Some Good

Three years is a long time for some.  2017 was what I like to call my return to adulting year.  It was the year my eldest was born, and sacrifices I’d begun to make to ensure good parenting.  

So I took this job with this state hospital.  Was it a dream job for me?  Far from it.  I never wanted to go back into mental health, but I did because it was paying more at the time.

Other than really great stories about the patients, their psychosis, voice inflections, and personal interactions--there were the staff.  There’s nothing better than a good damn co-worker.  On the shift I worked, I had several.  Some took a minute to get used to, others were Saints from the start, and others still went from co-workers to friends.  

It takes a special type of muthafucka (and I mean that with the greatest respect) to work with acutely mentally ill patients.  There’s a level of professionalism that sinks slightly and is still acceptable.  There are pauses when patients say certain things, and staff faces become purple or red, doing their damndest not to laugh in a patient’s face; there is silent understanding, and inner laughter.  

These individuals knew me as a new dad.  A proud man who would glowingly show baby pictures to anyone if it would brighten their day.  They knew I worked hard, didn’t shy away from confrontation, or the trash at the end of the night.  They also knew I was always good for a smile if nothing else.  And they helped my black ass out!  They gifted me with baby shower offerings, covered shifts for me, and gave me space when I needed it.

I will miss many of my co-workers, our rituals, our routines, our ways, our end of the week jokes, and mutual respect for the work we put into the job.  We put in 40 hours a week, and rarely were there off days taken.  We knew our patients and forged relationships with them (at least most of the time).

It will be hard leaving these excellent people, it’s always hard leaving someone you’ve grown with.  I can honestly say I respect the bulk of my co-workers--definitely the floor staff.

In closing, this was some good.  In the end when you’ve checked out, suffering from compassion fatigue, with zero fucks to give, you look over at your co-worker.  And they’re doing their job.  You stand up, and remember your interview, when you said, ‘yes, when the time comes, if the time comes, I will give a two week notice.’ 

Then you bust tail for two weeks, because your co-worker deserves that.

Goodbye Old Frien-a-mie

It’s come down to this.  July 23rd, I’ll serve my last shift in the mental health field, and resign my position with Fort Logan Mental Hospital here in Denver.  Nine years ago this was a new field for me, now I feel the need to move away from it with impudence.  The field has been helpful, informative; but here in the end, the right move, is to move away.

Nine years ago I’d crash landed just outside of Denver, in Aurora; right on Illif and Blackhawk.  My car went down, and my hustle got me out.  I’d scored a job with a hybrid online school, that wouldn’t start until the fall--it was May.  I had to survive.  I’d found a job spinning signs to make ends meet, but I was homeless staying in a shelter.  Then June hit, and Excelsior interviewed me.  I had experience working with kids, but knew nothing of psychology, mental health, treatment centers, or “going hands on.”  Excelsior stabilized me economically.  By the end of the summer I had a job with decent pay, somewhere to lay my head other than a homeless shelter, and was working on getting a car.

I worked the cottages, worked with the girls, learned about triggers, self-care, strength based care, trauma informed care, CPI, manual holds, grabs, and got my cardio in just about every shift while running around campus behind our clients.  It was mental health, it was hard, they were young girls who’d been abused, and it was our job to keep them safe.  

For 5 years I did that.  And I had progressed.  I was the only supervisor to go from being a campus counselor to a supervisor.  I worked my ass off, and felt a true sense of loss when Excelsior closed their doors.

Yet other doors were starting to open.  I’d gotten another teaching job as a technology teacher with Columbia Middle School--it was a great fit, and I was excited.  Then fatherhood came, and more money was needed.  I thought I’d left working in the mental health field behind.  I was wrong.  I had applied for a state job with Fort Logan Mental Institute.  The job description seemed familiar; work with adults who have mental health issues in a locked hospital setting.  

I didn’t want to go back into mental health.  I was happy in education, I loved working with my kids, I loved working with the information, rather than behaviors.  But I needed money, I had a little one on the way, and the hospital was paying more than the school.  So back I went.  

Back into the behaviors, and outburst, the delusions, the checks, the feeling of being on guard, while knowing the importance of building relationships.  

I need to process--a term mental health professionals know all too well.  It means take a step back, look at the whole of a situation; weigh the pros and cons, see where you were wrong, and see where you are right.  Through these next couple of entries I’ll go back, and look at the pros and the cons; see where I went right, and where I should have improved.

But at the end of the day, my last day here will be July 23rd.  Like any good milieu worker, I have a plan, there is structure, and barring any critical incidents, we’ll get to that date smoothly.  

I look forward to processing the last three years at “the fort” with you--

Announced

So these be the facts folks...see video below

(I think the video may suck a bit, so if it's unwatchable, no worries, there will be other blog post coming...thanks for understanding.)

742020 poem

 Happy Fourth

    former slave,

    current racist

un-merry residents of this

tense & dense situation 

which sits on your chest 

like an overweight elephant

the elephant in the room

which when addressed

burns every door-knob, sheet-rock,& brick—

down to the stud

Happy Fourth 

    good cop,

    peaceful protester

social media & big media pigeonholed

you, panning cameras

in opposite directions

Regardless,

keep doing what you do,

keep being who you be

Happy Fourth

    to the faithful, &

    those who lost faith

    to those who say 

fuck the forefathers 

with emotion, dignity, & grace

We are not grateful, yet

still we fight for what’s right

Try to balance the 

bars & stars

w/ hypocrisy & democracy 

because black, white, brown, red & yellow

have uneven views

that are weighed in the street

Happy Fourth

    Covid—

you sick ass trick,

cancelled our barbecues & fireworks

lickity-split

That’s what you think

we need—

Space;

For it seems like

each side becomes violent 

in less than

6 feet of space—

So on this fourth,

2020 is cray; let us

Not Stop,

until we find our way

please continue your

anger, your frustration, your

misunderstandings, &

Your Communication 

with each other 

✌🏾