I don't have time to come up with a cute title so deal with it.
I'm tipsy. Do you ever have so much to say you don't know where to start? No, seriously, I don't know where to start....ummmmmmmmm....soooo....yeah. I have had a lot to digest the past couple of days. Totally complicated....ANNNDDDD I have to multi-task due to the fact that I went from having so much time to think, sit on the couch, eat, think some more, and stare at myself in the mirror with disdain due to rapid weight gain (while holding a cookie). Now, I am squeezing my bloated ASS into a suit 5 days a week and putting on a "happy" face. I would like to say I have a lot of passion for what I am doing, so it does help, but anxiety and darkness is lurking behind every corner. If anyone has the answer to the following question I would love to hear it: HOW do you get diagnosed with several disorders while working at a decent place of business, lose your job, go in and out of a psych ward a few times, and then go back to work a year later? How do you make it last...especially if you really want it?
Moving on.
My psychiatrist gave me homework which is the last thing I need, due to the fact that I am inundated with so much new information at the moment. I know he is used to being "healthy" and "well" but NEWS FLASH! Didn't you diagnose me with Bipolar II, extreme anxiety, self-mutilation, etc.? Yeah, homework isn't exactly what I had in mind.
Homework:
Figure out a way to begin developing healthy friendships without codependency or feeding another person's illness or "bad behavior."
Easier said than done. I make extremely bad decisions all of the time. I cannot judge character or intentions of another individual because I am constantly walking around in a big fat cumulus cloud. I am one of the few individuals that has faith in humanity...Did you just laugh? Exactly.
Apparently, "healthy" people do not worry about "unhealthy" people as much as the flipside. Yep, even though I wallow in self pity, somehow I have the time to worry about others more than others worry about others. If that makes any sense. It actually does make sense to me and it is an extreme eye opener. HOWEVER, due to my extreme guilt issues, I feel bad that I have possibly fed a person's sickness, or again, "bad behavior." So then I go back into the cycle of additional worry.
Dammit! I went pee and now I lost my therapeutic thought process! Crapola!
(15-minute pause)
I still do not remember. I will take this as a hint from the universe NOT to continue blubbering on.
Hypocritically yours,
Truthaboutcrazy
I think its safe to introduce you guys to a "happy" little place I call "The Home." I came up with this cute little nickname from my "Great-Grandmother from another mother," Estelle Getty...Yep, I have seen almost every episode of the "Golden Girls" just like every other...ummm...teenager. Estelle played Sophia and referred to "Shady Pines" retirement facility as such...she often talked about trying to "bust out of the joint."
Whatever, dude. I'm not embarassed. That show is funnier than shit.
"The Home" is actually the Psych Ward. Ward #3 to be exact. I was told, "you should be in Ward #2 because of your extreme psychotic break; however, you talk too much and most of the people in that section already hear voices. They don't need to listen to you too...and that is a FACT" (insert Punjabi, indian dialect).
Sooo...I'm in bad physical shape because I told "Dr. I" that morning that I needed to release 50% of my blood from my body because my mother is evil...I am 50% of her and I want it out....you get the irrational picture...
Anyways, bleeding, shaking, talking crazy, shouting...I AGREE to go to this place to "get better."
"You will not be cured. You are on a journey and must meditate and think about what you have done and that is a FACT blah blah blah (Ok so whenever it ends with the word "fact" speak to yourself in an Indian accent...It's the same guy...p.s. I love him)
It smells like hospital. It looks like a very clean Dr. Office but with little orphanage beds...two beds per room. It's overwhelming...so I do what I do best...I talk...talk...I think I didn't pause until I had to pee 2 hours later. I'm confused...they are showing me my room...something about having a roomate and taking my shoelaces out of my shoes... So after the grand tour (It's only two hallways, one conference room, one office, a nurse's station complete with pills I want to eat and.....A CLASSROOM? But in the movies they get to walk up and down the hall twitching in a hospital gown and sleep alot. Like a lot of sleeping and medication and television and resting and more sleeping..and and and...STOP! The classroom doors open and I see my neighbors for the first time...WTF! Are there CRAYONS in that CLASSROOM? So this is what happens next...all of a sudden you're "normal" again and SNAP out of it. Get me out! Please! I don't belong here (uh yeah I totally did).
I meet the following people:
Male, 60's, talks only about the war
girl, very young, dissapointment to her parents
Female, late 20's, cigarette burns all over her arms...very friendly.
Woman, age unknown, growls like tiger...nevermind.
Super tiny woman with a feeding tube...anorexic...refused to eat so the Dr. jammed a bag of "Ensure" in her stomach...very hard to keep a straight face.
Female, a lot like me, starting lithium and takes vicodin for her back...great sense of humor...scars on neck and feet.
A few other guys and gals that are unemployed, trying to beat the system, and need a warm bed...ridiculous.
The Food:
Good. We were only allowed to use "Sporks"...quite possibly the funniest rule on the planet. You were graded on how well you ate by a little nurse. Did I mention the food was good? Kinda like a restaraunt...and then...SHIT! The manager of the "restaraunt" is someone I know. SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT. No wonder she never told me where she worked! The last three days I only remember dinner...she worked days...I hid behind a wall...I almost failed breakfast...The guy from war was in on my secret and he would do a "stop drop and roll" with his tray that had an extra bagel for me so I could recieve a "C"
The Schedule:
Booked Schedule 8:00 a.m. - 9:45 p.m. Crazy people do not like surprise knocks on the doors and the lights flipped on FOR THEM like CAMP in the morning. I am not a bitch. This made me a bitch. Good News is that my wife had to bring me ear plugs because my "Roomate" snored like a Friggin' fighter jet ready for take off. I made fun of her with my new "friends" on day two snorting like a pig and she caught me. Later that evening I was told that she said she was going to kill me in my sleep...ironic...I wasn't the one sleeping....Ok I'm off track. The schedule was Breakfast, morning "what do we want to accomplish" discussions, Break, Snack time (yep...you heard me), another class that coincided with the day of the week, "Quiet time" with our journals, lunch, 2 more classes, break (with a snack...duh), another class, Dinner, 1 class, closing discussion, lights out. meds at 8,12,5,and 9:30. If you leave your room in the middle of the night for a walk just to get away from...I don't know...a foghorn...you will meet 3rd shift. 3rd shift is a very cranky female nurse playing solitare and a very young, ugly and horny male nurse watching DVDs on the company computers. They got each others back; therefore, you have now pissed the bitch off and she says get back in your room...suddenly I am a 9-year old.
I must add that the day shift and evening shift nurses were lovely. One of them was even bipolar type 1 and had literally been on our side of the fence. I learned a lot but I needed a mother-trucking vacation when I left. I am way to extroverted for "The Home." I listened to everyone's story and, of course, I wanted to heal the world, fix everyone's problem, and skip around in a manic frenzy. Yeah...one day I skipped...I was bored! (Humph!)
Release:
Sounds easy. Takes forever. "Good morning, what have you learned? You can do nothing with the past. You are in the present and the future means nothing because it is not here yet. Your illness means you need to be CONCIOUS 100% of the TIME in the PRESENT...I see that it is a fact you have spent many hours taking classes on facts and the fact is that you can leave today...your wife pick you up? Is that a fact?" (RRRRGGG I love you....just stop say FACT!)
Then there is the paperwork that takes...2 hours? I call my reliable other half to come get me. Then she has to wait another hour at the release station...we leave...pizza...the end.
The moral of this story is before you have a psychotic break remember this blog so that you don't expect a trip to the movie set of, "Girl Interupted."
The End.
