Dirt (poem)

Where other people see dirt
I see humus from
decayed leaves fertilizing
the earth for the spring
soon to arrived within days.

"All who enter here seek help from those who care"

April 8, 2010: Last week, I saw my doctor after three years during which I lost a phone, resisted temptation of drink, and got used to managing my limited finances on my own. After describing my depression to him in detail, he set up an appointment to do a complete assessment the following week.

April 15, 2010
During that assessment, I found it difficult to describe my depression in detail due to the inhibition which a sound sleep provides me. This is consistent with borderline personality disorder; it's also consistent with the anger which arises from having to wait a half hour for an appointment in a walk-in clinic.

Eventually, I got a prescription for hydroxyzine for use as a sleep aid because I managed to convince my doctor that my experience with antihistamines has been positive and safe. In addition, the doctor gave me a contact number to get into therapy at the Mental Health Centre (MHC).

Before describing my week since the doctor's appointment, IMHO the Mental Health Centre is not unlike the entrance in Danté's Inferno, the doorway over which there is a sign that reads: "All who enter here seek help from those who care".

Later on Thurday is when I first entered the hell preceding therapy, which consists of much waiting, coupled with frustration. First, my cell phone decided to grow silent, so I'd missed a call from the social worker at the MHC.

Friday April 16, 2010: Friday is not the day for people about to enter into the hell of phone tag, followed by hours of silence as the social worker is able to handle other people who were worse off than I.

It's possible too that she is perturbed by the three calls I made to get assessed by her. As well, IMHO she may be the same social worker who met me at the local Surrey hospital in 2004 after my head injury.

Professionals of all walks of life tend to be intimidated when my expectation of a timely response is not satisfied. This even includes paraprofessionals.

Suffice it to say, that I am building the castle like a neurotic - and briefly living in it too.

However, the pluses are: I exhibited patience, but after 5 hours of waiting, found myself verbalizing my frustrations by repeating phrases aloud which normally I would only think of once and conduct myself responsibly. This is a neurotic abreaction to unrealistic expectations regarding the Mental Health Centre.

My solution was to check bases with my roommate, and he confirmed that the wait period may be long before the social worker returns your call. This is a plus, too.

I'll still fill the prescription when the monthly welfare check arrives. Both the prescription and the check are pluses.

Another plus is remembering how to consciously breathe as part of meditation. That reduces all the stress from waiting for help by an underfunded Ministry of Mental Health and Addictions.

Yet the most satisfying plus is witnessing the blooming of spring.