Merry Chwistmas to all, and to all a good byte!

Found Her

     It was two years ago, I think. My memory has always been a bit shaky. We weren't close. Her name was Arianna. She was my cousin. Honestly we were never close. I heard the news on Christmas. I understand they found her on the floor. Like I said we were never close. All I really knew is that she was troubled. The last time I saw her was at her father's last wedding. I remember because she came in the room, walked up beside me, never said a word to me, eventually walked back out. I had to ask someone, because I hadn't seen her in years... was that Arianna? Yes, that was my cousin. In my defense, she had never struck me as the most approachable person. Actually, my earliest memory of her is when she was like 4, and we were visiting, and I greeted her, and her response was "Bitch". I was really more surprised then I was upset. When she overdosed I think she was not yet 30.

God willing and the Hospital will hear

    So, if my family is as innocent as they say, then that only leaves the hospital. My concern is that it's happened twice now. Once at CCBH and once at Memorial. They keep diagnosing me psychotic when I'm not psychotic. I'm told there's not much SC DHEC can do about that. My concern is that at some point in the future I'll need to go back to the hospital for some reason or another. Last time at memorial I was more careful about my communication. I made sure to be very clear about what the problem was, what I needed, etc. I have discussed with my team writing a letter to the hospital administration about my concerns. If they are not part of the problem, they can be part of the solution. I need to stop the cycle of changing my diagnoses and my symptoms to match the prejudices of the staff. It's not actually helping anyone. 

    I don't have the energy that I had when I was younger, and I'm losing patience for this, especially when it devolves into long hospital stays, threats, or not getting what I need. I had this desire for Memorial to be on my side, seeing as my family has been so long associated with that hospital. I think that they would prefer to be on the same side, but can't see past their own preconceptions and the legacy of Prichards. Thing is, I don't think even Prichards would be proud of the hospital's behavior. He was all about listening and acting based on facts. He had his own faults and preconceptions, but he would not defend the lack of listening that has been going on. I believe he would find it against his principles. 

    Thankfully, for now, unless I'm in some unexpected accident or unforeseen circumstances, I doubt I will be back at the hospital any time soon. I really like the way the medication is working right now. I have a detailed understanding of how each medication contributes to the full picture. I know what to expect if I happen to run out or we have to adjust a dose. The routine has become much more predictable. 

    I'm focusing on keeping my days consistent. Every day, Repeating the same habits, keeping it simple. I'm turning my attention back to All the Colors of the Rainbow for a bit.

    I am engrossed in my research for my Civil War Greenville book. The more research I do the more I know I need. I'm working on clarifying the city's status leading up to the war... what businesses were here, the notable people, things of that nature.

    Story writing is coming slowly. My short attention span gets the better of me. Yet I feel on borrowed time, trying to go in multiple directions and ending up going no where. God willing, I'll have some more story parts soon.

    Dat Bat. Nebber a dull moment. Der he goes again, stealing Spidey's best carapace. Why, it was just di udder gnight...

    Spidey was so berry happy. It had been a gweat day for the nest! Sebben flies, and Spidey had finished the Mona Fleasa, my primier werk of art for di community.

    Spidey was so berry pwoud. She was BEAUTIFUL, and quite tasty looking. Well, no sooner had di lights gone out when there was a flapping sound at di window. Spidey rushes to look. Der must have been twenty bats out der! All carrying a most pwecious cargo!

    "HEY YOU! BATS! DROP DI CARAPACES! HEY! NOT IN DI... ribber..."

    They had stolen Spidey's prize carapaces, worth countless flies. Den dey dropped dem in di ribber. 

    Gone. In di ribber. Di cwazy bat duddent know how to stop. 

A lack of Conspiracy after all...

    Well, it turns out that my family didn't actually talk the hospital into re-bipolarizing me.. Seems the staff just got creative in an effort to flip my script. Sneaky little devils. All's well that ends well though. It got me writing more, and I love to write. I do. I hope I can write something people really enjoy. 

    I get frustrated with the process. Then I get grouchy about it. Today it was the website giving me trouble. Found a few broken links that I fixed, but I wanted to splash up the colors and the editor was not that responsive. I continue to research. I'm working on adding more writing and some more images and other content. 

 

Dichotomy of the illusion of Reality

Split between the person I am and the person you would have me be

Unable to blend the two into one without periodic flashes of truth

that reveal the dichotomy of my reality and betray the illusion outright

Making the consistency hard to maintain.

The persona, its perfection marred only by acceptable flaws of social construction

The other, a living being contorted to maintain the illusion

They draw me out with the bait

Looking for some facts to twist back into some semblance of the illusion.

Occasionally we come to crisis created by the inability to tolerate our truths

Seeking to restore the myth, we wind our facts into narratives

Hoping to disguise the inconsistency of reality with a pretty lie dressed up in theories

Running away from the truth, we only trip up over the inconsistencies

The inconvenient truths of our imperfections and failures

Cannot overcome the engineering of our most contorted perfection

In which reality is the disease, and lies are the cure

Inevitably comes the crash, through the conflict of what is and what we pretend to be

In the end, the illusion is the reality and the truth is the psychosis we hope to deny.

Tips from a Therapist

 

Spidey a liddle under di wedder...

 

 

 

The Dangers of Persistence (Part 1)

    Persistence can be a troublesome thing. Sometimes people don't see the dangers of persistence. 

    What is it does it look like when you persist beyond all evidence to the contrary? What is it called when you persist TOO far?

______ (adj): 

    having or showing dogged determination not to change one's attitude or position on something, especially in spite of good arguments or reasons to do so.

"a ______ refusal to learn from experience"

    One thing that I was taught growing up, that has been repeatedly reinforced, to a fault, is persistence. Yet, persistence carried too far starts to look remarkably like ... being stubborn. Being stubborn is a problem for sure. Sometimes, flexibility is required. Take iron, for example. Pure iron is not very flexible. It's hard, but it will break. Sometimes a soul has to be forged in a fire to become strong, just like iron has to be forged in fire to become stronger. The Samurai had a method of forging swords to make them very strong. It involved repeatedly bending the metal back on itself and hammering it together over and over again. This made the blade hard but with some give and not as brittle. It gave the blade strength, sharpness, but also some flexibility. 

    So too a soul must be. Sometimes a person must bend with the wind in order to survive the wind. To be willing to bend is to adapt and to learn. Change will always come. Challenges will always come. You can't always be prepared for everything. The willingness to make changes or adjust on the fly is not indecisiveness if properly thought out. The willingness to adapt is not weakness or lack of courage if it is necessary. 

    There have been many moments in battles which a leader had to make a choice whether to adapt or stay the course and chose to stay the course to disastrous results. Sometimes persistence is not courage or strength... sometimes it is stubbornness, foolishness, and weakness. 

    

Dancing in the Moonlight

Careful

    I'm trying to be careful. Focusing on the basics allows less room for error. I'm keeping my timeliness and accuracy as high as I can, maintaining records, and keeping my head clear. I've got to keep moving forward. I can't move backwards. I try to make time to fill in bits of my writing as well, but sometimes maintaining my work and my health take all of my time. 

    It's very strange how social relationships work. I cannot figure them out for the life of me. People are unpredictable. Sometimes they are are nice as pie, sometimes there is such strong hostility, and sometimes they are simply so fake that conversation becomes an exercise in absurdity. Some of the strangest experiences are conversations that actually leave you with far more questions then answers. 

    Then there are the smaller contradictions. You get paid to verify orders, but some suppliers make it virtually impossible to verify the order. They don't label or they seal the order. Then I'm supposed to guess whether they did their job right and confirm. If I guess right then it's ok but if I guess wrong then it's on me. Never mind that they make the job impossible in the first place. 

    Anyways, when I'm not absorbed by the nitty gritty, I'm trying to let people see my positive sides. That's not always easy and sometimes I make mistakes. Sometimes impatience or frustration get the better of me. Other times, there's not a lot of room to maneuver. I try to avoid highly rigid situations for just that reason. I'm tired of getting boxed into situations. Yet I do have positive sides. People have to choose to see them. There is an us vs them mentality out there. It's unfortunate. Life is better when people work together. Yet people make choices. Sometimes they choose the path of most resistance. 

    I'm finding it helps to divide my time between work and reflection. It helps me to clarify the changes that I need. Life cannot simply be repetition. Life requires growth. Life requires beginnings and endings. A life with too much certainty is not sustainable. I'm trying to streamline so that I can prioritize necessary change in my life. 

    I feel like I have taken my eye off the ball. Relied on the wrong assumptions. I cannot allow myself to stray again. I need to be more careful. I'm getting older and there is only so much time. It's not just that I don't want to buy into false narratives, there's not enough time and energy for it. Repeating the same fights, regurgitating the same grievances, worrying about the same people and events again and again, makes no sense. 

    Sometimes I miss Robo-Rob. I get caught up in the details of how I got from there to here. Then I get tired of thinking about it. I try to go out and do stuff. It doesn't go great. That's what brings me back to the how's of getting here and being here. 

    The thing about being numbed out is that in a way it feels good but it doesn't lead anywhere. Clozaril is a permanent dead end. A one way trip to nowhere. Yet People want to believe in it so badly, that they'll destroy almost anything, do almost anything to maintain the lie. Zero recognition of the harm done in the process. Arguing with someone who is convinced that they are right is worse then arguing with a wall, because a wall doesn't attack you for simply disagreeing. The wall just maintains its position. 

    I heard something that really resonated. It was "you can't change someone's behavior, you can only change how you react to it." This is very true. 

Psychology Article

Undercurrents

    I'm definitely still having trouble with subtext. That's where walls and space sometimes help. I particularly struggle with when I think a situation is going well and suddenly someone becomes hostile, seemingly without warning. 

    I want to rely on what I am good at. If I am consistently doing what I do well to the best of my ability, then I am adding value to the world. I don't want to focus on things that I cannot control. I really did used to think that I was a good communicator. I was definitely wrong. I'm far too out of touch. A narrow focus helps my clarity and calm. Focusing on the most pressing tasks. 

    I'm continuing to focus on working with the two contractors and waiting for a response on volunteering. Today I hope to spend some time finding something interesting to write. 

    Interpersonal communication is so strange to me. It's so very hit or miss. Two different people can take the same words and go in completely different directions with what they hear. It's not just that people are complicated, they're rather unpredictable. 

    I let down my guard and then something happens. Usually nothing big, just large enough to be noticeable. Something that serves as a reminder to be careful. Something that reminds me that bad things can and do happen. 

    I feel like I walk a very careful path, but people don't notice that. Sometimes I struggle to understand what people do see when they look at me. I'm not one who spends too much time reading signs or looking for symbols. It's enough to keep up with more explicit communication. These seem like very troubled times, though. Solutions seem more complex and less easily grasped. So often there seems to be unspoken tension in the air. 

    I'm trying to find something funny to write in my stories. I'm hoping to diffuse some of the tension that I sense. I feel like I need to reflect to find that humor. People need to laugh. 

     I've begun delivering with another contractor. It's an adjustment, but it's going well. Doing the deliveries leaves less time for writing and brainstorming. Yet it keeps the bills paid. 

Change

    My work continues to go decently. I'm trying to focus on what I can do positively in my own life. I don't feel like I have the endurance or the energy that I used to have. I enjoy writing when I can focus. So I'm trying to save my energy for that. Preserve my mental presence for work and my writing. Though I'm hoping to start volunteering at an animal shelter soon. 

    There's always far more to do then I have the energy, focus, and presence for. I keep trying to do more but I get spacey quickly sometimes, or without warning. Sometimes conversations seem circular. I alternate between untethered optimism that ignores inconvenient truths and a biting pessimism. Sometimes I feel so lost in my head that the world seems distant and I get that floating feeling. Sometimes it feels like a play or movie, only the guy who's supposed to prompt me for my lines is either out sick or drunk.

    I keep running into the same problems. Like this thing with the utilities where they are not billing me right. I even went and verified everything online and there's still some problem. And God forbid I should try to call them on the phone. Last time I tried to talk to a company on the phone, Spectrum's employee fraudulently charged me for services I wasn't receiving instead of terminating the services. I called them back and complained, yet still had to pay for the services. Some things are criminal. They didn't seem to recognize that they did anything wrong. I'm not doing business with them again, I should have learned my lesson with that company. They've always had shit customer service. Of course they still have my phone service, but they jacked it up, so there's another issue to deal with. They even jacked it up more then they said they would. Which only proves how dishonest they truly are. 

    I'm trying to live out the saying "Less is more". I'm trying to be more deliberate in my actions. To go more slowly. Events have just gone so quickly in the past several years. A lot of change. I think I'm still catching up. 

The Hauntless

 

   Vlad had the most marvelous experience the other day. He flew into a corpse named Bob, from just down the street. He was on his way to Home Freako again - yes, he goes most every week - and the girls were playing Marco Polo. As usual Jess was winning. Sarah was only playing to humor her. 

    Bob was a businessghoul, first and foremost. He was in the middle of haggling a price for his patent pending formula for Necrolyte chewing slime and his Ryse of the Dead energy drink. When Vlad first hit him, he was quite flappy, almost besides himself. Then Bob gave him some free samples. He could see the potential immediately and wanted to buy in on the spot, so Bob invited him over for some Ryse and finger food. 

    Bob was set up in an abandoned bungalow four houses down. A charming place, really, he had such a knack for decor. Turns out he shopped at Home Freako as well. 

    When it came time to get down to guts and jolts, Bob engaged Vlad with a somber voice as he served up a pinky and a forefinger. 

    "You see, good sir, haunting is such a noble vocation, but some poor ghouls, well, they simply have no one to haunt! It's sad, really. They work their whole afterlives, honing and refining their haunting skills, practicing until the whee hours of the day."

    "I've heard of these creatures. A shame. Everyone should have someone to haunt! There must be hope for these poor souls??"

    "Well, yes, I've started a placement agency, to place these ghouls - we call them the Hauntless - with hauntable souls... for a nominal fee, you see."

    Vlad brightened at the prospect. "How many have you placed?"

    "Well, none as of yet, but that's where you come in. A sharp fellow like yourself can help with the logistics. There's many souls to place with the living, and they need somewhere to gather and meet like minded hauntless. What do you say?"

    Vlad could not say no.

The Escape to The Blood Connection

    It was just anudder Saturday morning, and Spidey was hard at werk, rigging the old wadder heeder dat di owners ob Spidey's Attick had left behind in their hurry to bacate into a jacuzzi for critters. 

Suddenly the stereo began blasting, and Spidey could hear Vlad's voice singing along to Another Saturday Night.

Another Saturday night and I ain't got no bodies

I've got some Spiders cuz I lost my RAID

Now, how I wish I had some blood to drink, too

I've fled the light of day.

I got in town a century ago

I've seen a lot of donors since then

If I could bleed 'em I could feast 'em

But as yet I haven't bled 'em

That's how I'm in the state I'm in

Another fella told me

He had a ghoul who looked just fine

Instead of bein' my dinner

She tasted like David Schwimmer

The platelets were not appealing.

It's hard on a bloodsucker

When he's not below the ground

If I don't find me a vein

That I can most promptly drain

I'm gonna have to blow this town

    From somewhere near the window Jess sighed. We all knew what this meant. Vlad had fallen opp di waggin' agenn. We dropped ebbyting and rushed to his coffin, but all we found was an open window.

     One thing I regret is that I haven't had as much opportunity to appreciate people recently. My mind has been so absorbed. There was this one nice lady downtown today and granted, I was busy, but it would have been nice to have an excuse to stop and chat. I'm working on a story idea today.

 

 

Singing in di wadder heater, just singing in di heater! What glowious steam!

Robo-Rob

    Anyways, When I was on Clozaril, I was robotic. Numbed. Now that I'm off Clozaril, Life is much different. My sleep is more flexible. I don't have to worry everyday about whether I'll be able to get up, be able to function, or whether I will be too groggy to function. 

    I spend a lot more time and energy on processing and making decisions, which leaves less time and energy for everything else. I'm more patient then I used to be, more cautious. When you're not numbed out you're not as resilient. Stress hits you harder. I've been putting a lot of work into maintaining boundaries and space, managing finances, maintaining my health, and working. 

    When people don't work at cross purposes, life runs so much more smoothly. That's why I maintain space and boundaries. I avoid unnecessary conversation with people that I don't have good relationships with. 

    The boundaries and space is like oil in an engine. It keeps the parts from grinding against each other. Sometimes parts are stubborn. They keeping grinding the same ways in the same situations. The space and boundaries smooths the contacts. Less grinding. No fighting the same fights over and over, no rehashing the same resentments over and over. Suddenly you can breathe again. 

Dis Dress Tolerance

    A liddle more off di train... Spidey werk berry hard on Dis Dress Tolerance. Ebby day. Wuddent a fan ob it originally. Dat Molly teach Spidey a pew tings. Now Spidey werks hard at it. One ting Spidey learned was di importance of bacation. Not the kind of bacation that involves plane tickets or gas money... The kind they talk about in mental health circles... A mental bacation. 

    Faborite ting to do is go to the beach. When ebber life gets too be too dutch. Spidey just has vlad fly us down to the coast... Spidey needs to go again... enjoy di wabes... pick out a nice shell... go for a crawl...

    

 

I've been working a lot. In a way that's good because it distracts me from the medical. Gets me out in the city around people. I worry about my mind though. I cant keep up with the pace. Then its like flying blind. Too many people trying to grab the controls, both internally and externally. I dont worry as much about an accident or physical danger. I worry about losing control. I worry about the autopilot. The dissociation. It's like sleepwalking. I'm worried I'll wake up to a problem.

The Psychiatrist's Burden

    Back in the days of the slave trade, there was a frame of mind at work called The White Man's Burden. Of course, revisionists love to deny the history of slavery, especially these days. Unfortunately, the evidence of the harm slavery caused is overwhelming.

    Earlier I posted an article on the UK mental health system: Fragile Minds

    In a sense, there is almost a Psychiatrist's Burden in certain circles... a belief that persons who have acquired one of these labels is unable to make decisions for themselves and should not be treated as an independent adult. 

Rewind

    My life is like a weird B rated movie. My father did have a valid question: where is this going? Acceptance. It's going towards acceptance. To illustrate, let me rewind and slow the playback so those with MDs can follow.

    The original problem was not as well understood in the 90s, but Artstick was smart to send me to Springbrook. They specialize in Autism. It took me a while to accept and process the truth, especially with my family sabotaging me. In the 90s we didn't know as much about Autism. MIP dx'd it as Aspergers, buried it under the bipolar label that made more sense to them. My parents were very pleased with this. They didn't like autism (I could tell from the uncomfortable looks on their faces as I talked about it). They didn't understand it. Neither did MIP, apparently. Nor Prichards. The emotional dysregulation and the trauma that developed as a result of not getting the care that autism needs was misdiagnosed as Bipolar, which only made things worse. 

    But Artstick sent me to Springbrook because I have autism. That's why she changed me to the PA when I asked to go to MIP. Maybe she began to doubt that she understood my disorder right or she doubted I was in acceptance. But wanting to stay at the same hospital is in itself a symptom of autism: not doing well with change. MIP was only too happy to go along with my father in changing my diagnosis from DID back to Bipolar because it allowed them to be right about me and it covered up the effects of them being wrong about me all at the same time. That doesn't change the fact that they were indeed wrong. They even tried to discourage me from talking about autism to doubly cover their tracks and reinforce Bipolar, completing the cover up. And any objection by me was paranoia and psychosis, just reinforcing their diagnonsense. 

    So, everyone would have won but me. Unfortunately, I don't give up easily and neither does my counselor. She learned it from her father and I learned it from mine. These kind of wars are a waste of healthcare resources, and I'm not sure what was the most immediate reason that got me into MIP in the first place, but I suspect it was either my confused state or my family's backstabbing... the Spravato had sent me into a dissociative state. But when I signed that information release, my father got the chance he was waiting for to bury me and my counselor and reestablish Prichards and Bipolar.

    Anyways, we cleaned up my parents' little coverup. Changed the DX's back again, clarified that they are not to be changed again, clarified that my parents are not to be involved in my health care decisions, and fixed the meds. I have a different medication for dystonia now in case the abilify stimulates the dystonia again. I'm on a dosage indicated for AUTISM, not BIPOLAR, which I do not have. 

    All's well that ends well? I don't know. I don't know because I don't know if my parents have reached acceptance or ever will. I've still not learned how to navigate these complex family schemes around my health. The autism is clearer now that I'm not on Clozaril, at least to me. I still have some anger and resentment at all I've been put through in this malpractice of Bipolar and the cover ups. If my father hadn't been a doctor it would have been harder for him to play the hospitals against me like that. But that was a key part of their whole plan: to use my brother's and my father's standing as doctors to reinforce bipolar and erase the rest. I don't know if they are capable of recognizing the fact that they have been wrong about me and in their obstinance and pridefulness they have caused me tremendous harm. 

 

Ebbybody lubs Spider!

Ebben ip he is a biter!

     I prefer to be nice to people. After all, the world is what we make it. It's not always easy though. Sometimes, things go wrong in life. It's not necessarily anyone's fault, though there is a natural tendency to look for reasons and assign blame. Sometimes, when two people reach an impasse, blame can pass back and forth rather rapidly like machine gun fire. Other times, it comes in waves, like coordinated offensives.

    I had a good meeting with the PA. He's going to research autism a little and he's in the process of linking up with the counseling office. We're going to try abilify one more time with a different anti-dystonia intervention. I'm trying the NAC supplements for mood support. 

Noise

 

    There is a great deal of noise in the world. some of it is generated out of hatred or ignorance. I hesitate to involve myself in anything that is not directly my business because unless I know the full story, I feel unable to act wisely, and life is not simple. It's always more complicated then we want it to be. 

    I've sensed a lot of negativity in my life lately. It's been a little overwhelming. Things are looking up though. Maybe I can afford to worry less. Today I'm going to be working some, and I'm going to work on my stories and poems. 

 

     Focusing on what I'm good at, what I enjoy, and on what I have in common with others. That is where the dawn is. Not in repeating the past. Not in litigating differences. 

     I need to shift focuses. Not everything is about healthcare. It's making me miserable just to think about it. I need to turn a page. Thinking about it gives me headaches. 

     I'm sticking with the routines. Work, writing, health management. I'm going to try to see the humor again. Try to write something funny. 

     Anyways, not everything is about me. Over a million people around here. I'm just trying to get by. I'm going to work on enhancing my calm. Enjoying work, hobbies, getting some exercise, picking one of those places to volunteer, writing. Maybe some paint. 

    I just realized something. This was supposed to be a voyage of self discovery. What's frustrating is certain persons controlling nature, insistence on being right, and dishonesty with myself and with my health care providers. I thought maybe these things would get resolved in private, but some people are far too stubborn. Pride is dangerous. It leads people to do foolish things. Sometimes, all you can do is walk away, when there is no listening and no room for differences.

You knooooooooow...

    Maybe that's what I was missing all along. Maybe the only thing my family really needs to know is that it's not Bipolar, it's Autism. And that their control freak nature is destroying any chance of anything real. Who knows. But hey, anyone that wants to know me, use the golden rule. Not that hard if you try. 

Autism and the DMH

    Work was slow this morning, though yesterday was fairly busy. I've got another shift later. The only remaining issue with the medication is the Abilify. I'm taking it for autistic irritability. Unfortunately, at 5mg while it improves my mood significantly, it sometimes causes dystonia, which is painful. Right now I'm taking 2.5 mg, which helps, but I'm not sure it gives the full effect and it still gave me some mild dystonia once. So I'm meeting with the PA on Thursday. The other one that is indicated for the same problem is Risperdal, which I've taken before. The main thing I remember about it is that it has really bad weight gain effects as you increase the dose. So I'm a little on the fence about trying to stay on the 2.5 of Abilify or trying 1 mg of Risperdal. The other medications in the class are not indicated for autism. 

    There are some alternative medicine approaches and some off label things for autism in general. I've actually tried all of them. Zyprexa (Had to D/C, can't remember why), Latuda (gave me dystonia), low dose naltrexone (not widely available in low dose form), N-Acetyl Cysteine (I'm going to try this), Clonidine (Makes you sleepy)... 

    Personally I feel that the Bipolar label has done a lot of harm and distracted from the real problem, Autism. Yet some people can't get enough of it. There are solutions for Autism, however. I think I'm very close to the optimal combination for me, which involves Vyvanse, some antidepressants, a beta blocker, and a special diet. The special diet helps manage side effects, idiopathic constipation, reflux, and helps to increase antioxidants and reduce inflammation in general. People love to give me hell for having special needs, which only makes survival that much harder and makes my med staff work harder. So I encourage all the haters to MYOB.

    Interestingly, THC helps to reduce inflammation just like many of these medical treatments, but the medical treatments don't bring me the harassment and BS that THC does. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I'll do what I have to do to manage my symptoms. Though I think it's a massive waste of health care resources to run mental health units the way they are run. If providers shut their mouths and open their ears, they could save themselves some time and work. Some are better at that then others. Here's hoping. 

    I didn't actually choose autism or the inability to tolerate certain medications. I'm playing the hand I was dealt. I'm finding that this way is working, however. While I do miss eating out more, I've found that controlling what I eat more carefully has led to great improvements in my quality of life and symptoms. Instead of soda or beverages with sugar, stevia beverages, herbal teas, vitamin waters, electrolytes, some magnesium, zinc, ashwagandha, l-theanine... natural substances that my brother loved to demonize when I was getting off Clozaril. Some people (MDs) just loooove control. Not that he was entirely wrong, but overly hostile and controlling. 

    I wish the mental health system gave even more instruction on nutrition, antioxidants, and natural remedies, as well as conflict resolution and boundaries instead of being label focused. 

    Other then deliveries, I'm focusing today on my stories. I'm trying to alternate between the civil war one and the funny stories to give myself some flexibility. 

    Some people literally can't tell the difference between dissociation and psychosis and I find that to be quite puzzling. Especially when they work in mental health. 

    I do understand that autism is not a "popular" problem to have. Especially after that guy murdered all those people and tried to use autism as an out. However, it's a very real and well documented problem. Just as real as, say, Bipolar. 

    Interestingly, Haldol is used off label for autism. I did not know that. I'm finding the anti-inflammatory lifestyle to be key. I do cheat sometimes, but I pay for it. Red meat actually can hit me pretty hard. Ultra processed foods or foods high in sugar like ice cream can throw me for a loop.

    Really my problems come down to a mental health system overly obsessed with Bipolar, lacking knowledge on dissociation, lacking knowledge on autism, and having poor boundaries. As my friend George said, some people should not work in mental health. That crazy doctor still works at CCBH. Absolute moron. Intelligence of a gnat. Waste of public dollars. The day they retire that man, I'll have to raise a glass. I have never seen such vast ignorance and incompetence wrapped up in one self obsessed, arrogant prick such as he. They need to send him back to med school. He is a determent to society. That is all he is. A disgrace to the license. He loved Hobbits. He should stick with that. 

    The thing about identity is, it is one's thoughts, feelings, and experiences, plus the biology that goes with it. It is not merely a psychiatric disorder like bipolar, ptsd, did, or what have you. It is not merely a job or a gender. It is not merely a political leaning or ideology. It's not just your religion or the foods you like. It's not just who you know or your IQ. It's the spark within... the soul. 

    Agreeing on everything or submitting to a group identity is not life. Life is expressing yourself through all that you say and do. Every word and every action is a part of who someone is. Ideological or chemical conformity and love or loyalty are not the same thing. Taking a medication or conforming to a label is not the same as loving or living. Clozaril did not make me who I was nor does the lack of it make me who I am. Clozaril did not make me happy or "normal". Clozaril merely suppressed my emotions or "numbed me out". It did not change the reality of the past or the present.

    Hospitals are meant to heal people, not manufacture drones or drug away personality. 

    What my family doesn't understand and perhaps never will, is that drugging people does not make you love them. Rather the opposite. People have free will for a reason. 

    It's very small minded to lock a person into a specific label or a medication. In common language we call that stereotyping. The brain has a natural need to categorize. Good, bad, pretty, ugly, sane, crazy. But categories are a matter of perspective. My backstabbing family prefers control. They see compliance as love. I am either the repentant and loving bipolar son or I am a hateful man. I do not see it that way. "Trauma" is also a matter of perspective. Some people see a family repeatedly lying about you behind your back, spreading hateful and malicious gossip and force medicating as traumatic. Others do not. Some see having trouble trusting family who acts in such a manner as legit trust issues. Others see it as paranoia. As long as I am the psychotic one, my family can do virtually anything and I'm just crazy or lying when I object. It's when the psychosis thing and the lies no longer hold together that life becomes challenging for my family. 

    Now they want me to "relax" while they continue to do as they do, lying and maintaining narratives and backstabbing and manipulating and oh it's all fine Robert's just crazy. Just another day in paradise. They'll never quit. It even comes down to little things like insisting on calling me by my full name angrily, being enraged when I do not use Apple products, not liking the same food... the smallest expression of independent thought is an offense to be remarked upon. Some of them have this overpowering need to be right about every little thing. The smallest detail. 

    I can't even go to the ER for a heart issue or a bad reaction to a prescription med without them full throttle taking over every last detail of my life, from where I live, to where I spend my time, to what job I have, to what I think, what diagnosis I have, and what medication I take.

    I'm the crazy one? Of course they'll deny it, that's part of their M.O. It's how they keep it going. Plausible deniability. I thought it was the hospital. No, they were the pawns. I signed that release. They talked to my family. I'll relax when they give me reason to. Until then, walls up.

    I'm trying to find some serenity here. I find that in this work and writing these stories. You know, when I was little, having medical professionals in the family seemed like a plus. The problem is, they dissect you and analyze you on a microscopic level. And the hospital will listen to medical people before they listen to a patient. But oh right! I'm psychotic again... gosh me... there I go again... every time I try to have an independent thought... I can't help but go psychotic.

    

 

     The best thing I can do is maintain focus on what I am best at. Right now, that's the deliveries and writing. It's not always smooth sailing. Today during deliveries I witnessed an act of road rage. I found myself locking my vehicle.

     The PA walks a middle road, much like I do. He doesn't understand everything, nor do I. He tries to be pragmatic, as do I. It's a narrow path. 

     I try to keep walls and boundaries and space. It helps me to breathe. Some things are sacred, though. Like birthdays. Some birthdays are coming up. Some will be easier then others.

     I want to be naive again. I want to believe in things like family, Santa Claus, America, etc. Some of those things are easier then others. I do believe in God, that is not a hard one. The more earthly things are harder. Reality gets too real rather quickly. I feel that distance helps. People are messy. They require maintainance and space. Breathing room. 

     Sometimes I feel so very far away. Like an alien. Sometimes I feel like I'm floating or gliding rather then walking, other times I change locations and can't remember how I got where. I get lost rather easily because I space out (dissociate).

     It worries me because I fear I may have an accident. But if I keep focused on what I'm good at and I keep space, then I am able to stay p¹resent. I float less. Get lost less. Dissociate less. Keeping a regular schedule and avoiding conflict helps.

     Relationships are difficult. There's so much indirect communication going on. Messaging. People stating and restating the same things.

     Work is going well. I work mostly during weekends, evenings and I'm working more in the AM. 

     You can't drag the past forward. I don't understand why some people try. I need the serenity. They want to continue where we left off, as if I'm still the same. People do change. They cant see that I have changed. That there is no rewind. I'm not a cassette tape. I know they want to change who I am. To rearrange me. To recreate iRobert. That's not how people work. I'm not a machine. I'm not a collection of symptoms. If it's not bipolar, they'll reach for something else. They don't see that I'm a person, with my own beliefs, experiences, and opinions. No, they want something simpler. Something they can understand. If I dont conform to the narrative they understand, and its not bipolar, they reach for something else. They want something they can fix. They dont want an independent, free thinking spirit. They want something to fix and move on. They dont see that I have no interest in being fixed. That the fixing itself is the very problem. I'm not a slave to psychiatry. They don't communicate directly. They are not honest. And then I'm paranoid or edgy for not trusting thier duplicity.

     Now we communicate generally by smoke signal. Can't keep grinding the same stones. Life's too short. I need to maintain focus on what I can control. Me, myself and I. Tomorrow, some maintaining, some work, and hopefully writing. I've been neglecting my stories.

     Not everything is about me, nor should it be. The metro area has over a million people in it. I'm trying to hold onto my serenity. It can be elusive at times. The routines help. I like the driving. Strangely calming, even though I used to get driving anxiety. Everyday I take Ashawangha and l-theanine. Magnesium and zinc too. Probiotics. Usually some chamomile. 

    I'm trying to jump back into some positivity. I'm about to start working with another contract company, I'm trying to write more poems and stories, add some exercise, and clean out a little old stuff. I'm enjoying keeping a regular schedule.

Strange

    I do think my life is strange. It took me time to put all the pieces together. There was so much mental programming going on. You want to believe that you can trust people, especially if they are your parents or siblings. I'm still trying to figure out what to do now. They loved Prichards. They refuse to admit any fault, but they have lied, backstabbed, gossiped, threatened, manipulated, and rearranged my health care at whim. They treat me like their property. And they expect me to love them for it. That's fucked up. And for what? To reassign me a psychological label? To put me in my place? What do you say to an unrepentant backstabber who just can't quit? What do you say to someone so insistent on controlling the narrative? What do you say to someone who is that hateful and calls it love? I don't know. You close a few doors. You give them space. Sadly, they end up driving you away. 

    Any real, breathing person has to build relationships based on who they are, not based on who people want them to be. People are complicated. Experiences build who they are. They are not robots or labels. It's difficult to have a relationship with anyone that accepts you only so long as you conform to a label or deny your own experiences and feelings. March was obviously an attempt by my family to erase the past and replace it with a sanitized version. It kind of reminds me of the movie Equilibrium or the book The Giver. 

    Like in the Giver, there are some memories that are difficult to remember. But you cant pick and choose your memories. You have to take the good and the bad. Antipsychotics don't actually erase memories. That's not thier purpose. That's why forced medication does not work. Denying experiences doesn't erase them. What it does do is destroy trust.

    Unfortunately, it's become clear to me that my family will never give up. I was thinking that they would see reason eventually, but they will not. They're set on restoring the narrative. I don't know what that means for the future. I thought there was a middle ground, but they keep crushing that middle ground. That makes my life dangerous. 

    They refuse to even consider that they have harmed me, preferring to lay all the blame on me. They absolutely hate the diagnosis, they hate my counselor, and they are still planning to destroy me and her. It's all in the details. They play games with words. Instead of saying we won't let you get the care you need, it's we'll let you get the "appropriate" care (the care they choose). Constantly treating me like a child 24/7. Prichards is still God to them, they are all holy angels who tolerate my faults, and I am merely the unrepentant damned who dares defy all holy Psychiatropy. 

    What really bothers me the most is that I didn’t wake up to my family's manipulative nature earlier in life. I'm rather concerned about the future, because there's no way to tell how or when they will betray me next, or what they say about me behind closed doors. This whole byproxy healthcare thing where my dad orders up a dx and meds for me like he's ordering a big Mac and fries at McDonalds seems blatantly illegal, but given that I have a history of mental illness, I'm broke, he's much more popular with the Healthcare community, he's been doing it for years, and he lies like a rug, I'm not sure there's much to stop him. Except that pesky HIPPA law. 

    I can't say I wasn't warned. 

Score on the removal of the bipolar label

System 1

Me 2

It's really tiresome when people work at cross purposes. It's exhausting. 

Thoughts on Blogs

    Originally, I did not like blogs. Then I realized that my family and the hospital both check this site. Even when they don't listen to what I actually say. So I decided I like blogs after all. Maybe I've been a little angry. But I'm trying to let that go and focus on doing what I do well to the best of my ability. 

    On a side note, given that I've gotten comfortable with driving again, I'm thinking of doing some volunteering again. Either an animal shelter, a pantry, or meals on wheels. 

iRobert: Systems Programming

 

    The world is full of systems, subsystems, and parts. Sometimes it does treat people like robots. Even people are systems, living and breathing organisms that have needs and make choices. A person that defies the system will indeed get run over by the system. The system will even back up and take another pass to be sure all resistance is crushed. Some people are bystanders, others are accomplices or vigilantes, and finally there are the independent minds that either glide within the system smoothly, or jam it up like a bad gear. 

    It's not any of this is a new idea. However, when I was a medicated drone, gliding within the system rather mindlessly, I enjoyed getting along but I missed the self-awareness and the independence. The system, desperate to recover its drone, pulls out all the stops to drug it up and reindoctrinate. How many people does the system run over on a daily basis? How does it rationalize each of these events? With labels. Of course, behind labels are complex stories, and labels aren't given out simply at random. Sometimes they are well earned and fit well, other times not so much. The person who refuses their label gets jailed. 

    I don't actually know if I returned to inpatient if they would try yet again to bipolarize me. I certainly don't intend to find out. I know some people will never accept responsibility for their mistakes and faults and continue to happily supply me with plenty of blame. What they fail to see is how they self sabotage by being so awful. Because then everyone realizes that the emperor has no clothes, and sees these people for what they truly are beneath it all. Ok maybe not everyone. I think some people actually buy the BS, either because it aligns with their beliefs or they're just plain stupid. 

    Assigning people labels and creating winners and losers does not actually help anyone in the long run. Destroying people prevents them from reaching their full potential. It also creates resentment in the long run. It helps to destroy relationships. Trust is not created by antipsychotics. Trust is created by being trustworthy.

    If standing up for my rights means no doctor will work with me, then I'll gladly work with PAs, NPs and counselors that get less lost in abstract theory and simply treat me like a human being. 

     After all, being treated like a label, regardless of which one, is not what I want. Doctors get lost in the abstract, and will beat you down if you disagree with their all holy opinion. That is their failure. Emotions are not symptoms or side effects, they are the humanity within us. The rich tapestry of emotion is what makes life worth living, not a rigid robotic nature and absolute fealty to authoritarian figures. While I'm still breathing I will not be a slave to bipolar BS. I will be a human being, with valid thoughts, emotions, and experiences that I can share with anyone who treats me as such. 

     Springbrook was much better about treating me like a person, though there was a tremendous lack of privacy and gossip in the small spaces of the facility. The small spaces also made germ transmission a major issue.

Arachnid Date 2025.09.30.0939

Di webbing is tinn on di log. Spidey has launched his arachnoprobes to di outreaches ob di forest. Ebbywhere, amongst di moss and di gwass, di trees and di bush, ebben in di ribber, der are baby recluses, wadder striders, and daddy long legs, wit one mission and one mission ONLY: to explore strange new clearings, to seek out new wildlife and new cibilizations, to boldly go where no Spider has gone before!

Spidey, Di Gweat Webber here! My minions are probing di forest, in search of new adbentures and new fwends to help spin new tales. A pew wadder striders in di ribber, a pew baby recluses in di moss. Spidey put on his best carapace. Bwown wit di light stripes. A pew flies in di webbing is bedder den twee in di air, Spidey always say. 

Vlad’s up in the trees somewherez, directing his searchbats to provide air cubber. Di old bat has still got some flap in his wingz, and out for blood as usual. 

Di air ob the forest is ripe within smell ob mushrooms, moss, and my friendly critters. Nebber before has der been such a coordination of epports. Ebben di deer take note of the vast array of Arachnid allies as they chart out di dark reaches ob di woods. 

Di shadows are fwiends ob di forest, cooling di creatures as dey go about der libes, libbing togedder in total harmony. Fweedom is our nouwishment, As Spiders dance in the dark, celebwating the vast dibersity of di woods. Ebby rock, leabe, creature and element, cweating a bast world of lipe. Togedder, celebwating dis world.

Yet suddenly a scout reports back from di front: “YOUR WEBBYNESS! YOUR WEBBYNESS!” Di liddle recluse gasps for air. “It’s di humans! Der back! BULLDOZER SIGHTED!”

“BULLDOZER?!?!?”

“Yes!” the scout huffs  “And a Halp dudden Chainsawz at least!”

“CHAINSAWZ??? Actibate Wed Alert! Notify Vlad! We need ebby last cweature to conberge at WONCE!”

“Yes, your webbyness!” the scout dashes off.

My worst fears are realized. Di Humans hab… Weturned!!!

     Refocusing back on what I'm good at. Running deliveries, writing, taking care of my health. 

My problem is that I dont like confrontation. But the hospital has given me some assurances that they won't play along anymore. If that's true, there's nothing my family can do to harm me anymore. I was a fool to sign that information release. Closing doors. Walls up.

The Funny Part

    The really funny part is that my family expects me to apologize for everything and use meds and support groups and money to make up for their awfulness. Even after March, they admit ZERO fault. ZERO. After stabbing me in the back so thoroughly they play dumb and act the offended Angels. What kind of wretched excuse for a human being uses a hospital to beat down a family member and then plays dumb? And it's not like it's the first time. And the hospitals just play along. WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE PEOPLE. Not everything is my fault. WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE. 

    It's weird how my family stops listening when I start talking. I don't know exactly how they do that. It must be one of those marvels of modern medicine. If anyone happens to have a word with a member of my family, please warn them to wake the **** up while they still can. I really don't have the energy to waste my voice talking to them anymore.

    You know, I've been thinking. The hospital seems sick and tired of my family and me. My family seems dead set on restoring bipolar and Prichards' reign at all costs. My counseling team refuses to let that happen. It's really my Counselor's office word against my family's that prevents restoring bipolar. Yet my family insists on restoring the narrative and holding me to blame. It's a stalemate. A rather ridiculous one, if you ask me. 

    What is love? Not a narrative that keeps one person locked in a false diagnosis with drugs that don't actually help them. Not a family that would rather force medicate then talk. Not family that is too proud to admit fault but would rather drag in the entire upstate medical system. That's not love. Definitely not love.

    Love is not an addiction to Psychiatric labels like Bipolar. Healing involving forgiving and moving on, not just by one person, but by a group of people. But I keep getting burned. Over and over. One sided forgiving and moving on is no healing at all. Crushing people like bugs unless they conform to a narrative is not love. 

    The hospital can't fix one side of a problem. It has to address the whole problem. But some people won't budge. It's really sad. I thought I could heal in counseling, but some people are so dead set on being right that they sabotage everything just to prove themselves right. Welcome to my family.

    We should start a support group called Psychiatry Addicts Anonymous. We'll label each other to death and walk away instead of talking about the problems. It's not actually uncommon in my family. I don't actually like to talk about their faults nearly as much as they like to talk about mine. But they do have them. Maybe someday they will have a real conversation with me. Maybe not. I've waited a long time. At this point, I think that the entire upstate mental health community is ready to walk away with me if that's what it takes to stop this battle between family. 

    No let's just blow up everything instead. Great idea guys. 

    Diagnonsense is not love. I've learned a lot about love. Things my family did not teach me.

I feel like I need more walls. Stronger. Thicker. Unbreakable. Layers of them. My mind is not so strong. I thought the hospital would help. Not flip the script. Instead of recognizing problems, they reinvent imaginary ones and make everything worse. They run back to bipolar like some dog chasing a car, no clue what he'll do if he catches it but damn set on doing so.

I'm still trying to focus on my strengths, but I'm still dissociating a great deal. It feel like everyone wants to avoid the truth. I'm not sure how to approach that. I can barely focus, and when i can i have trouble keeping up. I feel like the world goes faster then I can. Even going to church is hard. Everything ends up being hard. I feel like everyone is so in a rush to have me doing so many things. I can barely function. They're just looking for an excuse to blow my world up. My counselor won't let them. So they slander her. And they slander me. Slander is actually a crime, you know. 

Had trouble working tonight and trouble functioning at church. I need to focus on the concrete. Basic tasks. Though I'm always brainstorming for a story. Hopefully something funny soon. Life has been too serious.

The hospital was doing trust building. I think they are just trying to be pragmatic at this point. They're adjusting tactics. So that's a plus. It's really ridiculous with everything going on in the world that my life should revolve around bipolar... a simplistic theory that does not explain or describe so much of what happens in the world. I know why they don't like cptsd/did. It makes them look bad. It's not pretty like Bipolar. If it's Bipolar, then my problems are all psychosis and delusion. If it's complete denial, its all imaginary and insurance fraud. But if it involves patterns... then it's hard to adjust, it makes them look bad for not identifying the patterns, and it makes other people look bad for being part of patterns. Bipolar is thier best way out. It's thier "everybody wins". 

My everybody wins is to simply stop talking about labels completely. To not repeat the past. To be all of me, the good, the bad, and the ugly. With better walls. A whole person rather then a label or a last name. Just me. Rather then replace one label with another, simply stop using labels. To me, that's moving on. Being a person.

Thats what they tried to do last time I think. They did remove bipolar. So if I just live my life, don't change the meds, then there should be no problem. Maybe thats the everybody wins. I really don't understand the labels obsession. 

It really is time to move on. So long as I have the health care I need... it's time. 

I used to think I was good with people. No, seriously, I did. Sometimes I can be. When I can truly be myself. 

Anyways, I'm trying to move in a more playful and fun direction with my life. While keeping defenses up and vigilance on point. In private I can be a cool person. I want to rediscover me. Bring me out for everyone to see. Move past the labels. Create something more then writing. Draw. Paint. Build something, like in a friendship or anything other then the same grindstones with the same people, just tearing each other up like so much raw prey. I know it's possible. I can do it alone, or with anyone who isn't hell bent on conflict.

 

I have to keep my mind clear and as sharp as possible. It's not as strong as people think it is. Or act like it is. Keeping this constant structure, reinforcing my memory and my thought coherence through repetition and habit, avoiding stress and keeping strong, unbreakable walls will keep my mind from breaking. It will keep me alive long enough to speak the truth. Distance and time. Strategic retreat. Survival is a matter of defensive tactics. Peace is an illusion. There is only conflict when doctors are merely mouthpieces of the control. You know, that lady from Springbrook spoke of letter writing being a lost art. She was right about that. These are my letters. This is the truth. Trust is dangerous, and the past is never far. Independent thought is always a risk. Always. The system will crush it like a bug. Parrot the party line, and the rewards are nearly limitless. Defy it, and you are roadkill. This is the record of my life. People are too busy writing over the truth to hear it. But it is here. They deny it, they will spread lies and backstab and hate and never ever stop until the bullshit of bipolar reigns supreme. Until prichards is restored to glory on his throne of all holy Psychiatropy. But truth remains visible who have the will to see it. Mental manipulation, abuse of trust, and powerful medications are dangerous in combination. Together, they break the mind. The indoctrination merely papers over the cracks.

When I am dead, let my tombstone read: here lies ashes, child of Psychiatry, Rest in, as he walked in, pieces. Broken and reformed, manipulated, threatened, and drugged into silence. I am the drone that would not mind his place, I am a reflection of the dysfunction that created me.

Drugging away the past is simply not possible. There is no drug on this planet that changes the past, there is no drug that makes an unhealthy relationship healthy. There is no cure for hatred.

    Hopefully, this is me moving on. Writing my own story. Putting the past behind me. I've been a little caught up in the narratives of the past still. I'm building walls, higher and thicker. I must make my mind a fortress. Trust is not a thing to give out like party favors. Walking away from so many things. I'm not sure how I didn't see the truth sooner. I kept walking into the same traps, the same resentments, the same problems, like some crazy lemming in a catch and release cycle. Every time it's the same old thing, the re-bipolarization, the re-drugging, the demonizing and the indoctrinating. I now know to avoid my brother, my younger sister, and be careful with my parents and the hospital employees. They'll never bend, they'll never give up, they will push the narrative and break me piece by piece unless I submit to the all holy Old Guard Psychiatry, that which cannot fail, is all knowing, all seeing, and all backstabbing. That which has no fault, no liability, and 100% deniability. 

    I have to remember my friends George, Artstick, and the others. The ones that have tried to show me the way. The ones that tried to defy the narrative. That is the light in the darkness of the Bipolar night, it is the air in my ideological prison. 

    All this attention focused on what my problem is and whether I'm right or wrong about my own life... the thing is, if the medication I choose works and the strategies I use work, then it doesn't actually matter what theory they throw at me... the theory will fall flat if my way works regardless of the theory. 

    All this indoctrination about manic highs and depressive lows, completely ignoring social factors, autism spectrum, and the ADHD to focus so laser like on the bipolar theory of the magic maker, Prichards. So desperate for him to be right and me wrong, damn the system and damn me if it doesn't fit. Bring it all crashing down just to make a point? Just to be right about the past? Just to be perfect again. I don't have the energy to argue about bipolar anymore. I don't have the tolerance for the side effect riddled meds that don't address the real issues. Works out great for them. I don't have the energy for it. So focused on picking the disorder that fits their narrative that they destroy any possibility to a real story with me. Writing me out of my own script with the wrath of God. Too blind to see their own hubris. Any excuse other then the truth.

    I have to move on. I'm leaving the myth of Bipolar in the past. Anyone that wants to know me is gonna have to leave it in the past too. It doesn't need to be replaced with a different problem to fix. Just leave it. Let it go. Back away from the ideological fixation with your prescription pads down!

    Maybe they think I'm stubborn. They simply can't see that the bipolar meds don't work. They can't see that the application of the theory to my life is nonsense. Some people will never admit that I was misdiagnosed. But, the outpatient seems to have agreed to limit my family's influence on my health care. To once again de-bipolarize me. To fix the meds. Maybe I should take what I can get.

    After all, I don't actually want to be a label, regardless of which one. I just want the healthcare I actually need. Here's hoping.

 

I dunno, Vlad... dudent look good...

    Sometimes, all a person really needs is to take a break. Stepping away from whatever troubles you can bring calm to the moment and wash away the struggles.

Still having memory disturbances. Intrusive thoughts. Anger. Gaps in memory. Lapses in memory. MIP just doubles down on stupidity. But the outpatient clinics clean up the mess that inpatient makes. IS anybody learning anything here? Or is the Healthcare system addicted to stupidity? Find out next time!

Grooves

    I see now how finding and staying in a groove is essential. Keeping it simple. 

    The memories and the anger can come without warning, or it can be a obvious trigger. The hospital only has so much patience, and I need to be careful, because if they don't fill the medication, its hard to function. 

    It's hard to maintain focus, and my memory is very unreliable. Gaps. Sudden floods of memories. They're too busy burying the truth to acknowledge it. The past seems like a different life and people come out of the past to visit me. My path has sharply diverged. It becomes dangerous to talk. I'm able to drive, but ordinary activities are challenging. I lose focus so easily. 

    Even watching TV is a challenge. I space out (dissociate) and miss parts of the plot. Sometimes I watch a movie and either cant remember the plot or its so disconnected that it makes no sense. 

    The bursts of memories and anger is the worst. It's hard for people to manage, just like the spaceyness.  

    I've made a few key mistakes that continue to bite me in the rear. Sometimes I blurt before I can catch myself. Sometimes I dont speak up. I'm not sure what's going to happen. 

    I try to take my mind off the problems and focus on writing and work. It's so hard to deal with people. I'm trying to get the truth out there. I need people to know how dangerous it is to combine powerful medications like clozaril with poor boundaries. It destroys lives and families. Now the Healthcare community wants to bury its mistakes. I cant let that happen. 

It doesn't even matter that much which dx they use, as long as I have what I need. Though I still think cPTSD/DID, adhd, and autism are the most accurate. Tomorrow I'll try to write a funny story.

All I really need is a quiet life making my own choices. That's it. That's really what I have. I have problems, but I make them work. 

In a way I feel like my life started 3 years ago when I got off clozaril and the magic maker quit. Unfortunately, I do get to have an opinion and make decisions. A Lotta people dont like that. Take that one fella in the ER, a male nurse. It was a beautiful moment we shared. He took the time to snarl at me how much of a disappointment I was to my father. So sweet. That was shortly after he violently shoved a catheter up my urethra. Some of these of these moments were Kodak. 

Anyways, the world is so different off clozaril. I read people better, and I think more coherently. So long as I follow the law, I get to make choices, like which provider and what medication. I'm becoming more and more aware of the disconnect. They miss bipolar and clozastill. They dont like the dx. They dont like the provider. It's unfortunate.  

Anyways. It makes more sense now. Everything, really. I just dont like people messing with my health care and other people dont believe in my provider. As long as I focus on the most pressing and real tasks, no one has reason to fool with me. I like stability. It works for me.

Reminders

    I'm taking the time to remind family members and healthcare providers of my legal rights. While I'm still a living, breathing, US citizen I still have some of those rights. Sometimes people come up with excuses to violate my rights repeatedly. 

    There are several laws that apply to healthcare. I went to the Patient Bill of Rights.

• Timely access to medical care.
• Be treated with dignity and respect by each MED health unit staff member.
• Medical care that is free from discrimination on the basis of age, sex, race, ethnicity, national origin, language, disease, disability, or religion.
• Easy-to-understand information about your diagnosis and treatment options from your MED medical service provider.
• Ask your MED medical service provider questions so that you can make informed decisions about your health.
• Request the professional qualifications of the primary MED medical service provider rendering care.
• Communicate confidentially with your MED medical service provider. 
• Privacy and confidentiality as outlined in the Notice of Privacy Practices (available at your health unit).
• Withdraw your consent, delay, or otherwise refuse examination, intervention, or treatment.
• Continuity of care – if for any reason you decide to seek care elsewhere, your MED medical service provider will work to coordinate your care in accordance with your wishes.
• Review and request amendments to your medical records.
• Provide confidential feedback about any matter that occurs in MED Health Units by available means
• 
  

    I've had to stop talking to several family members over these issues. I've had to file a complaint against CCBH. Now MIP has also been violating my rights. It's frustrating to me. They say I need to take responsibility. But they are not doing the same. They are not doing the same.

    Recently, there was a big ruckus around here because some EMS workers violated HIPPA, a law that my brother described as "well intended but... [not enforceable]". It was one of the last conversations we had. My brother and I have not had a healthy relationship. He refuses to recognize that fact. 

    These people just keep doubling down. They don't give up. Convinced of their own moral superiority they will break the law and encourage others to do the same. It's sad. Then they lie to my face repeatedly about their actions and end run my health care, lie to my providers. It's frustrating. 

    I don't like being ugly. Sometimes people force me to. Unfortunately, there are laws in this country, and everyone has to follow them. You can say what you like about me, but I have broken no laws. ZERO. 

    They want me to take responsibility, but they won't take responsibility. Those EMS workers? They're unemployed now. I don't have the energy for this stuff anymore. From now on, no further warnings. I do contact the authorities when laws have been violated. My brother needs to reconsider his position on HIPPA. Very carefully. CCBH, MIP? They need to keep in mind these laws. My family doesn't own me.