I had been separated from the family ship. My little lifeboat had sprung many leaks and was sinking. I saw a cruise ship on the horizon and waved frantically to attract attention. I was losing all hope but the cruise ship changed it’s course and headed my way.
By the time the cruise ship got to me I was swimming in the ocean and tiring fast. I could see a group of people sitting on the deck drinking from their martini glasses and having a good time. I called out in distress and one person threw me an inner tube. I could hear snippets of their conversation carried to me on the wind, will she make it, should we do something more to help her? One of them warned the others I might be dangerous. People decided, if I drowned then I was a bad person, but if I managed to save myself, then I was a good person.
The sea was very choppy and the inner tube disappeared beneath the waves many times. I struggled and called out for help but no one did a thing but watch and ask the waiter to refill their drinks.
Thru sheer strength of will I used the inner tube and got to the cruise ship. I was praised for having the strength and courage to save myself. I stood there looking at all of them, dripping wet and so tired I could barely stand. There was such rage in me but there was nothing I could say. I took the towel they offered, dried myself off and refused their offer of a martini. Later, as I was falling asleep I heard the people congratulating the one who threw me the inner tube. That person was praised for having the faith and courage to throw me the inner tube. I fell asleep wondering how they can tell each other they helped me find the courage and the strength to save myself when all they did was drink their martinis and watch.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Same Wavelength, Different Channel
I used to grow so angry at people when told I need to say what I mean. I would be told what words would be better so others would know what I meant. I never could understand why I had to use their words, their phrases when, to me, the words and phrases I used conveyed what I meant to say much better.
To every action there is a reaction. When my doctor told me to take a drug and reassured me there are no side effects, I instantly branded the doctor a liar. I was so upset because I had learned to trust this doctor and felt betrayed. I wondered why the doctor looked so happy when saying this until I realized, side effects had a different meaning for me than to this doctor. This is a great breakthru realization for me. I realized I was always using the right words to me, I was saying what I was meaning, it was how the other person interpreted my words that caused so much confusion and distress and upset.
Now that I understand I still will use my words but ask when misunderstood, what does the other person think I meant by what I said. I need to be clear about how others interpret the same word as it’s obvious to me the same word does have many different meanings.
I do speak English and English is my only language. It’s how I interpret English that caused me so many problems and so much heartache.
I can now trust the doctor again. I realize the doctor has no idea what side effects I am talking about. We live on the same planet, speak the same language, but interpret the words so differently. I see it as being on the same wavelength but tuned to a different channel.
To every action there is a reaction. When my doctor told me to take a drug and reassured me there are no side effects, I instantly branded the doctor a liar. I was so upset because I had learned to trust this doctor and felt betrayed. I wondered why the doctor looked so happy when saying this until I realized, side effects had a different meaning for me than to this doctor. This is a great breakthru realization for me. I realized I was always using the right words to me, I was saying what I was meaning, it was how the other person interpreted my words that caused so much confusion and distress and upset.
Now that I understand I still will use my words but ask when misunderstood, what does the other person think I meant by what I said. I need to be clear about how others interpret the same word as it’s obvious to me the same word does have many different meanings.
I do speak English and English is my only language. It’s how I interpret English that caused me so many problems and so much heartache.
I can now trust the doctor again. I realize the doctor has no idea what side effects I am talking about. We live on the same planet, speak the same language, but interpret the words so differently. I see it as being on the same wavelength but tuned to a different channel.
Drug Pushers in White Coats
To me all doctors are nothing more than well trained, board certified drug pushers in white coats who all mean well. That to me classifies all doctors as the worst kind of drug pushers alive.
I go to a doctor to get relief from pain. I am probed, prodded, weighed and assessed and then given the appropriate drug to ease my pain, to make me happy. That’s the whole purpose of me taking a drug, to ease my pain so I would be happy again.
The World Health Organization defines dependency as the need for repeated doses of the drug to feel good or to avoid feeling bad. I was a psych patient forced to take varous psych drugs for over 37 years. I was in denial of my drug addiction until I have lowered my dose of abilify, an anti-psychotic and now am in constant, terrible pain. Warm baths help, so does massage but all are temporary fixes and so temporary now they are no longer acceptable. In order to relieve my pain I would need to be constantly in a warm bath or receiving a massage. I have no choice but to resort to drugs to relieve my pain, to be happy again.
I do have a choice, anti-psychotics which will stigmatize me and get me treated like dirt by most doctors who are afraid of my “madness”, or I can be dependent on drugs that doctors can accept and not have the stigma of dirt and shame and disgust associated with my name when I walk into a doctor’s office.
I had a hard time accepting my drug dependency, that I am a drug addict. I am not a drug addict of my own free will but was made into a drug addict by kind and well meaning doctors who don’t realize what they are truly doing when they prescribed me drugs to ease my pain, to make me happy again. Or do they know and prescribed drugs to me anyway deciding for me it’s better for me to be addicted to a drug than to be so unhappy.
I go to a doctor to get relief from pain. I am probed, prodded, weighed and assessed and then given the appropriate drug to ease my pain, to make me happy. That’s the whole purpose of me taking a drug, to ease my pain so I would be happy again.
The World Health Organization defines dependency as the need for repeated doses of the drug to feel good or to avoid feeling bad. I was a psych patient forced to take varous psych drugs for over 37 years. I was in denial of my drug addiction until I have lowered my dose of abilify, an anti-psychotic and now am in constant, terrible pain. Warm baths help, so does massage but all are temporary fixes and so temporary now they are no longer acceptable. In order to relieve my pain I would need to be constantly in a warm bath or receiving a massage. I have no choice but to resort to drugs to relieve my pain, to be happy again.
I do have a choice, anti-psychotics which will stigmatize me and get me treated like dirt by most doctors who are afraid of my “madness”, or I can be dependent on drugs that doctors can accept and not have the stigma of dirt and shame and disgust associated with my name when I walk into a doctor’s office.
I had a hard time accepting my drug dependency, that I am a drug addict. I am not a drug addict of my own free will but was made into a drug addict by kind and well meaning doctors who don’t realize what they are truly doing when they prescribed me drugs to ease my pain, to make me happy again. Or do they know and prescribed drugs to me anyway deciding for me it’s better for me to be addicted to a drug than to be so unhappy.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
A Cover Up
My family was very upset with me because I made a decision concerning my health care without consulting them. I never asked them for advice concerning a biopsy on my vocal cord but had made an agreement with the ENT to postpone the biopsy. My medication management psychiatrist was frustrated with as I kept refusing to transfer all my care to him. I’m not sure how or what my psychotherapist thought of me, all I know the therapist was frustrated with me too.
I woke up in a psych hospital with scabs on both sides of my head. I asked the staff if I had been given ECT and all I was told was to let the scabs fall off naturally. After I was discharged I received the insurance report stating I had been at another hospital before being transferred to the psych hospital I woke up in. I asked my parents why I was at the other hospital and they told me I never was there. I also asked my parents if the psychs had given me ECT. I was reassured there was no way the parents would permit ECT to be performed on me.
I went back in my insurance records and discovered I had been at that other hospital twice before. A friend told me ECT is done at that hospital. All the family needs to do is get a court order. I’m sure the therapist I was seeing once a week was consulted to see if ECT was needed. My psychiatrist must have been consulted too. A lot of people went thru much trouble to hide the fact I was at the other hospital, but insurance records don’t lie.
There is nothing I can do except accept the fact ECT was given to me per my family’s request. I felt so helpless, so powerless, so confused by everyone being evasive and not directly answering my questions. When I found out the other hospital does administer ECT, a deep feeling of sadness overcame me.
I realized a lot of people tried to help me. I know they meant well but if they were made aware of all the consequences of their actions will they change? I doubt it. I am a labeled person and what I say is dismissed as signs of my disease reemerging.
I don’t know why my family ordered the psychs to give me ECT. I only know whenever I showed any signs of independence my family saw to it I would become even more dependent upon them.
It took three separate hospitalizations, all done in secrecy, to make me so unemotional. As much as the family and various doctors provoke me, I do not react. I know people are not happy with the results. I have been told by my mother how much she wants the person I was back again.
I woke up in a psych hospital with scabs on both sides of my head. I asked the staff if I had been given ECT and all I was told was to let the scabs fall off naturally. After I was discharged I received the insurance report stating I had been at another hospital before being transferred to the psych hospital I woke up in. I asked my parents why I was at the other hospital and they told me I never was there. I also asked my parents if the psychs had given me ECT. I was reassured there was no way the parents would permit ECT to be performed on me.
I went back in my insurance records and discovered I had been at that other hospital twice before. A friend told me ECT is done at that hospital. All the family needs to do is get a court order. I’m sure the therapist I was seeing once a week was consulted to see if ECT was needed. My psychiatrist must have been consulted too. A lot of people went thru much trouble to hide the fact I was at the other hospital, but insurance records don’t lie.
There is nothing I can do except accept the fact ECT was given to me per my family’s request. I felt so helpless, so powerless, so confused by everyone being evasive and not directly answering my questions. When I found out the other hospital does administer ECT, a deep feeling of sadness overcame me.
I realized a lot of people tried to help me. I know they meant well but if they were made aware of all the consequences of their actions will they change? I doubt it. I am a labeled person and what I say is dismissed as signs of my disease reemerging.
I don’t know why my family ordered the psychs to give me ECT. I only know whenever I showed any signs of independence my family saw to it I would become even more dependent upon them.
It took three separate hospitalizations, all done in secrecy, to make me so unemotional. As much as the family and various doctors provoke me, I do not react. I know people are not happy with the results. I have been told by my mother how much she wants the person I was back again.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Therapy
I am so tired of therapy that I quit, in total disgust. I wanted to talk about my present problems but the therapist wanted me to talk about what happened in my past that was similar to the present. I went back and started to talk about my past only to constantly have what I was saying redirected. I got so sick and tired of taking the blame for psychiatry’s failure to help me that I quit.
I would tell the therapist how angry I was and wanted to discuss what the therapist did that made me angry. I would become angrier when therapist after therapist denied doing anything that would make me angry and tell me I was really angry at something or someone in my past. I would say, no I’m angry at you and what you said. The therapist’s usual reply was, something happened in your past so let’s discuss what happened in your past then you can deal with why you’re angry now. I would insist what the therapist did made me angry and the therapist would pull out the prescription pad and tell me how much I needed an increase in my drugs as I was out of control of my anger.
Therapy didn’t make sense to me until I made sense of therapy. I realized therapists thought I was delusional which was why I was never believed. I found someone who did believe me and that’s how my Journey to Wellness started.
I would tell the therapist how angry I was and wanted to discuss what the therapist did that made me angry. I would become angrier when therapist after therapist denied doing anything that would make me angry and tell me I was really angry at something or someone in my past. I would say, no I’m angry at you and what you said. The therapist’s usual reply was, something happened in your past so let’s discuss what happened in your past then you can deal with why you’re angry now. I would insist what the therapist did made me angry and the therapist would pull out the prescription pad and tell me how much I needed an increase in my drugs as I was out of control of my anger.
Therapy didn’t make sense to me until I made sense of therapy. I realized therapists thought I was delusional which was why I was never believed. I found someone who did believe me and that’s how my Journey to Wellness started.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Therapy
People enter therapy for many different reasons. Most see a need to change and look towards their therapist to teach them, show them what and how to change. These people get easily frustrated in therapy. No therapist, unless they are very controlling, will sit and tell a patient what to change. However most therapists will sit and tell a patient how to change.
This is my experience in therapy. I did not enter therapy willingly, I was more or less forced into therapy. A person forced to be in therapy resists therapy in subtle ways. I certainly did. I showed that resistance by being offensive, demanding, and totally uncooperative. That worked against me and I was finally told my behavior was so offensive I suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder.
People who are forced into therapy do become offensive. Trying to work with such people is a heartless and often distressing job. I became even more offensive when I was given the label Borderline only proving my therapist right. I left therapy and spent a year discovering myself and making changes. I re-entered therapy willingly. I am not obnoxious, offensive, or demanding. I cooperate, listen without interrupting, smile and laugh, just a totally different patient because I am a willing patient.
Attitude made a difference in me, but so did the therapist. I’ve discovered just as people are different, so are therapists. Afterall therapists are really people too.
Therapy with a willing patient is far easier than therapy with someone forced. But the difference I’m finding is in the therapist themselves. Finding someone who is not controlling, demanding, or manipulative makes the difference for me.
This is my experience in therapy. I did not enter therapy willingly, I was more or less forced into therapy. A person forced to be in therapy resists therapy in subtle ways. I certainly did. I showed that resistance by being offensive, demanding, and totally uncooperative. That worked against me and I was finally told my behavior was so offensive I suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder.
People who are forced into therapy do become offensive. Trying to work with such people is a heartless and often distressing job. I became even more offensive when I was given the label Borderline only proving my therapist right. I left therapy and spent a year discovering myself and making changes. I re-entered therapy willingly. I am not obnoxious, offensive, or demanding. I cooperate, listen without interrupting, smile and laugh, just a totally different patient because I am a willing patient.
Attitude made a difference in me, but so did the therapist. I’ve discovered just as people are different, so are therapists. Afterall therapists are really people too.
Therapy with a willing patient is far easier than therapy with someone forced. But the difference I’m finding is in the therapist themselves. Finding someone who is not controlling, demanding, or manipulative makes the difference for me.
Babies and Psychiatrists
MANIPULATION
Everyone manipulates to some degree or other. There is nothing inherently wrong in manipulating others. Basically I manipulate to get my needs met. The ways I manipulate, that’s what I need to work on. I’ve learned it’s better to ask a person what I want, to give that person a choice.
I am recognizing the ways I manipulate people. I can’t say I will give up manipulating, I learned this behavior when I was a baby.
A baby is the master manipulator of all time. I coundn’t speak but I did cry, I didn’t know what I wanted and left it up to my parents to figure out what I needed. As I grew up and learned about myself, learned how hungry felt, learned how cold felt, learned to talk, I was able to ask to be fed, clothed, have my needs met. My parents taught me how to communicate my wants and needs, but some of the ways they taught me are not acceptable in society.
I can’t really blame them. I started school and was exposed to different, better ways of asking how to get my needs met. However, when I brought these new ways home, they were rejected and the old ways became ingrained.
I entered psychiatry. Doctors, psyciatrists in particular, are the grandest of all manipulators of all times, second only to babies. They are worse than babies in that they deny any manipulative behavior. They hide their manipulations behind the excuse, It’s for the patient’s own good. They determine, enforce, and make the person change with drugs, different programs, and worse, with their damaging labels.
Manipulating is a basic human behavior. I can’t really say it’s good, but I can say it is bad when a group of people use this behavior to denigrate, humiliate, control, set apart with the label Borderline another group of people because they, psychiatrists. do not like the ways their patients behave.
Everyone manipulates to some degree or other. There is nothing inherently wrong in manipulating others. Basically I manipulate to get my needs met. The ways I manipulate, that’s what I need to work on. I’ve learned it’s better to ask a person what I want, to give that person a choice.
I am recognizing the ways I manipulate people. I can’t say I will give up manipulating, I learned this behavior when I was a baby.
A baby is the master manipulator of all time. I coundn’t speak but I did cry, I didn’t know what I wanted and left it up to my parents to figure out what I needed. As I grew up and learned about myself, learned how hungry felt, learned how cold felt, learned to talk, I was able to ask to be fed, clothed, have my needs met. My parents taught me how to communicate my wants and needs, but some of the ways they taught me are not acceptable in society.
I can’t really blame them. I started school and was exposed to different, better ways of asking how to get my needs met. However, when I brought these new ways home, they were rejected and the old ways became ingrained.
I entered psychiatry. Doctors, psyciatrists in particular, are the grandest of all manipulators of all times, second only to babies. They are worse than babies in that they deny any manipulative behavior. They hide their manipulations behind the excuse, It’s for the patient’s own good. They determine, enforce, and make the person change with drugs, different programs, and worse, with their damaging labels.
Manipulating is a basic human behavior. I can’t really say it’s good, but I can say it is bad when a group of people use this behavior to denigrate, humiliate, control, set apart with the label Borderline another group of people because they, psychiatrists. do not like the ways their patients behave.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
What Makes Me So Different?
I’ve been thinking, if I treat my ns like they treat me but am so different when I’m with others, what makes me different from my ns? The fact that I know better? I know my nfamily knows better too, so what really makes me different from them?
Thursday, April 26, 2007
MADDENING DRUGS
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?
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?
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.
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