I found out how I did on a paper in English that I turned in a month or two ago. I got a 90 on it, which was shocking, since I’d done the last page in ink instead of typing it and since I’d gotten some not-so-encouraging remarks on my rough draft. So, of course, I’ll be wondering how I got the 90. I had to turn in another paper today. I think I did a bit better with this one, but I still don’t expect high marks. I also found out that the two tests that I’ve taken in that class received 100 points a piece. Yay. I guess she likes how I interpret things.
My ear, which had stopped bleeding and oozing pus, started again yesterday at about the same time that it started hurting pretty badly again. It didn’t bleed/ooze too much, but it was enough to worry me. It hasn’t hurt as much today thanks to the help of the lovely Tylenol that I’m taking regularly. I don’t think it has bled either.
Today, in Social Work, a group was supposed to do a presentation about Social Work and Mental Health Services. Instead of doing the presentation themselves, they had a professor from the graduate program do the presentation, since he’d worked in the field. As he presented, he said something about there being problems of not only physical abuse, but of emotional abuse in mental health settings, especially hospitals, and how this abuse is just as illegal as physical abuse. That got my mind to thinking about my being in the hospital back in May 2001. I started thinking about the therapist who had given me a hard time and called me names like “drama queen” because I was a Borderline. I decided, when it came time for questions, to ask if this qualified. (I didn’t say what was said or who it was said to when I asked the question.) He and my Social Work teacher both said it definitely qualified. Then, under my breath, I said, “That’s what happened to me.” I don’t know if anyone heard me. I knew that what that therapist had said was wrong, so the fact that they said it was unethical wasn’t a big shock. I just didn’t realize that what he’d said was illegal.
Because of my thinking of this situation, I started thinking about another situation that I consider just as abusive, if not moreso that occured while I was in the hospital. I know that I’m open and talk about my problems freely on here, but as I’ve said in the past, there are some things that I do not discuss on here. This other situation is one of those things. It isn’t some weird thought I had or something that I did that was wrong. It was something that was done to me. It is something that I’ve only told in detail to my mother and 1 therapist (the one who “abandoned” me). It is part of the reason that I don’t like the thought of hospitalization for myself because I’m afraid it will happen again. I did discuss it briefly in Tales from the Psych Ward.
The discussions in the class also made me think of how many times I’d been in a school counselor’s version of group therapy. According to my Social Work teacher, school counselors have no training and no authority to give out psychological counseling, and can do more harm than good. I was in counselor-run therapy from 2nd until 5th grade. It started out as an individual thing and led to being a group–called “friendship group”. It would include people I was friends with and people that I absolutely couldn’t stand. I was convinced that one girl in the 5th grade group was going to kill me or at least put me in a coma. Then, in 7th or 8th grade, I was put in a special group run by a counselor (an LPC–so he had the qualifications) who came to the school. I don’t remember that much about that group. Most of what we covered was about not doing drugs or drinking or having sex. Apparently, I was in a high risk group, probably because I missed a lot of school.
Oh, Thursday, I’m supposed to do my presentation in Biology on my paper. Usually my teacher likes us to bring in things like posters to show for our presentations. My special exhibit will be me. I’m going to do my presentation from the perspective of being the patient. I’m really nervous about it, even moreso than I normally get before a presentation because this time I’m going to have to tell these people something about me. It kind makes me feel like I’ll be making myself more vulnerable, which is a scary thing to feel.