Suspending Belief

Because I do not know from what lens you are experiencing life, I cannot believe or disbelieve the stories you tell me.
I cannot judge you, I can empathize, but with the understanding of the human experience, not necessarily because everything that is said is exactly what happened.
And really, the truth doesn't ultimately matter, because only you know what happened, what is going on now, what will happen, and who is responsible.
All I can do is listen, and hear your experience and it's impact, and get you to the next level of where you are going with the feeling that you are understood by someone, at least for a time.
Is the system just, equal and fair?  No.  It is punitive, biased, bigoted and focused on those that have the least to lose and the least resources to get it back. 
What I know is your story as you tell it, what I know is the life I see you have lived in the depth of your eyes, the scars on your skin, the smell of your clothes, and the soul that I think I see and know that you know I hear you, I have listened and find worth in your experience. 

Weathering the Storm

This change in life, the closing and the opening of doors,
is like a storm, with a tidal surge the threatens to overtake you, and pound you into the shore.
The lesson is to ride it, to not let it drown you, to hold on to the driftwood passing by, those pieces of advice, those people that lift you up through the waves and not drag you down to it's depth.
The pain  of loss, the pain of not being recognized, the fear of the unknown, all these things that threaten your strong ground,  all those sharp stones that cut your feet and spill yourself onto the ground, reshapes you.
It cuts you into a million little bits of stone, sand, but with time, can be molded, and reshaped, and hardened,
into a pebble, a stone, a rock, a boulder that is strong enough to withstand the storm.            
Reshaping, the pounding of emotion and loss and learning, the relinquishing of hope and holding on to something other than that intangible piece, could just be holding onto yourself, and who you are despite the waves that chip away little pieces.  After the weathering ultimately it is you that still stands there, but if open, and willing to be shaped, a stronger version of you, a rock that cannot be pulverized again.

Second chance?

Lost children now "adults" by legal definition but stranded on the island of intellectual disability which keeps them children.....the island that if recognized early might have provided intervention, might have provided stability, might have made things......better.  

Intellectual disability coupled with psychiatric disorder, a disorder that developed over time because of the island that nobody recognized, plain as it seemed, complicated as it was, apparent as it could have been.  

The foster home provided care, some love, but no cure......the system failed again, but in all reality, can it ever really work?  Can it ever really be a parent, heal the scars from inside the womb?  I don't think so.  

So we take the system and turn it inside out, we shake it, we rattle it, we make it encapsulate a person's issues just to give them a second chance and hope it works, and sometimes....sometimes.....it sort of does......

So I beat my drum with those I work with, together we make it heard, like Sysyphus pushing the rock up the hill to find help, help that is long in coming, fraught with red tape, endless waiting, endless politics, lack of money, lack of resources, not wanting to be saddled with this "kid" on his island for the next fifty years.

And that's what makes the job worthwhile, to know, that you have seen the island, you have seen the illness, you have seen what worked and what didn't, you have pushed the rock and made it go over the hill.