Let’s Be Real

Well, Joker Part Deux the film comes out in theaters ON my birthday again.

Also, it turns out that I didn’t fail the test I referenced in my last post which signified how I was falling apart.

So I guess I’m not falling apart.

That should be a comfort to me but of course it isn’t because passing the test doesn’t make sense to me. I didn’t have a “bad feeling” about it. No, I know for a fact that I did not pass the exam given the criteria provided to us as I had misidentified two signifiers, provided the wrong GRD digits, missed one calculation entirely, and yet somehow calculated the correct diagnoses.

Which means that the formula is not valid as… how did I get the right “answer” despite making errors in the calculation? And it didn’t matter. No errors were allowed or it was a fail.

But to my surprise I did not fail and instead am now certified in SIPS according to the Yale PRIME clinic.

Cool.

SO now I have a certificate which will never expire. If I leave this state or the country, all I have to do is email Yale and ask them to transfer my certification.

Wouldn’t want to live anywhere without that certification.

I have such a weird job.

But my final degree is in psychotherapy and counseling so it kind of feels like I’m somehow moving forward with the career I once envisioned despite everything.

Regardless, I didn’t fail the test so the wheels haven’t come off the proverbial truck yet.

That testing was so traumatic though… I felt like I was in a fever dream. I said this to a very popular aka “good practitioner” youth psychiatrist in our Mental Health Emergency Center and he said he cried after the testing. We trauma bonded. And we are both mental health professionals what the fuck was with that testing

ANYWAYS! Back to Joker Part Deux. Maybe I’m less on track to become a telekinetic epileptic force and more likely to identify too much with someone experiencing psychosis and then… say… not go to work one day and instead put on macabre makeup and dance down the street.

Jean Grey is a little too calm and stiff, and I am more of a spaz.

It turns out that being knowledgeable about psychosis due to lived familial experience, academic training and traumatic certification really only makes me feel that I’m psychotic and really good at masking it all this time.

My colleague tells me I’m not psychotic.

But what if I’m just really good at masking it all this time?

“No.”

Of course experiencing psychosis is nothing to joke about.

At the same time, “crazy” isn’t in itself bad. As another veteran psychiatrist said recently in a staffing to me, “Who wouldn’t want to hang out with someone experiencing mania?”

It just becomes “bad” when the crazy makes people do violent, hurtful things because they’ve lost hold on what we all see as our shared reality.

You really don’t want to lose grip on the shared reality, even if you may disagree with it.

Regardless, I have to be careful with the daydreaming. I already am kind of pushing it for a white lady my age. I get a lot of, “You GO girl” in my weekly life now. (uh oh)

That’s good but it’s also a little… well, I can’t go home without getting weird looks but what’s new.

At the same time, when you’re from Circus Town, USA and you’re getting weird looks from the locals… that’s some kind of achievement/problem.

Sigh. I see. I’m not psychotic. I just grew up in Baraboo.

I probably just need a vacation and to go home for a break.

It will all be okay.

So. Why this completely unnecessary post is to say… fun crazy is good. Except when you’re manic and you’re positive you’re winning everything but in shared reality of which you’re presently on the outside you’ve just blown your children’s daycare and college fund and that’s it.

#harshmania

But crazy that makes you scared is not good.

I like that the psychiatrists I know now (me included only because they want us to do more work and get paid less for it) only are concerned when the “crazy” is making someone feel afraid or not right.

That’s the sweet spot for treatment.

The “I accept I’m not dead but I really feel like I’m dead but I know I’m not dead so.. I don’t want to feel this way anymore” spot.

But the “I felt a strong force move through me at the kitchen table this morning and it made my hair blow back and goosebumps lift on my skin” is fine if the person then says “It was my grandmother who died… and I felt comforted because she wants me to know she is watching over me now.”

Today Psychiatrist: “Noted. Cool.”

Yesterday Psychiatrist: “Don’t struggle.”

In short, it’s a better time to be crazy.

Good thing because with all that’s happening in the world and on our planet…we are going to all need some crazy in order to maintain our sanity and safety.

Also, this week I’m going home for a few days. My parents are dead so I don’t have a home-home but I love the land where I grew up and recently as of last Christmas my aunt’s house feels like New Home.

I also have yet another funeral to attend with my family so not much ever changes.

Regardless, New Home is at the foot of the Baraboo bluffs and… I feel excited in a way I haven’t felt in a long time about being there. I’ll also be sharing New Home with my cousin who was diagnosed with schizophrenia years ago so I’ll get some practice with my new certification.

Stay just as you are, everyone.

🖤