The one with the cell phone prayer circle idea.
The one with all the PLUSes & two minuses.

[i am not tinhead, unfortunately]

Today I approached the clinical director of the mental institution. I have a large amount of respect for this one particular woman; she typically embodies the life-jacket in a sea of ineptness and petty drama that is upper management. I told her I was looking for a new job and then, unexpectedly, broke down crying. She said not to worry about the sudden burst of emotion - it, oddly enough, gained me a large amount of credibility. I was offered an internship as a counselor within the next year or so, when I need to actually start that part of my career. I don’t doubt that I will accept it.

I can deal with 11 year old rape victims and 14 year old prostitutes. I can handle (however abhorrent they strike me) teenage child molesters and gang bangers. I have never cried out of pity or an inability to accept what surrounds me. No, ironically enough, the reality of leaving such an environment is what reduced me to tears.

Dammit.

By: dismarum | 2008/05/06 | random - the mental institution | Trackback | Comments [RSS 2.0]

2 Responses to [i am not tinhead, unfortunately] »»


Comments

  1. jane
    Comment by jane | 2008/05/07 at 07:26:21

    Well, I definitely give you tons of respect for your ability to handle what you do. I couldn’t do that, that’s for sure. It became very apparent on Sunday. I’ll have to tell you the story later, but I started crying while this little boy was talking to me. Of course, I also had no sleep and was so sick I couldn’t see straight, but still, I broke down. He said, “Why are you crying?” All I could think to say was, “I don’t know. I guess I’m just sad.”
    Anyway, I think you do awesome at your job. Plus, I’m selfishly excited about your job experience and future in hopes that you’ll one day be helping with the organization.

  2. Stephanie
    Comment by Stephanie | 2008/05/07 at 10:50:40

    When you’ve reached the other side of the greener grass—or what is actually just grass without poop smeared all over it—and want to reminisce with me, let me know. Until then, I’ll just praise you by pumping my fist into the air while screeching “Jennifer C!” as if your name was the chorus to a rock ballad.


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