No Baseline!?

I woke up this morning, and the haziness was still there.

I knew today was the day of my counseling consultation. I felt a little optimism — like I was at least moving in a positive direction.

I ended up at the food court and ordered tacos. They packed so many ingredients into the first one that I ordered an extra tortilla and made a second taco from the overflow. I’m resourceful.

I stopped by to see my friend Robert at the building and told him I was there for my session. We caught up briefly. Then I headed down for the appointment.

I was about 30 minutes early so I could eat and get myself calibrated.

I filled out the preliminary paperwork. Mostly checkboxes. Questions about urgency. Whether I wanted to hurt myself or anyone else. Mood scales. No space for specifics — just boxes to quantify what’s wrong and how severe it is.

A counselor named Jessica greeted me. We sat down. She asked what brought me in.

She went over the standard confidentiality policy. Everything is confidential unless I intend to harm myself or others. She added that if there were anything involving child or elderly abuse, she would have to break confidentiality. She asked if there was anything I needed to disclose.

I said I’m an open book. In fact, I’m so open I wrote books.

I told her about the books.

Not to push them, brag, boast, or feed my ego. I explained that becoming an author was the last thing on my mind. I just needed an outlet.

One book became two. Two became six — Operating Without a Manual.

Then The Book of Carlos — my spiritual walk with Christ, my testimony.

Then I’m a Traumatized Human — examining myself through a clinical lens.

Then The Grief First Aid Kit — which I wrote for me with intententions of helping others. The idea came from a small pamphlet about grief that I carried around with me. I knew it helped me in some way. I needed this concept expanded — something more comprehensive. Something that touched mind, body, and spirit.

That one feels different.

The others were outlets. Pressure valves.

This one was survival. It was meant to be grabbed when the ground began to shift.

The Grief First Aid Kit was an attempt to help myself and hopefully others.

I told Jessica I could keep writing and dissecting myself forever, but I needed help. Real help. Professional help.

I just blurted it out.

I lost my mother.

I couldn’t hold it in. Emotions took over.

December 7th. Not this past December — the one before.

That was it.

I’m in grief.

I told her about Leilani — my mom’s friend — who had just passed. She had been there for us during my mother’s loss. Now she’s gone too. It felt like another layer collapsing.

We talked about various traumas, but mainly my mother’s passing.

She asked why I wanted to seek counseling. I said because it’s worked for me before. I’ve collected tools here. It’s proven to be effective.

She mentioned that me being there was a step I was taking for myself.

We talked about how life can feel heavy, but I’m still here. She asked what makes me stay — what makes me want to be here. I said love. Love for the people in my life who are still here.

I explained how I dissociate. How I experience depersonalization. Lately I hover around a five or six in terms of clarity. I can push to a seven or eight, but it doesn’t hold. I have to actively work to stay there.

I told her I have a toolbox — different modalities, therapies, nervous system tools, psychological frameworks. I’ve studied them. I apply them. She was glad I had that foundation.

She said something simple but heavy:

You’re still in grief.

She said grief can take a while before someone moves through it. The first two years are often the hardest. She told me I need to give myself more grace — that small wins are still wins.

I told her I just want to be normal again.

She asked, “What is normal?”

I said, the way I was before. Before all this. Before the dissociation.

She said I can’t base my normal on who I was before.

“You’re a new person now,” she said. “You were restructured. You have to create a new you.”

I said, “So I evolve?”

She said, “Yes. One foot in front of the other.”

I realized I’ve been trying to force myself back into an old mold that doesn’t fit anymore.

She said my identity changed when my mother passed. A part of my home, my history, my structure changed. She said Leilani’s passing was another layer of disconnection from my mom and the life I had with her. That version of me doesn’t exist the same way anymore.

So now I have to build a new baseline.

I don’t have one right now. I didn’t realize that. I’ve been trying to return to something that isn’t there.

I’m in the developmental stage of constructing a new baseline. A new identity. An evolved version of myself. Not clinging to who I was.

This was just a consultation.

Ultimately, it turns out I won’t be seen at that clinic — I don’t meet the financial criteria for their program. She directed me to other resources. I left with a list and her card.

After the consultation, I revisited Robert and let him know how it went. We talked about how he bombed this past Thursday at the comedy club. I’m still planning to hit the stage with him.

I’m taking steps to better myself no matter how bad things are or seem. Small wins are still wins. Reconstructing a new baseline is in the works. Slight improvements are better than none. It’s okay if I have three- or four-scale days and bad days, as long as I don’t live there.

Just doing this today was a step toward change — toward bettering myself. Now it’s time to review the list and start making phone calls to secure counseling. That’s the next step, and more evidence for myself.