'm not a relative. I have no blood ties on any level, birth or marriage or -- anything. All of humanity is supposedly fiftieth cousins: that's as far as I can go. I have no authority to speak for her, remove her from the asylum, anything at all.
This made her angrier still, so she demanded to know if I'd called her birth father. Because surely he would get her out, when no one else loved her enough to try.
I...
...there's really no good way to say it, is there? I told her I'd found someone who could have been the right man, but he hadn't wanted to speak with me. I could give her the phone number if she wanted to try, I just needed a minute to pull the file up --
-- but she'd already hung up on me.
She called after that. Some of them went to my answering machine. (Not in residence when she called, or letting the screening process do its job.) I picked up on two of them, and it was pretty much the same go-round: get me out, I can't, and *click*. At one point, I tried to assure her that people had been making some attempt to take care of her housing, and she told me she didn't care if she had a place to live. Maybe that belief is part of what's keeping her in the asylum. Maybe she just thinks someone will always host the crocodile. I can safely say it's not going to be me.
I've tried asking her about who has power of attorney over her finances. I couldn't get through on that either. And *click*.
But the calls have stopped. It's been quiet for a few days now. Calm after the storm? A lull before the next burst of thunder? I have no way of knowing.
I'm still not driving down to see her. I'm probably on the verge of a major car repair: my vehicle is currently delivering an acceleration rate of 0-60mph in 60-180 seconds. This has made pulling out into traffic into a hazardous affair, as the safety window reaches beyond my actual range of vision, so... no long car trips for a while, no matter where those trips might go. And that's not including the fact that going to see her remains self-torture. I can't get her out. I --
-- I don't want to get her out. She's been making those grandiose claims for a long time. She's been frittering around the edges of sanity. She's gone past the point where she can be trusted to take care of herself: the failure on the rent payment was just the last sign in a long series.
Your drugs are cheap
Your food is free
So what kind of parasite
Could you still be?
Burma Shave
An asylum may be the best place for her. She can get treatment. She can find true help. She's -- let's be blunt about this: she's out of my life, at least for as long as the phone doesn't ring. If I don't pick up. Because there is nothing, nothing I can legally do, and I'm not about to put on my best black and sneak into the asylum. For starters, it's probably not going to blend in with the walls.
And yet I still feel like I'm just occupying a place between disasters. (Which is my default state, but they're usually my disasters.) As if she will show up on my doorstep, I'll explain that she can't possibly live here, and that's when I might get to find out the truth about the knife.
That's as much as I know. As much as I can find out. Maybe it's all I want to learn.
The universe calls time out, and we wait to see what the next play looks like.
I got an extensive PM shortly after the last blog post. This person didn't post in the Comments section because they didn't want to call attention to themselves. Protecting their real life. As such, I will protect this person's identity. (I even went to their userpage before starting this section, to make sure they didn't blog about themselves.) But I do want to bring in a little from what they told me, because they have insight I don't. Professional insight.
However, if I receive word from this person to do so, I will delete any and all of this section.
The person is a registered nurse. They have worked in an extension of the emergency room: the place you get put when there's very clearly something wrong with you, but the tests either aren't conclusive or can't be done for a while. As such, they also get the diagnosis-pending psychiatric patients until an extended care facility can be found.
The area I found her in -- the hospital section which required escorts to enter and leave, with the bleak walls and lack of medical equipment -- was a crisis room. This is where you keep patients who are believed to be at risk for harming themselves. There's just about nothing around because in the right determined hands, everything is a weapon. By their word, there are places which won't use wallpaper, carpeting, or ceiling tiles in such rooms because they might be shredded and ingested. But there are cameras, to watch for any attempts, and large windows looking in on each bed.
I was asked if I'd managed to get her name across to the man she'd claimed as the birth father, so that's the first of the questions I'll answer here: yes. I got her name out. (There's probably a few people who've been wondering that.)
The next part should be directly quoted.
If you did, and he still dismissed you, you’ve done everything reasonably possible. He’s gotten all the crucial information he needs to have, and he still said no. ‘No’ to hearing the whole story, ‘no’ to getting involved, and lastly, ‘no’ to your neighbor. You get to be the conduit through which all of those ‘no’s travel, and that can hurt. But understand that ultimately, those were not meant for you.
Even if you hadn’t managed to get the neighbor’s name to the potential father, the situation is likely the same. Your entry stated that you were able to tell him that you know a ‘woman who claimed to be his daughter.’ Names or not, if you did have the correct person, and if there was a healthy enough relationship between those two that he was willing to render assistance, that would have been enough. I’ve had to call plenty of patients’ families, and here’s how they typically start:
‘Hello, I’m <my name,> a nurse at <hospital name>. I’m looking to speak to <emergency contact person’s name>, is he/she available?’
Note that I haven’t said the patient’s name yet, or even hinted at the situation. HIPPA doesn’t want me to, in case I have outdated contact info, or dialed the wrong number. Even so, if this is a normal family, I immediately have the complete and total attention of whoever’s on the other end of the line, and they’re quietly (or not so quietly) begging for the next words out of my mouth to tell them everything’s going to be okay.
(More personal section removed. In the Comments section, Shader also hit this next point.)
The potential father you reached was given as much, likely more, information that I usually initially give. And he still dismissed you rather than ask for details. Either he wasn’t the father, or he is, but help never would have been given regardless of anything you could have said.
In the latter case, I still would not recommend hating that man, or yourself. I revisited your initial blog post regarding this neighbor, and it’s clear that there is a deep level of frustration incurred with any interactions with her. Imagine having to deal with that for decades without respite. It’s altogether too easy to construct a scenario in which this patriarch had to sever a bond to save the rest of the family. It’s hard to hate a man who has to make that choice. You’ve used the word ‘pity’ in your entries, and that seems far more apt.
All this would have happened long ago, maybe before you had even met your neighbor. You had no hand in it. Hating yourself makes even less sense, though I say that knowing that every entry in the lexicon of human emotions ignores trivialities like logic and causality.
We tell ourselves stories to make us feel better. We tell ourselves stories to make us feel worse...
It's true: I don't know how much contact she's tried to have with him before this. I hadn't considered how many times he might have been bitten. Someone she'd latched onto, or a true birth father who'd just been through a little too much.
But that's the latest story I'm telling myself.
That brings us to the more complicated part of your blog post, your neighbor.
Regarding power of attorney, there’s no reason to get involved. First, you’ve already reached the correct conclusion that you don’t have a lot of standing over her children, unless she’s signed documentation prior to commitment assigning you PoA/Executor standing. (Even in that case, it might be unwise to accept that).
In part because suddenly there would be a lot more collection agencies calling me. (Truth time: I have held PoA on someone's behalf, for about two weeks. They were going to be in the hospital for a while and trusted me to keep the utility bills paid.) And in part because dear sweet pony gawds, her kids.
Regarding debt, you mentioned that there’s not a lot of assets involved, and possibly a lot of debt. The kind of institutions that can allow large debts to be owed to them also tend to employ very capable people who have a vested financial incentive to collect on said debts. Reassigning ownership of assets away from the debtor, like how you suspect your neighbor’s children might do, doesn’t prevent this. The collectors would likely file that they had prior claim to said assets because those assets were under the debtor’s ownership during the time period in which the debt was outstanding. (Disclaimer: I’m not a lawyer, this doesn’t constitute legal advice. This is mostly based off what I’ve picked up trying to get my own family’s estate planning in order).
Remember: I get autocalls which try to claim that because my answering machine doesn't disconnect at the sound of the cue, it is now legally the person being called.
The lawyers and the collectors will take care of the debts. From your description of the children, this doesn’t even sound like a close matchup. Getting involved would only put yourself and your own assets at risk.
Assets?
Assets?
Hehehehehe...
And now, the part I really and truly wanted to quote.
Regarding the general miasma of pathos surrounding this whole situation; that’s where I come up a bit empty. As a nurse, you find out very quickly that you can’t save everyone. For most of us, our solace comes from the knowledge that for every one of those patients, there are many more that got to go home. On the days when that’s not enough, we’re surrounded by other staff who are also walking the same path we are, and we can lean on them for support.
There are assets in place for days when even that’s not enough. But you’re not in a position to make use of any of them. All I can really offer is a small story.
When I was a new graduate, I thought Death was the great enemy. My job was to throw the sum of medical knowledge in its way; to build a wall of medicines, IVs, drains, interventions, and hold it all together with mortar made of sheer will.
Since then, I’ve come to believe that I had it wrong. It’s not that I’ve come to view Death as a friend, but rather a belief that suffering should be the primary focus. The problem is that suffering is much harder to counter, and there are many more ways someone can suffer than die. To attack suffering requires a much more intricate plan, one that I’ve never felt our current system is designed to sustain.
You see, as medical professionals, our influence largely ends at the walls of the hospitals and clinics we work at. Once they leave those walls, many patients stop taking their medications. 20-30% never get their prescriptions filled (to be fair, some of this is due to costs). Of those who do get their meds, about half of the patients on long-term medications are getting the dosages wrong.
In media, our influence hasn’t been able to slow down anti-vaccination campaigns, with predictable results on the public health front. In politics, well, we can’t even get OHSA to require employers to instate anti-violence programs and policies, though we’ve made some progress on a state-by-state basis.
In short, our influence often can’t help the patients where they need it the most: where they live.
You’ve succeeded where we’ve failed. From your entries, it sounds like you’ve provided this neighbor with occasional food and transportation. You were there for her after a stroke. Other neighbors have done the same, and occasionally provided a place to live. Even at what looks like the final chapter, you’re still working to try to find other members of her family.
Putting it all together, does this sound like a social services unit to you? Because that what it sounds like to me, but with less staffing, less resources, and none of the pay. (Social work doesn’t pay well anyways. See previous statement about our current system.)
In the end, your prognosis is likely correct. This neighbor may become a resident of that mental health facility until the inevitable day when old man Death shows up. But you and your neighbors have blunted the suffering as much as you could. In the eyes of many people in health care, that makes you masters, not novices.
If life was some fantasy utopia, you would get a ribbon, maybe a medal. Do it enough times, and maybe you’d end up with a pair of wings. But that’s not where we are, and we’ve got to play the hand we’re dealt.
(Personal section deleted again)
...no, this person isn't story-writing yet.
Pity, isn't it?
I have yet to reply to this PM, because... I go silent sometimes. So I'll say it here, and in a while, there as well:
It's not what I wanted to hear, but it's probably what I needed to.
Thank you.
The hard part becomes remembering to believe it.
Okay... replies for those who went the Comments route.
Aorts Commander
If I may show how much worse a person I am by saying, not only can you not help everyone... Sometimes there is a point where you probably shouldn't.
I had Quiet say it in Triptych itself: where one drowns, two can die. I know she's capable of taking someone under with her. If she did wind up homeless, allowing her into my apartment would be the hands going around my throat.
I know that. It doesn't mean I wouldn't feel guilt.
Kai Creech
It is possible that, in the hands of professionals, will help her.
She can't get worse.
No bets.
It brings up the question of just who she is under the drugs -- or if the medication was all which was holding a semblance of humanity together.
FOME
The black hole comparison is apt; there's no coming back from past the event horizon.
I just realized: somewhere in that asylum, there is now someone who's being paid to speak with her, deal with her, try to understand what's going on with her. Every day.
...I should find out who they are and make them a cake.
Sweetolebob18
Being around my father gave me this insight: Sometimes, the people we have the most sympathy for in the abstract are the very ones that we find the hardest to tolerate in person
(Insert your own celebrity reference here.)
Circuit Breaker
You like video games?
I was tempted to go into Starcraft II and just start blowing things up for a few hours. Never quite came through.
Arkonfleight:
I can't help but think of a bizarre music video with crocodiles emotionally extorting time, money, and attention out of people and then making each other into handbags after they die.
Tom Petty would have done it.
(Warning -- warning... just -- warning. Let's leave it at that. Warning.)
CrystalWaters
Sometimes all we can do is remind ourselves that our feelings aren't always correct.
Yeah, well, tell that to a monkey built on top of a lizard. The human brain is your basic legacy system cluster@#$%.
Edvard-Munch
I have recently had a crying crocodile showing up in my life for a short while. She is hardly a wreck compared to the one you're describing.
{dark}Give her time.{/dark}
Feel free to describe the nature of the bite.
Southpaw
Today I helped close the account of an asshole who calls people pretending to be "Microsoft Support" or "works" for the "US Federal Grants Agency" in an effort to swindle people out of their money (using stolen credit card info to open his accounts, of course). This kind of person preys on the ignorant and especially on the elderly. Sometimes these scam "artists" score big by cleaning out savings that might otherwise have taken those victims more comfortably to their final days. Most of us have likely read these stories. I was ecstatic to help shut this slimeball down, at least on our service. Three times this week. And I'll keep watch for the next few weeks to make sure he doesn't return.
My point, of course, is that the man you spoke with could actually be who he says he is, and was simply polite (or just calculating enough) to tell you "Look, it doesn't matter what you're telling me—I can't give you what you want." Because he's a fairly visible and popular person, he not only receives scams often, but may have been swindled once or several times. You could have been the 10th person to call him that day with a scheme, or a financial threat, or... etc, etc, that would cost him money he can't afford to lose in his advanced years. Sounds to me like he's pretty well used to cutting people off when they come to him looking for something.
Very possible. He's a business owner who's seen some success and has a degree of local fame: it definitely makes him a target. But at the same time, there was something about his tone...
Dinode
You know, I talked to someone about this, and she said it was odd that a woman was put into involuntary psychiatric hold without a court case. Have you considered calling the adult protective service of your state?
Hopefully this got explained.
Sky_Paladin
The pain is because you, however it happened, came to care for this woman, and in doing so, you accepted consciously or otherwise responsibility for the outcome. You took on a burden of care, and when that care was denied by the ones who should ultimately have borne that care, and then the situation taken out of your hands, left with this empty incomplete feeling.
Those who've been through my catalog are aware that when it comes to tabletop gaming, I know something about the original World Of Darkness. This was a setting which was always on the verge of apocalypse. Sometimes several of them might be ready to go off at the same time. And yet, in following any degree of it, I was looking at this doomed place and -- looking for the way out. Because there had to be a way out. A final resort. One tiny chance. Anything where the tiniest glimmer of hope might survive.
Nope. Doomed By Canon. Everybody go dye-dye. SUCKERS!
Any resemblance...
CCC
It is this: you know where this lady is being held right now. You know... things about her. You know a history, or a part of one, at least.
To my knowledge, they have her complete medical history by now, and access to the true police records concerning whatever happened after the car theft.
Kitcat36
It's almost sad, what finally caused me to snap: we were arranged to hang out, at a particular time, at my house (because I was more comfortable there than in her apartment in the city, even if I was reasonably sure it was obtained legally and she was spending time with her mom again and other positive signs) but she didn't show up. I called her when she was 15 to 20 minutes late, and she told me her mom was giving her a ride and was late. (I believed that; her mom is a sweet woman but pathologically late...). I waited. 5 hours after our scheduled time, she showed up at my house, cheerful and looking to hang out. This was the second time she'd shown up a full five hours late to a get together of ours. And she couldn't understand why I was upset, or wanted her to apologize. She felt she had very good reasons, you see, and I'd already talked to her and found out she was going to be late so why should she have called me again? Compared to everything else, it seems weird that that was what did it, but the complete lack of regard for me pushed me over the edge.
I'm pasting this one because it's not only another possible croc attack, but it... bears an uncomfortable resemblance to my own life, in one aspect only: I once dissolved a friendship because the person left me waiting for a pickup for a full morning, without explanation, excuse, or regret. It was the last time I ever spoke to that individual, and I haven't even thought about them for years.
The last straw just has to land in the right place.
AcademicPony
"Compassion fatigue"
If we cared about everything all the time at full intensity, we'd lose ourselves. Period. Humanity is about having room to step back and turn to the silly stuff. Bleed for the world and you run out of blood.
Doesn't keep the wounds from seeping.
And finally-for-now-because-this-blog-may-be-approaching-the-record, VoidKnight.
Estee, I’d suggest trying this as a thought experiment: Write a story about this. As exactly as you can manage, translate the circumstances of this situation to Ponyville. And in your shoes, put Rarity.
Then see how it plays out. I predict that even Generosity herself will decide that you have already given enough and more than enough in time, money, and concern.
I thought about it.
It wouldn't be the first time I took something which was personally emotionally painful and turned it into a story: see Unnoticed. But...
...I can't.
Not just yet.
Maybe not ever.
The phone remains silent. No news is... no news.
I can't get her out. I don't want to get her out. And as our protected expert said, she may die there.
I've been asking myself if I would go to the funeral.
I've been asking myself if I'd be the only one there.
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=the+beatles+eleanor+rigby&docid=608014878206264690&mid=8D38BE8D27C744320CEA8D38BE8D27C744320CEA&view=detail
Paul McCartney already said it better.
This was about 15 years before MTV was invented. The Beatles wrote a LOT of crappy songs (& some of the best ever written). This is their only (technically) good one that I really dislike
It may be time for you to try moving on and leaving this all behind you. Not, I'm sure, that that will be at all easy. I know I sure wasn't born with a "get over it".
And some part of me says you might want to not contact her children any more than you have to. If they're willing to take their mother for everything she's worth, who knows what they'll do to someone who's both sound of mind and compassionate. :/
One final word of advice from The Voice of Experience. DO NOT, under any circumstances, *SIGN* anything, agree to anything, or give any personal information to anyone under any circumstanced no matter who they say that they are or how urgent they say it is. Tell them that you are recording this & will be giving it to the police & your attorney &if they say it's okay, then you will get back to the caller. Sadder but wiser for having learned this the hard way.
Thank you for posting this; it answered a lot of questions, and it's good to see that the nameless person who PM'd you gave you an inside look, so to say.
Also, seconding what 4723949 said, above. Take care of yourself, Estee.
There's a book I read a while back, "Kluge: The Haphazard Construction of the Human Mind".
The only thing that has stuck with me from it is the term 'kluge" or 'kludge' as a descriptor of the human mind.
And oh, is it ever apt.
4723981 Agreed. The debts are the last thing to worry about here, *except* if the debt holders can get some poor schnook to actually sign something. And they will try, lie, shout, pout, scream, and do everything short of flinging themselves down on the ground and threatening to die on your doorstep. Odds are every debt she has is un-secured, so they're limited to going to a judge and trying to get a judgment on somebody in that fiscal situation... no.
Again, all I can say is you have gone above and beyond and this is probably for the best. I know that doesn't really help, but it's about all I can say, I'm afraid. And usual offer of you know where my inbox is if you are SO desperate for a chat about... anything. Can't do nowt to help aside from blither, but if that would help, blither I will.
(That offer general extends to anypony in the audience by-the-way, though I suspect the point where anyone is asking the Lawful Evil omnicidal, megalomanic Lich for help is in dire straits indeed... And, to be fair, after talking to me for any length of time... Well, let's postulate it would likely be like that time Arnold Rimmer did a stint at the Samaratans that time. "'Lemming Sunday', they called it."1)
I hate being in a position to help other than... Well, this, but there it is.
(It's not the first time - a mate of mine (who is in a private war with you to see which of you can have the worst luck) spent several years in Russia and... Let's just say Things Did Not Go Well2, and being hundreds of miles away and only being able to talk over the phone is... frustrating, to say the least.)
That's okay, I don't think very much of humanity any week. To paraphrase a good temporal scholar, humanity never ceases to find a way to make sick.
So... Small talk? To take the mind off things...?
Er... I finished my first-play let's-play-through of X-Com this week on my local ponythread (I can link, in the unlikely event anyone cares!), where I personally, ably assisted by Derpy, Trixie, Pinkie and the CMC (among others) viciously beat the aliens to pulp and saved the world (for a given value of "saved"). 'S not often I will play a game for some hours a day every day for nearly a month, so X-Com 2 War for the Chosen ranks rather highly. (Glad I waited.)
And now I started playing Ashes of the Singularity. Which is neat.
1And now I'm sad because I won't be able to catch up with Red Dwarf XII until my parents get back in two weeks, because the front room (the place with the telly connection and telly) was just plastered the day before they left and is in an usuable state.
At least I can watch Blue Planet 2 on the PCs, though, and I do finally have a working DVD drive in the iron idiot again. Assuming the one we put in... works....
2His daughter's biological production unit (I cannot in good conscience define her as a "mother" after the most recent incident when she came over to the UK last week as she is mandated to do) is one of those people that falls into not only the "people you shouldn't try to help" but also into the "it was a shame when that block rammed into my mate's car at the end of the week, just to crown out a truly awful time, that he didn't run her over, because it would have been better for everyone."
Sadly, it seems you've done everything you possibly can. The only thing I could recommend at this point is to try and pick yourself up, brush the dust off, look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself you are not a bad person for not getting the outcome you wanted.
Empathy hurts. And I know you're going to question yourself, you'll ask "what if?" But that's a dangerous line of questioning, and you're likely to drive yourself mad in the process. Do yourself a favor: Do something completely for yourself. See a movie or buy a new book. Hell, go sit alone at the park and watch the clouds if that's your thing. Whatever you do though, do it for yourself and nobody else.
I'm not really sure what more to say. I hope that writing this blog post helped you, though; good luck.
You have been given some very good advice there. A professional has assessed that you have officially done all that you could. If the person involved is unwilling or unable to accept that, then they are in a place where professionals can talk them through it.
Time for some self care. It is time for you to look after you.
4724212
Exactly. Estee, it's hard, but one thing that may be helpful is to just remind your self of the one true thing about this situation. You cared, when there was no direct benefit to you, and went above and beyond what most would do in your situation. That's more than anyone can ask.
4724101
Very much agreed. It's not much, but it having us here to listen helps in any small way... we're here and we're listening.
Sadly, I could easily see this being the case. It's painfully clear her family didn't care about her when she was alive. They aren't going to care about her when she's dead.
Unless of course, your registered nurse friend's more charitable description of her birth father was correct. He might show.
Okay, yeah, if they already have the full history, then there's probably nothing more you can reasonably do.
It is painfully evident from all this that a form of controlling behavior can come from a person who is neither in control of herself nor aware that she is exhibiting such behavior. It wasn't remotely successful, as you've danced and skipped clear of the snapping jaws, but you shouldn't have to dance and skip through life.
If your tie with someone is frayed and the other end of the line is attached to a shell... don't hold on long enough for it to start sparking.
edit: Just realized I posted on the two-years-old blog instead of the recent one. Whoops. Oh well.
Super-edit: Upon finishing reading the most recent blog post, perhaps, in retrospect, I should have led with the "don't hold onto the bomb" line, or, better yet, "If you're holding onto a bomb, for any reason, strap a cannon to its bootstraps, light the fuse, and let go while above the Marianas Trench."