The Road to Recovery Counselor

If you asked a teenage Dae if someday she’d be the “asshole staff” that would be working in a residential home like the ones she found herself living in for most of her adolescent years, I’m almost 99.9999% certain that her answer would be, “Fuck no, I hate those guys. I’d [insert some horrible action to myself] before I sold out like that.”

Going on through the years I, again, never considered residential counseling. It wasn’t even on the radar. Writer, musician, and medic were the Big Three up until recently. There had been that stint when I was about 27 when I had kicked around the idea of becoming a Psy.D but that went through the window when I realized it was “too much” schooling and, at the time, I couldn’t be bothered to deal with other people whining at me about their problems. I was still nursing the wounds from the battle (compassion) fatigue of being an emergency tech and the drama that comes from that. I was still trying to figure out who I was after investing years into my failed relationship. I was just still trying to just be.

I never had the chance to just BE when I was growing up or really ever when I got to thinking about it. As a child, mother dictated everything. When I lost my shit and found myself locked up in residential homes and hospitals they dictated even more. Back then it was a different game. They had restraint protocols in the residential homes that got intense if you got too intense. The hospitals had a chemical restraint program and if your parent signed off that it was okay to drug the shit out of you then, guess what, you were going on a vacation whether you wanted to or not.

The very sad and very frightening reality is that I don’t remember a lot of my teens because I was either self medicated or I was medicated against my will. When I wasn’t medicated I was emotionally shut down so that I didn’t have to think about where I was because I had no idea when or if I was going home. I had to deal with level systems, begging for rides, no alone time because one always had to be in the milieu during awake hours, asking for permission to piss, counting out loud when I was in the bathroom just so that they knew I wasn’t harming myself. I could be barged in on in the shower at any moment just in case I was taking too long. Shaved legs? Forget it. The bohemian look was something I just had to deal with. I learned to like it for a time. Shared rooms with up to three other girls, bunk beds, people stealing your clothes and make up, sometimes more. People getting in your space after lights out. It was… not fun. More to the point, it wasn’t fun when you finally got sick of it and broke and the staff had to hold you down and put you in the “quiet room” where you sat alone until you were willing to process. If you didn’t process you stayed there. I spent a lot of time in this room when I found myself at my final destination of Harbinger House. It was the only way I had any alone time. They got wise to this and soon found that my acting out (swearing at staff) wasn't going to get me alone time and I was forced to go to the next level if I wanted to be alone. Not a recommended course of action... 

I lost so much of integral development living in that environment. Up to the point that I’ve never really been able to understand the outside world much at all. The coats now say it’s because of the Asperger’s but I think it’s because I was never socialized properly to begin with. I watch TV shows about teenagers and I see them going through their rights of passage and I think, “I never got any of that.” I went from pre-teen to adult. I went beyond that, I went to adult who was homeless for a time and on tour with a band and I saw shit that I shouldn’t have. I ran away from everything I had just seen and I tried to be someone else. I divorced myself from the residential years. I wanted to live and…. I sure as fuck did.

Now, I’m 33 almost 34 and I’m one of those staff working with an age range of 19 to 78 year olds who have seen some of the same shit I have, some who have seen far worse than I could ever imagine. I think about that every day that I walk into one of the homes and I think back to that young girl that I was, screaming at the staff, throwing chairs at walls and threatening all manner of bodily harm. Some days I meet some version of myself in the people that I help every day, when they’re screaming at me, threatening me, crying for what some of you would think is no reason, telling me the same story they told me last week, and, yes, sometimes attacking me (though this is very rare) and I think to myself, “No I never imagined that I’d be doing this. But I’m glad as hell that I am. Because sometimes I think I’m the only one who gets them and I’m the only one strong enough to do this.” Because of my past I love what I do. Every. Damn. Day.  I can't see myself doing anything else. 

Memory time: Adventure: Dae and Anna go to Chemlab

2007-01-04 

   So I just got back from an adventure about two hours ago. Tonight was the long awaited meeting of Anna and I to see the Chemlab show at Great Scott in Allston. I took off from here around 6:30 to grab coffee, buy gas, and then head down to Randolph to pick Anna up. The first leg of the journey went off without a hitch. I made it to Randolph without getting lost although I did pass Anna's street and have to turn around and ask her where she was at. 

About 5 minutes later I was at her place and we were on our way acting like two typical girls - laughing, chatting, and... getting lost. haha Actually that was my fault since I didn't print off the directions from her place to the bar so we pretty much had to follow the directions from the bar to her place backwards. That didn't work and we ended up on 93, passing through Boston, then having to turn around somewhere in Somerville I think in order to get back over the Zakim bridge (which is WICKED pretty at night by the way!) and then back to the Pike to take the Brighton/Cambridge exit that would take us to Allston. After lots of calls and Anna and I putting our heads together we finally made it to Allston but... "Where the <i>fuck</i> is Commonwealth Ave???" 

"I have a feeling it's parallel to us." 

"There's a 7-11, Ima go in and ask them." 

Stop the car, get out, two people yammering at the counter... enter in Dae in cheerful/cutesy voice, "Hiiiiiiiiiiiie! I'm soooo lost can one of you tell me how to get to Commonwealth Ave pweaaaase?" They smiled at me, gave me directions, and I flashed my grin and went back outside. "Yerp. It's parallel to us." 

So we <i>finally</i> get on to Comm Ave and we're riding along the access road. At a stop light I look over and see a couple making out and I go, "Ewwwwwwwww! Don't make out on the corner!! That's GROSS!!!!" 

Anna laughs, "Dae!! The window's down!" 

Ooops. Oh well. That'll learn 'em! Onward we drive and we notice that 1. We're on the wrong side of the street and 2. Numbers are going up. Blarg! So we turn around and <i>finally</i> get on the proper side of the street going in the proper direction and <i>finally</i> make it in time. Not a moment too soon because call of nature and all. Hey! Chicks. We always gotta pee when we arrive somewhere haha. 

So... we arrive. No bands have gone on yet and we settle in at the bar for booze free drinks and good conversation. The first two bands were shitty as all hell. No idea who the first one was but they absolutely murdered "Terrible Lie" and just sounded stupid I think. The second band, Tragedy Ann, was performing their "last show ever" and as soon as their singer started... erm... singing (??) I could see why. Ho.ly.SHIT was he terrible. I thought I was bad. His personality was even worse because he kept flipping the audience off, saying things like "Shut the fuck up" when he would talk between songs, and then said something to the effect of, "You people standing in the back go to Ceremony. It's okay we don't fucking like you either." Hmmmmmmm... that's not very nice. He should be happy people weren't chucking their drinks at him for being a meanie head! I would've if I could get away with it. 

So finally Chemlab came on and that actually was pretty awesome to see. I wasn't sure I was gonna dig them too much because I'm not so much into the industrial tunes anymore but the singer, who looked like Andy Warhol kinda, was actually pretty cool I think. He had a great stage persona even if it was a bit theatrical in a not-so-cool/effective way. I liked what they had going on musically though and I would've loved to stay but it was a long drive getting to Anna's and it was gonna be a long drive going home. Plus week night shows are hard. Work and all the next day. Not for me but for Anna. So we left about 4 songs in but it was okay. :) Trying to get out of Boston was a bitch. We got lost again because I went the wrong way. I should've gone left instead of right, we had to go back onto the Pike and take exit 17 to turn around and head east but then there was a detour since there was something going on. Blarg! But we made it to Randolph in one piece and then I drove back and made it home in one piece as well. It feels refreshing to finally have gone out again and seen a friend I've been talking to forever on here. I definitely am glad that I went. 

Thanks again Anna for the invite and for putting up with my silliness. Next time I'll get the drinks :) So that's "The Adventure of Dae and Anna go to Chemlab." I'm sure the 69 Eyes show is gonna be even better since it's a Friday and we will be having a guest in the form of Dietrich Thrall joining in on our craziness. If anyone is in the area and would like to join the three of us, get in touch with me via cell, IM, MySpace, or e-mail. It's going to be happening on the 26th of January and I can give rides to anyone who is along the general route. 

the story behind the guitar photo

I’m not one for selfies. I think they enable our most narcissistic traits and bring out the worst in people. Blogs are a close second in many cases as well. There are, however, exceptions and I think it’s when those selfies or those blogs capture a moment that is so exceedingly special in a person’s life that they absolutely have to remember it. Our memories are just that, memories. Intangible things that we’re unable to take out of our heads and review with the aid of a pensieve (sp?) as they did in the world of Harry Potter. So what do we have otherwise? Selfies and blogs.

Today I had one of those moments that I need to remember in both places. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but the picture I took could simply be interpreted as this girl playing her guitar. Those that know me as Dae Noctem might think, “Oh, she’s writing a new album. Cool!” They would be wrong. Those that know me as Dae Sloat might think, “Oh, she’s practicing her guitar. How nice.” They, too, would be wrong. My husband would think, “I don’t think she’s played that thing maybe once or twice in the three years we’ve lived together… what’s changed?” He would be asking the right question.

That guitar, an Ibanez GAX75 , a beautiful guitar that was given to me for Christmas in 2005 as a “I’m sorry I’m cheating on you and I won’t be here for Christmas, have fun,” gift has essentially sat unused for the past 9 years. It has the original strings, I’ve maybe picked it up to play it once or twice and I’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to sell it but was never able to get what it was worth. To be honest, I lost my desire to ever play guitar after so many things happened that year and beyond it. I lost my love of music finally in 2008… pretty much after I released my album. I did some live shows from 2011 to 2012 but trying to write music was impossible. I just didn’t have any joy in it. I was dead inside when it came to creating anything. Who or what killed that could be blamed on so many things. I could blame people, I could blame medication, I could blame life. It could be depression. But the fact remains that my first love (sorry Shaun) had left me and there has always been this ache without it. Taking music away from a musician, not being able to play anymore when that’s all I’d done from the age of 5 is like losing a limb.

Something was different today though. I had some music playing and I heard “I would for you” by Nine Inch Nails playing and I’ve always loved the chord progression in that song. Though sitting down and trying to play it proved there really is no chord progression per se. Nevertheless, hearing it made me want to try and I got my guitar and I began to noodle like I used to as a kid in my room. The surly teen playing along to “Broken” and “Pretty Hate Machine” thinking I was so cool because I figured out the line to “Wish.” But it was U2 that did it for me then and did it for me today. Forgive me as I become a bare and emotional person for a moment but sound has always been my memory maker.

It was either my 8^th grade year or my freshman year but I was mercilessly teased because I was a geek and didn’t fit in at all. But for whatever reason my mother agreed to get me guitar lessons with a woman named Jodee whom I thought was the coolest person in the world at the time. She taught me how to pick out songs by ear and for that hour in Mr. C’s each week we would take songs I liked and learn how to play them my own way based on the bass lines, turning the root notes into bar chords. Today I heard “Every Breaking Wave” off the new U2 album and found myself homing in on the bass notes and just like that 13 or 14 year old kid I was back then, sitting with Jodee, in that small as hell room, I began to play like I’d just put the guitar away yesterday. A day hadn’t passed. I didn’t realize that I was crying until I felt the tears on the fret board and my fingers. Whatever it was that I was feeling, that was hurting inside me, that still hurts a little, was coming out as I strummed those notes. In the photo you can see the tears on the fret board and it’s the most painfully honest selfie I’ve taken in a long time.

I’ve sworn to you all that you’d never see me cry. But maybe that’s not so true… You can see some of it. J