unpackedbox | a blog from a student of psychology

this year i spent more time figuring out how to avoid the village parade than i did on my costume, but it all worked out...i went to a friend's apartment for a small gathering and she loved my get-up and everything was the best. but i left before getting too gathered because i needed to return some videotapes.

so i'm walking back to my place with my sony walkman blaring, hardbodies everywhere. new york at night is something you have to see to believe. while i'm sidestepping puddles and i start thinking about the lifelong process of identity development, a common theme to every class i've taken at NYU, minus basic statistics, but math doesn't count for anything other than major requirements. i do believe that there is no better time or place to examine these defining qualities of self and other than here in these moments, in this city. this city that keeps us up at night with its freedoms, its big, fat licenses to be whatever our little hearts desire. no prerequisites, and no commitments until the morning comes, this is what we love.

so we spend all kinds of time deciding what to wear and then even more hours actually getting dressed and deciding how we look. we look hot and we're forever running late. but we make it just in time and we cram ourselves into a room somewhere, and look up in hopes for high ceilings (is there roof access?) as we talk amongst ourselves about how ridiculous everyone else looks. amidst the loosely organized chaos, we'll note the excessive make-up and too tight clothes, the hot and the heavies. you'll laugh a lot at some things, and something else will make you want to cry as there will be some sights you'll wish you had never seen. you'll wonder what your mother would think as you wait in line for the bathroom and wonder what in god's name is taking so long. then something else will catch your wandering eyes. some thing will amaze you, and somethings will attract you (hey, nice glasses...). plus you'll get offered all kinds of candy from all kinds of strangers, you'll give up trying to catch a cab and in that long walk home you'll see a lot of men in very little women's clothing. it's great.

believe it or not, a lot of that happens on halloween too.
really the only difference between halloween and any other night in new york is that on halloween a bunch of people dress all crazy-like and take to the streets.
really the only difference between halloween and any other night in new york is that on no other night are there so many slutty pumpkins.

when i got home i realized, there are no more barriers to cross. all i have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem i have caused and my utter indifference toward it i have now surpassed. my pain is constant and sharp and i do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact i want my pain to be inflicted on others. i want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and i gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. this confession has meant nothing.

relax, it's from a movie based on a book.
RIP Patrick Bateman.

i'm from (upstate) new york, my blood is inherently pinstriped.

and tonight's developmental psych lecture is cancelled. go team.

i took this picture with my cell phone at some point during freshman year.
it's just a little something a friend pointed out while we stared down at the library floor and talked instead of doing homework. i don't remember what we we're yakking about, but i bet it had something to do with oppression, and probably something about her being jewish and my being, not.
i sent it as a postcard to 13345 copper ridge rd germantown, maryland 20874, after writing something like, "i've never found my faith, but i swear to god i tried." in my very best handwriting. i forget the exact wording, but i know i'm sure it was all dramatic and post-secrety like that. (redface). i distinctly remember how it felt as it dropped from my hand into the mailbox. it was that intoxicated feeling of happy relief, and was there a stamp on that? and goddammit why didn't i think to add glitter, and well, whatever it's done. afterwards i stopped checking that blog every sunday.

i heard about the tragic loss of an nyu student earlier today while in Fieldwork I. i was waiting for the resolution of some technical difficulties before a few classmates began their presentation on "client's rights and counselor responsibilities." naturally, i didn't believe my ears and my head became too clouded to pay any attention to the powerpoint. but everything is true when you read about it on nyu local while standing at the computers in Kimmel. and never more clear than when in email form from NYU President John Sexton, which i skimmed before weaving through the newscasters outside of the library on my way to the psychotherapist i work for. but wasn't real to me until i extraextra read all about it from every media source i could think of.

i extend my deepest sympathies to the family and friends of the victim,
and will hold off on adding anything further to signify a moment of silence.

Majoring in mental health means everyone you know will turn to you when they are at their wits end. And deciding to major in mental health means they probably have been for as long as you can remember. Us amateur applied psychologists are armed with our pricey text books, scribbly class notes, personal inventory and grand ideas all glue-stuck together with our very best of intentions. Fieldwork in Applied Psychology will introduce you to the real world of mental health, forcing the integration of those ethics codes and those silly theories you are endlessly outlining. If your head is stuck in the clinical clouds, fieldwork will introduce you to a world of situations that cannot be taught in a classroom. Thankfully, fieldsites are supervised and procedures are laid out for you. And when confronted personally, you will have learned enough to see this coming and take the appropriate measures.

Adolescent, emerging adult, whateveryouwanttocallit suicide is unfortunately one of the major, major issues of the field. And after any such tragedy, it's common for mental health care systems to be thrown into the trenches. This comes up a lot in class, but the discussions are always circular. Yes, the systems are flawed. But, they have their merits and they exist in good, honest effort. Flexibility is not really permitted in managed care systems that (contrary to popular belief) are structured according to empirically backed legal guidelines. Realistically, the specific needs of each an every individual cannot be met in managed care. NYU does a great job of referring to resources outside of the University, and of course the city offers a ton of incredibly available options, not all of which are talk therapy, I might add. Yes, private therapy sessions are often expensive, as all medical services are. But you wouldn't refuse a potentially life saving invasive medical procedure because of the cost, would you?

Often times people who seek "someone to talk to" do so with immense distrust, distaste, and disbelief, and when you go into
anything with that concoction, you're bound to meet your own expectations (there's research behind it any everything). Therapists are scrutinized and any 'wrong move' can lead a person towards a complete aversion to the system, and the practice. Sprinkle in an overwhelming stigma of mental health services, and bring to a boil. Soup's up.

The sad truth of it: despite their best efforts, psychologists/psychiatrists/social workers can only help those willing to be helped. Unfortunately, for those who refuse to give it an honest effort, or for those for refuse to see that life is worth living, all we can do is cross our fingers and point in the right directions.

over the summer i took a mini-course on adolescent depression at the MITPP summer institute. not surprisingly, i was the only person there without a suffixed name. but i was also the only one there that knew how to get the DVD projector to turn on, how 'bout dat. i learned a good deal during the mini-course, despite the time crunch, but one thing in particular that stuck with me was mentioned by one LCSW, an NYU alumna, i might add. she said with unwavering compassion, "there are two kinds of therapists in the world: those who have lost someone to suicide, and those that will."

it's not the most comforting statement, sometimes the truth hurts. ignorance is bliss and all of the other appropriate cliches. oh, an incurable humanist, i am. cue the music.

a few weeks ago a friend of mine made a suicide attempt. he told my cell phone all about it, and my aim away message too. in the months prior, i watched him struggle with his personal issues and attempted to be there, as a friend, while promoting all of his available options (nyu wellness exchange, psychologists in private practice, support groups, etc, etc, etc.) unfortunately, he shot each one down time and time and time again. eventually i just started flooding him with the details of my personal life, you know, comic relief. it worked for a little while, but the downward spiral continued in ever increasing turns. as he fought with himself, i fought with mine as i as struggled to be his friend, and not his therapist. after his attempt, i asked if i could contact some people within the university for him, which he agreed to, and the rest is history. confidentiality prevails.

In this post I wanted to talk more, specifically, about the experience of being an NYU Applied Psych student in times like these. I thought about it a lot more than I really could afford, with a pile of assignments, exams, research papers, the future, and what not.

new york is.

That's all I could come up with while sitting on the 6, on my way home from work. Of course I tried to end that sentence with a series of adjectives, but ultimately all of my SAT words fall incredibly short of adequacy. Every single moment of life and of living in this city could be its own case study. It's real and it's raw, it’s beautiful and it’s tragic. You'll experience all kinds of emotions in all kinds of places and yes, some of them will hurt. And if you major in Applied Psych you’ll have the added bonus of studying the wide variety of human behavior, thought, and feeling like it’s your job. And if all goes according to plan, it will be.

So yeah, we may study away (some) of our weekends for A minuses, because both in and out of the classroom we are faced with a difficult task. We seek to examine the examined life. And we live to tell about it.

i think i alternated between my standard issue ARMY, my USMA, and my
HOME OF THE FREE BECAUSE OF THE BRAVE FT. HOOD, TX tees everyday of my senior year of high school. the pit stains weren't a fashion statement.
my sister and her husband were deployed, i wanted the world to know.

tonight i'm at a loss for words. my head and my heart are with the wounded.

ticker-tape in the canyon of heroes.
what's wrong with this picture?
sure the victories were hard won, but we should not salute you.
save it for the true heroes, on wednesday.

i read the news today oh boy

inside jokes are my favorite.

i don't know where i'd be without a sense of humor,
but i'm betting it's a darkdark place that smells like fear and urinal cake.

live from new york, it's saturday night,
and i'm hard at work in the library.

 
the fruit stand man stands at the corner of 2nd & 25th and while he is a fruit stand man, he also sells vegetables. i go to the fruit stand man because produce costs an arm and a leg at the grocery store and i can't afford to lose any of more appendages. he only charges $1.50 for a bundle of broccoli. it's an awful lot of broccoli when you've only one mouth to feed. this weekend i've made more broccoli and cheese omelettes than i care to talk about.

on the menu tonight is broccoli and beef. i've got egg noodles to go on the side, and this little packet of seasoning that will turn into the appropriate sauce if i just do what it says. it's that easy. but still, there's broccoli everywhere and i don't know what to do about it. stop looking at me like that. it's rude.

too frazzled to write, so instead i'll leave some reading material.

if you haven't already experienced fuerza bruta, do so immediately. tonight was my second time, second is the best.

today was the perfect combination of things i'm just shy of fully comprehending. so there was the usual yakking about research methods and some unnecessarily long video clips of the elderly getting it on in psychosex class, no news there. then of course hours and hours of studying for the big bad developmental exam. and finally, many moments of truth in multiple choices, and open ended performance art. plus or minus a too short dance party in the artificial rain.

(good night.)

LOL.

applied psychology means lots and lots of group assignments.
lots and lots of group assignments means lots and lots of group assignment emails.
lots and lots of group assignment emails means lots of miscommunication, and/or nonresponse.
last week one of my group's members in one of my groups sent out an email suggesting we vote a few other group members off of the groupisland. it was very entertaining. and now that deadlines are approaching, it's primetime.

next semester i think i'm taking a class on group dynamics. stay tuned.

after groupGchatting for about six hours, oooh i'm----
still going strong. hopefully you're familiar with the song i'm pathetically referencing. if not, it's called the party. justice is served every saturday night. clearly that's when i do my most serious partying.

but really, what do i do inbetween when my days end?
no, i don't sleep. sleeping is for fairies.
instead, i alternate between crazywack mental dance parties,
and browsing the internets, of course.

my first stop is always hourofdeparture, for obvious reasons.
(shameless self-promotion here, here, and here. plus my uncut & uncensored america's next top makeshift model portfolio here)

my next stops vary depending on my mood. and level of privacy.
i won't bore you with those details, but i will say privacy levels are low this evening. reason being: there's bulgarian invasion going on in my room.
which is nice, i like side-stepping over sleeping foreigners on the floor of my shoebox of a dorm when i take a bathroom break from working at 2:44 in the morning. no really, i do. it keeps me going.

anyways, eventually i always end up checking my mom's facebook statuses.

at which point i realize it's time to get back to work.

but before i do that, i have a few moments with mishaphoto.

what's all this i hear about a food photography course in steinhardt?

oh if only i weren't so consumed by my applied psychoses.

after too many trials and tribulations in research methods,
and the beginning of masturbation week in psychosex,
taking the midday train upstate was good and good.
even if it's just for doctor's appointments.

be back soon.

it's quacktastic.

describe what you see in the pictures.

http://missedconnectionsny.blogspot.com/

coming soon to a theatersubwaysidewalketc near you.

so i tend to think students pursuing degrees in clinical or counseling psychology should be required to undergo psychotherapy of their own, and after skimming through a little section in my ethics book about online group therapy, i've returned again to Web Therapy. it's probably my favorite modality.

and when i get there, how happy i will then be.