I was separated from my primary caregivers, my grandparents, when I was five; thirty years later I was separated from my four-year-old daughter. Now she is 19 and we are estranged. None of this is of my choosing. I fought it with all I had. I ended up with no family at all.

I’m not comparing my suffering to that of the migrant families from Central America who are at our border. I can’t even imagine enduring a harrowing thousand-mile journey only to be ripped from your kids and thrown into jail in the promised land. It’s unconscionable and Americans stood up and said no. Now we begin the process of reuniting those families, tending their wounds, resettling them, and fighting for the rights of other refugees. I understand a little bit the trauma that will stay with all of them forever.

Seeing all of this unfold in the country that I love is re-traumatizing me, and I’m not the only one. Lots of people have a family-separation story, and they’re all heartbreaking. For me, at least I got to see my grandparents as I grew up. I seldom got to see my daughter as she was growing up. I was prevented from being a part of her life. I’m having a hard time grappling with the enormity of all that I lost—from her first day of kindergarten, to picking out her prom dress, to what’s going on with her right now—the depth and breadth of experiences that I missed. The richness of bonding with one’s growing child and seeing their personhood evolve. I missed it all and I can never, ever get it back.

Besides that, I am estranged from any family. Holidays are torture. It’s so hard to be alone and isolated. My attachment problems have prevented me from forming long-term relationships. I have no support network, except y’all.

I always thought, “At least my daughter is fine.” By all reports she has been happy and thriving. But this happened to her, too. I understand that now; she has trauma of her own. She was only four. I wish I could help her but I can’t right now. Hopefully someday we’ll reunite.

In the meantime I carry this wound. I must move forward with it, accounting for it, dealing with it. Most of the people who see me every day have no idea of how badly I’m damaged. It’s taken a long time for me to figure it out myself.

I believe we should take in these Central American refugees and help them. Seeing them treated so inhumanely is breaking me. Those bad old PTSD symptoms are triggered. I’m confused and emotional and sad and feeling helpless. I wish there was something I could do. I see lots of others helping, though. If I could just take care of myself, that would be sufficient unto the day.

If you are feeling this way too, triggered once more by this inhumane regime, and caught swirling in the worst moments of your past, you are not alone. Many, many of the people around you are feeling the same way. It’s all of us. Reach out to someone near you. Find the help you need. I’m  trying to do that too.

If you want to read my work-in-progress about my family, it’s here. I keep telling myself: I am doing my best. I am not a bad person. Everything is cool; everything’s OK. I’m not feeling OK today, though. And that’s okay.

Thank you for reading.

Your support via Patreon or paypal is deeply appreciated. Thanks to everyone whose support has been vital to my survival in the past.

When we last spoke, I had moved in with Older Anal-Retentive Vegetarian and was dealing with her following me around the house, criticizing me, whenever I left my room. (You may remember that I have Asperger’s, or High Functioning Autism.) I’d retreated entirely to my room, eating only foods that take less than a minute to prepare. She never left the house. Any other roommate would leave the house occasionally, allowing me to leave my room and utilize the kitchen or laundry. I was like a cat trapped under a strange couch. A friend stopped by to see me on Mother’s Day and OARV was so angry at me. If I went out at night, I had to stay out til morning. I couldn’t have friends over. There were a thousand rules. I decided to leave. When I told her I was moving, in accordance with my month-to-month lease, she got mad and said, “I’m keeping your deposit,” and that’s exactly what she did. She sent me an itemized list of “damages” with photos of specks of dust, smears, etc. I was only there three months, there’s no way I did that much damage. She did send me a check for $4.50, I guess just to be insulting. I did not cash it yet.

I’ve been putting off asking for help. I hate doing it, and I so appreciate your generosity, with friendship and kindness as well as dollars. The good news is, I left my caregiver agency and now work independently for the state. This comes with a $2.65 raise! And I joined the union! This hefty raise will put me right below 135% of the poverty level, so I can keep my Medicaid. It’s very important that I not make too much money because my Oregon Health Plan is nearly irreplaceable. I would need a VERY good job just to break even. But I’m thinking about returning to counseling. I miss it. And I think I am strong enough to try, at least. It’s time to live the rest of my life and leave the past behind. I CAN DO THAT.

For now, though, I have to ask for help. If you can spare it, five dollars is a lot of money to me. When you’re used to having nothing, a little means a lot. I need to pay half my rent, pay my car insurance, get Leonard’s medication, and food. (My food stamps were cut a couple months ago; thanks, Trump.) So I need about $500, which coincidentally was the amount of my lost deposit. If you use PayPal, my email address is leannemnorth(at)gmail.com. Or click here. If you’ve been reading my work, and you want to become a patron, click here for Patreon. I have only one patron, so hi, Patron! I appreciate your support!

The good news is, my new place is wonderful. My lovely roommate Matt is laid-back and easy to get along with. Also, he leaves the house daily. Sometimes he’s even gone a few days. If I left a cabinet door open, why, I think he would simply shut it without lecturing me about it. Lenny can go out into the backyard whenever he wants, he LOVES it here. There’s even a squirrel to chase that fusses at him. I can put my plants wherever I want in the back yard and we have a clothesline! I can hang out outside and even have friends over! I can use the kitchen whenever I want! And, get this: I can spend my time in the living room! That’s right, for the first time in many years, I am not confined to my bedroom. I only sleep there. I have space for my sewing machines and all my craft stuff. It’s like paradise!

Thank you so much for being my support system, my community. It’s wonderful to have a community where it doesn’t matter how weird I am, or if I’m disabled physically, mentally, or emotionally; I still feel accepted. And all of the positive changes that I’ve been able to make to my situation over the past few years have been because of you guys, lifting me up, giving me feedback on my ideas, guiding me, and generally being there, in place of the family that I don’t have. You give me courage to try to keep going and improve things even more, perhaps by returning to my field. It’s so hard to escape the mire of a traumatic past; but I will keep reaching out, and hopefully moving up. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Things change so quickly. Last week my client got mad at me and fired me for the nth time. He accused me of stealing, but I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to have stolen. He’s fired me before, but this time was different. He’d clearly decided I was a criminal and not to be trusted. I had been thinking he wanted a male but didn’t know how to say so, but I’d hoped to find him a new caregiver and train that person, and leave amicably with peace of mind. I handled it calmly, but I’m sad about it. I’m also worried about him, because he’s methodically pushing everyone in his life away, and it may be that he is using drugs. Meth is a huge problem here, which is new for me. I don’t know the signs. I never think of the elderly as having drug problems, but I’m sure they do.

At any rate, I need to find a new client, and you guys know how softhearted I am. I want to help all of them but I’m trying to be careful and find a good situation for myself. I’ve interviewed a couple of people and they are colorful. And needy. I was really liking one guy but his dog just poops and pees on the floor as a habit. And that would be my job, cleaning up the shit. It was a hundred degrees yesterday and nobody has AC here in Oregon, so the smell was quite overpowering. Clearly he needed help, but I need to think carefully and not make a bad decision, which you may recall has been a problem for me in the past. I’m going to meet another lady today. There is a very long list of potential clients, unfortunately for those needing help, but I can find someone who is a better fit for me. There is a bit of time pressure and I need to get back to work. But I’m not going to commit to a bad situation.

Patreon also deleted my account for fraud, without ever responding to my pleas for information and help. Then they finally opened a ticket, maybe because other people got involved, and told me I was welcome to open a new account. I never got an explanation about why this happened. My account was tiny. I requested an apology, which they provided. If you were my patron before, I invite you to re-subscribe. I write here at DK, and I’m also writing about my childhood and adult traumas in an effort to heal them. Some of that I cannot share and you would not want to read it. But I’m writing a blog for my daughter, with whom I am estranged, and you can follow that here. I also plan to use my Patreon account to report on my progress, such as it is. Actually, I have made a tremendous amount of progress and am experiencing high levels of personal growth, which fucking hurts. Thank you to everyone for supporting me, sending your thoughts, prayers, good wishes, comments, questions and your own personal stories. Y’all truly are the wind beneath my wings.

Last Saturday my new roommate and I went up to Sahalie Falls and spent the day climbing up and down the falls and sometimes just looking at the amazing pools and falls along there, hugging trees, as one does. It was really great to get back in touch with Mother Nature. I expected Her to be pissed at us. But I did not experience Her as angry. Sad. Resigned. Maybe She knows more about the future than I do. You know, I’m trying so hard, and I’m so hard on myself, and I’m trying to change that. It feels wrong to just love myself and not be constantly self-critical. But I want to enjoy the second half of my life. I want more joy and less sorrow (and a lot less cleaning up shit.) I want to reach out boldly, and not get burned. I want to be my authentic self. I want to love, and to accept love. And I want all that for you too. Blessings, y’all.

Three years ago, I left South Carolina, hoping for a better life in Oregon, propelled by the Kossacks, Class of ‘15, who earned my deepest undying gratitude and restored my faith in human nature with their generosity. A lot has happened since then. But I am undeniably better off, in many ways. You may recall my main goal was better health care, which would have been quite simple to achieve since in SC I had no health care whatsoever. And toward this goal I have succeeded 100%. I now have Oregon’s expanded Medicaid, Oregon Health Plan. It is the best health insurance I’ve ever had, and I’ve had professional jobs. It’s the insurance everyone should have. It covers nearly everything and there are zero co-pays. I choose my doctors, I don’t have to wait unreasonable times, and it’s simple for me. The only drawback is that I have to stay poor, within the income limits. To do otherwise would require me to work much more than I am capable of at this time. Oregon Health Plan is excellent.

That’s s good thing, because I am technically disabled. I have Asperger’s, but that’s my superpower. Depression and anxiety are my disabling factors, along with increasingly, the arthritis in my spine. So even with unlimited medical care available to me, I still have difficulty accessing it. Luckily, I have an excellent mental health center where I get counseling, psychiatric services, and access to other stuff like yoga and groups. I did have minimalist mental health care back in South Carolina, but I never made progress like I have in the past three years. My counselor’s warmth and acceptance, as well as the expertise of the psychiatric nurse practitioner who prescribes for me, have allowed me to make remarkable progress towards living a full life.

I have a job that pays a living wage, and that I enjoy. I’m a home care worker for the disabled, so I’m not using my master’s in counseling, but I am starting to think about exploring more opportunities in that direction. At any rate I am working regularly, although shit always seems to happen. I try so hard, and yet landlords keep my deposits, elderly clients become unmanageable unpredictably and have to be replaced, and roommates’ exes steal my mail so I don’t get paid on time. And so, I have to keep asking strangers for help and friends for patience. But someday very soon I will have worked my way out of that, because now I’m getting in touch with my personal power. And I have a lot of that. It is formidable. It is indefatigable. It is mine.

I also have friends, both here and IRL, and that has historically been very difficult to nonexistent for me. My best friend is what sociologists call a “connector”—she is a person who can’t help but bring others together. Because of her, I have access to social opportunities, and lately I have been getting out more. And it’s been wonderful. I have been dancing, y’all. Also, I have noticed that my mental jukebox is back up and running, providing a soundtrack for my life that makes me wonder, when did that stop? why didn’t I notice?

But that doesn’t matter now, babies. Because now we are going forward and we are not looking back. I have punished myself enough. I have suffered enough. It’s time to live the rest of my life. I don’t know what that will look like. I will always carry these sorrows with me. But I am ready, if I dare ask the Goddess so much, to be happy.

Due to an error on my paperwork, I’m not getting paid this week. Or next week. I don’t know when. I’m trying not to freak out about it, but there are several things that are urgent. As Leonard’s fans know, he has an issue with his anal glands. I called to schedule a butt squeeze, and there was a recording saying the low-income vet has closed. Permanently. So I’ve been trying to find a new vet, but they all want to do a full exam before treating him. He also has fleas, I’ve been bathing him every day to try to keep him comfortable, but he usually takes the anti-flea med. A visit to the vet always seems to cost about $300. He also needs his anti-itchy meds urgently, which is $50.

If you’ve been following my story, you may remember that I have to keep my income below the poverty level in order to stay on Medicaid, which Oregon kindly expanded, because I am disabled. Yes, I could apply for disability, but I have this weird theory that I can take care of myself with a little support. I live with depression and anxiety, and am diagnosed with PTSD, and am blessed with Aspergers syndrome, which tends to put me out of step with society. Here in Oregon, I’ve been able to grow a lot. I have a counselor who is actually helping me. But dealing with my childhood traumas, and working on my social isolation, these are very difficult things that I’m doing. I’m like a duck: everything is happening below the surface.

Bad things happen, seemingly more often to me. Paychecks are delayed, but rent is due. I reached out to my estranged mother and daughter, but was rejected. The car desperately needs tires; my spare is dead. My new clients are unruly. I haven’t been able to establish a routine, which is hard for me. I’m dealing with my setbacks much better than I used to, though. My bestie Blue is proud of me; “That was only a little freakout,” she said last night, when I found out I’m not getting paid. “You’re getting better.” But it’s so hard, y’all. Emotional pain comes out of nowhere like a black wave, and I have to push back against it, or be overwhelmed. I am getting better. But the mental price is very high. And it just takes time, there’s no rushing it.

I need help; my situation is bad. If you can spare a few dollars, I would be incredibly grateful, and so would Leonard. Even five bucks is a lot of money right now. My roommate has to pay the rent and I need to give him something, at least half. And gas and food for two weeks. My goal is $600 but if I can just get Leonard taken care of, I won’t be so worried. It’s astonishing, the toll poverty takes on one’s mental health. Here’s my PayPal link or you can use my email, which is leannemnorth (at) gmail.com. I have a brand new Patreon with no patrons yet; I’ve been doing a lot of the kind of writing you burn afterwards, and bury the ashes. But soon I’ll be back to writing I can share.

Thoughts and prayers are good too. Thank you all so much, just for being there, and hearing me. I’m trying to become less isolated, but I still depend on all of you being here every day, coming together in fellowship, towards a better life for us all. I couldn’t handle these times without you. Thank you.

Recently I was triggered by something Trump said, as so often happens these days. His response to questions about Saudi Arabia’s latest human rights atrocity, the likely murder of a journalist, centered on profit: his imaginary hundred million dollar arms deal. He sounded confident that this rationale for letting Saudi Arabia off the hook for murder was entirely self-evident: such a good customer!

I’ve worked a lot in the service industry, mostly as a cashier, and it’s been my experience that a lot of men think the money they spend, along with their self-perceived status, entitles them to bad behavior. Management frequently agrees. So servers, cashiers, hotel staff, housekeepers, and other low-paid, mostly female workers, are expected to put up with daily harassment ranging from sexist comments all the way up to assault. Because such good customers couldn’t possibly be offended. I can’t believe US foreign policy has become The Customer is Always Right.

We’ve got to get out the vote like never before and get control of Congress. This administration is driving us straight into a cliff. Our collective mental and physical health is deteriorating, not to mention the health of our planet. People are suffering, families are being torn apart, our neighbors are being deported, and Goddess knows what else, while the clowns in the circus perform ever more frantically, while our children’s future slips away unnoticed.

The time is now. We’re going to have so much work to do just to clean up the mess, before we can get back to making progress on things like climate change and prison reform and corporate accountability. Let’s plan for that time instead of paying attention to the clowns, because they certainly won’t go quietly. Don’t be afraid. Be happy, like a pug in a field of tulips.

I used to wonder why I’d hear Republicans call Obama a socialist. Can’t these morons use a dictionary? I’d think. Back then, I still thought words had precise meanings. I didn’t understand that the radical right was busily redefining words like freedom and liberty. Words like Democrat and socialism.

Recently I finished Nancy MacLean’s work of true horror, Democracy in Chains: The Deep History of the Radical Right’s Stealth Plan for America. It scared the hell out of me. I was taught as a child that Democrats and Republicans have different ideas about the size and scope of government. If only that were true! MacLean’s book explains that the radical right--which now wholly owns the Republican party, and right now, our entire government—actually wants to eliminate government. No more public schools, or roads, or libraries. Strictly pay-as-you-go, and if you fail to save enough money to pay for your appendectomy, you lose the game, and die.

MacLean traces this idea from a Virginia economist I’d never heard of, James Buchanan, to today’s well-funded Koch organization and the whole radical-right apparatus. It is an entire system of propaganda, funding media and schools and think tanks and lobbyists and dark-money PAC’s, designed to turn out true believers to pack the courts, state and local governments, and all levels of the Federal government.

Already this evil machine has worked away, hammer and tongs, bringing us ultra-conservative judges and lawyers and TV stars, bending the will of the majority to the monetary power of the few ultra-rich. Much damage to our democracy has already been done. A deep schism has been sunk into our social fabric. Many of these extremists are already entrenched in our political system, working to turn the USA into an oligarchy. The only weapon we have is our votes.

Voting is more important than ever, and we must work to bring more of our friends and neighbors into civic engagement. It will take all of us to save our democracy. Let’s get started, now!

I highly recommend Democracy in Chains. Check it out at your local library today.

“We are outraged,” she thundered. “Hell yeah!” I said to the screen. “More of that.” Stacey Abrams’ lawyer was on MSNBC last night, speaking about the ongoing Georgia vote count, which Brian Kemp is suing to stop. She has a right to be angry. We all do. It reminded me of how I’d wished Gore had fought harder, when his presidency was stolen by the right.

I have a hard time accessing my anger, always have. When I get mad, I start crying, which is not very threatening and distracts me from my actual emotional state. That’s because, like millions of other people, I wasn’t allowed to be angry as a child. Women especially are not “supposed” to show their anger. Female anger is harshly discouraged. It’s bound, like the feet of long-ago noble Asian girls. That keeps us from going places, because anger is a propellant, when controlled and directed. I’ve always admired women who could communicate effectively while expressing their fury. I’m a Southerner, and it has always seemed to me that women of color are much better at this. Men don’t seem so handicapped. Plenty of them have no problem expressing their anger, and it’s just fine with society if they do so (see B. Kavanaugh; also D. Trump.) Unless they’re Black, of course. Black men are discouraged from anger by society also, but punished much more harshly if they break this norm.

On the left, we like to blunt our anger into satire or sarcasm. That's certainly an effective means of communication. But many nonvoters don’t get it; it doesn’t read to them like it reads to us. We who shy away from anger do so, I think, because our opponents, the radical right, seem driven by rage, also fear. For decades they have used anger as a tool. It’s been very effective. When observing Trump’s behavior, we often say things like, “If a Democrat had done that, everyone at Fox News would be apoplectic! Rush Limbaugh’s head would explode!” As a tactic, their fake anger has been insanely effective. There are lots of people on the right who now seem driven mad, or terrified, because of the right-wing noise machine’s rage-filled fear-mongering. This phenomenon now has a body count, and we mourn as a nation for those who’ve been killed or had their lives destroyed.

The actual anger, and fear, felt by the rest of America, is different. It’s driven by real concern about actual events. I’m not saying we should be running around like our hair is on fire. Except maybe we should be. Because all of this bullshit is distracting people from the very real danger presented by climate change. If Al Gore had become president back in 2000, maybe we’d have been fixing the problem for nearly twenty years by now. We’d have kept better pace with the rest of the civilized world. Things certainly wouldn’t be so dire.

In the present, it’s time to fight like hell. All the alarm bells are ringing. All of the lights are flashing red. Now is the time to scream NO with all of your being. We’ve got the momentum. Own your righteous fury, and use it as fuel to change your world. We need to stand in the gap until the new Congress is seated, in the streets and halls of power, raising our voices, and letting our anger find its voice. Put on your pussy hats and get going!

When I came home from work yesterday and discovered my laptop had been stolen, I had an autistic breakdown that lasted several hours. I’m still not feeling right, kind of want to hide under a table. It’s like they stole part of my mind. I’m having trouble thinking and I’m probably not writing well. I got lost earlier coming home from work. My roommate was upstairs when it happened. He’d left the back slider open and somebody moved a chair to reach over the fence and open the gate, then just walked right in and took my jewelry box from the bathroom, and my laptop. A very nice policeman came and even took fingerprints. He was not hopeful on ever recovering my computer but it was reassuring to have him come out. Thanks, Eugene PD!

They did steal part of my mind, a very important part. I live maybe 30 to 40% of my life online, feeling connected, feeling a sense of belonging in my community, participating in civic life and doing what I can to help others. Maybe it’s because of my Asperger’s, but I’ve had an unnaturally close relationship with my laptops over the past 25 years. An internet-connected netbook or laptop provides a safe, comfortable way for me to participate in society, to find work and housing and friends. And finding community online has encouraged me to seek it in real life, but it’s much, much harder for me there. I’m still quite isolated in real life. But here, I feel safe.

Most of my writing was safe in the cloud, but I lost three years of books and music and pictures and art. It was a devastating, traumatic event, and I’m trying to be kind to myself and take care, to know it’s a wound that will take time to heal. But I keep remembering and then I get upset all over again. I bought that laptop with the first money I made writing, and it was the nicest one I’ve ever had.

I worry about my mental health, without a computer. We have two recycled-computer stores here, Goodwill and a local org called Next Step. I called them and they have netbooks and laptops from $100 to $400. That’s not a lot. I’m hoping we can crowdfund it. If you can spare it, even $5, every little bit helps. If you use PayPal, my email is leannemnorth (at) gmail (dot) com. Or here is a link. I was already broke due to car troubles (which are ongoing) and Leonard needing the vet (he got a shot and no more itching!) and I have a slipped disc, so I can’t work extra. (Maybe surgery soon.)

I was already planning on writing about my disabled client, “Ed”. He is 56 and has end-stage renal failure. He goes to dialysis three days a week and is not a candidate for transplant. Ed has a lot of other health problems as well. He is a sweet man and does not complain. I try to keep him as comfortable as I can. His friend told me he’s been in much better spirits since he got home care, so I’m helping some. An infection in his neck “chewed up” the bones, according to the doctor, and it has left him in terrible pain. Ed can’t sleep in his hospital bed and stays in his wheelchair nearly all the time. He uses a recliner at dialysis, and says he is able to sleep in that, so I’ve been trying to find him one. I tried his doctor, St. Vinnie’s and Goodwill, some other social service agencies, nobody can help. I checked craigslist and there are lots there, from $60 up to about $150 for the power lift kind, which would be ideal. I’m so sorry to ask for two things at the same time! But I told him I would find a way. I’m hoping we can crowdfund Ed’s recliner five bucks at a time too. Same thing, leannemnorth (at) gmail (dot) com, or the link above. He deserves to be comfortable. I hope when I have come to the end, there will be someone looking out for me. In real life.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, y’all. Not only if you can donate, but just for being there, 24/7, being the only home I have in this world, standing in as my only family, always there, supporting me. I could never have the words to express what Kossacks have done for me; saved my life, you did. Thank you.

My little dog Leonard is not what you’d call bold. You could pen him in with a six-inch fence. He doesn’t jump in the water at the river. You have to help him up on the bed and couch, which is not always convenient, and he insists that I get up immediately to help him. Since he came to live with me, I’ve been trying to teach him to use improvised steps to get up on things, but he’s terrified of new objects. About a year ago, I got a little blue step stool and tried to interest him, but he wanted nothing to do with it, no matter how many treats it held. Still, I left it out, and when he wanted to get up on the couch, I would “make” him use the stool as a step. Eventually, he started doing it by himself, but I still had to stand up and walk over there. Now, he does it by himself almost every time. It took a really long time, but I taught an old dog at least one new trick.

One of my home-care clients is a Vietnam vet in his eighties, a retired hippie who is sharp as a tack and has had an incredibly interesting life. He reads a lot and stays informed, but had never used a computer before, not even at a job, perhaps because of his countercultural history as a Rainbow Family member and wanderer. He’d been hearing that his old friends had web pages, and all sorts of other interesting things that can be found online, so he asked me to show him. I brought my laptop over so he could see.

A lot of elderly people don’t use computers, or aren’t very comfortable with them, and I’ve been using a computer as long as I can remember, so I think my early attempts were clumsy. Just using the trackpad to navigate around the screen is a skill, and it’s hard to click on things if your hands shake. It’s hard to see lots of things on the screen. But he persevered, intrigued by this window on the world he’d opened up right there in his little apartment. We ordered out-of-print books about esoteric knowledge he never thought he’d find; I think this is his favorite thing about the Internet. That and Spotify, of course.

We have an excellent nonprofit here in Eugene called Next Step that recycles computers, so he got an old laptop and I set it up for him. At first I’d pull up things for him to read or watch while I was there, but he’s learned to Google. I’ve learned to slow it down and only show him one new thing at a time. Also, a mouse is much easier than the trackpad! It’s amazing, really; he is so curious and determined. Now, please do not be thinking that I have any kind of magical ability to teach seniors to use the Internet; he did this all by himself, and now is connecting to the world, finding opportunities and engaging with people. It’s inspiring. It makes me think, “Hey, maybe I can change too!”

When last we spoke, I had two problems I was trying to solve: replacing my stolen laptop, and acquiring a power recliner for my other client, so that he would be able to rest comfortably. With the help of some wonderful Kossacks, both problems have now been solved. (It really shook me, and I disappeared for a while, but things are looking up. More on that later.) I have a great refurbished laptop, and my client has a comfortable recliner. Since he got it, he’s been sleeping so much better, and it shows on his peaceful, smiling face. Chronic pain is so debilitating, as many of us know, and being able to sleep comfortably is making a big difference in his quality of life. Thank you to everyone who helped.

And thanks, as always, for being my community. Things are going pretty haywire, and we’d better hold on to each other. Namaste, y’all! Be blessed.

I’m so confused, y’all. I’m experiencing that thing where scarcity makes your brain not work right. Poverty is traumatic and causes PTSD, for real. I’m trying really hard, as you know, and I’m making some progress, but I’m also getting kicked in the teeth, frequently enough to make it increasingly hard to get back up again. Last post, I wrote about my clients making progress; unfortunately right after I wrote that, my younger client passed on. He was only 56, but he was very ill with kidney failure. We were at the doctor’s getting him a scan when it happened. If I’d known that us sitting together quietly in the waiting room was going to be the last thirty minutes of his life, I’d have spent it differently. But I didn’t know. And that is how it happens. His pain is over now and wherever he is, he is at peace.

That was hard. I’ve also been having problems with my car, which is a little 1991 Mercedes 190e requiring expensive replacement parts. You may remember this was my first car in ten years, and I really felt great about having a car with all the legal paperwork and stuff. It gave me the idea that maybe I could climb out of poverty. It made me feel like a valid member of society, turning the crank of the economy, like productive adults do. Since last December, I’ve been dealing with car problems. A local mobile mechanic has been working on it, and I’ve spent probably $600 over the past few months, then $400 yesterday, literally every penny that I had, plus forty bucks I had to borrow from my roommate. The mechanic told me it might not fix the problem, but he replaced the fuel pressure regulator and thermostat housing and water outlet, and he started it and it ran great. The battery is new, I’ve replaced all the belts, the exhaust system, four tires, and a couple of expensive relays but it’s apparently in terrible shape and the mechanic says, parts are failing. Later last night I drove and the car worked fine. Got up this morning to go to work, and it wouldn’t start. And the mechanic is out of town for a few days. Getting another car is out of my reach, my credit is terrible and I don’t have any income without my car, at this point.

Since my client died, we’ve had two big snowstorms; between that and car problems, I haven’t been able to get a new client. I only have eleven hours a week right now, which I can’t work without a car. So there’s not a lot coming in a month from now. I finally got an MRI of my back and neck, and the reason it’s so painful to stand or walk or sleep is because I have three ruptured discs. The first surgery, on my back, won’t happen until May and it’ll take four days in the hospital, then I’ll have to wear a brace. Maybe I could let go of the car, move downtown, find clients that don’t want to go anywhere, but I can’t walk even to the bus stop for the foreseeable future. I need a better job, that I can do sitting down. I hope that someday I will be hiking and dancing or just standing around talking with people. It will just take time to heal.

I’ve been applying for therapist jobs again (although Eugene is lousy with mental health professionals, and I’ve been looking for over three years: put myself out there, get knocked down, get back up. Repeat. Question myself mercilessly until my confidence is gone.) Trying to make it on poverty level wages so I can keep my healthcare is really hard, but Oregon’s expanded Medicaid is the best insurance I’ve ever had. I’m terrified of losing it. But if I got a counseling job, in two years I’d have my license, and then I would be in a much better position to have a car that works and other luxuries like that. And the job search is going well, I’ve gotten several calls and had two interviews, one in Coos Bay, on the coast, over two hours from Eugene; another here (I was rejected.) But the coast job pays really well, and it is quiet, and near the ocean, which is beautiful. But I’m working on a healthy support system here in Eugene, unusual in my adult life. But I really need to secure something more durable for my future than mere subsistence, with near-homeless periods; I need to be using my master’s, I need to be helping people, and I need to be getting paid more. But moving to Coos Bay would be tricky, and I’d be lonely. But in two years I’d have my license. But maybe if I keep trying, I could find a counseling job here in Eugene. Maybe not. There’s some reason I keep getting rejected, even if it’s something I can’t control for, like my age. I don’t see how I could turn down the job in Coos Bay if it is offered.

I’m just going around and around. I don’t think about applying for disability anymore; I may be blessed with high-functioning autism and cursed with depression and anxiety, but I hope I am capable to take care of myself, with just a little support. I’m hoping to find an intentional community. I’m estranged from my conservative Southern family, so I have to find that support in other places. I’m such a nerd that Daily Kos is my social media. I have a hard time connecting to people, for a long time it never happened IRL. But I’m getting better. I have a spiritual practice, and new friends, and old friends. I go to counseling and see my shrink. Last night I went to a gathering of women, and there were many people there, but I led a prayer, and wasn’t too freaked out, and met new people. The women were so appreciative of my facilitating the activity. Leonard particularly enjoyed the fire and skritches. It seems stupid to leave a place where I’m healing and finding friends.

The idea of leaving Eugene makes me sad, but that might be the only way I can get a therapist job and get licensure. The idea of pouring more money into my car seems dumb, but it might  be the only way I can have a car, and if my car works I can make money. If I abandon the whole having-a-car project, then I’ll need to move and get a different job and completely rearrange my life. I’d appreciate some advice. Y’all are always so wise with your guidance and suggestions and it really helps me clarify my thinking in a way that I can’t do when I’m verbally discussing something, because the talky-looky thing is overwhelming. See, that right there is something I never realized before this minute. It’s like I was forking asleep until I was forty-five.

Of course, I’m panicking about money; rent will be due before I’ve had a chance to earn it, but more urgently, Leonard the WonderWoozle needs to go to the vet for his itchy-dog shot and get food, and my car insurance payment is due, if I still have a car. If you can, please help by donating $5; if that’s not a lot of money for you, it’s a lot of money for me. My goal is $250. Oh, my registration is expired also. I forgot about that. Anyway. You can paypal me through my email address, which is leannemnorth (at) gmail (dot) com. Or here is a link. I would be so, so grateful, and also send you a thank-you note if I can. Thank you so much, I don’t know where I’d be without the support and love and advice and wind-beneath-my-wings I have found here, but I will never give up. Never.

Hey, y’all, I finally got a counseling job! It’s in Coos Bay, so I do have to move from Eugene, but it pays really well. I’ll be an individual and family therapist, working in a day treatment program located in a middle school. It is a real counseling job, with supervision towards licensure, and an office, and benefits. The kids are 10-12 years old, and my max caseload will be NINE. Nine!

I’ve spent the last three days at training in Grants Pass, where the agency put me in a nice hotel by the river, and gave me a generous per diem. When I arrived at training, the facilitator handed me a check immediately. Wow! I thought. This middle-class thing is excellent. I haven’t even done any work yet. Then a little bit later she passed out iPhones! I’ve had an obamaphone for years, you can’t even use maps. I love this iPhone.

You may recall that it has been a long time since I’ve had a masters-level counseling job, about ten years. So I am very excited about this major change in my life, but I also have a lot of apprehension. I have worked part-time for years. Will I remember how to be a professional? Can I show up early in the morning and stay there all day? Do I still have skills? I have an overwhelming feeling of being an impostor. It’s getting better, but I’m very nervous about starting in the classroom Monday morning. There’s a voice in my head (my mother’s, as it happens) telling me very not-nice things about my chances for success, and it’s not always easy to tune her out.

It’s a bit hard, all this driving around the state, but luckily I have a new, less-old car! When last we spoke, I was having car problems. The overwhelming advice I received was to ditch it for a slightly better car. My mechanic was very helpful in selling the old one and getting the new one, so it actually only cost $400. I should have done that a long time ago! It’s a 1997 Dodge Neon with crank windows and no cruise control. I love it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it, and it even has cupholders. Thank you so much to everyone who pitched in.

And really, y’all, this is a victory for the community. Kossacks have been the wind beneath my wings and the fuel in my tank for five years now. I gave up lots of times, but you never did. You were always there, any time of the day or night, to help me with any kind of problem I was having, in ways material, emotional, and spiritual. I don’t have that from my family, so to find it here has saved me in so many ways. You supported me and accepted me and protected me and defended me, and I am so grateful. I just don’t have enough words. Now I can pay it forward. Now I can help others, instead of always being the one who needs help.

So give yourselves a round of applause, folks, and know you all have my eternal gratitude. Thank you for never giving up on me, ever. This is what community looks like!

Back in Columbia, South Carolina, in the summer of 2016, we dreamed a dream together. As the hate flag finally came down from the Statehouse, to ten thousand people, crowded together in the broiling sun, I devised a plan, with the help of the Daily Kos community (which was much smaller then!) It was my escape from the serfdom of extreme poverty: leaving the South and finding a place in this hard old world where I wouldn’t have to swim so hard against the current. And now at long last I have found that place, where the climate suits my clothes: the beautiful, wild, southern Oregon coast.

When last we spoke I was pretty happy, after three years in Eugene. I had a few good friends and a job I liked, doing home care for the elderly. I was even practicing my spirituality, and things were looking up. I was still poor, though I did have health care, which was amazing; everyone should have it! I’d been frustrated because it was taking me so long to find a job in my field. The Eugene population is lousy with mental health practitioners. I’d go on interviews, but was rejected over and over. I was dealing better with the PTSD symptoms triggered by the election of the Unthinkable, which happened soon after I’d arrived from South Carolina. I made a couple of new friends from Colorado at the same time my women’s group was really taking off. We were generating power, and that inspired me to dream big dreams, set big goals, make big leaps.

I started applying for counseling jobs in towns along the coast, and I was selective. I only applied for jobs I really wanted, that were a good match for my skill set, that made me excited when I read the description. Within a month I got a call from an agency serving kids and families in North Bend/Coos Bay. It’s pretty rural, and very scenic, with lots of tourists in the summer (good-bye tourists! see you next year!) And I got the job! I almost didn’t take it; I didn’t really want to leave Eugene: my friends (so rare for me; I’m on the spectrum,) my favorite river spots, Saturday Market, the best thrift stores in America, Eugene is an exceptional place. But they made me an offer I could not refuse, and boom! I’m middle class, y’all! Look at me now, I did it! I have a car made this millenium, and I can afford fresh fruit. Praise Jesus!

I love my job so much, it occupies my entire intellect; it’s endlessly fascinating and very challenging. I work in a sort of treatment classroom located in a middle school, for kids with serious behavior issues. A probation officer told me a couple months ago that our youth were the most challenging he’d ever seen in his long career. We have a 1:2 ratio and the program is very intensive; there’s lots of work with the families and coordination with schools and DHS and Juvenile Justice. It’s super fun, I get to design activities and run groups and play games; I’m the team lead, so way too often it’s all up to me. I get to tell people what to do! It’s so weird! I’m having fun, and I get to do crafts too. The paperwork is pretty horrifying. But I will learn it.

So thank you, Daily Kos Class of 2016, for moving me to Oregon, changing my life, and for lifting me up, and being there for me, all these difficult years.

Hey y’all, I hope everyone is safe and healthy! I have mild symptoms so I can’t be helping as a therapist in my physical community, which is driving me nuts. But maybe I can help here. There are probably people in our online community who are freaking out, so here is a place we can support each other. I am stuck at home and can’t be at my day treatment job, though the schools here in Oregon closed starting yesterday. My agency had planned to continue providing day treatment at schools and community services, starting tomorrow. Now they are saying just Wednesday-Friday this week, then we shut down for a couple of weeks. Since all the youth struggle with behavior, this will be a hardship for parents.

I’ve been pretty busy since I started my dream job last spring but I’ve been reading you guys and keeping up. I will post now and if you are anxious, or even if you’re not, let’s live blog this motherfucking pandemic!

Update: I’m not suggesting that everyone should be anxious! You do you! But wash your hands.

I’m a child and family therapist and I work in rural red Oregon. Although I’m not a school employee, my office is located inside a middle school, where I run a day treatment program. When the schools closed in March, we moved to an alternate location. In June, we moved back to the school, and that’s where we’ve been until our COVID outbreak shut us down last Wednesday.

From the very beginning, it was clear that I was taking the pandemic much more seriously than most of the people I work with, except my assistant, who has diabetes and a wife and child with breathing problems. The school nurse even told me that wearing a mask was silly, and that the requests from hospitals that we crafters make masks were just a ploy to keep us busy. (I continued making masks anyway.) I had very mixed feelings about seeing kids and their parents in person. In March, I did not go in for a week and a half. I was scared. I got good at zoom and doing therapy on the phone. At the beginning of April, I was ordered to return. There was no mask wearing and no social distancing requirements. My coworker and I were the only ones wearing masks. Everyone had their temperature taken upon arrival and we asked the kids to wash their hands. Management acted like checking temps and Lysol were unbeatable bulwarks against the disease.

At that time I asked to arrange our milieu to encourage social distancing, but I was overruled. When we returned to school in June, again I tried to move our furniture to encourage social distancing in the classroom. I was overruled. When distance learning (not in-person school) began in my community this month, once more I tried to arrange the classroom in a more safe way. We moved desks apart, but the big table where we typically met as a group remained. But it was already too late.

At that time, we finally began requiring masks, but the kids had been not wearing masks for the six months of the pandemic. We can’t hold them down and strap masks to their sweet little faces, so mask wearing was pretty uneven. By then, however, we’d already been exposed to the virus. By the time we started going to get tested, multiple staff and family members were already sick.

It started with a kid whose family said at intake, “He just has a bad cold. It’s not COVID.” That was September 8, and this youth joined our group the next day. His family started getting sick last week, but didn’t tell us right away. His mom tried to get a test but was turned away. Finally the grandma got sick, and her doctor said, “This is COVID.” That was Tuesday. By then three of four staff were showing symptoms. Grandma’s test came back positive Friday. Since Grandma caught this “cold” from the youth, it’s pretty clear to me he had COVID back on 9/8. So we’ve been exposed all this time. And Grandma never had a fever, so our COVID detector was completely useless.

My assistant started getting sick two weeks ago. He had fever and vomiting, but because he’s diabetic, everyone assumed it was related to that and not COVID. He was pressured to continue working even though he had a fever. He was worried he would lose his job and had been threatened with a reduction in hours. Monday I noticed I was out of breath and my chest hurt. By then another youth had already experienced a relapse of the asthma that had not troubled him in two years. Our teacher got a rapid test. It was negative. She was required to stay in the classroom. According to the school rules, she is not allowed to quarantine.

I should have fought harder to protect my team and the families we serve. I should have insisted on masking and social distancing. In March I was really scared, but there were very few cases in my county. By July, I had run out of that protective fear. Even though I knew I was in more danger then than in March, I allowed myself to be soothed.

Now everyone has been tested and it’s in the hands of public health. I was told that the rapid test is only 50% accurate, so the teacher had to get another test. When I was told that Grandma had tested positive, I knew I had it. In talking to people, I’ve realized that the tests are not 100% accurate. My friend back in South Carolina also works at a school, and of course there they are having school in person. She was exposed, got sick, and has tested negative twice. Why are people who are showing symptoms testing negative? At least here in Oregon, school isn’t happening in person, or we’d have exposed hundreds more children and families. As it is we exposed all of the staff, even people who don’t work directly with the team, because we’ve been forced into close-contact situations like practicing physical restraints on each other and crowded meetings. We exposed our bus drivers, cafeteria staff, custodians, and several other school staff.

And, as if all this isn’t enough stress for one middle-aged well-meaning slightly-autistic therapist, I now live in a dictatorship where the fascist leader is stating clearly that his reelection plan is to “get rid of the ballots.”

WHO IS FLYING THIS PLANE?

A lot of people are wondering why nearly 70 million Americans, pretty much half, actively chose to keep the dumpster fire. I think we need to figure out where we went wrong, so maybe we could fix it. They say the truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off. As a therapist, I know that is true.

Poverty is traumatizing, and the people are suffering. They’ve lost their jobs, they’ve seen a quarter million Americans die, while the cops STILL just can’t stop killing Black Americans again, and again, and again. Most of them don’t know anything about politics other than that their vote doesn’t matter because they’re poor, which of course is 100% true. Some percentage of them think of themselves as liberal, and another, slightly larger percentage of them think of themselves as conservative. However, there’s a third, much larger percentage who perceive correctly that it’s just two different flavors of the same bullshit, brought to you by our billionaire corporate overlords.

This particular form of bullshit is also destroying the only human habitat that we know of. Mother Earth will be just fine; it’s humanity who will be dying off. And guess what? Most of the dead will be gut-wrenchingly poor, because killing off a surplus population of working people, (already demonized by popular culture) is not a bug, but a feature for Our Corporate Overlords. The death is the point. It always has been.

The children of the poor are suffering also, and the great equalizer that was supposed to be public education has entirely crumbled, from a high bar that was only ever for white kids anyway. I’m privileged, I’m white and I graduated from high school in 1987, right before the wheels came off. All the schools are broke now and teachers are retiring in droves. I work with poor kids and there is a whole generation of middle schoolers being raised by Grand Theft Auto V and Instagram. Millions of unemployed people, and their kids, stuck at home, while everybody gets angrier. They haven’t paid rent in months, they’re being expected to supervise their children’s distance learning 100%, everything that’s not on fire is falling apart, while billions of dollars are spent on all of this activity that means nothing to them, that benefits no one except the media, political science majors, future politicians, and, of course, current politicians. 99% of congress are rich as Croesus, while homeless veterans with PTSD are starving to death on the streets in the South. America is already a failed state.

Can you maybe understand why so many people are leery of the Democratic Party? After watching what happened to Gore in 2000, after seeing the ravages wrought by Clinton’s crime bill, after all of the wars and all of the school shootings and all of the dead Black bodies? This has been going on for far, far too long.

God forbid anyone brings up socialism; half of America doesn’t even know that’s literally what roads are, but they do know that socialism is evil. They have no idea it’s just the normal, practical way of governance in the rest of the civilized world. Homelessness, hunger, inescapable poverty, crushing debt, lack of healthcare, all because nothing can happen without it enriching Our Corporate Overlords. I’m not saying we have to dump capitalism completely. I know people are not really going to follow Jesus’s teaching that they sell all they have and give it to the Poor. However, it does seem as though unfettered capitalism has failed us. For three generations.

I heard that Nancy Pelosi said, “We’re capitalists. Period.” Well, I have a question: could we maybe just squeeze out a one-inch strip of socialism and apply it to the affected areas? Where the pain is the greatest? Could we dissolve the police and recruit an elite troop of determined social workers, armed with kindness and hot meals and birth control? Could we switch the defense and education budgets, just for one year, so we can fully fund terrific schools for every kid? If kids have security, maybe they won’t need white supremacy to make them feel special. Could we make sure everybody just has enough, even if someone thinks they don’t “deserve” it?  We must normalize real social security, because people need to feel secure. We need freedom from fear and freedom from want.

If you haven’t read “Caste: The origins of our discontents” by Isabel Wilkerson, I recommend it highly.

Hey Daily Kos family! I hope everyone is healthy and safe. I’ve been super depressed and anxious the past year. I’ve been struggling like this for 30 years and I’m pretty tired of it. I have a good job now, and a few friends to support me, and things are stable for me at long last. So I decided to try ketamine infusion treatment, which is far away from Coos Bay in Portland, and the first 2 times it really seemed to help. I think it will make a big difference. I had to get my blood pressure down before I could continue, which I have done. The only problem is that I have to have someone there when I’m done to make sure I get back to my motel room safely. Next week I have the first 2 set up with my friends, driving up from Eugene. I still need help to get the last two accomplished, so I decided to try to stay in Portland and ask for a little mutual aid; just someone to meet me at the office and drive me back (in my car) or in a cab or something. It will be June 3 around 2:30 and June 5 around 11:30. Probably be less than 30 minutes each and I can pay the person for their valuable time. If you’re in Portland and know anybody that might be willing to help a comrade out, let me know. Thanks!