All my intelligence and physical tests proved there was nothing wrong with me. My family obviously loved me so my psych blamed my suicidal depression on a chemical imbalance. Depression is anger turned inwards. I certainly was “mad”, mad enough to want to kill myself.
I was encouraged to talk about my family life, and I did. I told staff about my dictator worshipping father, a brother who was sent to juvenile hall for shoplifting. I talked about my brother and sister who hardly spoke to anyone except family members. I told them about my love for animals, the only beings I felt safe to love. I was told many times how well I had thought things out. The psych started me on stelazine which was supposed to help me get in touch with reality.
I was so depressed I was started on an anti-depressant, Elavil. I started to pace the floor and rocked when I sat. I started to have tremors in my hands. I became so agitated Mellaril was added to calm me. I was given Cogentin to prevent side effects such as restlessness or tremors. I’ve been forced to take these psych drugs for over 37 years. I realize I am now a drug addict. My body needs these drugs in order to function properly. Without it’s daily fix, my body goes into withdrawal. I’m in constant pain and now have a movement disorder. I cough all the time and suffer heart pain. I was started on psych drugs because I was mad at people. I am told by people how mad they will become if I stopped taking psych drugs. I was mad when I started taking psych drugs, grew madder on these psych drugs, will be happy when I’m off these psych drugs. Why should I keep taking psych drugs if other people will be mad if I don’t?
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Sunday, April 22, 2007
A QUESTION
He wasn’t wanted in his first home and found a foster home with a member of a rescue bird organization. I watched a group of people work together so this 51 year old Military Macaw could be rehomed.
First a woman did an intensive home check. A new member offered to bring the bird and cage from the foster home to meet another member who would then transport the bird and cage to the new home. It was agreed, Thursday would be the day to make this happen, and it did.
A lot of people did many simple acts of kindness so an unwanted bird could find a new home. If a group of volunteers can show such care and concern for an unwanted bird, why can't we all show the same care and concern for those less fortunate?
First a woman did an intensive home check. A new member offered to bring the bird and cage from the foster home to meet another member who would then transport the bird and cage to the new home. It was agreed, Thursday would be the day to make this happen, and it did.
A lot of people did many simple acts of kindness so an unwanted bird could find a new home. If a group of volunteers can show such care and concern for an unwanted bird, why can't we all show the same care and concern for those less fortunate?
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Strength of One
I can expect no help from anyone in the psychiatric community. No one is willing to write a letter attesting to my present mental health. I know that would require them to take a stance against the psychiatrists in the city where I live. Asking someone in psych to declare me sane is like asking to be given a piece of heaven on earth.
I was made and kept ill by psychiatric drugs and psychiatric treatments. I had to distance myself from psychiatry before I could get better. I found a group of people who not only believed in me, but also believed me. I was driven to the brink of suicide many times all because psychs did not believe me or my reactions to these psych drugs. I was put on lexapro and that was the first and only time I had a suicide plan and was going to follow thru. I got myself to the er where the psych resident refused to admit me. I was told if I was still feeling the same way the next day I was to return and he would be more than happy to admit me. Such blatant disregard and obvious disbelief almost cost me my life that night. I was told many times I needed to take these drugs for the rest of my life in order to have any hope of a life. I was told I needed to be forever under the care of a psychiatrist. I quit the psychiatrist. I have found three volunteer jobs and doing well in all three. I am on the least amount of psych drugs and my thinking is becoming clearer, more focused, and my ability to reason is returning. I can get no one in psych willing to risk and write a letter stating my present mental health.
I was made and kept ill by psychiatric drugs and psychiatric treatments. I had to distance myself from psychiatry before I could get better. I found a group of people who not only believed in me, but also believed me. I was driven to the brink of suicide many times all because psychs did not believe me or my reactions to these psych drugs. I was put on lexapro and that was the first and only time I had a suicide plan and was going to follow thru. I got myself to the er where the psych resident refused to admit me. I was told if I was still feeling the same way the next day I was to return and he would be more than happy to admit me. Such blatant disregard and obvious disbelief almost cost me my life that night. I was told many times I needed to take these drugs for the rest of my life in order to have any hope of a life. I was told I needed to be forever under the care of a psychiatrist. I quit the psychiatrist. I have found three volunteer jobs and doing well in all three. I am on the least amount of psych drugs and my thinking is becoming clearer, more focused, and my ability to reason is returning. I can get no one in psych willing to risk and write a letter stating my present mental health.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Monkey See, Monkey Do
The damage done to me by my original psych’s diagnosis of me was expanded and compounded by my other psychs who chose to follow their training and believe the first psych and not believe what their assessment of me told them.
I was wrongly diagnosed Delusional by my first psych. I kept being treated for my obvious delusional state by all other psychs. I never got better, constantly grew worse despite all the talk therapy and all the drugs I was given. The more I had my talk redirected, the more I tried to talk about my “delusions”. The more drugs I was given to stop my delusional state, the more “deluded” I became. I was blamed for not getting better despite all psychiatry’s efforts to help me.
I worked hard in talk therapy and became steadily worse. I constantly was ridiculed for my “stories”. The harm done to me by the original psych follows me where ever I go. I sought help from a survivor’s agency but they too chose to believe me delusional. Healing came for me from another survivor who not only believes me but also saw the mistakes made in my treatment was due to psychs choosing to follow the first psych’s mistake. I can try to change people’s minds about me, but until people learn to trust and believe in their assessment of me, no one will believe a word I say. I am horribly damaged because of a mistake made by my first psych. I suffer from an insane game of Monkey See, Monkey Do. When one is wrong and all perpetuate his wrongness, the damage done to me is unbelievable.
I was wrongly diagnosed Delusional by my first psych. I kept being treated for my obvious delusional state by all other psychs. I never got better, constantly grew worse despite all the talk therapy and all the drugs I was given. The more I had my talk redirected, the more I tried to talk about my “delusions”. The more drugs I was given to stop my delusional state, the more “deluded” I became. I was blamed for not getting better despite all psychiatry’s efforts to help me.
I worked hard in talk therapy and became steadily worse. I constantly was ridiculed for my “stories”. The harm done to me by the original psych follows me where ever I go. I sought help from a survivor’s agency but they too chose to believe me delusional. Healing came for me from another survivor who not only believes me but also saw the mistakes made in my treatment was due to psychs choosing to follow the first psych’s mistake. I can try to change people’s minds about me, but until people learn to trust and believe in their assessment of me, no one will believe a word I say. I am horribly damaged because of a mistake made by my first psych. I suffer from an insane game of Monkey See, Monkey Do. When one is wrong and all perpetuate his wrongness, the damage done to me is unbelievable.
Feel Like Me
I’ve been told so many times by doctors how hard it is for them to keep me, a mentally ill patient on my psych drugs.
I’ve told doctors why I want to stop my psych drugs. Doctors tell me I need these drugs because they’re afraid I’ll get sick again. Gee doctor, why don’t you start on an anti-psychotic if you can’t control your fears. I hope you take them long enough so you’ll start to feel agitated inside and unable to sit still,. Then when you have start to have difficulty sleeping, start to take an anti-depressant. When you are unable to understand simple directions or remember people’s names start on another anti-psychotic which might help the first anti-psychotic work better. Better start a drug called cogentin to counter any side effects you may have. If you continue to shake and drool, up your dose of either anti-psychotic and your shaking and drooling will stop. If it continues, up your dose even more until the shaking and drooling stops. If you still can think clearly to make the connection all you’re experiencing is the same symptoms I’ve been coming to you and complaining about for years now. Maybe you’ll take me seriously and won’t dismiss me as just some mentally ill woman seeking attention.
I’ve told doctors why I want to stop my psych drugs. Doctors tell me I need these drugs because they’re afraid I’ll get sick again. Gee doctor, why don’t you start on an anti-psychotic if you can’t control your fears. I hope you take them long enough so you’ll start to feel agitated inside and unable to sit still,. Then when you have start to have difficulty sleeping, start to take an anti-depressant. When you are unable to understand simple directions or remember people’s names start on another anti-psychotic which might help the first anti-psychotic work better. Better start a drug called cogentin to counter any side effects you may have. If you continue to shake and drool, up your dose of either anti-psychotic and your shaking and drooling will stop. If it continues, up your dose even more until the shaking and drooling stops. If you still can think clearly to make the connection all you’re experiencing is the same symptoms I’ve been coming to you and complaining about for years now. Maybe you’ll take me seriously and won’t dismiss me as just some mentally ill woman seeking attention.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Look Past the Name and Seet the Person
The doctor took one look at me and told my parents, this baby is delusional. I never knew how he came to that conclusion, but since he pronounced me delusional since birth, that became my designated name.
I was a dreamer, always was and always will be. I started to have dreams of a better life, of a family who loved and cherished me. I felt unloved and unwanted by my birth family. I made up a pretend family who would come and take me away and I’d be happy with my real family.
I told this to one of the psych staff at the hospital I was in and that only proved I was appropriately named Delusional. I then started to have dreams of helping others, of setting up a coffee house where us patients could come and meet and be safe. I was asked what I meant by the word “safe” what did I believe patients needed to be safe from? I proved again I was appropriately named Delusional.
I go from doctor to doctor seeking help, but when I write my name Delusional, I’m turned away with the usual, everything you’re experiencing is in your head, a psychiatrist is the one you really should be seeing as they are best trained to treat people like you.
No one can see the person, all they see is the name Delusional on the piece of paper and I’m prejudged accordingly. I have seen many doctors and not one can see past the name to the person.
The original doctor didn’t either. He never saw the baby, all he saw was delusions. His mistake has affected all my treatment for all of my life.
I was a dreamer, always was and always will be. I started to have dreams of a better life, of a family who loved and cherished me. I felt unloved and unwanted by my birth family. I made up a pretend family who would come and take me away and I’d be happy with my real family.
I told this to one of the psych staff at the hospital I was in and that only proved I was appropriately named Delusional. I then started to have dreams of helping others, of setting up a coffee house where us patients could come and meet and be safe. I was asked what I meant by the word “safe” what did I believe patients needed to be safe from? I proved again I was appropriately named Delusional.
I go from doctor to doctor seeking help, but when I write my name Delusional, I’m turned away with the usual, everything you’re experiencing is in your head, a psychiatrist is the one you really should be seeing as they are best trained to treat people like you.
No one can see the person, all they see is the name Delusional on the piece of paper and I’m prejudged accordingly. I have seen many doctors and not one can see past the name to the person.
The original doctor didn’t either. He never saw the baby, all he saw was delusions. His mistake has affected all my treatment for all of my life.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
A LESSON LEARNED
Being aware
It’s all fine and good that I no longer take responsibility or feel responsible for how another acts or reacts to an action of mine. I thought that was all there was to this, not being responsible for others but only being responsible for myself. I realized I need to be aware of how my actions may affect others. I need to take into account what I know of that person, their background. In this way I can modify my actions so that I can act more responsibly.
It’s a matter of showing kindness, empathy, and consideration for that person and their experiences. I am not being responsible for that person, I am considering and respecting who they are and how they may feel. I still have the freedom to act as I feel is right, for me, but also, for them. I can control and modify my behavior so as not to deliberately offend or make the other defensive and behave in an offensive manner towards me.
I realize I need to modify my behavior and consider each and every person I’m interacting with. I cannot control how another person reacts to me, I can only be aware of myself and how I may affect others.
For example, swearing. Some people take offense at certain words, but others words are acceptable. It’s for me to respect how that other person feels about certain words and avoid using those words when I’m with them. I show respect for that person.
Respect for all living things is what my life is about. I show respect by actions, words, and deeds, not only for myself but also for others. I will not degrade myself or others, and if others should feel degraded or take offense by what I say, I will not dismiss it as just their problem, it’s both our problem. I realize something I did caused the other to feel offended, it’s up to me to identify the problem and find a way around it so the next time a similar situation arises, the same reaction won’t occur.
It’s all fine and good that I no longer take responsibility or feel responsible for how another acts or reacts to an action of mine. I thought that was all there was to this, not being responsible for others but only being responsible for myself. I realized I need to be aware of how my actions may affect others. I need to take into account what I know of that person, their background. In this way I can modify my actions so that I can act more responsibly.
It’s a matter of showing kindness, empathy, and consideration for that person and their experiences. I am not being responsible for that person, I am considering and respecting who they are and how they may feel. I still have the freedom to act as I feel is right, for me, but also, for them. I can control and modify my behavior so as not to deliberately offend or make the other defensive and behave in an offensive manner towards me.
I realize I need to modify my behavior and consider each and every person I’m interacting with. I cannot control how another person reacts to me, I can only be aware of myself and how I may affect others.
For example, swearing. Some people take offense at certain words, but others words are acceptable. It’s for me to respect how that other person feels about certain words and avoid using those words when I’m with them. I show respect for that person.
Respect for all living things is what my life is about. I show respect by actions, words, and deeds, not only for myself but also for others. I will not degrade myself or others, and if others should feel degraded or take offense by what I say, I will not dismiss it as just their problem, it’s both our problem. I realize something I did caused the other to feel offended, it’s up to me to identify the problem and find a way around it so the next time a similar situation arises, the same reaction won’t occur.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
My Life
I’ve wasted so much time thinking and wondering why I was alive when I should have been thinking how I can make my life be meaning filled . I want to do random acts of kindness. I want to bring a smile to people’s faces. I want to share the joy I find in living with others. I have survived a life filled with abuse. Many bad things have been done to me. I can see a way out of the badness by bringing goodness to others. I want to dedicate my life to help empower others so if they chose, they can empower others. I want to give strength to people who have been abused so they will speak out and tell their stories of abuse I want the abusers to be exposed and how they abuse revealed. Help will be available to abuse victims once the secrets are known by those trained to help victims of abuse.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Time to Make Dreams Come True
I’ve written and talked about how I want things to change for me, it’s time I DO something to make changes happen for me. The way to undo the harm that has been done to me is by doing good deeds. Working at the food pantry and giving out food to needy people is a step. Volunteering myself as a computer person is another.
I’m tired of waiting for people to help me change. I am the only one who can make things change for me. I only had to look inwards and I found the strength I needed to make changes happen.
I comforted and healed my hurt and angry child. I have reconnected with my Spirit and found peace and an inner strength I never knew I had. I am doing things to make changes happen for me. I no longer sit and dream of a day when things have changed for me but am actively doing things to make my dreams come true.
I have been alone too long. I have learned it’s not that bad to make a mistake. I’ve learned from the mistakes I’ve made but most of all I don’t obsess about a mistake anymore. I have learned much, it’s time to go out and apply my knowledge and make it work.
I feared the unknown because I thought I was alone. I am not alone and never will be alone ever again. I have reintegrated with my child within and have connected with my Spirit that lies within. I have nurtured and calmed the angry child and I can feel the peace of my inner Spirit. I have changed so much inside, it’s time I changed how I live.
I’m tired of waiting for people to help me change. I am the only one who can make things change for me. I only had to look inwards and I found the strength I needed to make changes happen.
I comforted and healed my hurt and angry child. I have reconnected with my Spirit and found peace and an inner strength I never knew I had. I am doing things to make changes happen for me. I no longer sit and dream of a day when things have changed for me but am actively doing things to make my dreams come true.
I have been alone too long. I have learned it’s not that bad to make a mistake. I’ve learned from the mistakes I’ve made but most of all I don’t obsess about a mistake anymore. I have learned much, it’s time to go out and apply my knowledge and make it work.
I feared the unknown because I thought I was alone. I am not alone and never will be alone ever again. I have reintegrated with my child within and have connected with my Spirit that lies within. I have nurtured and calmed the angry child and I can feel the peace of my inner Spirit. I have changed so much inside, it’s time I changed how I live.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Variations on a Theme
A MUSCIAL FUGUE
In the beginning there was the original Song of Life. I became aware of this Song one day when I touched that which is the Essence of the Universe. I could hear singers singing their Song of Life. I mentioned to a friend about hearing this fugue. I was misunderstood and mistakenly believed to be suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder.
I became aware of myself in relation to the Universe and started to sing my Song of Life with others. I learned to sing in harmony, listening and blending my song with theirs.
I am whole and one with All. I have joined my voice with others who have found themselves and have become aware of themselves in relationship to the Universe. As others become aware of themselves they too will add their Song of Life and we all sing in harmony.
Harmonizing and blending, the song is sung in full cooperation with each other. Each song is unique, filled with the tears and joys of our lives. We join our voices to blend as one, yet we each have our own voice, singing our own song. Our Songs blend together, all variations on a theme, the original Song of Life.
In the beginning there was the original Song of Life. I became aware of this Song one day when I touched that which is the Essence of the Universe. I could hear singers singing their Song of Life. I mentioned to a friend about hearing this fugue. I was misunderstood and mistakenly believed to be suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder.
I became aware of myself in relation to the Universe and started to sing my Song of Life with others. I learned to sing in harmony, listening and blending my song with theirs.
I am whole and one with All. I have joined my voice with others who have found themselves and have become aware of themselves in relationship to the Universe. As others become aware of themselves they too will add their Song of Life and we all sing in harmony.
Harmonizing and blending, the song is sung in full cooperation with each other. Each song is unique, filled with the tears and joys of our lives. We join our voices to blend as one, yet we each have our own voice, singing our own song. Our Songs blend together, all variations on a theme, the original Song of Life.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Why Are Psychiatrists m.d.'s?
Why are Psychiatrists considered medical doctors when all the medicine they practice is prescribing psychiatric drugs? Beyond the initial physical exam when entering the hospital, these doctors write out the prescription for me to take and it’s the nursing staff’s responsibility to see that I take what I need per doctor’s orders.
These psychiatrists have everyone, even their fellow medical doctors, all specialists in different diseases of the BODY, convinced that they, the psychiatrists, are the ONLY ones who are knowledgeable about these psych drugs. After all, they took special training and courses and keep updated on these drugs, proof they are truly the only ones qualified to prescribe, regulate and monitor these special medications.
I ask everyone, why, at the first signs of a drug reaction, like hives, why am I sent to a medical doctor to rule out a medical condition, and when the hives are not an allergic reaction to a physical allergy, then why are my hives considered a psychogenic reaction so my dose of the psych drug increased to treat my hives? And, why do the hives disappear for awhile but come back and be treated again with a higher dosage, and so the merry-go-round continues until I’m switched to another drug that doesn’t give me hives but another reaction occurs and here I go again, back to a medical who is getting resentful of my using up her time with these psychogenic reactions when she has real patients with real diseases to treat. So I get told, bad news, your blood test is negative. So back I go to my psychiatrist to be re-evaluated for a hidden mental illness or a deep seated psychic disturbance.
I was hospitalized because I couldn’t urinate or move my legs and had difficulty swallowing. The medicals couldn’t find anything wrong with me. The physical therapist who came to evaluate me asked the nurse what was wrong with me. The nurse said the doctors don’t know. The physical therapist said, psych consult.
The nurses kept calling the ward chief about me, at all hours of the day and night. The other residents and attendings were frustrated with me because they could come up with no reason why I should be having trouble swallowing and walking. They all were very angry at me and as a result, I was sent to the psych unit for evaluation as everything physical had been ruled out.
They were right to be resentful and angry and I did belong in the psych unit because I was having a reaction to an atypical which only psychiatrists are qualified to deal with as they are specially trained to be the only ones who can identify and treat these mysterious drug reactions, as they keep reminding everyone. So why were the nurses calling the ward chief? Why weren’t they calling my psychiatrist? And where was my psychiatrist anyway?
All these psych drugs are still too new. Not even the psychiatrists themselves can claim they know all the potential side effects. So when I have a reaction that isn’t classified yet, why am I instantly accused of faking it? Of having a psychogenic reaction? Why would I want to put myself back under the care of a psychiatrist when it’s psychiatrists who thru their neglect and lack of attention and lack of caring has left me a body that is so damaged almost beyond repair.
These psychiatrists have everyone, even their fellow medical doctors, all specialists in different diseases of the BODY, convinced that they, the psychiatrists, are the ONLY ones who are knowledgeable about these psych drugs. After all, they took special training and courses and keep updated on these drugs, proof they are truly the only ones qualified to prescribe, regulate and monitor these special medications.
I ask everyone, why, at the first signs of a drug reaction, like hives, why am I sent to a medical doctor to rule out a medical condition, and when the hives are not an allergic reaction to a physical allergy, then why are my hives considered a psychogenic reaction so my dose of the psych drug increased to treat my hives? And, why do the hives disappear for awhile but come back and be treated again with a higher dosage, and so the merry-go-round continues until I’m switched to another drug that doesn’t give me hives but another reaction occurs and here I go again, back to a medical who is getting resentful of my using up her time with these psychogenic reactions when she has real patients with real diseases to treat. So I get told, bad news, your blood test is negative. So back I go to my psychiatrist to be re-evaluated for a hidden mental illness or a deep seated psychic disturbance.
I was hospitalized because I couldn’t urinate or move my legs and had difficulty swallowing. The medicals couldn’t find anything wrong with me. The physical therapist who came to evaluate me asked the nurse what was wrong with me. The nurse said the doctors don’t know. The physical therapist said, psych consult.
The nurses kept calling the ward chief about me, at all hours of the day and night. The other residents and attendings were frustrated with me because they could come up with no reason why I should be having trouble swallowing and walking. They all were very angry at me and as a result, I was sent to the psych unit for evaluation as everything physical had been ruled out.
They were right to be resentful and angry and I did belong in the psych unit because I was having a reaction to an atypical which only psychiatrists are qualified to deal with as they are specially trained to be the only ones who can identify and treat these mysterious drug reactions, as they keep reminding everyone. So why were the nurses calling the ward chief? Why weren’t they calling my psychiatrist? And where was my psychiatrist anyway?
All these psych drugs are still too new. Not even the psychiatrists themselves can claim they know all the potential side effects. So when I have a reaction that isn’t classified yet, why am I instantly accused of faking it? Of having a psychogenic reaction? Why would I want to put myself back under the care of a psychiatrist when it’s psychiatrists who thru their neglect and lack of attention and lack of caring has left me a body that is so damaged almost beyond repair.
Monday, February 19, 2007
WHO'S GUILTY
I am being threatened with jail if I should continue to accuse a convicted pedophile of raping me. I told my first psychiatrist about the rape. I was told he was glad I “confessed” to a rape. I was puzzled by his choice of words. A guilty person confesses. I was not guilty of a crime, a crime had been committed to me. Since I have confessed to a rape, I have been treated by psychiatry like a dangerous criminal.
I never knew I had talked about the rape when the first psychiatrist drugged me so heavily I slept 24 hours for 7 days straight. I was only told this after I finally trusted my psychiatrist enough to tell him I had been raped. Since then I was forced by psychiatry to carry a burden of guilt and shame for over 36 years. I do not understand why therapists encouraged me to talk about the rape, then when I did, the talk was redirected to other subjects. I understand this is a technique emplyed by therapists when they are confronted with delusional ideations.
I am angry at psychiatry. I do not understand how they came to the decisoin I was delusional. I do not understand how psychiatry can believe a convicted pedophile wuold not rape me. I do not understand why I’ve been treated like a criminal, threatened with jail for trying to ruin a “good” man’s reputation. I do not understand psychiatry’s attitude at all.
I never knew I had talked about the rape when the first psychiatrist drugged me so heavily I slept 24 hours for 7 days straight. I was only told this after I finally trusted my psychiatrist enough to tell him I had been raped. Since then I was forced by psychiatry to carry a burden of guilt and shame for over 36 years. I do not understand why therapists encouraged me to talk about the rape, then when I did, the talk was redirected to other subjects. I understand this is a technique emplyed by therapists when they are confronted with delusional ideations.
I am angry at psychiatry. I do not understand how they came to the decisoin I was delusional. I do not understand how psychiatry can believe a convicted pedophile wuold not rape me. I do not understand why I’ve been treated like a criminal, threatened with jail for trying to ruin a “good” man’s reputation. I do not understand psychiatry’s attitude at all.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Psych Patient
Becoming a psych patient means:
You give up your right to say no.
You’re forced to agree to everything
You’re forced to endure treatments that you know are harmful to you
You’re forced to accept situations and conditions no one should be forced into.
You give up the right to choose.
You’re told what to do, how to do it, when to do it and if you can do it at all.
You basically lose all rights as a human being.
You become, a no-body, a non-being, a no one.
You become isolated, shunned, a medical leper, unwanted, uncared for, an undesirable. No one wants to be around you anymore.
No one wants to be your friend.
No one wants to be seen with you.
Your family will shame you and humiliate you in an attempt to get you to drop the act and stop the attention seeking behavior.
If you weren’t mad when you entered psychiatry, you certainly will end up mad.
You give up your right to say no.
You’re forced to agree to everything
You’re forced to endure treatments that you know are harmful to you
You’re forced to accept situations and conditions no one should be forced into.
You give up the right to choose.
You’re told what to do, how to do it, when to do it and if you can do it at all.
You basically lose all rights as a human being.
You become, a no-body, a non-being, a no one.
You become isolated, shunned, a medical leper, unwanted, uncared for, an undesirable. No one wants to be around you anymore.
No one wants to be your friend.
No one wants to be seen with you.
Your family will shame you and humiliate you in an attempt to get you to drop the act and stop the attention seeking behavior.
If you weren’t mad when you entered psychiatry, you certainly will end up mad.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
PUZZLE PIECES
PIECES THAT NEVER FIT
I think of my family as mismatched pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I made many attempts to make the pieces fit together but since the edges never matched the puzzle kept falling apart.
Each time the puzzle fell apart, I picked up the pieces and tried to fit them back together again. I worked hard at this task, spent many hours pondering how to fit the pieces together so the puzzle would not fall apart so easily when disturbed. I tried to force the pieces to fit. I jammed the pieces together but that only made the puzzle more fragile. I made many mistakes trying to match these pieces together. I finally put the puzzle pieces in a box on a shelf in my closet. I’ve accepted I can never make the pieces match.
I’ve started to work on the only puzzle I can solve, Me. I am the center piece of my puzzle. I am the most important piece in my puzzle. I hold the puzzle together. I have become very strong and I am slowly matching the puzzle that is me into a bigger puzzle, the one called Life.
I think of my family as mismatched pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I made many attempts to make the pieces fit together but since the edges never matched the puzzle kept falling apart.
Each time the puzzle fell apart, I picked up the pieces and tried to fit them back together again. I worked hard at this task, spent many hours pondering how to fit the pieces together so the puzzle would not fall apart so easily when disturbed. I tried to force the pieces to fit. I jammed the pieces together but that only made the puzzle more fragile. I made many mistakes trying to match these pieces together. I finally put the puzzle pieces in a box on a shelf in my closet. I’ve accepted I can never make the pieces match.
I’ve started to work on the only puzzle I can solve, Me. I am the center piece of my puzzle. I am the most important piece in my puzzle. I hold the puzzle together. I have become very strong and I am slowly matching the puzzle that is me into a bigger puzzle, the one called Life.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Recipe for Tardive Dyskinesia/Tardive Dystonia
Ingredients:
psychiatrists with their never ending questions
me, a patient, confused and afraid
various neuroleptic and anti-depressant drugs
Directions for preparation:
Start with one psychiatrist who wants to know me. Mix me up really good with questions aimed to prove that I suffer from delusions.
Add:
Stelazine and mellaril to help me overcome my delusions.
Elavil to combat the anxiety that all these questions are eliciting.
The family to bind and confine me.
While stirring me up add these questions, either one at a time or together:
Are you sure this happened?
Are you certain that you couldn’t be wrong?
Are you positive that this happened as you said it did?
Liberally sprinkle it with these comments:
You know you often mistaken phrases and words to mean other than what I mean.
You know you often perceive things in a different manner than what it’s meant to be.
You know you often mistakenly believe you heard differently than what I said.
While mixing well, stir in these words:
Paranoid schizophrenic
Bipolar depression
Schizoaffective disorder
Borderline personality disorder
Hallucinatory experiences
Delusional
Paranoid
Arrogant
Conceited
Attention seeker
Controller
Mix well and stir vigorously for the next 28 years.
Give it 6 years to rise.
Let rest 2 years
Result: a very paranoid, confused woman suffering from Tardive Dyskinesia and Tardive Dystonia.
psychiatrists with their never ending questions
me, a patient, confused and afraid
various neuroleptic and anti-depressant drugs
Directions for preparation:
Start with one psychiatrist who wants to know me. Mix me up really good with questions aimed to prove that I suffer from delusions.
Add:
Stelazine and mellaril to help me overcome my delusions.
Elavil to combat the anxiety that all these questions are eliciting.
The family to bind and confine me.
While stirring me up add these questions, either one at a time or together:
Are you sure this happened?
Are you certain that you couldn’t be wrong?
Are you positive that this happened as you said it did?
Liberally sprinkle it with these comments:
You know you often mistaken phrases and words to mean other than what I mean.
You know you often perceive things in a different manner than what it’s meant to be.
You know you often mistakenly believe you heard differently than what I said.
While mixing well, stir in these words:
Paranoid schizophrenic
Bipolar depression
Schizoaffective disorder
Borderline personality disorder
Hallucinatory experiences
Delusional
Paranoid
Arrogant
Conceited
Attention seeker
Controller
Mix well and stir vigorously for the next 28 years.
Give it 6 years to rise.
Let rest 2 years
Result: a very paranoid, confused woman suffering from Tardive Dyskinesia and Tardive Dystonia.
My Story
I have an condition that no doctor wants to confirm, tardive dyskinesia and tardive dystonia. Fancy words for a drug induced movement disorder. I take these two psych drugs, abilify and remeron, which affect the basal ganglion of my brain. I’ve been taking these type of drugs for over 36 years and these drugs have caused me to have this condition called TD.My symptoms first started during the 1980’s when I was taking haldol. I would rock incessantly and my tongue would protrude. It wasn’t until sometime in the 1990’s my medication was switched from haldol to seroquel. The rocking subsided and my tongue stopped protruding.A combination of seroquel and geodon landed me in the ER where I was admitted to a cardiac unit. It was on this unit I first started to have audio hallucinations.
The Hallucinations:I heard voices on the tv talking to me, such vile sex trash it turned my face red. I asked the nurse to turn the tv off and she was puzzled and said, “the tv is off.” The phone talked to me, but when I looked at it, it was on the receiver.
The Conditon:The doctors were convinced I was faking not being able to move, urinate, or swallow. I woke up once and found my hospital gown had slipped down, exposing one breast. People passed by and stared. Finally a male nurse came in cursing and said, “Can’t everyone see she really can’t move,” and covered my exposed breast.
Diagnosis and Treatment:The physical therapist came to see me. I looked up at her as she asked the nurse, “What’s her diagnosis?” The nurse answered, “The doctors can’t find anything wrong.” The physical therapist immediately replied, “Psych Consult!” I was told by the physical therapist if I could walk from my bed to the far wall and back, I would be discharged home. We found that I walked better without a walker. I reached the far wall, was told to turn and I did. I felt myself falling and heard someone say, “Oh Shit.” I couldn’t see. I felt hands all over me. I felt myself being lifted off the floor and carried back to my bed where I was firmly tucked in. My sight gradually returned but no one would answer my pleas for an explanation. I never saw the physical therapist again.
At all times, the doctors’ bedside manner was brusque, bordering on rudeness. Once I woke up and found myself talking with the head nurse. I have no idea why we were talking. All I can remember was the head nurse telling me that she had witnessed what happened between me and a doctor. She had all her nurses pass by my room to witness and chart what they saw and heard. I was then reassured that in a court of law, the nurses’ notes took precedence over any doctor’s notes. I have absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
I remember hearing the ward chief talking with my parents, telling them how he resented being woken at all hours of the night because the staff called concerned about me. I was puzzled. What was the concern? Why was I on a cardiac unit? Why couldn’t I move? Why couldn’t I swallow? Why did I black out? Why was I being treated as less than human, with no courtesy or regard for my feelings? To this day I’m still asking these questions.
As I was being transferred to the psych unit a nurse yelled after me and the male nurse escort, “You’ll be sorry when you find her hanging from the ceiling. She belongs on a secured locked unit. People coming off these drugs need to be watched very closely. You’ll be sorry, wait and see.” I was reassured that on the psych unit I would get the treatment I needed for the psychiatrists and psych nurses know best how to treat people like me.
The Hallucinations:I heard voices on the tv talking to me, such vile sex trash it turned my face red. I asked the nurse to turn the tv off and she was puzzled and said, “the tv is off.” The phone talked to me, but when I looked at it, it was on the receiver.
The Conditon:The doctors were convinced I was faking not being able to move, urinate, or swallow. I woke up once and found my hospital gown had slipped down, exposing one breast. People passed by and stared. Finally a male nurse came in cursing and said, “Can’t everyone see she really can’t move,” and covered my exposed breast.
Diagnosis and Treatment:The physical therapist came to see me. I looked up at her as she asked the nurse, “What’s her diagnosis?” The nurse answered, “The doctors can’t find anything wrong.” The physical therapist immediately replied, “Psych Consult!” I was told by the physical therapist if I could walk from my bed to the far wall and back, I would be discharged home. We found that I walked better without a walker. I reached the far wall, was told to turn and I did. I felt myself falling and heard someone say, “Oh Shit.” I couldn’t see. I felt hands all over me. I felt myself being lifted off the floor and carried back to my bed where I was firmly tucked in. My sight gradually returned but no one would answer my pleas for an explanation. I never saw the physical therapist again.
At all times, the doctors’ bedside manner was brusque, bordering on rudeness. Once I woke up and found myself talking with the head nurse. I have no idea why we were talking. All I can remember was the head nurse telling me that she had witnessed what happened between me and a doctor. She had all her nurses pass by my room to witness and chart what they saw and heard. I was then reassured that in a court of law, the nurses’ notes took precedence over any doctor’s notes. I have absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
I remember hearing the ward chief talking with my parents, telling them how he resented being woken at all hours of the night because the staff called concerned about me. I was puzzled. What was the concern? Why was I on a cardiac unit? Why couldn’t I move? Why couldn’t I swallow? Why did I black out? Why was I being treated as less than human, with no courtesy or regard for my feelings? To this day I’m still asking these questions.
As I was being transferred to the psych unit a nurse yelled after me and the male nurse escort, “You’ll be sorry when you find her hanging from the ceiling. She belongs on a secured locked unit. People coming off these drugs need to be watched very closely. You’ll be sorry, wait and see.” I was reassured that on the psych unit I would get the treatment I needed for the psychiatrists and psych nurses know best how to treat people like me.
Promise of Tomorrow
My cries of joy
Are filled with tears.
Tears of rage,
Tears of grief.
Tears that started my release.
I couldn’t stop the tears
I cried at a drop.
Because I had no hope for any more tomorrows.
Tears of rage
Tears of grief
Tears I shed for relief.
Tears that I shed when I felt sad.
Made them quite mad.
Because I had no hope for any more tomorrows.
Tears of rage
Tears of grief
Tears that I sobbed with no relief.
Tears that imprisoned Me with no belief
I shed with no relief
Because I had no hope for any more tomorrows.
Tears of rage
Tears of grief
Tears that became the key to my release.
Tears that bear all that I feared.
Tears that shed all of my fears.
Because I had no hope for any more tomorrows.
I am ever grateful
To the few who dared
To reach out and touch the tears that were Me
They took from me
My tears of rage,
My tears of grief
And in doing so gave me relief.
Now I cry with joy
And cry with relief
The promise of many more tomorrows is my release.
Are filled with tears.
Tears of rage,
Tears of grief.
Tears that started my release.
I couldn’t stop the tears
I cried at a drop.
Because I had no hope for any more tomorrows.
Tears of rage
Tears of grief
Tears I shed for relief.
Tears that I shed when I felt sad.
Made them quite mad.
Because I had no hope for any more tomorrows.
Tears of rage
Tears of grief
Tears that I sobbed with no relief.
Tears that imprisoned Me with no belief
I shed with no relief
Because I had no hope for any more tomorrows.
Tears of rage
Tears of grief
Tears that became the key to my release.
Tears that bear all that I feared.
Tears that shed all of my fears.
Because I had no hope for any more tomorrows.
I am ever grateful
To the few who dared
To reach out and touch the tears that were Me
They took from me
My tears of rage,
My tears of grief
And in doing so gave me relief.
Now I cry with joy
And cry with relief
The promise of many more tomorrows is my release.
THE TIMES HOW THEY’VE CHANGED ME
How many times have people promised me that they will listen and not heard what I was saying.
How many times have I been treated for the way I describe events.
How many times have people mocked me for the way I say certain words.
How many times have I been asked to repeat myself and been misunderstood until I get tired of repeating what I said and then was understood.
How many therapists have told me they suffer from a hearing defect so I need to speak louder in order to be heard.
How many times have I been laughed at for the way I express myself.
How many times have my words been turned around and made to be not what I meant them to be.
How many times have I been asked not to talk, not to speak because what I had to be said didn’t need to be said.
How many times years ago was I told to be silent because “children should be seen and not heard”.
How many times have I been told that my stories were filled with such self-pity that no one wants to hear them.
How many times and how many people did it take to convince me not to talk anymore?
Just one time with one person.
My voice is gone. I am happy that my voice is gone. I fought to have a voice for so long and now that the fight is over, I am happy. I’m feeling a peace and contentment inside that I have never experienced. My speaking voice is silent, but no way am I silent. I speak using paper and pen. I am finally being heard.
How many times have I been treated for the way I describe events.
How many times have people mocked me for the way I say certain words.
How many times have I been asked to repeat myself and been misunderstood until I get tired of repeating what I said and then was understood.
How many therapists have told me they suffer from a hearing defect so I need to speak louder in order to be heard.
How many times have I been laughed at for the way I express myself.
How many times have my words been turned around and made to be not what I meant them to be.
How many times have I been asked not to talk, not to speak because what I had to be said didn’t need to be said.
How many times years ago was I told to be silent because “children should be seen and not heard”.
How many times have I been told that my stories were filled with such self-pity that no one wants to hear them.
How many times and how many people did it take to convince me not to talk anymore?
Just one time with one person.
My voice is gone. I am happy that my voice is gone. I fought to have a voice for so long and now that the fight is over, I am happy. I’m feeling a peace and contentment inside that I have never experienced. My speaking voice is silent, but no way am I silent. I speak using paper and pen. I am finally being heard.
Me and Psych Drugs
What Psych Drugs Did to Me
They put me in the medical hospital
They took me out of the mental hospital.
They brought me up from my depression
They brought me down down from my mania.
They made me shuffle when I walked
They made me mumble when I talked
They made my legs swing.
They made my neck spasm
They made me poop less
They made me pee more.
They upset my tummy
They irritated my lungs
They made me walk slow as molasses
They made me pace the floor
They made me drool
They made me stick out my tongue
They made me sit as still as a rock
They made me sit and rock
They gave me problems with my joints
They made me lose lots of hair
They gave me insomnia
They gave me nightmares
They made my blood pressure drop
They made my triglycerides rise
They made my mouth dry
They made my hands shake
Most of all they gave me Tardive Dyskinesia/Tardive Dystonia
These pills were supposed to:
Help me talk better
Help me relate and reason better
Help me sleep better
Never once did they do anything they were supposed to do.
They put me in the medical hospital
They took me out of the mental hospital.
They brought me up from my depression
They brought me down down from my mania.
They made me shuffle when I walked
They made me mumble when I talked
They made my legs swing.
They made my neck spasm
They made me poop less
They made me pee more.
They upset my tummy
They irritated my lungs
They made me walk slow as molasses
They made me pace the floor
They made me drool
They made me stick out my tongue
They made me sit as still as a rock
They made me sit and rock
They gave me problems with my joints
They made me lose lots of hair
They gave me insomnia
They gave me nightmares
They made my blood pressure drop
They made my triglycerides rise
They made my mouth dry
They made my hands shake
Most of all they gave me Tardive Dyskinesia/Tardive Dystonia
These pills were supposed to:
Help me talk better
Help me relate and reason better
Help me sleep better
Never once did they do anything they were supposed to do.
I have D.I.D., Drug Induced Dystonia. Mine is caused by long term use of psychiatric medications.
The psych drugs took me out of the mental hospital but they caused me to have a drug induced movement disorder.
Medications caused my disorder. Stress did not cause me to have a dystonia, but stress does make me worse. I’d rather handle my stress in other ways than with medication.
Some may say my disorder is genetic. My uncle had Parkinsons disease. I believe I may have a predisposition to a Dystonia. I believe that the long term use of these psych drugs caused this predisposition to become a reality.
I’ve taken many other medicatons besides psychiatric medications. I realize a combination of all the drugs I’ve taken in my life time has a cumulative effect and together, they all caused me to have D.I.D. I believe the psychiatric medications, in particular the neuroleptics, mellaril, stelazine, thorazine and haldol caused my disorder. Atypicals are less likely to cause a dystonia, but once a dystonia is present, they can cause it to get worse.
The neuroleptics affect the area of my brain called the basal ganglion. This part of the brain controls movements. These drugs are thought to make dystonia better, all they do is mask the symptoms. The sooner I’m withdrawn from these drugs, the better my chances for a remission.
The psych drugs took me out of the mental hospital but they caused me to have a drug induced movement disorder.
Medications caused my disorder. Stress did not cause me to have a dystonia, but stress does make me worse. I’d rather handle my stress in other ways than with medication.
Some may say my disorder is genetic. My uncle had Parkinsons disease. I believe I may have a predisposition to a Dystonia. I believe that the long term use of these psych drugs caused this predisposition to become a reality.
I’ve taken many other medicatons besides psychiatric medications. I realize a combination of all the drugs I’ve taken in my life time has a cumulative effect and together, they all caused me to have D.I.D. I believe the psychiatric medications, in particular the neuroleptics, mellaril, stelazine, thorazine and haldol caused my disorder. Atypicals are less likely to cause a dystonia, but once a dystonia is present, they can cause it to get worse.
The neuroleptics affect the area of my brain called the basal ganglion. This part of the brain controls movements. These drugs are thought to make dystonia better, all they do is mask the symptoms. The sooner I’m withdrawn from these drugs, the better my chances for a remission.
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