tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27936678047076204992024-02-19T09:24:06.727-06:00A journey into uncharted watersThis blog is about my adventures/misadventures with "juvenile delinquents". Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-81824246286675717192008-07-30T23:04:00.022-05:002008-07-31T19:31:08.085-05:00Into the Deep<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlzhgoHuD_nhZvIWFefU33gk5qeEr7gSeji7t3FsJpunVApiIxAa0DzeLHKanApbN_Wap28Yl3Y37fMr9i3IrpdFcPlGg20EBsRDsMm0ggoqi2WXjpklncR3A3sAx_6irmiF8W4nk_CYk/s1600-h/childhood.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229042252271215762" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlzhgoHuD_nhZvIWFefU33gk5qeEr7gSeji7t3FsJpunVApiIxAa0DzeLHKanApbN_Wap28Yl3Y37fMr9i3IrpdFcPlGg20EBsRDsMm0ggoqi2WXjpklncR3A3sAx_6irmiF8W4nk_CYk/s320/childhood.jpg" border="0" /></a> <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><div>Let me dive right in: In the months since the boys have been gone, I have taken a look at myself and and spent some time examining the recent choices I made; for about eight years I essentially gave the major portion of my life over to helping teenagers. Many people thought I was a bit abnormal, to say the least, and was "enabling" them, had "bad boundaries" and was not making healthy choices. Many others have said that I had a good heart, that I was helping the kids because I cared so much and that it was a good thing.<br /><br />Motives are rarely pure. Yet it's time to attempt an answer for the question of "why" I did what I did. Like most complex human behaviors, the issue is not black and white, all or nothing. Of the two above options, you could say that both are true.<br /><br />Personal boundaries are just that - personal. They can be fluid or rigid but they are unique to each individual. What I might tolerate from a person can be different from what someone else might "put up with" in, for example, a youth's behavior. For years I cringed at the term "boundaries", always hearing it as a judgement against me. Now I understand that they are about what is healthy and right for <em>me</em>. Over the years I have become tougher, so to speak, and will not allow people to cross certain personal barriers without some sort of response from me, but during the earlier years I allowed a much more flexible response -- consisting of an almost saintlike tolerance for these "delinquents" (I do <em>not </em>infer that I am a saint). I now know that this was necessary and invaluable for my growth as a human being, for my understanding of myself and others.<br /><br />Many women have more fluid boundaries with men, becoming overly involved, or codependent, if you will. I have had that experience but for some reason I also had another pattern; even as a child and teenager, I often gravitated towards younger kids, and as I grew older that became adolescents. I cannot claim to have all the answers, even for my own inner self, but in addition to my conclusions (below) I do believe I have -- perhaps from living so much inside my head as a child -- retained a childlike sense of wonder about the world.<br /><br />On the surface<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnHLera6ecuIbqSr4RLe7QpNcRsJfxysbKONae_dYASHP7t0mBfZRgI5pEH8OJIBEnVneHZyL4zu0cVT_qRR8lPJzfmigwmMOgsrL-lK-r2-OZDIY5BkLARwoT0EwXP2kRz-9TBV-fho/s1600-h/alice2shot6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229035057663137186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 255px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 210px" height="218" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnHLera6ecuIbqSr4RLe7QpNcRsJfxysbKONae_dYASHP7t0mBfZRgI5pEH8OJIBEnVneHZyL4zu0cVT_qRR8lPJzfmigwmMOgsrL-lK-r2-OZDIY5BkLARwoT0EwXP2kRz-9TBV-fho/s320/alice2shot6.jpg" width="279" border="0" /></a>, my primary motivation for becoming involved with juvenile delinquents was because I wanted to understand: why did they rebel, why did they break the law, use drugs, and feel their parents didn't understand them? My first experience with "bad" kids was when I was 18, just out of high school and attending a community college, with no sense of direction for my life. In school, I had begun studying child development in order to become a teacher like my mother. I was a good kid most of my life, rarely doing anything wrong, then I met these kids, most of them five years my junior but with more worldly experience than I. At the same time I had just begun drinking alcohol on semi-regular basis and was interested in experimenting with drugs.<br /><br />Driving illegally, using illegal substances, ignoring parental rules, and some had even robbed stores or gas station -- these were suburban kids with every material advantage, like me. Yet they were bored and unhappy with their lives, and so was I. Years later, when I became involved with urban kids, youth who had no advantage and had grown up in poverty, I noted many similarities but they were rebelling more against society than their parents. The parents, in many cases, were involved in illegal activities also; dealing drugs, using drugs, drinking, working the "system" (such as pretending they or a child had a disability in order to get a monthly check). Also violent behavior was often modelled at home, so a child's acting out by fighting etc., could not necessarily be considered an effort to break away from parents.<br /><br />In the more recent cases, the youth I worked with starting in 1999, breaking away from their parents seemed be a part of simply growing up too fast, having to to be on one's own and more or less take care of themselves; usually by age of 16 (most of them dropped out of high school then) they were expected to do something to help take care of the family -- parents, younger siblings, etc. And yet the rebellion element was present big time - witness the gangsta rap culture which virtually all were a part of -- against society at large. This sense of being an outsider added to the chance that these kids would be earning what living they could stealing or <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgouLWSp0QRyECcqRyj7fWXDrUeiNltxbIdgHw8UujH-BO8zD2YkUFTaYf8hY8ABe16GM6INshJs2tpbPCj-ZQXmEwZV76zpLepVQPzOMPoCg28EBvyCGvDLpj4BW_IIuxHKUw683xBPI/s1600-h/2092763889.jpg"></a>"serving" (selling drugs).<br /><br />For myself I think I wanted (unconsciously) to break away from <em>all</em> of it: my parents, a staid suburban life, and society at large. I was so naive I didn't know there was any other way of thinking or being than doing what I was told, but I do recall that from a very young age -- I was a child in the 60's -- I loved the idea of being a hippy, though by the time I was in high school in the 1970's the anti-establishment rhetoric had been toned down; the bright colors, the peace sign, the slogans (make love not war) and ideals of personal freedom, sexual freedom, women's rights and the rights of blacks was commonly accepted, in theory at least. I remember feeling like I had been born too late, that if I had been a little older I could have been there for the protests of 1968. Alas, I was just 10 years old then. I guess there was always a wild woman inside me waiting to get out!<br /><br />Becoming involved with the younger kids when I was 18, I learned about rebellion, living on the edge and smoking pot - lots of it! At the same time I was attending classes at a community college and learning about different ways of thinking; about the Tao, time being an illusion, and about good and evil being two sides of the same coin. One class even used "The Dark Side of the Moon" as a slide show! And it occurred to me that I was 18 and could do whatever the heck I wanted, so I did it. Lots of it. </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwFS77cJR_UqK-CRtt5aD7Q51bBKkN7wsXEK1OMPAadZTAleYjv72PVcN1pRKAC0Kmewyzg9MajpwBYfCw-gQzmSD3J3I_0UcQRoxvJa5fNcLUjvardLoXDO2Pc3NlDz4tiAMfDryOGI0/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229036534746948978" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwFS77cJR_UqK-CRtt5aD7Q51bBKkN7wsXEK1OMPAadZTAleYjv72PVcN1pRKAC0Kmewyzg9MajpwBYfCw-gQzmSD3J3I_0UcQRoxvJa5fNcLUjvardLoXDO2Pc3NlDz4tiAMfDryOGI0/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Getting high on acid, as well as all the marijuana, as well as the new ideas from school, -- all opened my mind up in a big way, although there was little I could make sense of. I began seeing society and its rules, laws and mores as a game, one that was man made, and I didn't think I should have to play if I didn't want to. I wrote in my journal back then that our suburban towns, and the life within them, seemed like a Monopoly Game to me. Perhaps a year later, in a letter to someone I never sent, the only explanation I had for my behavior was that I guessed I wasn't too good at Monopoly (I'm still not; I'm not good at most games as a matter of fact). </div><div></div><div></div><br /><div>Fast forward some 20 years; at the age of 40 I finally finished college and received my bachelors degree. True to my still (sometimes) non-conformist self I had gone through a non traditional degree program called "University Without Walls". There I was, a basic B.A. in hand, with no idea of what to do next except that I wanted to "help people". Equipped with some experience in social services, and that sneaking feeling in the back of my head that I still wanted to understand "delinquents", I was hired to work as a substance abuse counselor at an outpatient center for adolescents ages 12-18. I worked there for five years, and it changed my life in profound way. Not only be<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoaclM37lG8UI9AAse3zdhgWmX15r7henrez188Q7zFCfN8iHFowHGqpJcVRbTT-FJoZu5us5oT9BUytRbt40yt51BSVTqxPtBQPwBE0rhruoulgiKisGrGUWeG5Zh-bWCNSBiOhhOtA/s1600-h/2092763889.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229043189347694850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoaclM37lG8UI9AAse3zdhgWmX15r7henrez188Q7zFCfN8iHFowHGqpJcVRbTT-FJoZu5us5oT9BUytRbt40yt51BSVTqxPtBQPwBE0rhruoulgiKisGrGUWeG5Zh-bWCNSBiOhhOtA/s320/2092763889.jpg" border="0" /></a>cause I became familiar with the ways of gangs, violence, and the accompanying culture - gangsta rap, hip-hop style clothes, the language, their point of view -- but because I was able to reach down though all that into the humanity of those kids and in doing so, found my own. </div><div><br />I went overboard, though, as I tend to do with most things I become very involved in. I went down, down to the point of near-drowning several times. I was remembering recently the time the boys (the two brothers) were bonded out of Cook County Jail after nearly three months of incarceration (at ages 18 and 19). I was so happy but so emotionally depleted that I cried every time I saw them. You see, by the time I left the counseling position in order to go to graduate school, there were a few kids I knew I needed to remain involved with. I needed them as much as they needed me, perhaps more. I enjoyed their company, I felt like my life meant something, and I could connect with these young people better than any of my adult friends. Also, I could not desert them after they had gained a measure of trust in me - and I don't mean only the kind of trust that I wouldn't "trick" (tell) on them, but trust t<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip844bkibXXdVORi2DdAd-N3UndT8rR4DdgaGYY0U1Lw5H7uBv-ytE5IbdATaYMWfB_IBWCJpdz8zCdn2exx0clmTRz2Ioxe_BYDg8l2VNPaXtEEL8b28iARxBwtb1PoiK1JCuMMqdyfw/s1600-h/th_DSC00847.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229036540414578258" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 206px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 179px" height="142" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip844bkibXXdVORi2DdAd-N3UndT8rR4DdgaGYY0U1Lw5H7uBv-ytE5IbdATaYMWfB_IBWCJpdz8zCdn2exx0clmTRz2Ioxe_BYDg8l2VNPaXtEEL8b28iARxBwtb1PoiK1JCuMMqdyfw/s320/th_DSC00847.jpg" width="193" border="0" /></a>hat I really cared, and that I valued them for who they were inside and did not simply judge them by their behavior. And so, over the next two years, I became a "aunt"; I took them to McDonald's or Burger King weekly, sometimes to a movie or arcade, I gave them rides when I could, I went to the park to see them and hang out; I was the only person to buy those boys jackets one fall, I was the only one that got them birthday and Christmas presents. I visited them in jail, wrote to them, accepted their collect calls -- and it felt so good to be there for them; even now I feel a warmth in my heart thinking about those times. </div><div><br /> </div><div>What I told them, and others, was that because I didn't have kids of my own, they filled that void in me that always wanted chidren to take care of, and to have fun with. And that when I was a kid, I never wanted for anything in the material sense; clothes, shoes, being able to go out to movies, bowling or what have you, presents for Christmas, a party for every birthday, family vacations, camping out, and other family traditions I clung to. These types of things I wanted to give them, and more. What I was lacking in emotional connection from my family I was also acquiring - through a variety of means - and passed along to them. Imperfectly, of course. Surely there was some serious codependence involved, but there was also love. It seemed a good fit; they who had never known that kind of attention, and myself who had not known how to give attention unselfishly -- not since before the drinking and drugs took me. Ten years clean and sober, I was able to get outside of myself. Yet my therapists and myself, and others, still wanted a deeper answer to the question "why?"<br /><br />One answer, as mentioned, is not inaccurate but over simplified: I was trying to give to them what I didn't have growing up. The intangibles I gave (and I have to emphasize it was hard, it was work, not something that came naturally to do) were unconditional love, acceptance, tolerance, and understanding. Oh, and truth. If they did something bad, I would tell them it was not a good choice, but it did not make them bad, and everyone makes bad choices at times. If they were rude to me, I would tell them I didn't deserve to be treated like that, then would let it go. If they disappointed me, I would say you are learning, you'll do better next time. Yes, I got angry, yes I become unreasonable at times, but I apoligized, and explained.<br /><br />It's true I had no one one there for <em>me</em> in quite that way. Certainly not someone who could verbalize those life lessons as I did for "my" kids. However I did have grandparents who were always there for me, my grandma especially. I could tell her anything and she would not judge me. She never exhibited anything but acceptance and love towards me (though I know she was not that way with my mother, her only child) and even at times gave same wise advice. It wasn't exactly the same type of relationship I had with the boys but certainly she validated me as a person.<br /><br />But now comes the crux of the matter. Who was I as a person? I was, growing up, who my parents wanted me to be: cute, funny, compliant, quiet, a good student, but not outstanding in any way. Someone who did not attract attention to herself and stayed out of the way. With two sisters and a brother with some attributes that did attract attention, I think I was, in psychological lingo, "the lost child". Naturally I had signs of individuality, but I generally followed rules and I do not recall ever questioning anything, until later in high school. Inside I felt, not so much that I was not "good enough" but that I was simply "not". Then in high school I began developing a sense of self but when it was over, I had no direction. And along came alcohol and drugs; why not try them? Almost simultaneously I met young, rebellious kids! And I thought, why not join them?<br /><br />During the first go round with juvenile delinquents, the alcohol and drugs rapidly took charge of my life -- and that became my identity. I was a "party girl". Years later I again - more vicariously this time - became involved with rebellious adolescents. Yet this time I was sober, I was an adult with responsibility, and this kept me from joining in their activities (most of the time) and losing myself completely. I bent the rules at times, I did perform some juvenile acts (one that stands out: a fall night, a carload of kids in my little station wagon, all of us climbing on top of the car and jumping off into a pile of leaves) but this time I was able to complete what I had begun all those years ago, to complete the rebellious stage. To do this it appears I had to become even further involvemed, even when I thought I had gone far enough after the boys got out of jail. I took them into my home when they had no place to go. Then finally, after they moved out, I experienced a sense of closure.<br /><br />Yet there is more. As I said when I started the blog, I had the urge to do something BIG, to start a youth center for teens that no one else cares about, even start a movement to advocate for them. I wanted to build something that I could leave behind. I realize this is probably no different than the ancient human desire to leave a legacy behind -- usually in the form of biological offspring. Others build a business, agency, foundation, or have some creative endeavor that will outlast them. I have had to rethink this; I think the reason why I had this need was because if something were to outlast me, that would mean that <em>I WAS SOMEBODY</em>. That I existed. I mattered. That I was - unlike in my childhood - not under the radar and out of the way.<br /><br />I as I said above, I also needed to experience my rebellious period while sober, and therefore have the ability to learn and grow from it, which I believe I have. </div><div> </div><div>Finally, what I have learned, and how I have grown:<br /><br />Not only did I find out that I mattered, but I know that I made a difference. Not just in those few kids' lives but in the ones' who occasionally call to say hi, in the ones I worked with just long enough to gain a little insight or answer to their problem, or those who realized an adult <em>can</em> understand -- or to plant a seed that may grow many years later. Mostly, as some other counselor used to tell me, working with kids is about planting seeds. So you see, I have <em>already</em> done something that shows I was and am a person of value. Of course, one could say that was a long, twisted road to find out something that I should have already known; but how many of us travel on a straight path? I believe that every human being has value, simply by value of being human; but for myself, I could not believe that until I could learn how to connect with other humans. </div><div> </div><div>The kids were my mirror; they reflected me back to myself - and then some! Being able to be there for those young people allowed to me feel like I existed outside of myself.<br /><br />As for the rebellion aspect, I think not only did I need those experiences to break away from the "good girl" my parents required, I needed to find an identity. That identity had to be something of my own, that I created and learned for myself, and not a product of anyone else's rules or expectations. I had to fulfill my expectations of myself. My identity became someone who has a gift, who can connect with young people, and now with other adults as well.<br /><br />My legacy? Not a movement, but the young people themselves. They might not go on to become anyone "important", in fact, they may never (like their parents) finish high school. Yet having experienced unconditional love they may be able to love someone else, or learn to love themselves, one day. Also, I think I saved someones life. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1r9BNVGhx4W9RXXSKH2Duux6RxNuUjQS_g78rkXv1yIxuOAbv7D_ZOCMQ5YyL212mEXxlYy3IE8s6Mlerwbhfw40CFfepOg0WLnRlvPmEga8hyoj3vxcihhnQPFd0P2Uc_e1qxY9AIJM/s1600-h/littleme.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229041193897483314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1r9BNVGhx4W9RXXSKH2Duux6RxNuUjQS_g78rkXv1yIxuOAbv7D_ZOCMQ5YyL212mEXxlYy3IE8s6Mlerwbhfw40CFfepOg0WLnRlvPmEga8hyoj3vxcihhnQPFd0P2Uc_e1qxY9AIJM/s320/littleme.jpg" border="0" /></a>So I have come full circle. I gave to others what i needed for myself, and now I AM.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><em></em></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-45596417687138286502008-05-09T19:15:00.009-05:002008-07-31T18:07:20.289-05:00S.O.S.Everything always seems to be about saying goodbye. I know it would be better to focus on the hellos; there are probably just as many of them as goodbyes. But the goodbyes encompass loss, abandonment, heartache.......... somehow, even if it's my own choice, goodbye always seems like rejection.<br /><br />It's like I just woke up, or - something shifted - and I really felt for the first time that the boys are gone. I couldn't keep them, it would not have been practical (because I work at home. because it's hard to say "no" to them) and it was never intended to be permanent. Oh and I <em>needed </em>a break. I needed the silence, the solitude... but now it feels like, why did they leave me? Because I failed them, I wasn't good enough...<br />and my cat of eighteen years is gone too. She was fading, dying probably, for a long time, and in a way it was a relief to let her go (though it partly feels like murder); and I have new cat, sweet as toffee and bright and Orange as sunshine --- but where did my baby go? Why did she have to leave me too?<br /><br />There's so much fear in me, and some anger too. I can hardly breathe. I can't run this vessel alone. And the older I get, the harder it is to try. Yet I can't have companions who cannot give anything back -- I cannot carry the weight of others, not such heaviness as they carry, certainly. I do not even let them visit, do not even talk to them; what can I give that I haven't already?<br />So where is the give and take of the so called healthy relationships? There's a glimmer, a bit of beginning there. Yes it's gotten better.<br /><br />I might have to get out in the world again and give up this easy job at home. For my sanity, I think. But I'm afraid; I don't have the confidence to get out there and sell myself on how good I am with people...... people scare me right now, people I don't know, at least (and some that I do). I'm not too motivated now to work though this job has enabled me to have kids here, to do things I want to do, and if I weren't' in so much debt in part due to those boys I would be in pretty good shape.... if I discount the fact that I got a bad review.<br /><br />I spoke to my mother on Mother's day. She was Nice mom this time. At Christmas she was not the Nice mom; tried to tell me what I should <em>not</em> be doing with my life - that the choices I made were wrong. Wrong because I'd get hurt, yet the hurt she was thinking of was the little hurt, the material part. The big hurt is the loss, the lack of that connection I was so desperately striving towards. And will keep striving towards in some manner or another with someone or other, because I am human.<br /><br />Oh i have a higher power. That i have no doubt of. And I have had some remarkable connections with it/him/her/them - and sometimes the connection comes through people. I mean, to me, love IS the higher power. When I have it, I can channel it, give it, share it........ I don't suppose I ever really run out but lots of times it's stopped up, clogged up like an ill-used piece of plumbing. I know the source is never dry. I do know this. I know i have been healed of some of the pain of loss, otherwise I would not unclog at all, ever.<br /><br />I've had some dreams recently about the family. About being ignored, rejected, invisible. My father is in these dreams (not dead), not loving me. My mother is there, ignoring me. They have a party for me, for my birthday, but they don't want me around. There's hardly any food for me. They treat me like I'm a fool, an idiot, a simpleton. This was my reality growing up, this was who I was. If they don't take me seriously, why would anyone else? of course I will be rejected. Over and over again. So I cocoon myself - alone. But. That is harder and hard to do - now I've had a taste of companionship, I've experienced the giving of love, and even some receiving. I have no choice but to go forward and inch along though it seems I'm going against the tide.<br /><br /><br />"Who formed us thus:<br />that always, despite<br />our aspirations, we wave<br />as though departing?<br />Like one lingering to look,<br />from a high final hill,<br />out over the valley he<br />intends to leave forever,<br />we spend our lives saying<br />goodbye."<br /><br />-- Rainer Maria RilkeRooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-20582173003911860332008-03-30T00:09:00.008-05:002008-12-16T15:11:54.321-06:00Abandon ship!<div><span style="font-family:arial;">Lord that title makes me think of abandonment. Well if one could use that term technically the boys abandoned me, but I feel more like I've abandoned them. It's been two weeks now being alone and I rarely feel lonely and hardly miss them. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The story of how the last boy, "Ken", left is on my MySpace blog and I'm not going to rewrite it so if anyone did ever read this and wanted to know, that's where it is. This is in spite of the fact that the boys finally discovered I was writing about them, even though I wasn't using their real name. The situation is that hey & I have Friends on there who are now reading the blog. Honestly, I <em>did</em> think about this but I'd started the blog long before the boys got on MySpace, plus I have a few supportive people there & I think it's important people read about this subject that few seem to care about I know others read my posts even though they don't comment, and I just didn't want to give it up. During the time the boys were living here they never noticed my blog so I just sort of shoved my worry to the back of my brain. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">However I did start this blog with the thought that I could post more freely, more personally, and they wouldn't see it. For years I journalled and kept all the writings to myself and it IS hard to put myself out there like this, and I DO feel very embarrassed that people who know me are reading what I wrote. On the other hand I've learned to be an open person and find that putting myself out there -- reaching out to others in various ways -- is good for me. (Now here I am writing the most personal thoughts yet. There is so much to process.........)</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As I said, I don't really miss the boys and I don't really want to see them. Yet there is a strange sense of their ghosts or spirits being here in the apartment. Memories crop up from time to time. A lot happened in six months. Ah, that feeling of when we first moved in; being a "we" instead of just me, that joy I had of having my boys here. Now I know that even early on, after a week living with me in the old apartment & helping me move and still having more stuff to move, that we already had conflicts; I lost my temper at "Jim" and he thought I didn't want him to stay and I had to cry and basically beg him not to go. Yet I was so happy then, with the two of them, and we would sit at night and actually talk.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Yet for me, the way it was, too much of the time, was me yelling, crying, begging, complaining, being sarcastic (of course, they were very difficult a lot of the time, but I'm talking about myself) --in other words, very emotional. It's not that I was the entire time but ....... it was a lot, to me, because I don't like myself when angry, most especially. Still, some of it might have served some purpose in a way, and some of the emotions I displayed might have been good for me or them or both. I'm trying not to distinguish here between "negative" & "positive" emotion because as we counselors learn feelings cannot be categorized as good or bad, they are just feelings. What matters is what we do with them. Well I'm not happy with myself and what I did with them all them time, although I also demonstrated affection, love, joy, humor, gentleness and understanding, I sure wish I could have been calmer. Unfortunately that is not me; calm does not describe me. I can get all into drama just being by myself! This is why I needed them to be gone. I need to have a chance to regain some semblance of peace within myself. Yet this is not to say I didn't like myself at all, in fact I felt very good about myself when they were here. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280497458712564274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 371px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvM4cQAOPEz6pSNsm7iTunH2zqnZ35OesoYZsZ60XVWH7mlOQFtE46yXEPFxbBINjA7xMQ7bJR1KBHVSxOte24tpdTEeO7NcXFWnn5qJ3yetxMhTjQD3FlpWGDd6QB4wK3wBx076-f1KY/s320/SinkingOilShip-8.jpg" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I had a dream last night that the two brothers' mother said to me "you have to help feed them too". I woke up and it felt so real, and I had it in the back of my head they might be hungry. Not far fetched since it's the end of the month & they will be waiting for the next Link card. Today I was in the "hood" for the first time since they were gone, with "Ken's" girlfriend, and finding myself having all sorts of mixed feelings: looking to see if my boys were at the park yet not wanting to see them, hearing Ken's voice on her voice mail, and seeing kids on the streets - a new generation of lost young people. I felt emotional after I dropped her off, and I shed a few tears but went back to being shut down. I guess that's what I'm doing - it's not really calmness. It's just so hard for me to screen out other people's pain even when they are not near me -- I know they are full of anger, guilt, shame, hurt, fear..... and I know why they have it. The trouble for me is feeling responsible for much of it, or at least feeling like I should fix it and make it better for them. Then when I realize I can't, and it inevitably reaches that point, I am overloaded with emotions and have to bow out for awhile. This time it feels more permanent. Not that I will be out of their lives completely but I do not want to, I <em>cannot</em>, go out seeking them.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">I need to take care of myself now.</span></div>Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-73061261839536564662008-03-03T21:06:00.005-06:002008-07-17T19:34:19.735-05:00Spindrift<span style="font-family:courier new;">Two of my boys have moved on.... blown by the winds of change through the waves heading towards unknown shores.....<br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">OK</span></span>, perhaps I've gone overboard with the nautical and ocean references, but there are so many metaphors! To digress for a moment, I had a fascinating dream just the other night: I dreamed I was homeless and had to live in a shelter. This clearly reflects my fears about my finances (having some large phone bills and getting behind in many others, due to the boys being with me) and even losing my job -- however I was starting a private practice as a social worker and hopeful that I'd be on my feet soon. I had been referred a case, and was interviewing three people involved in the life of a fifteen year old girl. Eventually I began to get a picture of what was going on and why the girl was having various problems, and my plan was to counsel the parties involved and then talk to the girl herself. So I was very pleased with myself, that I solved the case, and would be getting more referrals.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I told this dream to some friends, and one, who is a psychologist, asked if I had actually though in terms of "solving the case" and I said yes I did, and it makes perfect sense to me! Similar to detective work, social work can involve putting together pieces of information from various sources and people in order to have a clear perception of the situation and/or person(s) who have problems ("challenges" is the politically correct term). My friend thought this was interesting and that he had not heard social work described in this way before, and he reflected upon the usefulness of using metaphors. And to think, I may have invented this metaphor for myself which I think will be very useful -- to think in terms of being a "private detective" in my "private practice".</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It's odd (to continue digressing) - that I do seem to have a private social work "practice" -- one that I didn't plan, didn't seek out, and don't get paid for! Certainly I did, and do, want to start some sort of practice working with youth, but it appears that it is already happening here at home. Group home, drop-in center for recreation and social time, and counseling. Just today two girls came over, ostensibly to see one of the girls' boyfriend, but they seemed quite happy that he wasn't home and to be talking to me. The girlfriend seems to think I am her counselor and she makes numerous efforts to talk to me by phone and, when she is here, to tell me all the details of her family problems. Her friend had been <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">texting</span></span> me, trying to get an "appointment", and today she sat down, ran through a brief version of her history and described recent dramatic events (she had recently been hospitalized for an emotional outburst), then said she felt better.<br /><br />Both girls have or had <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">counselors</span></span>, and are used to talking about their issues. Fortunately for me I had just returned from<em> </em>seeing <em>my</em> therapist!<br /><br /><br />Now I have digressed so long I cannot get back. How I need some calmer waters - to drift, to reflect on what I have experienced! The two brothers moved out this weekend; it was rather sudden but their parents were unable to pay for the heat and electricity at the house in Indiana, so they took the first apartment that was acceptable. I miss them, and wonder what they are doing, how they are doing. But the drama at the end was almost overwhelming, and it involved a triangle of the brothers and "Jerry's" girlfriend, a lack of "weed" to keep them calm, some damage to property (mine -- a chair, some broken glass, a kitchen cabinet kicked in), and an ambulance and trip to the ER. Everyone is fine - physically, at least, but I am by no means finished with these boys. My car is in the body shop, which gives me a perfect excuse to stay home and relax, but they will no doubt want me to pick them up soon, take them somewhere, and to come over and hang out. I believe they would have remained living here had I given them the option; however I made it clear they can come and stay sometimes, preferably on weekends, and I am still their "aunt" - as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">everyone</span></span> calls me now. Indeed, they are like family to me.<br /><br />The third boy, my parolee, has had a run of bad luck. Just yesterday he was arrested for something he said he didn't do, a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">misdemeanor</span> battery charge, and there are all sorts of "challenges" involving his situation. No word yet on his transfer to Indiana. He has been out for the most part these last two days, so as I said, I have a little chance to rest before the next crisis. In spite of all the difficulties I have had - and there are many I have not written about yet - I am happy with my choices and feel I have done the right thing. Oh, not every little choice has been right, or good, but on the whole I believe I have made a little bit of an impact, maybe a tiny dent in the masculine armor boys are required to wear. And I have gathered so many, many clues on my path to solving the case!! The Case of the .................. well, I'll leave that title for another time. There will always be more metaphors.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span>Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-77031306823859631702008-02-07T18:47:00.001-06:002008-07-17T19:35:43.215-05:00Breakers ahead?<span style="font-family:courier new;">I love using these nautical terms.... and have decided to look up more of them and learn some of their meanings. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Well I don't know if things will be crashing or not. The boys are still with me; there have been numerous incidents, the primary ones involving the car and with members of a rival gang. The car incidents -- not counting the flat tires & fender benders I've had this difficult winter (yet another flat tire today) - have been with the boys staying out too late, not calling or answering the phone, and then, to top it off, <em>lying</em>. These are all behaviors to be expected by young people who have learned no discipline, no boundaries, no trust, and have almost no hope for the future. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Of all the things they do, the lying bothers me the most, especially by the two brothers, since I have known them for so long and thought that they trusted me enough by now to tell the truth. With "Ken", as I will call him, the boy on parole, I would almost expect more lies. Instead I get possibly a bit more truth, but less respect. His efforts to get along with me, to help in some way with housecleaning or even contributing to groceries, have deteriorated over the last few weeks. In addition, he has become angier and more belligerent, swearing and talking back, but mostly under the guise of joking around. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Now, I do have a temper. And Ken has seen me lose it a few times, and unfortunately, in spite of my warning him I am not always "nice", he appears to have been thrown by it. The other two have seen this side of me many times now, and while they don't always take my anger well they do take it in stride on the whole. Usually I apoligize if I've been over the top. The one night I became angry & later apoligized, it seems Ken didn't hear me. So he thinks I'm crazy. He wants to leave before I throw him out. We had two clashes over the car in two days, and in spite of the specific reason for my anger --- that he had the car out too long -- he somehow seemed to feel he was being treated badly. I admit that my feelings of sympathy/empathy for him went down the tubes during this time period, as he seemed utterly clueless as to the fact that this is <em>my</em> car and he cannot just do with it as he likes. Even after coming in at 4 a.m. - when the boys had been out in someone else's car then came back and took mine (I had wanted to take the key away but didn't) - and I came very close to calling the police since I had specifically said do not take the car -- he was arguing with me and telling me I was the one in the wrong.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I should know better than to take the bait with these guys; sometimes I can walk away and sometimes not. That morning I did walk away. The next day he took the car for far too long again, twice. The first time he'd had it cleaned and it was very nice, but then afterwards wanted me to thank him for spending this money I didn't ask him to spend -- in fact, I would have preferred he used the money for food!! Then he was supposed to bring me lunch back and when he eventually returned it was with a friend and no lunch. I was livid. That was when we agreed he needs to transfer his parole to Indiana, where his mother is. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As to the situation with Jim (his brother has been gone, staying with his girlfriend): that day at 4 a.m. I confronted him with his behavior and how I know he's been lying to me for quite some time now. This is the boy I had trusted the most; I had thought he was past lying to me and in fact would tell others it's better to be honest with me. I knew there was some envy or resentment about Ken living with us now, and usurping his place as my "favorite" (for a time) but did not understand how he could have gotten so much worse. Or had I been fooled all along? </span><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">After expressing how I was fed up with him for the lies, and telling him he & his brother need to leave my house sooner than we had agreed, I spoke to him very gently and lovingly the next day. I said I didn't want him to go but things have become too stressful for me, and that included the lying and his previous loss of temper with me. He has shown he can keep his temper when he wants to -- he has since I told them they need to be out by the end of February. I told him all the incidents I know about where he had lied, or denied knowing the truth, and told him I felt betrayed and did not understand how he could be this way. I told him I wanted to be able to part on good terms so I can still be in his life. As usual he said nothing.</span></p><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The next day, however, he told me he had left me some messages on MySpace. This was such a blessing, because as someone who has a hard time talking to people in person, he had become used to writing me letters when he was in jail, and has been getting used to writing emails as a method of communication. In these messages he admitted it was his idea to take the car, and why, expressed some of the feelings about Ken, and asked if he could stay until the end of the month like we'd said. He said if he has to leave now he won't go to Indiana to stay with his parents. He said he had stopped trusting me and started lying again because, on the <em>first night </em>Ken was here, he had become upset, called me, and we talked -- and I had told Ken. And yes, I can trace the change in his behavior since that day. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And yes, I did violate his trust by talking about that incident -- being all chatty with Ken because I was happy he was out. So I emailed Jim back, and apololgized, admitted I was wrong. thanked him for being honest.... then we talked in person, and I said "you know I don't want you to go" and that he could stay. Since that day, which was less than a week ago, he has been cheerful, open and friendly with me. Thank God for clearing the air.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My talk with Ken did not go so well. Because I was not getting any sense of responsibility from him, or admitting he was in any way wrong, I did not suggest he stay with me. I told him we would just wait & see what his parole officer says about his going to Indiana. I knew he didn't want to leave Chicago, but I also knew he had/has nowhere else to go here but my house, and never planned for him to stay indefinitely. Initially I did think he could stay longer, but that was before some illegal actions and his almost <em>gleeful </em>delight in threatening some rival gang members with a knife. His manner of speaking to me can be dealth with; behavior is tougher.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Just my luck, it turns out that here, in this nice neighborhood, there is only one gang in the area (I looked it up on Chicagogangs.org), and they happen to be rivals of the gang my boys are in. The boys are not currently gang-banging, and in fact the brothers never did get to too heavily involved (but make no mistake, their identity is <em>quite</em> tied up with gang mentality). Ken has always been more involved, taken it even more seriously, and after a few incidents with these rivals (who actually at times hang out in my building's vestibule!!!) such as shouting slogans, he went out to get something from the car late at night and encountered two drunk rivals. I believe Ken was lurking in the alley, having come out the back door, when he heard them -- but then decided to step out and face them. I don't know who reacted first but he pulled out a knife and threatened them, and they ran.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He came back very worked up; he said he wished he'd have stabbed one of them. He said it's been like this since he was 8 years old -- he gets an adrenaline rush from fighting. Reminders about going back to jail bring the response "oh well". It's not that he doesn't care about the risk of going back at all, but at <em>times</em> he doesn't care. Since he never did make it to the car, I had to go. It's an odd world when it's safer for a woman to go out in the street at 2 in the morning than a young man.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So in my book, it's best that Ken goes, before something happens that can't be fixed. Since that incident he brings up the rivals frequently, looking for a chance to fight. Jim and his little brother "Jerry" do not want to get into fights, or anything else that will get them into trouble and back in jail -- especailly Jim. Yet because of gang loyalty I'm afraid if something were to go down they would back Ken up, with disatrous results. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's not that Ken doesn't want to be "good"; he does in a way, and would like to have the same things we all want: a nice home, security, someone to love, fun things to do.. etc., and while he can be deliberately cruel at times he really does not mean to hurt anyone. This is the therapist in me talking right now, but I believe the desire to fight, to cause chaos, is a form of taking out his anger and frustration at what <em>has</em> been a very difficult life and upbringing. Jim and Jerry have similar backgrounds (violence, drugs, poverty, families with little education) but perhaps they are a built differently -- and/or <em>maybe</em> are calmer because of my being a "aunt" in their lives for around 5 years, being there for them no matter what, taking them to places to have some innocent fun, out to eat, etc. Having built that trust may give them a slight advantage -- Ken does not have that history with me. I did meet him when he was14 and was his counselor for a short time but circumstances kept that from continuing. In any case, I have realized it would take a lot of time to establish a good relationship with him, and built real trust. As I have recently seen, trust can be easily lost by a careless move, at least temporarily. Also Ken is or was at one time diagnosed as ADHD, and both I & my therapist think that most people so labelled are actually very intelligent, highly motivated people who don't have the support or resources to use their minds and creativity in a contructive way. Ken is so smart, picks up on things very quickly, he's very artistic (did tattoos in jail), and has a wit that borders on scarcasm much of the time. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">While I would like to continue to work with him, to be there for him, I do not want to put my life or the other boys' in jeapordy while Ken has growing pains & learning experiences. Which is something we all have!</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span>Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-31659940444358930562008-01-31T18:39:00.001-06:002008-07-17T19:37:37.231-05:00How to ride the tide?<span style="font-family:arial;">A quick update as I sit here alone, for a change, with the boys out in my car.... Well, it appears almost everyone thinks I'm wrong, for taking these guys in. That it's a good hearted but foolish move. So the message I get, over and over, is that having a good heart is wrong, that having trust and hope is foolish, that selfishness is where it's at. If I sound bitter perhaps I am, or at least very sad. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Since I last posted the boy "Jim" did get out of jail, and going from being very happy to very, very stressed out in the space of two days caused me to tell he and his brother that they have to move out in a month. I actually gave them the date February 22, having had that day in my mind for something else, but the point is that we are moving towards closure -- or at least, I am. After a week of some hostility, some use of the silent treatment on the boys' part, they are back to business as usual. No, actually, they are a tiny bit humbler, and better behaved. Yet as I practice detachment with love (as the Alanon's say) I am watchful for an angry outburst, another lie, or another theft - because these things are sure to come yet again. It is the lies that disturb me the most, and the outbursts come a close second. Lurking behind both is the defense mechanism of "I didn't do it. I am right. I am right because I cannot be wrong, I would feel too awful. I am not bad; I can't admit to anything or you will think I am a bad person". This, after several years of building relationships, gaining trust, learning to trust them - or so I thought. It is heart wrenching; some might say heart breaking but mine is not broken.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">However, the common viewpoint is follow your heart and you will be hurt, used, in serious trouble by association (drugs, violence), and you won't have a life of your own. Granted, I do want my life back, lonely as I know it will be, but that is to be able to process and write and learn and move on to my next project, which will still be all about young people like "my" boys. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And yes, I want less stress, less demands on my time and patience and sanity.... and no, of course I do not want to get in trouble - arrested, evicted, car crashed or any number of scenarios that could happen. But do I want to live my life in fear and worry of "what if"? Do I want to only play it safe, play by others' rules? Obviously not, since I don't. Still, it's disappointing, because I contacted a man who's an ex-offender (was in prison in his early 20's), who obtained a PhD and works with court systems and ex-offenders now, who advocates for them, for giving them chances, and tells their stories -- yet he is in the camp of I'm a "good hearted fool" also. No one uses the word "fool" but they might as well. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I was looking for some guidance on how to work with these boys, where to start to help them, and what I got was they are not motivated, you are at risk, you must get them out before something <em>really </em>bad happens. And warnings that they might go into rages when I try to ask them to leave, they might try to beg or manipulate me into being able to stay. Well, rages are not uncommon for Jim, but that has nothing to do with my seemingly rejecting him. If anything the boys seem to understand that I am doing them a favor, I don't have to do this and they at least sometimes seem to want to be good while they are here. They mess with me, joke around, insult me and are scarcastic, but at the end of the day they appear to respect me and do what I ask more times than not.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And in the spirit of logic, I wrote out a "pros & cons" type list last night. On one column I wrote all the bad things they have done, including things I think they did but lied about. On the other column I wrote all the positive things they have done or I have observed; changes from early behavior included. Granted, the positive things are for the most part quite small -- like Jim starting to bring his dishes in the kitchen, or taking the garbage out without being asked -- but they are positive nonetheless. The conclusion? The columns are equal length.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As much as the fear dogs me and and warnings continue to come, as much as I agree I am probably "enabling" them in the clinical sense of the word -- by not allowing them to follow their own paths, learn by their own mistakes -- I still feel, in my heart of hearts, that for now this is the right thing to do. Yet it must end, at some point it must end.</span>Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-44335999001615862012008-01-17T16:20:00.001-06:002008-07-17T19:39:26.721-05:00Almost drowning....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxiIGUJiEEIGNeBw2sO2MLlf6KjYI-liMIX6qIMzBmrJD9e_R_vrnmylKBUGGPBtQSTi_E6zEiK1-bTXsPv-GHPK2T1wq8bJprK8E7iaP8XnKqr4EQE05Ma7xqfgBoA9HA4Hn30IljC8/s1600-h/letgo-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156588472371516162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxiIGUJiEEIGNeBw2sO2MLlf6KjYI-liMIX6qIMzBmrJD9e_R_vrnmylKBUGGPBtQSTi_E6zEiK1-bTXsPv-GHPK2T1wq8bJprK8E7iaP8XnKqr4EQE05Ma7xqfgBoA9HA4Hn30IljC8/s320/letgo-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I am walking around with a knot in my stomach, <em>very </em>much on edge today. As I was last night, after visiting one of "my" boys in jail. I wish I could say this was uncharted waters but it is not. Several years ago I visited County for the first time to see a client; went to see him regularly & a few others occasionally, then last year the two boys who are living with me, who are brothers, whom I will call Jim and Jake, and their cousin, were in there. I went to that place twice a week, most weeks. They were there for almost 3 months -- at the ages of 17 and 18. I also started visiting an old client whom I will call Greg (age 18) and throughout the spring and summer saw him every other week. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I wish I could describe how it feels to have someone you care about, someone young who made some mistakes and yes, did some bad things but who is by no means a hardened criminal, in jail. In a large, impersonal, dirty, dingy place with no windows, run by gangs, being fed mostly bologna sandwiches and subject to strip searches and lock down at any time. It's like walking around with a knot in your stomach, it's like not being able to breathe, and feeling like you cannot breathe until the person is out. Last year I basically had a breakdown; this year I'm hoping I'm stronger. And I have to be here for the other two boys who are staying with me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">The boy who is jail is the eldest, and the most sensitive of them, at age 19 and a half. A few days after moving in with me (3 months ago) he was caught with "weed" and charged with a misdemeanor. Court sentenced him to six months' supervision but because he was already on probation, last week he had to go before the judge that sentenced him on the felony conviction (aggravated battery - it was a fight, a mutual fight, I know because I was there). Friday we went to court and that judge had him taken into custody. Tomorrow, Friday again, he has court and I was informed by a public defender that most of them time offenders with probation violation go to prison. I saw Jim last night and he was crying; he and his brother together. They are closer than most brothers; they have been each other's sole support network, especially since becoming homeless and staying with me. Jim knows anything could happen but the worst thing - for all of us - is the not knowing. I hope and pray there are no continuances. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Being locked up - as well as not having cigarettes, marijuana, and very little food (he says it makes him feel sick) - causes Jim to become depressed, hopeless, and to have suicidal thoughts. Last year I eventually called the mental health facility at Cook County and they took him, twice, to see a counselor. He said it did help but inmates - "detainees" - is the official County term - don't get mental health services unless they ask, or have clear overt signs such as suicide attempts. Just last month, I read about a young man who hanged himself in his cell by tying sheets together from the top bunk. I am grateful Jim is in a dorm setting where there are always others around. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">His situation caused me the most stress last year, because in spite of visiting, writing many supportive letters, sending him poems & prayers & magazines & photos, and receiving many letters from him telling me how he was feeling, and accepting collect calls (though he didn't call much) -- he still felt really horrible, although he said all that helped some. The boys describe being in jail as like not being in the world at all.... as if they are not even alive. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">For those of us that love the incarcerated, it's like being locked up with them. It's like someone dying, because one day they are in your life and the next they are gone. Life goes on without them in it. You feel guilty for enjoying yourself too much, but know you need to laugh or go crazy. It's hard to relax knowing they might be threatened, jumped, or sent to "the joint" -- although everyone who's been in prison says it is better than County. Tomorrow we might get some answers on this boy's fate....</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Two years ago I went on a field trip to the jail, for one of my social work classes. I cannot tell you how suffocating it was in there; the air is so close and dense, the feeling so oppressive. </span><br /><br /><p><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><em>I dont know what's better, to fight this drowning feeling or to just let go........... </em></span></p><br /><p><em></em></p><br /><p><br /></p><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div>Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-69633833600914573622008-01-08T17:02:00.001-06:002008-07-17T19:40:31.592-05:00A moment at low tide<span style="font-family:arial;">I'm starting to, actually I should say I'm resuming, research on "reentry" programs and ways to find jobs and other sort of help for young people with criminal records. There's a lot of good things written and a few good organizations here in Chicago -- one notable one called the Safer Foundation. Yet getting the boys to actually <em>GO</em> to some kind of program is the hardest part. I think sometimes --besides providing a place to eat & sleep- that my task is to prepare them to be motivated to maybe take some kind of <em>action </em>and, maybe, just to care about them enough so that they can care about themselves. In other words - they need HOPE. Without hope of any kind of future other than the life they've already known, they won't care the make any sort of sustained effort.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Young people, at least from my experience, don't often make sustained efforts. I know I'm generalizing here but, generally, youth of age 18 through at least their early 20's don't stick with the same activities, goals, and so on. It's a time to experiment, i think, unless they have children, and a time to explore and have various life experiences, & to find out who they are. But -- add in the marijuana factor, and things get very complicated; it would need to be a separate entry. Suffice it to say that "my" boys & their friends have been smoking it since a young age -- we don't know the exact ages they started but I can assume it was between the ages of 10 and 13. Their brains may have been affected. I recall the last information I read on marijuana usage told that it does <em>not </em>cause loss of brain cells - however the short term memory loss is well documented, if reversible.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">What concerns me more from a practical standpoint, aside of the illegality of it, of course, is the <em>emotional toll</em> it takes on young users. It appears to cover up or stunt emotional development, which is hard for boys anyway, because of the need to be tough, to be "hard"; one of their mottos is "show no love, love will get you killed". Expression of feeling is usually limited to anger; often physical fighting but often it's not expressed because of not wanting to appear out of control. When they are scared they are quiet, or angry. When they are sad they are quiet, or angry. When they are hurt..... you get the idea. This topic, again, could be a whole separte entry. Or book. In fact there are books; the best one is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw/104-9068190-1557549?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=raising+cain">Raising Cain; Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys</a>. I highly recommend it, for anyone who has contact with boys or men! </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">The other thing about the "weed" usage (it's not my place to say "addiction", and anyway the literature says it's not physically addicting [as if psychological addiction is negligible]) is that their lives center around it. Getting it, getting money to get it, owing people money for it, cheating people, stealing (yes, even from me - twice I've had some cash gone missing) and feeling bad over not having it. Tempers get short. They become "hyper". Then there's the preparation, the negations to "match" a blunt with a friend, then, the inane laughter and sitting around being spaced out. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">If I sound negative or intolerant, believe me, I am not - not compared to someone who has never been there. As someone who smoked the stuff for ten years (though it's 19 years now since I smoked), I understand quite well the obsession. Pot, as we called it then, was my lover, my best friend, and it caused me to feel so removed and withdrawn from society that I wanted to hide all the time. I know its effects, socially and emotionally, are not necessarily the same for everyone, but I hate to see these boys experience yet more isolation, less and less feeling <em>a part of</em> -- of anything (except the gang). Myself, I did not start using at such a young age, perhaps further compromising my development. Yet I also fear to see the anger, the rag & pain, emerge from these boys without more help & support than I can give them; I know also that everyone has to learn their own lessons in their own way and own time. For me to say don't do it, it's wrong, would by hypocritical. For me to point out it's pitfalls, and the elusive effects it had on me -- that's fair game. They know that I know how it is, and therefore they open up to me - as much as they are able.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">So, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">there are challenges and more challenges. The bottom line, I rarely have a moment to myself. Tide is rising - the boys are coming home.</span>Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2793667804707620499.post-40255599705665200442008-01-03T19:09:00.001-06:002008-07-17T19:45:30.598-05:00Rough WatersHello. Here I go, trying a new blog at a site where I can focus on my "experiment" with trying to help some young people. For background purposes I am posting the link to my MySpace where I began blogging a little, but i think the audience is more social there -- and I hope this to be a little more intellectual. Also I've been looking for like- minded people but have yet to find any! Everyone says I'm crazy, or "that's great what you're doing but I couldn't do it".<br /><br />Yet my vision won't go away! The vision was to start a youth center for these very difficult kids --- when I say "kids" people imagine cuddly little ones but I'm talking ages 13 and upwards, to 18 & 19; the latter two are the ages of the three boys who are currently staying with me. They have criminal records, they are on probation or parole, they were/are in gangs. They don't know how to work (legal jobs), didn't finish high school, come from backgrounds that include violence, addiction, lack of stability and of course, poverty. So I took a few in... temporarily. Then the vision expands to OK, maybe I should start a youth center <em>and</em> a shelter or group home type of deal. But there's more, you see, because I feel they are misunderstood, ignored, not given the help they need... so I think, I need to start a <em>movement.</em><br /><br /><br />I know I should start at the beginning but I'm in the middle of it, so that is where I am starting. And please, do not interpret my saying "misunderstood' delinquents to mean they always need to be pitied and treated gently. Believe me, I am a softy, and I let them get away with a LOT, but I know if I am too soft they will stomp all over me! Even so, most people think I should be tougher on them, and maybe they are right -- I think it depends on the kid, on the situation... hence, the term "experiment". Yet this is my <em>life.</em> Who turns their life into an experiment!! My mother always says I do things the hard way, and it's true. What's life for if not to take risks, have challenges?<br /><br /><br />So, welcome to my world, and be warned. We are in dangerous waters and there is rough sailing ahead.Rooannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15432596569073207710noreply@blogger.com0