healthcare, mental health, psychology

I don’t want to suffer, but…

Last night, Bill and I had a conversation that I found kind of difficult. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him, either. Right now, I have a problem. The rational side of my mind is fighting with my irrational side, and my irrational side seems to be winning the fight.

It’s not exactly a secret that I suffer from depression and anxiety, which causes a bunch of related problems. It’s not as bad as it once was. Instead of the psychic roar I used to experience daily, I now have a lower level kind of depression that makes me kind of apathetic. Like… I’ve been dealing with recurrent stomach issues and potentially related itching for months, but I have yet to visit a doctor. Rationally, I understand that I should go find out what the problem is, but I just can’t seem to be arsed to do it. I start thinking about the things that could be causing the vague pain that kind of comes and goes. Some potential causes are pretty minor. Some aren’t super serious, but won’t go away without medication(s). And some are potentially deadly.

I think about how this could be something that might be solved with medication or maybe a simply surgical procedure. I’ll feel better, and enjoy life more. Or, it could set off a tidal wave of medical procedures that would be my idea of actual Hell. Then I read the news, and wonder why I’d want to hang around this earthly hellscape any longer than I have to be here. From the wars around the world, to the prospect of Donald Trump being president again, to the fact that I’m in my 50s, and I feel like I’m going downhill. I am on the brink of menopause, which I think is a good thing, for the most part. But with menopause comes annoying side issues, like itching and skin problems. It doesn’t help to read all of the mean spirited comments on social media, too. People have become so nasty.

I’m sorry if this post sounds shitty. I know I have many reasons to be grateful. This is part of what depression does to me. Sometimes it helps if I do something I really enjoy, like making music. Maybe I’ll get around to doing that today, after I make the bed with fresh sheets, which also helps me feel better.

I was telling Bill about this last night, and he said, “Let me find you a doctor.” That, of course, means finding one on a list put out by Tricare, which just makes me feel really pessimistic. If you have any experience with Tricare, you might understand. 😉 I have a hard time talking to him about this, and he doesn’t know how to respond when I do talk about it. He doesn’t want to upset me or make me angry, so he’s probably more wishy washy than he’d like to be.

Poor guy…

I’m sorry about this post. I know I should do something constructive. I just don’t feel like doing anything. It seems kind of pointless at best, and is very scary at worst. This issue is completely ridiculous and irrational, and I’m a little ashamed of myself. I feel like an asshole. But then I look at some of the utter nastiness in the world today, and I figure most people don’t care, anyway. I feel like most of my family has either forgotten me, or would like to forget me. And the sooner it’s over, the sooner I don’t have to think about it anymore.

I have a college friend whose sister recently posted a picture of herself at a mammogram appointment, wearing one of those horrible vests. She’s got a big smile on her face, and is encouraging people to “take care of themselves” by getting a mammogram. The idea of doing that strikes terror in my heart. I certainly wouldn’t be smiling at such an appointment. This is in spite of my educational background, which one would think would make me a lot better about routine checkups and screenings. I hate dealing with doctors, though. I’d rather do almost anything than seek healthcare. I hate the whole process– from sitting in the waiting room to talking to the person to paying the bills. Maybe it’s a good thing that I was a “failure” at my chosen profession. But, back when I chose it, I was trying to become employable. I was also less reluctant to deal with physicians back then.

Well, at least I’m reading an interesting book. I hope to get further in it today, because I look forward to reviewing it. That’s a good sign. I haven’t completely given up, if I want to finish my book.

So… those are my thoughts for Monday. It’s not a great post. Sorry about that.

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communication, psychology, safety, social media

Repost: Reach out and touch someone…

I’m having issues coming up with a compelling topic today, so here’s a repost from the original Overeducated Housewife blog. It was posted April 25, 2018, and appears here mostly as/is.

Back in the 70s and 80s, AT&T had a very successful ad campaign, complete with a memorable jingle.  It was called “reach out and touch someone.”  If you were around during that time, you’d hear lots of cultural references to that campaign.  For instance, I remember in the 1985 film, National Lampoon’s European Vacation, the character Audrey misses her boyfriend in the States.  She tearfully sings, “Reach out, reach out and touch someone.  Reach out, call up and just say ‘hi’…”

For some reason, that ad campaign was on my mind this morning.  I actually went looking for the ad that was on the brain.  I didn’t find the one I was looking for, but I did find one from 1984 that I had long ago forgotten.

“Hey, Peeper!”

It wasn’t so long ago that communicating with people who didn’t live near you meant sending a letter or calling them long distance.  We had no email, Facebook, Skype, or cell phones.  Sometimes, I think I’m lucky I got to live in a world without those modern conveniences.  Hell, sometimes I feel lucky that I experienced what it’s like not to have electricity or hot water.  I won’t say it was the most pleasant thing in the world, especially since I don’t actually enjoy roughing it.  I will say that I know I can survive it.

Sometimes, I think all of the conveniences we have for communication have actually made communication more difficult.  I spend a lot more time alone today than I used to before the Internet. I don’t have to go out to see anyone.  I can sit at home and type on my computer, post on my blog, put pictures on Facebook… and get into some really ridiculous arguments that are ultimately pointless and aggravating.

On the other hand, if it weren’t for social media, I would have less reason to write.  I get inspired by it almost every day.  Maybe instead of writing blogs, I might be doing something else with my time.

Speaking of reaching out and touching someone…  yesterday, someone shared the below post.

Some guys are hunters, and they aren’t hunting game.

This post reminded me a lot of a story I read in one of the local Facebook groups.  A father was upset because his daughter was being harassed by a man as she was trying to walk home on post.  Most everyone was supportive of the man’s anger.  But there was one guy who questioned the father’s story and gave him a hard time about it.  

Later, I noticed the guy, who had been so unsympathetic to the man who was posting about his daughter’s harassment, had a very disdainful attitude toward women.  I had a run in with him myself.  I almost wonder if he’s the type of man who hangs out on message boards like the one above.  I noticed a lot of the guy’s posts gave off a misogynistic vibe.  He’s probably the kind of guy who enjoys scaring women as they’re trying to walk home.

I almost wonder if there is an “instinct” in some people– males especially.  They enjoy stalking and hunting animals.  Maybe some feel the same about women, for whatever reason.  They like unnerving them; it gives them a charge.  Some people enjoy the feeling of power they get intimidating other people, even innocent people who are just going on about their lives.  At least now, people who are stalking and harassing others run the risk of being photographed, videoed, or having the police called on them.  So maybe for that reason, the advent of cell phones and the Internet was a good thing.

I guess the moral of this post is… “Reach out and touch someone… but only with your words.”  Otherwise, you might be labeled a creeper.  Unfortunately, Facebook is full of people who are a little off kilter.  In fact, a college friend told me last night that one of my Facebook friends, a guy I don’t know offline, was “stalking” her.  The guy does have a habit of excessive PMing that is very annoying.  He mostly leaves me alone now and my friend has him blocked.  But it does make me wonder about some people.  The Internet makes it easier for everyone to reach out and touch someone… and sometimes in places they don’t want to be touched.

ETA: The guy who was harassing my friend in 2018 eventually got pissed off and blocked me, because I unfriended him during the pandemic (2020). He kept sharing inflammatory political bullshit that I found upsetting. If he’d been an actual friend, he would have understood that the constant stream of politics was causing distress. Instead, he just got really mad and hit the block button. Suits me fine. I don’t miss him, or his off kilter behavior.

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condescending twatbags, fake people, lessons learned, mental health, narcissists, poor judgment, psychology, social media

Forever “misunderestimated” by people who should really know better…

I was never much of a fan of George W. Bush’s. On the other hand, I’d love to have him back in the White House over Donald Trump. Back when Bush Jr. was in office, people thought he was the antichrist. I can remember my sister actually calling him that. At the time she used that term, Bill and I were kind of appalled. We were more conservative then, and still had basic respect for Presidents, no matter who they were. Donald Trump has kind of ruined that mystique for us. He made a joke of the US Presidency.

Anyway… W is on my mind this morning, not because I want to write about his time as POTUS, nor because I want to bash Donald Trump. I’m thinking about Bush II because of his famous gaffes. One in particular is sticking out to me today. On November 6, 2000– almost 23 years ago to the day– Bush was in Bentonville, Arkansas, no doubt on the campaign trail. And he said, “They misunderestimated me.”

I’m assuming Bush II meant that people “underestimated” him and his ability to take care of himself or, perhaps, cause issues for other people. It’s usually a mistake to sell anyone short, especially when you don’t know them very well. People do it all the time, though. I suppose it makes things easier for them in the short term. Someone pops up as a “problem” and the person looks at them, gauges the threat, and blows them off, only to have that person later hand them their ass.

Bill and I are both the type of people who get “misunderestimated” a lot. People make assumptions about the type of people we are based only on what they see and perceive. They don’t take the time to get to know us, and assume we’re weak. It doesn’t occur to them to look at history, or consider things that aren’t immediately obvious to them. They underestimate everything from our maturity levels to our cognitive abilities to our level of fear of the unknown. They bluster at, threaten, or ridicule us, thinking that will get us under control. Then they’re surprised when we pull the rug out from under them and they land on their asses.

I am reminded of this phenomenon this morning as I was looking at my Facebook memories from 2017. That was one of the more challenging times in our marriage, as we were dealing with a truly terrible living situation. At the time, I was part of a Facebook group that, frankly, I never should have been in. It was aimed at making fun of people. The group had started off fun and lighthearted, but then the original creator of the group later decided he didn’t want to lead it anymore. He was a pretty healthy person who didn’t encourage anything dark or cruel, so it was kind of a sad day when he decided he didn’t want to run the group. I’m still “friends” with him, although we don’t interact much.

The formerly fun group was later taken over by a couple of folks who were also fun, at least on the surface. One of them is a person that I once admired a great deal. But then she showed me her true colors. I decided maybe she wasn’t as honorable as I thought she was, and disassociated from her. In retrospect, that was the right thing to do, as she later proved to me that my initial impressions of her were correct. The other is a person that I used to think was funny and basically an okay guy. He, too, showed me who he really was… It wasn’t a pretty sight. But, for awhile, it was still a fun group. We had barbecues that were a blast, and that convinced me that these were good people who were just having fun.

Anyway, in 2017, things had gotten pretty stressful for Bill and me, mainly due to our awful living situation at the time. Our landlady was being very abusive, and it was having a bad effect on both of us– but, especially me, as I had to deal with her more often. I was still in the Facebook group that was once fun, but had turned kind of sinister and mean spirited. There was a guy in that group who had oozed toxins to me. I had him blocked, because I could tell by his antisocial comments and behaviors that he wasn’t a good person. He used to laugh and brag about deliberately upsetting people and causing problems for them, plus he had a lot of misogynistic crap openly visible on his profile.

The group leader for whom I had once had respect found out I had blocked the toxic guy. For some reason, she shamed me for it. She made it seem like I was being unfair and judgmental. I respected her opinion, so, I unblocked him, and he later picked an online fight with me that showed me that my initial impressions of him were correct. He was the kind of person who would go way below the belt just to “win” fights with people. Looking back on it now, I can only assume that he had a really shitty childhood, and that’s what had turned him into someone who gets off on being mean to other people. I don’t know, nor do I care. He can rot in Hell.

Because I was in kind of a weak place back in 2017, I lost my resolve to protect myself. I let other people gaslight me into doubting what I knew to be true. I went along with the group… until I wised up and got away from them. I won’t say it wasn’t painful. I thought I’d liked these people. I found them entertaining and they rescued me from loneliness and boredom. Then they showed me who they were, and what they actually thought of me. It stung, but once I came to terms with it, I was fine. I was moving on with life and we were handling ex landlady with a well-deserved lawsuit that she ultimately lost.

In 2019, someone from the toxic Facebook group sent me a private message and suggested that I rejoin. She claimed that the group members had been reminiscing and remembered how entertaining I was. They supposedly “missed” me. I decided to respectfully decline, which I’m sure pissed her off… because they were hoping I’d either respond in a dramatic way, or eagerly accept, so I could be the butt of their jokes. In retrospect, I probably should have ignored her completely, but at that time, I still thought she was someone friendly. I now know otherwise, and she’s not in my life anymore. I noticed that she didn’t respond when I declined… That pretty much says it all. Especially since the so-called good leader wasn’t the one who asked me to come back to the group. She’d used a flying monkey to do her dirty work. How typical… and childish.

The 2017 era Facebook post that reminded me of all of this stupid drama was from someone else who turned out to be a fake friend. She’d tagged me in a picture of a shirt she’d seen at Target that read “I can’t adult today”. I’m not really sure why she tagged me. It could have been because I hate the trend of people using the word “adult” as a verb. Or maybe she was trying to say I was a childish person (and she’d be very wrong about that).

I noticed that she got a response from the Facebook group leader for whom I’d lost respect. She wrote something along the lines of “I can’t see her response because I’m blocked. But that shirt seems about right for her.”

I saw her response some time later, when I unblocked the former group leader. I thought nothing of it at the time. Now I realize she was trying to say she thought I was a childish person… which is an interesting observation from someone who was running a Facebook group expressly for making fun of people and didn’t even have the spine to speak to me directly. I’m ashamed I was ever in that group. I should have left it a long time ago, and trusted myself when I disassociated from her the first time. But, like a lot of people with dysfunctional backgrounds, I was carefully trained to doubt myself.

I also distinctly remember seeing her scathing comment about me in her group, as Bill was still a member at the time. She left her scathing comment about me about something that actually had nothing to do with her. I’d had a fight with the toxic, misogynistic guy, and had left the group because of him, and because I didn’t want to be around someone who was that hateful toward women. She wasn’t part of that fight, as she was living in a different time zone and it was long over by the time she was even aware of it. It had nothing to do with her at all. But she took the misogynist’s side, and was pretty mean to me when I was feeling legitimately hurt. And part of the reason I was feeling hurt had to do with something that had nothing to do with that toxic asshole guy OR her stupid Facebook group. She didn’t care enough about me to ask about it. She just denounced me publicly and showed me that she’s a fake bitch.

I guess that was what was especially hurtful to me. I once truly thought she was a good leader. I thought she had character and depth, and was a lot smarter than she gave herself credit for being. I never thought of myself as smarter or better than she was; on the contrary, I think I was just fortunate enough to have grown up with parents who had the money to send me to college. She joined the Marines and had a career until she retired. That is something I doubt I could have done myself, and I really admired her for it. She paid me back by stabbing me in the back and insulting me publicly. Her good friend and effective leadership act was just an elaborate facade. Deep down, she has no real strength of character. She only spoke to me so I could be the butt of her jokes.

Well… I learned something from that experience, and that’s that many people aren’t worth trying to befriend. If they show you who they are, believe them, and don’t give them another chance. And anyone who expects you to gaslight yourself, doesn’t care about your well-being, and mocks you for taking care of yourself, is neither a friend, nor a good leader. As she had underestimated me, I had grossly overestimated her as a person.

One of my real friends who knows me well shared something with me on November 5, 2017. It resonates a lot.

So true…

I’m so tired of people who can’t be real… and don’t appreciate people who are original and authentic. I’m tired of people who expect other people to ignore their own needs, so they can temporarily feel better about themselves. But, so many of us are carefully trained to be this way… we are taught to be “nice” at all costs, even if it causes harm. I was expected to be quiet about misogynistic crap being spewed by a man that I knew was toxic. I was expected to let him harass and humiliate me. When I opted out, I was accused of being “childish” and abandoning someone who wasn’t even involved in the initial incident. Who cares if just being around someone misogynistic and abusive like that literally makes me feel sick? I’m supposed to put that aside, so everyone else can get their “yuks” at my expense.

And then, a couple of years later, when I’ve broken away from that mess, they try to “Hoover” me back… No thanks. What’s really sad is that I fell into that shit in the first place. I thought Ex had taught me well, that I can opt out of the drama and not get involved in it in the first place. I guess sometimes we need a refresher course in self-care.

Looking at that memory on Facebook brought back the memories that has spawned today’s post. But today, I did something healthy in response to it. I untagged myself from the photo and hid it from my timeline, since I couldn’t delete it. Next year, on November 5, 2024– provided I’m still living– I won’t have to see it or remember what spawned it. I don’t wish any of those people ill, by the way. I just don’t want to waste mental resources on them anymore. They aren’t worth it to me. But they’re probably worth it to other people who know them better than I do. I’m sure to some people, they’re more genuine. I would sure hope so.

As for crazy ex landlady, she also horrendously misunderestimated us, and she paid dearly for it. I’m hoping it was bad enough to get her out of the landlady business. I did look at our former house on Google Earth, and it looks like there are German cars in the driveway. Good. Because if she’s their landlady, I know there’s pretty much no way she’ll be trying to screw them the way she tried– and failed– to screw us, and probably a lot of other Americans who were intimidated by her stern “Oma” act. They will more likely hold her to the straight and narrow of German landlord/tenant law than Americans will. That was ultimately our goal. I think it would be even better, though, if she sold that place and retired.

It’s true… I’m silly, giggly, blonde, and sometimes too emotional… but I advise you to never mistake that for weakness, stupidity, or childishness. You probably don’t know me well enough to discount the things I’m capable of doing. And if you’re laughing at me for writing this post, I hope you won’t ever engage me. I don’t need you in my life, either. I’d rather be alone.

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language, mental health, psychology, sports

“Hey idiot! Pull your head out of your ASS!”

Picture this. You’re a five or six year old girl, watching athletes compete at the Summer Olympics. You’re suddenly captivated by a sport– let’s say it’s women’s gymnastics. You decide you want to try to be a gymnast, too. Your parents oblige and take you to a gym, where you start learning the basic elements of your new sport. It turns out you’re good at gymnastics, and the skills come easily for you. You progress quickly, and soon surpass the skills of other little girls who were also in your basic class. You are delighted that you found a sport you thrive in, as you shoot ahead of your peers and practice longer and harder in more advanced classes. Most of all, gymnastics is FUN! A gymnast is born!

After about twelve years of practicing, competing, conditioning, denying yourself basic pleasures, and spending a lot of money, you’re good enough for a shot at the Olympics. Maybe you make the team. Maybe you don’t. But you do well enough that you get recruited to a top NCAA team at a major university. They give you a full scholarship just to do what you naturally excel at and love. Your parents are so proud of you. People in your community look up to you. You’re a winner, and can hold your head high for being a star in a very demanding and dangerous sport. Great story, right?

Unfortunately, many gymnasts who outwardly seem to be living the reality I just described, are feeling like anything but winners. I’ve already written about some of them in this blog, but today I want to focus on a news article I happened to see on my Facebook feed this morning. It was about University of Utah gymnast Kara Eaker, who has just announced her retirement from women’s gymnastics after two years of competing for the Utes. Eaker is a two-time All American athlete at the university, but according to a recent post on her Instagram account, she’s had enough and has decided to quit. Below is her statement:

The article indicated that Ms. Eaker was experiencing serious mental health issues due to verbal abuse she received from the coach. She did not feel supported or valued as a contributor to the team, especially when her coach said things like “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing? You better get your shit together!” and the ever popular “Pull your head out of your ass!”

Gee. I can’t understand why Kara Eaker didn’t feel motivated and supported after hearing that kind of stuff coming from a coach who was supposed to be inspiring her to do her best. I know I want to perform when someone verbally rips me to shreds and tears me down when I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. /sarcasm

A news article about this case.

I will never understand why some people think that yelling, swearing, and threatening people– particularly gifted athletes, scholars, musicians, or otherwise talented folks– is going to inspire them to do better. When someone is mean and hateful to me, it just makes me want to shrink into a ball and die somewhere. I don’t have the self-confidence to try again or learn from my mistakes. I think I can’t do what I’ve been tasked to do and I want to quit. And sadly, although it’s very clear that Kara can and has succeeded as a gymnast, quitting is what she feels she must do to protect her own well being.

“Weak loser” Kara Eaker performing on beam. I think her decision to retire is a huge loss for Utah.
A lovely routine with a minor mistake. I hope her coach didn’t chew her out for it.

What’s especially sad, though, are the victim blaming comments, mostly from people who can’t so much as do a somersault. It always shocks me when men weigh in on women’s gymnastics, especially if someone quits. It’s as if any of these dudes have a clue as to what women gymnasts can do, the dangers they face, or the hardships they endure so they can be good at their sport and, most likely, give these guys a thrill in their shorts. Below are a few unedited examples of the negative comments regarding Ms. Eaker’s valid decision to stop tolerating verbal and emotional abuse from her coach:

Maybe she should try a less stressful sport such as knitting or ceramics.

“No. It’s the new generation of pro-terrorist, smooth minded, tootsie roll winning, week minded, can’t accept no, children.”

Maybe she should walk across the “U” campus and talk to Bryson Barnes and ask him”:

How did you grow up on a pig farm, attend my same school without a scholarship, work at Lowe’s after practices, have your job taken from you numerous times, get chewed up and down from the coaching staff, be criticized in the media, and then go out and beat the Heisman Trophy winner on national television?

There are so many people complaining of abuse, it weakens the real cases. I don’t know enough about this to know if it’s real abuse or hurt feelings. I hope they give everyone a fair chance to be heard.” (I’d love to know what constitutes a “real case” of abuse in this person’s mind.)

That’s just horrible!! Hopefully she won’t be pushed to be better ever again..and is able to live in a safe space the rest of her life.

getting cursed at is the worst! Gee wiz

what under the rug exactly? Her complaint is that coaches yelled at her during practices. What on earth is the university suppose to fix? Tell the coaches to not coach?

appalling? What? A coach yelling at a player to do better? Maybe it would not be appropriate to yell at 6 year olds but we are talking about a full grown adult in a major college. The coaches were literally trying to make her better by coaching her. Yes they were coaching her hard. Nothing more…. nothing less. That’s part of sports. She should have humble herself, tried harder, learned, and become a better gymnast. That’s the whole point. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that she had the grit to be great. No one is sweeping anything under the rug. In fact, I would use this situation as a selling point to future talented and ambitious athletes that the UoU will coach you up and not allow you to be stuck in mediocrity.

no you are wrong. Have a gymnast daughter and if you are a good parent you let them know coaches will yell a lot and loudly. It’s to make you better. If you are too soft to handle that then get out of sport. She seems to be too immature for aspects of it. Yes she’s a medalist but obviously she’s lacking now – this the yelling. These athletes now wanting to be coddled is mind blowing.

Everyone on earth suffers some sort of emotional abuse or verbal abuse every day

she’s an adult. And honestly that is how all coaching is. It works and if you can’t handle it then quit – like she did. It’s on her

Really? So coaching is all about someone yelling at another person in an attempt to inspire them to do better? It’s really fine for a coach to be cursing at an athlete? This same person, when asked if she would accept yelling and cursing from a boss wrote:

It’s coaching. Maybe you don’t have kids in competitive sports but it’s how it is. You can’t be coddled and babied into a great athlete. These coaches who yell – which is not verbal abuse- are also the same coaches who cheer you on and celebrate your accomplishments. You learn to deal with the yelling from a coach who cares and it helps you deal with yelling from others who don’t care that will trip you up. It’s called learning to manage the stress of sports,”

The person who left the above comment, name of Tammy, is not exactly in top physical form herself. I decided to creep on her profile, just to see what she’s on about. I see her cover photo consists of six photos of a very lovely young woman. I am assuming it’s her daughter. Oddly enough, I see she’s from Sanford, North Carolina, which is where I used to live. Now she lives in Texas. It’s obvious that she loves her daughter very much, as there are many public pictures of her all over her Facebook account.

I wonder how Tammy would like it if someone told her pretty young daughter to pull her head out of her ass and get her shit together? In one of her photos, she and her daughter are sharing an obviously heartfelt embrace. They look like they love each other very much. Does Tammy think it’s okay to curse at people she loves? Is it okay for other people to curse at her daughter?

A person can be a successful coach without engaging in verbal abuse. When someone starts cussing in anger at another person, especially one who has less power than they have, they are engaging in verbal abuse. And yelling at someone in anger, not because you’re trying to be heard, is also verbal abuse. Sorry, Tammy, but yelling isn’t constructive at all. Not surprisingly, I see Tammy is a Trumper, too. Figures.

According to PsychCentral:

Melissa Barsotti, a licensed clinical social worker from Carlsbad, California, explains verbal abuse can be incredibly harmful, especially when experienced in early development.

“Verbal abuse is meant to belittle, humiliate, and psychologically harm an individual,” she says. “Verbal abuse often is manifested as derogatory language, usage of curse words or threats, and use of a harsh tone or voice.”

So, having someone call you an idiot, ask you what the “fuck” you’re doing, threatening you by saying you’d “better” get your head out of your ass (or else what?), and saying everything in a harsh tone of voice certainly is verbal abuse. And excusing the coach by claiming Kara Eaker is an adult and should be able to handle angrily delivered criticism is bullshit. I would hope the coach is an adult, too, and can handle his emotions without resorting to shouting, threatening, and swearing at athletes. I expect ADULTS– especially professional coaches– to have that much self-control and regard for the athletes they seek to mentor.

It sounds like Kara Eaker has experienced the consequences of being verbally abused by her coach. She’s dealt with PTSD, depression, night terrors, insomnia, panic attacks, suicidal ideation, and anxiety. These are real, debilitating, serious symptoms that can make gymnastics especially dangerous. These young women who are tumbling through the air off of balance beams, vault, and uneven parallel bars need to believe in themselves and their abilities to succeed. Their physical safety and well-being, perhaps even their lives, depend on having the confidence to perform. Having a coach treat you like you’re nothing, call you degrading names, threaten you, and bark at you constantly is not conducive to developing confidence.

Eaker continued, according to the Deseret News:

“The abuse often happened in individual coach-athlete meetings. I would be isolated in an office with an overpowering coach, door closed, sitting quietly, hardly able to speak because of condescending, sarcastic and manipulative tactics,” she wrote.

“… I was personally attacked, humiliated, degraded and yelled at to the point of tears in front of the whole team. Instead of receiving positive and encouraging critiques to improve my skills, I was scared to death by the loud and angry outbursts from the coach,” Eaker continued. “When a male coach suddenly erupts with anger and physically slams down mats and gets up in an athlete’s face as a tactic to intimidate them, it’s impossible to have the confidence to speak up for yourself.”

Eaker alleges that when she went to the administration at the University of Utah to report the “emotional abuse and verbal attacks, as well as request support” she was “completely dismissed.”

“One administrator denied there was any abuse and said, ‘You two are like oil and water, you just don’t get along,’ To say I was shocked would be an understatement and this is a prime example of gaslighting. So therein lies the problem — the surrounding people and system are complicit.” Eaker wrote.

Well… it sounds like Kara Eaker has made the best decision for herself. Maybe she can transfer to another program, if she wants to do that. Or maybe it would be better for her to move on to her next passion in life. I hope she can eventually enjoy some of the good that came from her years as a top gymnast who was an alternate to the women’s gymnastics team at the Tokyo Olympics and a gold medalist on the World Championship team in 2018 and 2019. She’s already proven she’s an incredible athlete and a world class gymnast, and she still has her whole life ahead of her. I’m glad she’s speaking up, and I hope her comments and complaints will be seriously addressed, for the good of those who will follow her in her sport.

People can successfully coach sports and not scream, belittle, threaten, curse, and otherwise abuse their athletes. The fact that Kara Eaker was such a highly regarded gymnast is what’s “all on her”, not that she’s finally had enough of her coaches berating her.

Kara Eaker is already a champion. She doesn’t have to prove anything to obtuse individuals who think verbal abuse from coaches or anyone else is constructive, especially when sports are supposed to be fun. I have every expectation that Kara will now go on to be a champion in another arena of life. She has already proven she knows when to quit, and that’s a big step in the right direction.

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mental health, narcissists, politicians, politics, psychology

The more I think about Enough…

Please excuse today’s title. I use a headline analyzer on this blog, which turns green when I come up with a “good” title for SEO purposes. I probably ought to ditch that particular blogging tool, because I think a lot of the headlines it thinks are “good” are actually crappy. Like, yesterday’s title, which is literally what the post was about, got a “yellow” rating rather than green. But I think yesterday’s title is better than today’s, because what you read is what you get. On the other hand, maybe the tool is pushing me to write cryptic titles for my blog posts.

I’m writing today’s post because I can’t stop thinking about Cassidy Hutchinson’s book, Enough. It’s not because I think it was a great book. I’ve read much better books. I’ve also read much worse books. It’s not the writing or even the basic story that has me so intrigued. I think it’s the bizarre phenomenon that propelled Cassidy Hutchinson into the position she’s in today that has me ruminating on her book.

I mentioned in yesterday’s review that I think Cassidy Hutchinson has some “daddy issues”. I believe part of the reason she fell into the MAGA movement is because she was seeking a connection with her father. I also think she might want to work on that with a psychotherapist.

I don’t mean to sound condescending, because I know my suggestion that Cassidy seek therapy probably comes off that way. I also want to make it clear that there is absolutely NO shame in seeking therapy. I’ve done it. Bill is doing it. It’s been absolutely life changing for Bill, and when I did it years ago, it was life changing for me, too. In my case, therapy helped me recognize and treat lifelong depression, which I now know is a genetic issue. I know this because I know others in my family have struggled with depression, and 23andMe even verifies that I’m at a higher risk of depression. In Bill’s case, therapy has helped him explore who he is, and ease the complexes he’s struggled with all of his life. He also really likes his therapist, just as I really like mine– although he’s now my friend, rather than my shrink. 😉

I am making this suggestion from a place of empathy. I’ve had dealings with narcissists and I know the damage they can wreak on a person’s psyche. If Cassidy Hutchinson was my friend, and we had the kind of relationship in which I felt I could be totally honest with her, I would strongly encourage her to see a psychotherapist. I would do so, even if her actual father wasn’t an extremely right wing MAGA nut.

I think being exposed to a toxic narcissist like Donald Trump for as long as she was can cause serious mental health issues. Add in the fact that she was raised by a man who insisted that his daughter be a “warrior” and berated her when she cried for legitimate reasons, and you have someone who has learned to suppress her own good sense in favor of the wants and needs of the crazy. There are quite a few examples of this behavior in Enough. Moreover, Trump was certainly not the only narcissist Cassidy Hutchinson had close dealings with during her work with the MAGA folks. Narcissists are masters of mind fuckery, and it can take some time and effort to unpack that shit. Trust me, I know firsthand.

At the beginning of her book, Cassidy Hutchinson thanks her stepfather, Paul, for being her “chosen father”. Based on her book, I would agree that Paul is a good man, and it’s good for her to lean on him. However, also based on her book, it hasn’t been that long since Cassidy realized that her real dad isn’t someone she can count on. In fact, at the very end of her book, she’s gone to his house to speak to him one last time, only to find that he’s vanished… and he never told her that he was going or where he would be. She then declares herself “free”. But I’m not convinced she is. Check out these passages from her book. I’ve bolded the toxic behavior from her dad.

In the very first paragraph in Chapter 1 of Enough, Cassidy Hutchinson writes about how she and her dog, Abby, waited for her dad to come home from work. She writes:

Barefooted, I sprinted down our long gravel driveway alongside Abby as the trucks came into sight. Dad led the caravan in his white 1992 Ford pickup truck. Slowing down, but not coming to a complete stop, he would open the passenger door for Abby and me to hop in. We would belt “Black Water” by the Doobie Brothers and Glenn Miller’s “Chattanooga Choo Choo” at the top of our lungs as we drove to the back of the property, where Dad rested the equipment for the evening.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 3). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

She explains that her parents weren’t big believers in doctors or hospitals, so her mother gave birth to her at home. They found a holistic midwife to help deliver Cassidy on December 12, 1996. She further explains that her mom is the eldest of seven. She never really knew her father’s family. Her mother’s mom was a very hard worker and taught her to look at things other people overlooked. Then, when Cassidy was four years old, her mother got pregnant with her brother, Jack. While she and her mother were snuggling in bed one night, Cassidy found out that her middle name was Jacqueline, after Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. I think it’s interesting that Cassidy was named after the wife of a legendary Democratic president, yet she fell into the Trump regime.

After 9/11, when she was five years old, Cassidy’s father took her turtle trapping. This was where she watched her dad and some friends obliterate a turtle in front of her. Cassidy was completely traumatized by what she watched them do, which was abject animal cruelty. She writes:

On our drive home, I told Dad I never wanted to go hunting again. Dad nodded. “That’s fine, Sissy Hutch,” he said. “But just so you know, warriors are not afraid to hunt. If you want to be a warrior just like Daddy, you must learn to hunt, Sissy. What you saw today is the circle of life.”

Dad always talked about how he was a warrior, and I wanted to be one, too. I knew how important it was to be a warrior. But I didn’t want to be a hunter, at least not yet. I decided to become a vegetarian.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 9). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

Later, when it became clear that Cassidy’s parents were going to divorce, the idea of being a “warrior” was presented again, when Cassidy had an accident and her dad wouldn’t take her to a hospital.

Recently, I had been injured while I was in the yard with Dad and his employees. The yard was junked up with machines that Dad had taken apart to fix, but he had not gotten around to finishing the projects yet. I was out back with Abby and tripped over a machine part and fell on an old lawn mower blade.

Mom had begged Dad to take me to the hospital for stitches, which I probably needed. The cut was deep and bled more than I thought I had blood. Dad thought Mom was being ridiculous. Working with Dad made me stronger, and warriors don’t get stitches for little cuts and bruises. I was just happy that Dad still thought there was a chance I could be a warrior, even though I had decided to become a vegetarian after the turtle incident.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (pp. 11-12). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

Cassidy’s parents said they were going to move to Indiana. Cassidy’s dad brought a moving truck to the house, but wasn’t around to help pack or load it. Cassidy writes:

…At one point, I saw Mom muscling our baby grand piano through the house on her own. I scolded Mom to stop—she was going to hurt herself, and that was a project Dad should do, since he was the strongest person in our family. Mom lowered the piano onto the ground and calmly walked over to me.

She was slightly winded as she told me that the biggest mistake a woman could make was to think she couldn’t do the same thing as a man.

Mom walked back to the piano before I could respond. I watched her maneuver that piano right out of the house and hoist it into the moving truck by herself. Mom repeated this process with every large piece of furniture we were bringing to Indiana.

Dad wasn’t the strongest person in our family after all.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (pp. 12-13). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

So… Cassidy has described her father as a man who doesn’t trust people in authority, abuses animals, abandons his family when they need him, and neglects his daughter’s medical needs. And yet, throughout her book, she continually goes back to him, hoping he’ll be someone different. She also describes other men she knows who are more forthright and responsible. Her dad doesn’t like guys in the military, and avoids Cassidy’s Uncle Joe, who is in the National Guard and has bravely fought for his country. But Cassidy admires him, and she enjoys life in Indiana with her mom’s relatives. Her father puts an end to that carefree existence when he declares that he can’t leave Pennington, New Jersey. They sold their new house in Spencer, Indiana and moved back to Pennington.

Cassidy dad, who had told her “warriors don’t cry” when five year old Cassidy watched him blow up a turtle and when she’d fallen and hurt herself due to his negligence, was sobbing over the idea of moving to Indiana. And there was Cassidy, consoling him… as if she was his parent.

Through the window, I watched Dad wringing his hands and sobbing. He walked over to the pool and laid flat on the diving board as he continued to cry. My heart hurt so much, I could not wait a moment longer to be with him, so I ran outside. I asked him what was wrong, but I could not understand what he said. Mom was frozen, like a statue, and did not say a word herself.

Eventually I understood enough of Dad’s words. He could not do it, he said. He could not leave Pennington, the only place he had ever called home, to move to Indiana. Dad’s chest was heaving as he tried to calm himself down. Mom went to tend to Jack, since I had irresponsibly left him alone inside to console Dad.

I sat on the edge of the pool next to Dad and dangled my feet in the water. I rubbed his leg and tried to reassure him that everything would be okay. We would never leave him behind in New Jersey.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (pp. 13-14). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

To add insult to injury, Cassidy’s parents had rehomed Abby before their temporary move to Indiana. She adds that she had lost many pets because of her dad and his whims.

When Cassidy was eight years old, her father presented her with a four wheeler. Her mother didn’t think it was a good idea, but Cassidy’s dad insisted that she needed to learn to ride. Without so much as a proper helmet (she had a bike helmet), Cassidy and her dad took off on their four wheelers. What could possibly go wrong?

Cassidy hit an ice patch and wound up pinned under the bike. Her dad came over to help her, then asked if she was hurt. When it turned out Cassidy hadn’t been seriously injured, he said:

“See, Sissy. You’re not hurt, you can move perfectly fine. Now, get up,” he ordered, as he kicked the bottoms of my snow boots again. I screamed that I hated him, and that surge of anger gave me the strength to get out from under the four-wheeler. As I staggered to my feet, Dad effortlessly flipped my four-wheeler upright.

I screamed again that I hated him. Dad did not say a word as he twisted my key back in the ignition, roaring the vehicle back to life. He told me to sit down. I was trying not to cry, but my face was so numb, I did not know how successful my efforts were. I sat down, and Dad started walking back to his four-wheeler. I screamed a third time that I hated him.

Dad turned around. There were two deep lines etched between his eyebrows, and I saw his jaw clench. Almost immediately, his expression softened, and a smile grew across his cheeks. “Sissy, I helped you. What would you have done if I wasn’t here?” he asked, in a syrupy tone. “Warriors are self-sufficient, Sissy.”

“I would not have been on this stupid thing if you were out plowing, where you should have been anyway!” I screamed. Dad spun around and stormed toward me. In one swift movement, Dad ripped my key out of the ignition and chucked it overhand across the field. “You better find that key before it gets dark, or you will not find it until spring,” he instructed. Then he stomped back to his four-wheeler and sped away.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 18). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

She easily found the key, but purposely waited before leaving. She didn’t want him to think she hadn’t had to look for the key. She worried it would set him off, or cause him to fight with her mother. Her dad worked for animal control and also started businesses, which often became projects for Cassidy’s mom. Later, he took Cassidy to the dump to search for treasures.

Cassidy writes that her father, who used to hate TV, got hooked on a new reality show, starring Donald Trump. He loved watching The Apprentice because he admired Trump, whom he claimed was a “warrior” who had built his multi-million dollar business from the ground up. She writes:

Dad fixated so much on Donald Trump. I wished he would pay attention to us like he did to The Apprentice. When I told Dad this, his dinner fork clamored across his plate and he said that Donald Trump was teaching him how to become a better businessman so he did not have to work as much. The other option, Dad said, was that he could stop working altogether. Dad didn’t think his family would like how suffering felt, and since he had worked so hard, we had no idea what it meant to suffer.

In a way, Dad was right. I did not know what it felt like to suffer—to worry about not having food in the house, or a warm home to sleep in. But I felt like we were suffering as a result of his absence. I wanted Dad to be at home with us—with his family. And I wanted Dad to acknowledge how hard Mom was working, too.

Dad was gone so much, and as Jack and I got older, it was clear to me how essential Mom was to our family. In my opinion, Mom’s work was far more important than his. But Dad was growing more sharp-tongued with Mom, and I did not want to spark an argument. When I was not at school, I tried to help Mom with household chores and caring for Jack to take any load off her that I could.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 21). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

It’s at this point in the book that I started to see how Cassidy Hutchinson was the perfect candidate for Trump’s administration. She’d been groomed from childhood to take abuse from men who were important in her life. Her father worshiped Trump, and she missed him, even though he was abusive, neglectful, and batshit crazy. So it makes perfect sense that Cassidy would come to adore Trump, too. Loving Trump was a way for her to connect with her dad.

There are more stories about Cassidy’s dad and his abusive and neglectful parenting style. Cassidy clearly loved her father in spite of his unpredictable behavior and insistence on turning her into a “warrior”. She worked very hard in an effort to appease him. But her efforts never seemed to be enough for him. As his antics became more bizarre and sickening, Cassidy writes that she’s started to realize he’s toxic– especially when he gives her and her brother two deer hearts, both still warm and dripping with blood.

When she was in high school, Cassidy’s mother went away for the weekend with Paul. She was taking care of her brother while her friends were spending the night. She was feeling sick, with a pain in her gut. Her mom told her to call her dad, who offered to perform surgery on her. Cassidy drove herself to the emergency room. She writes:

Not much time had passed when the doctors determined that I needed an emergency appendectomy. The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital room with Mom and Paul standing over me. Mom was sympathetic at first, apologizing profusely for not listening to me sooner. But then her temper flared. She said that I had been reckless for driving myself to the hospital in my condition and that I should have called Dad. I needed to be less stubborn, she said.

I wanted to tell her that I had called him, but there was no point. It wouldn’t change what had already transpired, and I didn’t want Mom to feel bad. Plus my story was much more fun to tell because of it.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 33). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

When she got waitlisted at Gettysburg College, she thought about taking a gap year. But then she visited her Uncle Joe in Stuttgart, Germany. That’s when she decided to go to Christopher Newport University:

Late one night when we were visiting Joe and Steph in Stuttgart, Germany, Joe crept into the bedroom that Mom, Jack, and I shared and motioned for me to follow him outside. He asked if I was considering a gap year because it was what I wanted, not Mom. I considered his question before shaking my head no. He nodded, and then asked if I had heard where his next duty station was: “Williamsburg, Virginia. Fort Eustis. Didn’t you apply to a school near there?”

I had. Christopher Newport University.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 35). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

I feel it’s important to note– Fort Eustis is in Newport News, which is also where CNU is. Newport News is a very different place than Williamsburg is. 😉

At her high school graduation:

Dad was standing outside the fence with a few of his buddies. “Sissy Hutch graduated high school!” he shouted, and whistled loudly to summon me in his direction. I cringed, and with a glance appealed to the rest of my family. And then I walked over to Dad.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 35). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

All I’ve written about so far is just from the first part of Enough. The rest of the book is a study of what happened to Cassidy after she finished high school. There are many stories of her calmly accepting what men tell her she should do– everything from getting blonde highlights in her very dark hair (one of Trump’s suggestions) to ignoring mask mandates during a dangerous pandemic. Some of the men she encountered were good people with her best interests at heart. But a lot of them were selfish and abusive– highly polished versions of her father. And it just seems to me, reading Enough, that Cassidy was searching for some kind of bond with them… a substitute for her real father, who is clearly not a well man. This paragraph kind of sums it up for me:

Hundreds of Trump supporters gathered outside the airport gates, but my eyes locked on just one. Dad. He was wearing his formal clothes—a purple Ralph Lauren polo, dark wash jeans, and sneakers. His hair was neatly combed and thick with pomade. One of his arms was extended toward the sky, waving dramatically. He held his cell phone in his other hand, video-recording the motorcade. Our SUV rounded the corner, and I was close enough to see the lines on his face, the divot and tan line on his ring finger. I saw pride in his wide smile, too. Pure pride.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 160). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

She continues:

Most of the cars and supporters had cleared out, including Mom. But not Dad. He was still there, still smiling, still waving frantically at the motorcade. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that my mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (pp. 160-161). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

And…

Throughout the day, Dad sent me dozens of texts with videos of the motorcade, pictures of homemade signs people had brought, voice notes saying how proud he was of me, and that he wished he had seen me through one of the windows. “My Sissy Hutch, the Apple of My Eye, with the President… you work so hard, Sissy…,” one message read.

We were flying to our final rally of the day when I received one last video from Dad. It was of the C-17 aircraft that transports the motorcade vehicles, taking off against a stunning sunset. I stopped watching it when I heard Dad sniffle and begin to talk. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. In a way, I preferred his cruelty. I was proud of the life I was building, but I couldn’t risk contaminating that life with the confusing, conflicted reality of my past. He had never shown up before, I reminded myself.

But he had that day. For a moment, I acknowledged that the shame I felt was not Dad’s fault, nor was it Mom’s. I was desperate to fit in the world that I had worked hard to become a cherished member of, but below the surface I felt displaced and undeserving. I did not know how to marry the two worlds I loved dearly: the world I came from, and the world I now lived in.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 161). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

On January 6th, Cassidy is still planning to move to Florida. Her mother begs her to reconsider her move. She writes:

I feel physical pain when I see the Capitol dome as I cross the bridge into Washington. I want to scream, but I feel paralyzed.

I don’t turn on any lights when I enter my apartment. My body is on autopilot as I walk from my front door to the living room. I collapse onto my couch, staring at the ceiling. I feel my cell phone vibrate. It’s Mom and Paul.

Mom is crying. She’s begging me not to move to Florida. Paul interjects, trying to defuse the argument before it begins. He doesn’t realize how little I care, how far gone I am.

My tone is flat, uninflected. “I have to go. I’ve already committed. The boss needs good people around him. The only reason today happened is because we let bad people, crazy people, around him. I need to try to fix—”

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 219). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

Cassidy still thinks it’s the people around Trump who have caused this mess. And worse, her savior complex, coupled with plain old egotism, cause her to think she can FIX Donald Trump, when other people, presumably older and wiser, couldn’t. She continues:

“Cassidy. Listen to yourself.” My mom’s tone shifts to parent mode, and I dissociate even more. “This isn’t you. You know better than this. You can’t fix him. You know you shouldn’t go. Listen to me, Cassidy. Listen to me…”

I hang up and put my phone on Do Not Disturb. Heavy, loud sobs escape from my chest. I have to go, I have to go…

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 219). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

Even though Cassidy has seen the horrors of January 6th and they make her “sick”, she thinks that she can make it better and than Trump needs her. She doesn’t think of what she needs. It’s the same kind of thing she experienced with her father. She doesn’t seem to realize that she can only fix herself, and that is what she should focus on.

At the end of the book, Cassidy seems to have come to a conclusion about her dad…

Dad was never very fond of holidays, even when I was young. But for some unknown reason, there have been certain holidays when I’ve felt compelled to check to see if he was home. There was never a holiday I found him at home. I never knew where he was, but I also never asked. And I never told him I did this.

The pragmatic and optimistic scenarios were the same, year after year. His truck would either not be in the driveway or it would be. If it wasn’t, I would keep driving. If it was, I planned to stop, and hoped he would welcome me inside.

On Thanksgiving Day 2022, my optimistic scenario was that his truck would be in the driveway, and that he would agree we could talk.

As I approached the house, the first thing I noticed was not that his truck wasn’t in the driveway. I noticed that other cars were.

And a U-Haul. And small children.

I slammed on my brakes in front of the house, unsure what to do.

But what I had to do was clear. I had to keep driving.

I drove until my breath choked my lungs.

He left without notice, without a goodbye or a new mailing address.

He was gone.

I stopped the car and let my tears fall, until no more remained.

Hutchinson, Cassidy. Enough (p. 352). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.

I’d like to remind everyone that, as of this writing, Thanksgiving 2022 was less than a year ago. Moreover, Cassidy Hutchinson has been through a lot since June 2022. So, if she was a friend of mine, I think I would tell her that she might like to seek therapy. I think it would do her a world of good. And I think it’s too bad she didn’t consider joining the military to become an officer. She seems very well suited to the work. She has a strong work ethic, a sense of right and wrong, and a willingness to put up with a lot of shit, particularly from men. She’s approachable and works well with others. Apparently, she’s willing to work for low pay, too.

In a weird way, I see some similarities between Cassidy Hutchinson and Monica Lewinsky. They were both young, ambitious, brunette women with significant issues with their parents, who eventually got tangled up in scandals with US presidents. Granted, Monica grew up with a lot of privilege– much more than Cassidy had. But if you read up about her upbringing, you find evidence that her father was abusive and neglectful. They both worked in the White House, got close to very powerful people, and wound up fodder for the paparazzi. I may have to explore this more in another post. This one has gone on long enough. 😉

Anyway, I hope Cassidy Hutchinson does get some support in the wake of publishing her book. I think she’s going to need it. Especially if Trump winds up finally being held legally responsible for all he’s done.

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