After I replied to my fellow crazy-pants-and-bloggette friend Frances-My-Frances
(aka FMF) she simply called her “Manic Story” as a result of my probing into her
personal business as it went during said manic episode; I drudged up a lot of
memories I thought I had forgotten vs the reality of simply tucking them away
deeper than deep..allegedly..I neither admit nor deny that any accused “tucking”
ever transpired. (my version of a legal
disclaimer, with a nod to FMF’s fancy lawyer degree) FMF thank you for the inspiration
and lift of courage to face some shady areas and explore them
openly..safely..within the confines of my super secret place. I blame you for how long this excavation
became.
*In hindsight, feel free to skip this rant, however true, is indeed a
passion rant that is nothing new to the majority of crazies’ experiences.* With that said..I began getting glimpses of
existential experiences that I journeyed through in younger years (then
undiagnosed because there was no such thing as an actual medical condition like
bipolar disorder); so the lack of therapy (aka what the hell do we do with this
crazy chick who clearly has some sort of defect) and basic treatment, let alone
meds that weren’t invented yet for what would later become quite the ingenious
revenue stream for the pharmaceutical companies (aka capitalist pricks and
arseholes who never had any real intention beyond providing overpriced band-aids for tragic
symptoms that mental illnesses present to a significant populations of humans);
so they continue to “discover” new ways to mask or lessen this or that
(literally a hodgepodge list) without regard to the extremes of side effects
that result either directly from the pills themselves or the mismanagement of
medications by one of the scarce and poorly educated shrinks that quiz you for
an hour and think they know your story enough to prescribe whatever carries the
highest kickback of the week. Yes. I possess great disdain for all pharmaceutical
conglomerates and sincerely believe them to be evil to their core. It has always been my intention to wean
myself (along with my actual therapist that WORKS with ME) from prescriptions
all together; but for now, I have come a long way from taking roughly
twenty-five pills a day. I am currently
down to eight actual pills which includes a new one for recent reoccurrence of
high blood pressure. I would never
discourage anyone who faces the trials and torment of the now myriad of
diagnosable conditions to reject prescription medications to manage their
illness/es. Fact is, there are some
decent meds out there that do make our struggles a bit easier, though rarely
eliminating the symptom altogether, yet in almost EVERY case forces us to cope
with a host of side effects. Additionally,
unlike regular physical medical conditions, psychiatric medications come with a
4-6 week waiting period (enduring whatever symptoms/effects may happen) just to
find out if it truly helps or not. Next
thing you know, it’s craps, made hair grown all over; let’s try this one for
another month and see what it does. Anybody
who tells you that a doctor can accurately prescribe a perfect cocktail of meds
that will “cure” you and make you “normal” is a liar and doing you a great disservice
by suggesting a magical potion exists –period.
Remember that despite ANY/ALL meds, you still MUST PUT IN WORK on your
own to fight the battles and win the wars! (again something one doesn’t have to
do with, say, cancer). Lastly, regarding
side effects, let it be known that I am not referencing dizziness, nausea,
impaired driving, drowsiness (although since 90% of us have sleeping issues
wouldn’t mind), or headache type of side effects. I am talking about serious, toxic, potent
medicine that makes you want to kill yourself (yes literally-diagnosis
depression-take pill that pushes you over the edge), causes outright delusions,
graphic hallucinations, gain fifty lbs regardless of diet and exercise, develop
visible ticks and twitches to be seen by others, or acquire skin “rashes” so
bad they can cover your body and may never go away –even upon stopping the
med. I could go on; but I think I have
ranted enough for one day. Thanks to
those super secret imaginary crazies that took the time to ride this wave with
me.
Now back to my reflections of my youth..One particular stint was brief but
impactful (as best as could be expected back then when containment WAS the “treatment”)
due to several interactions with fellow crazies and staff that I formed a
connection with somehow (very shy kid). I was more into writing than speaking. I guess that holds true til this day. As I sit here venting to imaginary friends –half
expecting feedback and support from them. Yep, I said it. So, speaking of hallucinations let me tell you
about my extraordinary roomie. Turned
out that I would learn early on how incompetent (harsh words for a teen but that’s
what I got) the doctors were when it came to being able to discover what was “wrong
with us” or from where our symptoms were birthed in order to proceed with any
resemblance of “fixing” us for release back into the general population to
appear “normal” amongst those who seemingly walked about unbroken as best as
they could. B for effort. I present to you the case of Amy. Dear sweet Amy was sent away because she
wouldn’t eat; and her family didn’t know how to deal with her. Anorexia has been around long enough, with
fairly easy diagnosable behavior; which in her case was refuse to consume
calories because she saw herself as fat (plain and simple) when she looked in
the mirror. I do not question that
logic. Here’s the deal with that being a
cut and dry scenario is that an award system offered via privileges for eating vs
an isolation punishment for continuing refusal to eat anything. So what do you do after the patient is
determined not to eat and could care less about some reward when being skinny
was her motivation? I was amused by Amy’s
primping and little antidotes, how different her upbringing and home life was
from mine intrigued me. So one night,
after light’s out, we were lying in our beds whispering back and forth. All of a sudden, I started smelling something
burnt. I have always been cautious of
fire, so I jumped up and flicked the light on.
I looked over at Amy, sitting up with a curling iron in one hand and her
other arm was outstretched, with a visible mark I couldn’t make sense of. She asked with a smile, “Doesn’t that smell
good?” to which I blinked and stared in disbelief. Indeed she was burning herself with a red hot
curling iron searing through her flesh which was nauseating for me; but somehow
appetizing to her palette –literally. Next
came, “It tastes better than some dumb sandwich.” Whoa. I just recall thinking wow..this is
deep and I honestly have no idea what to do with in the situation. Cutting, that was my deal, hidden places
only; I could understand to a certain extent how she was manipulating her state
of being. I just personally couldn’t
imagine burning myself. “You think I’m
crazy huh T?” she asked sincerely. That,
I knew how to respond to “I know you are as loony as me girl. We ain’t in here cause we’re model citizens. But what is your deal? (I’m paraphrasing
that)” I truly wanted to know what was
going on inside my little sweetheart of a roomie, who might be fighting demons
like mine. Long story short (yes this is
the abbreviated version of that whole night)..She went on to tell me in great
detail, how she was hearing prompts to burn her to ward off the hunger and the pain. It seemed she had been in relationship with
the voices that could just as easily cause her to go mad. Instead, the way she explained it, was as if
the smelling and tasting “fulfilled” her, calmed her, fed her in a very literal
way. Amy shared her abuse with me for
the first time that night. It boiled
down to inflicting the highest degree of pain to numb the memories, shame and
loss of innocence in the best way she knew how; be it burn on top of burn, pulling
out her hair, banging the thoughts out of her head, or picking at her skin
until it bled. Hearing those things didn’t
scare or surprise me. Mostly it made me
sad, no idea how her home life tortured her human condition. She knew I would keep her secrets; but I
expressed worry about allowing the doctors and staff to keep believing their
treating a simple anorexic, that just needs to be force fed or given IV
nutrition. It occurred to me that she has
spent a ton of time in the “quiet room” (ironically the loudest actual room on
the whole floor) for no real reason. That night I cried for my dear 80 lb blonde friend..I had learned what empathy felt like for the first time I saw pain beyond my comprehension. That, to me, is one tragic was to spend one’s youth. I want my Walk (in this go around through
life) to offer to all the Amy’s out there that they are priceless and there’s real
hope for a quality life to be lived existentially, in the face of any
diagnosis, or in my case –to spite six- and claim a champion title..not to say
I have all the answers or ever will; but I do know The Way to healing and
recovery and restoration! I also have
every intention of achieving my dreams, and reclaiming any goals or time I may
have missed the mark on. I
wholeheartedly believe I am still walking, strolling, sometimes crawling, this
universe for some very special purposes and to carry out some unique tasks God
has pre-selected especially for me, as I am “unfixable”, “slightly used”, “broken”,
scarred up a bit perhaps; but His as a vessel through Christ’s strength, and
none of my own.
I’ll close with this quick true story I attest to my non-med theory. During one conversation with a nurse that
mattered, she said to me “You are not meant to be with that boy simply because
it’s your first and your Cinderella fantasy of how everything will turn out.” The guy I was dating cheated and broke up
with me, provoking my episode. (again with the hindsight..awesome advice) She continued, and I soaked up every word,
desperately trying to believe they were true.
“You will move on to have another boyfriend, and then another after
that; and that’s all ok. Honey, not many
get The One the very first time; but just because you didn’t doesn’t mean it’s
your fault, or something’s wrong with you, or dreams don’t come true for you. You are way too young to be trying to take
yourself out of play in defeat when you haven’t even touched the surface of
truly living yet!” I remember like
yesterday (unlike many other recollections of lost, in some cases due to med
side effects btw) what she was telling me and how she gave me this huge smile
and held her arms out wide for a hug I wish could have lasted forever..and left
me with this gem (then but a seed to be watered), “You are significant! God only puts His chosen few to endure life’s
special circumstances! You are very
special..remember that no matter what happens –ok?” I nodded. I wish I could report that was the last time
I tried to take my own life; but sadly it was not. But her words never left me, like they were
buried down deep, real deep, hidden, until I was ready to receive
revelations..at least that’s how/why it happened in just that way, with just
the right person who would ultimately help me get all the way through my
devastating first breakup, minus today’s cognitive therapies and any
medications.
And that is all I have to say about that.
Daddy’s Special Little Girl~(Abba Father)
