No Moron, you couldn't possibly understand. Here's a clue...go find some compassion.

And so here it is. I've been waiting for this one for awhile. It's been building just waiting for a safe place to explode. I'm going to have to talk about work here for a bit. Hell, if I didn't work where I work I wouldn't need a fucking blog in the first place.

It's hard not to get attached to my mentally ill clients. I love them. I do. We all have our certain ones that we get attached to more than others. We go home and think about them and worry about them and wish against everything that they can live as normally as possible someday.

But you know what? Beyond all that I spend most of my time being frustrated as hell. Because what do we do for them? I can offer them groups and talk to them but I can't offer them everything they need....and the people who can don't seem to give a shit sometimes.

I love Subacute. You can't imagine. There have been times when I wanted to leave but couldn't leave the clients. I don't know if I'll ever be able to. It was a hard blow the first time a former client died from Subacute. I loved her, she was a favorite.

I remember the day she walked out that door. I knew she was going home to an abusive husband and I knew that she didn't want to go. This client was one you wouldn't expect to be a client. Her husband was a professor at one of the top technical universities. Of course he expected her to look her best at all times and was very critical of her.

I had a long talk with her that day before he showed up. I remember telling her she didn't have to go with him she had other options. But her god damn therapist and everyone else pushed her to go. They kept saying "You can't stay at subacute forever..."

So he came. I didn't let her walk out the door without taking her head between my hands and telling her right in front of her abusive husband how beautiful and smart and amazing she was. She left tearful. I walked back in tearful. She went home and hung herself in her garage.

It hits me at ood times. The last time I lost it over her was pre-flood. I had just dropped Abi off and was on my way to work. I couldn't control the grief I felt. I had to pull over and get myself under control.

Another client, same story. I can't give her name. Her story is much worse to me. She was so much more neglected I feel by the place that was supposed to be working with her. She was a severe alcoholic. I feel in love with her bad ass attitude. We bonded probably more than was appropriate. Because I keep pictures at work she came to know my daughter. She became to attached to stories about Abi and how she was growing and how she was behaving. Constantly she was trying to give me money to give to Abi and when I wouldn't she would go on pass and by her something that I couldn't give her. I always pretended to take it home but it never made it to her. This blog is perhaps the raciest thing I've done against work. In all other areas I've followed their rules beautifully.

One day I sat her down and talked to her for a long time about why I couldn't accept her gifts for Abi. I don't think she ever understood that it wasn't appropriate. Midway into the talk it all clicked. I never realized that she was reaching out to Abi because she wanted to reach out to her own children. Abi was a safer bet. Her own children had suffered through their child years with her as a roaring alcoholic. She was afraid that they could never forgive her. I could relate. I told her how it took an impossibly long time for me to forgive my own mother and father. But I told her it's not an impossible thing and she had to try.

She didn't have a lot of fans as far as techs were concerned. She gave everyone to much hell. I watched her so many times throwing things and threatning and cussing at her peers and us. I don't know about the others but she always apoligized to me. I always told her that the next day was a new day and we start off on the right foot then.

It came time for her to move out. I was upset over the lack of services we had offered her. Wait, we hadn't offered her shit. I felt that someone who was as severe of an alcoholic as she was should have been going to AA meetings her entire stay at Subacute and should be followed heavily and been set up to attend AA meetings upon her discharge. It never happend. Some techs supplied her with as much information as possible to get her to those meetings.

She moved out. She died. All I know is they found her dead on her apartment floor surrounded by empty beer bottles. They think she fell and hit her head. My boss called me at home to tell me. I didn't let it sink in then, I had company.

When I got back to work after all this I about killed every one I came across. Everyone was playing the victim card acting so upset (Funny enough one tech was so upset when she received the call that she had to be taken outside, this is the same one that treated this particular client like shit most of the time...whatever....attention is attention I guess) but not one person was questioning if we did enough for her. So I started to.

When I asked why she was never set up with AA meetings I got the reply that she would have never went. What? Could you be more pretentious? This isn't a decision about your child's piano lessons this is someone's life. Can you really not offer someone a service they need because you assume they won't go?

I heard it all. I heard how sad everyone was...."I had to move her into her apartment, I cried when I heard the news..", "I was so upset Lenae had to take me out to smoke...I couldn't stop crying", whatever. It's a bunch of bullshit. The fucking morons couldn't possibly understand the hole that her death has left in this world. I can actually feel her gone. Everyday I wake up knowing that I didn't demand enough for her, knowing that I didn't make her demand enough for herself. Save your stories of grief for someone who actually believes them. She was just another annoying client to you assholes.

And the worst of all....all she got was a cremation. She didn't have enough money for a burial, for a service. Even if I was fucking rich I wouldn't be allowed to provide that for her but you can bet that the company that was supposed to be watching out for her won't hand over any of their precious money to provide that service. Sometimes I feel like rounding up the few people I know who cared about her and making my own service. She deserves that fucking much at least.

It hits me, a lot. My birthday was a really hard day to deal with her memories. For some reason every other second a memory of her would pop up. I didn't push it back. She would be sadistic enough to torture me on my birthday like that...dead or alive :)