I'm going to explode.
My brain won't shut up. I hate this circle jerk from hell. It feels like I am on that spinning ride thing that you see at a carnival or some shit. Around-and-around-and-around-and......
I call him the "Xanny-Man"
The little man in my head keeps chanting Xanax, Xanax, Xanax, Xanax.......some sort of voodoo witch doctor or something. I am literally OBSESSED. I can't stop thinking about it. YES, I am thankful that I have severed all ties to Xanax, switched Dr.'s, etc. But it's not enough! I am going to throw myself on the ground like a 2 year old and start kicking and screaming. But when I scream I still hear the "Xanny-man" in my head! I smashed my TV remote control on the coffee table like 20 times before it partially fell apart. Still, the "Xanny-man" kept chanting. Turned up music as high as it would go...I could still hear that fucker!
It would be so easy.
I fantasize about switching Dr.'s and getting Xanax again. It would be so easy. AND THEN I would prop my feet up, tilt my head back, and pop them in my mouth like M&M's. Yummy Yummy Yummy. Then I will sing like a bird and flip flop around the house until I pass out for 14 hours in a Xanax induced stupor. Yum!
I had no idea.
I had no idea that the craving for Xanax would surpass every other craving I have ever had. I had no idea that the spasms in my neck and esophagus would consume my self esteem. I had no idea that I would twitch and blink like a crack head.
I REFUSE TO LEAVE THE HOUSE!
I am petrified to leave the house. I don't want anyone to judge me, or stare at me because I would probably rip off my sleeve and chisel my wrists off in the middle of a public place. This level of paranoia is almost deafening....
I always thought that addiction would be one thing I wouldn't have to worry about....I thought wrong.
Truthaboutcrazy
Showing posts with label addiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label addiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Cheap and Evil Girl
Idiot is the girl who had no idea she was suffering...
As most of you know by now, @mindofmedusa and I are #LLBFF's and have caused a lot of trouble in the workplace when we first met, and even more drama after leaving due to medical reasons. One day we are manic, fun, and social and the next thing we knew we were afraid to leave our homes. Bff's that see each other once every 2 months? Thank you twitter!
Anyways, here is a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT for any government official who questions the integrity of our rapid downfall or the ASSHATS that were clueless on the fact that we could tough it up and thought we were just having a bad couple of days.
Modern Day AbFab Bitches!
Fuck Off Normals!
As most of you know by now, @mindofmedusa and I are #LLBFF's and have caused a lot of trouble in the workplace when we first met, and even more drama after leaving due to medical reasons. One day we are manic, fun, and social and the next thing we knew we were afraid to leave our homes. Bff's that see each other once every 2 months? Thank you twitter!
Anyways, here is a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT for any government official who questions the integrity of our rapid downfall or the ASSHATS that were clueless on the fact that we could tough it up and thought we were just having a bad couple of days.
Modern Day AbFab Bitches!
Fuck Off Normals!
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Xanax (benzos)
I remember when one of you made it all better;
and the promises made to change my life.
I remember when my head started swimming,
And I needed you to stay alive.
I just needed one.
and now it is five.
My blood crawls with rage if I don't have you on time.
What have you done?
I didn't even want you,
I didn't want to feel this way.
What have you done?
I didn't even need you,
just wanted the hurt to go away.
I remember when I called you my savior
Now I hate every piece of you.
I remember when heartache was a daily routine;
and the day I sought after you.
What have you done?
I didn't even want you,
I didn't even want to feel this way.
What have you done?
I didn't even need you,
just wanted the hurt to go away
And so...
I needed you after all,
I didn't really want to fall.
My body craves you after all.
I didn't really want to fall.
But I needed you after all...
(Sigh....)
I remember when heartache was a daily routine;
and the day I sought after you.
and the promises made to change my life.
I remember when my head started swimming,
And I needed you to stay alive.
I just needed one.
and now it is five.
My blood crawls with rage if I don't have you on time.
What have you done?
I didn't even want you,
I didn't want to feel this way.
What have you done?
I didn't even need you,
just wanted the hurt to go away.
I remember when I called you my savior
Now I hate every piece of you.
I remember when heartache was a daily routine;
and the day I sought after you.
What have you done?
I didn't even want you,
I didn't even want to feel this way.
What have you done?
I didn't even need you,
just wanted the hurt to go away
And so...
I needed you after all,
I didn't really want to fall.
My body craves you after all.
I didn't really want to fall.
But I needed you after all...
(Sigh....)
I remember when heartache was a daily routine;
and the day I sought after you.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Bastard
:::::: "I can't breath! Please don't kill me! I'm pregnant!!"
The pillow is lifted off my face...eyes the size of marbles.....
Suddenly, my underwear is on the bed and he has scissors. He is cutting the crotch out of all of my underwear except for a few matronly ones and throws them at me. I'm dizzy.
I start to scream. I'm called a fat slut. I feel a blunt object in the back of my head and then...lights out
He's paranoid again. (a fucking vicious cycle) ::::::::::
Bastard!
I went out on a limb after being gay since I was 12 and decided to make an attempt to conform to society by jumping into a heterosexual relationship. 5 months later I was pregnant. I know it sounds strange but after his father begged me for a grandchild, he eventually got his wish. Everyone was so damn excited. I was petrified and happy at the same time. In the back of my mind I questioned myself on my decision to procreate with the father. I went through a checklist and decided that it could have been worse. Home, Car, Job...yeah...we'd be fine.
I started to get really excited. Morning sickness was a bitch but I dealt with it. I began to read every baby book known to man to make sure I was doing everything right. A week later, there was an accident. I was called to the hospital. My son's father had lost 3 fingers in a work accident. It was tough. He had phantom limb syndrome and was in so much pain. But the worst? He was prescribed Oxycontin (not Oxycodone) for the pain. I was all for it at first...I mean he lost part of his hand. What I didn't know was that he was secretly an addict...not just pills...everything your brain can wrap itself around...he did.
Bastard!
He started chewing the pills up and taking too many. Then he went to the Dr. for back pain and he was doing what we call "Dr. Shopping." The pills were pouring in from every direction. He sold a few to buy other drugs too. I slowly realized I never knew his dark side.
The abuse began when I was 4 months pregnant. I was knocked down so hard I thought the baby was hurt. I was treated like shit until one day we were pulled over and I found out that he had an ACTIVE warrant out for his arrest? Who is this person? Once I found out, his paranoia got so bad he locked me in a room the size of a closet and only allowed to come out to use the bathroom or ask for a meal. Was this the same person? He was taken away to jail a few weeks later when they busted him for dealing drugs to an undercover officer. It wasn't until a month before the baby arrived (early) that he was released. He seamed much calmer and wanted to straighten up. I told him it was his second chance and I will leave if it happens again. I meant it. The baby arrived, and it only took 4 months. He threw me out of a car and since my only family member I had was out of town until the next day I asked to drive and suggested that he relax (didn't know what to say). I forced him to apologize and went home, all banged up to hell, and went to bed. The next day he threw a very large hard toy at my head and I was knocked out again. Angrily, I gathered my stuff and went to work. What he didn't know that I had managed to keep part of my paychecks away from him and was setting up the perfect time to leave.
Sometimes there isn't a perfect time....
Bastard
At the end of my shift I couldn't find my car. I reported it to the security guard and requested a call to the police. Before my dad landed from the airport, got my hysterical message, and made it to my work I had been sitting outside crying for at least an hour. Right before Dad arrived I received a creepy phone call, "I took the car. I put the baby in a Taxi without a car seat, then I called a locksmith, and I found your hidden ATM card. I took all of the money out of your account and took the baby to go buy Crack. Whatcha gonna do about it BITCH?
*Click* The phone goes dead and at this point I am hyperventilating and having somewhat of an outer body experience freak out.
Bastard
::::Fast Forward again::::
The police met Dad, me, and his wife in a separate car at a local clothing store. We came up with a plan to just raid the home. The house that I had decorated, painted, and made a beautiful place for a baby. But that house was not where we were meant to be. We were meant to be safe (not like punching bags). My son was still so tiny. So in 45 minutes we bagged up all that we could and bolted while the cops climbed under the house to catch him....he escaped. It wasn't until many months later that he was locked up for a year and a half. By that time I was able to establish a life for myself and my son.
He moved on after jail as well, got married, had another son, etc. But old habits die hard!
Now: He has no relationship with my son. My son is 7 now. No more Christmas or birthday calls...no letters. My son told me one day he thought I was worthless. I can't believe my kid felt that way let alone articulate it. My poor sweet baby...I had to think fast....
I told him that his dad was sick. I told him he was gone for 90 days to get medical attention and I told him that when he hides in the bathroom he was "getting" sick. I stopped all visits immediately. I found out there was dog feces, a lack of food, and no bed for my son to sleep on. I really thought that rehab was his rock bottom.
Nope.
Vicious cycle.
Guess what? Bastard
Now he has a warrant for his arrest. Sound familiar? My son doesn't know. It's irrelevant.
He is using again. EVERYTHING. Dirty needles, meth, coke, crack, methadone, heroin, you name it and he is on it. Completely wreckless and living in his damn car. A few days went by and kiddo asked about his dad daily. No phone call. After a few weeks he began to ask if he would receive a letter of some sort and after months, he doesn't ask at all. In fact, he cringes if someone brings it up and changes the subject. He is over the moon to say with confidence, "I have a mommy #1 and a mommy #2." Lovely!
Tears of pain. Tears of joy. Tears of mental anguish. Tears of elation. But not one tear was shed over meeting my son's father. Sometimes you endure pain to receive a blessing. A smart, witty, blessing.
So there we have it.
My child.........................is......................a...........bastard.
Thankfully yours,
Truthaboutcrazy
The pillow is lifted off my face...eyes the size of marbles.....
Suddenly, my underwear is on the bed and he has scissors. He is cutting the crotch out of all of my underwear except for a few matronly ones and throws them at me. I'm dizzy.
I start to scream. I'm called a fat slut. I feel a blunt object in the back of my head and then...lights out
He's paranoid again. (a fucking vicious cycle) ::::::::::
Bastard!
I went out on a limb after being gay since I was 12 and decided to make an attempt to conform to society by jumping into a heterosexual relationship. 5 months later I was pregnant. I know it sounds strange but after his father begged me for a grandchild, he eventually got his wish. Everyone was so damn excited. I was petrified and happy at the same time. In the back of my mind I questioned myself on my decision to procreate with the father. I went through a checklist and decided that it could have been worse. Home, Car, Job...yeah...we'd be fine.
I started to get really excited. Morning sickness was a bitch but I dealt with it. I began to read every baby book known to man to make sure I was doing everything right. A week later, there was an accident. I was called to the hospital. My son's father had lost 3 fingers in a work accident. It was tough. He had phantom limb syndrome and was in so much pain. But the worst? He was prescribed Oxycontin (not Oxycodone) for the pain. I was all for it at first...I mean he lost part of his hand. What I didn't know was that he was secretly an addict...not just pills...everything your brain can wrap itself around...he did.
Bastard!
He started chewing the pills up and taking too many. Then he went to the Dr. for back pain and he was doing what we call "Dr. Shopping." The pills were pouring in from every direction. He sold a few to buy other drugs too. I slowly realized I never knew his dark side.
The abuse began when I was 4 months pregnant. I was knocked down so hard I thought the baby was hurt. I was treated like shit until one day we were pulled over and I found out that he had an ACTIVE warrant out for his arrest? Who is this person? Once I found out, his paranoia got so bad he locked me in a room the size of a closet and only allowed to come out to use the bathroom or ask for a meal. Was this the same person? He was taken away to jail a few weeks later when they busted him for dealing drugs to an undercover officer. It wasn't until a month before the baby arrived (early) that he was released. He seamed much calmer and wanted to straighten up. I told him it was his second chance and I will leave if it happens again. I meant it. The baby arrived, and it only took 4 months. He threw me out of a car and since my only family member I had was out of town until the next day I asked to drive and suggested that he relax (didn't know what to say). I forced him to apologize and went home, all banged up to hell, and went to bed. The next day he threw a very large hard toy at my head and I was knocked out again. Angrily, I gathered my stuff and went to work. What he didn't know that I had managed to keep part of my paychecks away from him and was setting up the perfect time to leave.
Sometimes there isn't a perfect time....
Bastard
At the end of my shift I couldn't find my car. I reported it to the security guard and requested a call to the police. Before my dad landed from the airport, got my hysterical message, and made it to my work I had been sitting outside crying for at least an hour. Right before Dad arrived I received a creepy phone call, "I took the car. I put the baby in a Taxi without a car seat, then I called a locksmith, and I found your hidden ATM card. I took all of the money out of your account and took the baby to go buy Crack. Whatcha gonna do about it BITCH?
*Click* The phone goes dead and at this point I am hyperventilating and having somewhat of an outer body experience freak out.
Bastard
::::Fast Forward again::::
The police met Dad, me, and his wife in a separate car at a local clothing store. We came up with a plan to just raid the home. The house that I had decorated, painted, and made a beautiful place for a baby. But that house was not where we were meant to be. We were meant to be safe (not like punching bags). My son was still so tiny. So in 45 minutes we bagged up all that we could and bolted while the cops climbed under the house to catch him....he escaped. It wasn't until many months later that he was locked up for a year and a half. By that time I was able to establish a life for myself and my son.
He moved on after jail as well, got married, had another son, etc. But old habits die hard!
Now: He has no relationship with my son. My son is 7 now. No more Christmas or birthday calls...no letters. My son told me one day he thought I was worthless. I can't believe my kid felt that way let alone articulate it. My poor sweet baby...I had to think fast....
I told him that his dad was sick. I told him he was gone for 90 days to get medical attention and I told him that when he hides in the bathroom he was "getting" sick. I stopped all visits immediately. I found out there was dog feces, a lack of food, and no bed for my son to sleep on. I really thought that rehab was his rock bottom.
Nope.
Vicious cycle.
Guess what? Bastard
Now he has a warrant for his arrest. Sound familiar? My son doesn't know. It's irrelevant.
He is using again. EVERYTHING. Dirty needles, meth, coke, crack, methadone, heroin, you name it and he is on it. Completely wreckless and living in his damn car. A few days went by and kiddo asked about his dad daily. No phone call. After a few weeks he began to ask if he would receive a letter of some sort and after months, he doesn't ask at all. In fact, he cringes if someone brings it up and changes the subject. He is over the moon to say with confidence, "I have a mommy #1 and a mommy #2." Lovely!
Tears of pain. Tears of joy. Tears of mental anguish. Tears of elation. But not one tear was shed over meeting my son's father. Sometimes you endure pain to receive a blessing. A smart, witty, blessing.
So there we have it.
My child.........................is......................a...........bastard.
Thankfully yours,
Truthaboutcrazy
Monday, August 8, 2011
Deep Thoughts: A Comedy
When I am driving and see a squirrel I slam on my breaks, scream, "oh lord," and check my rear view mirror for a fatality...When I see a human I think, "hmmm...what are my options."
On my way to work I enjoy my morning radio show and talking to myself...when I am at work I look at the glass window every ten minutes wondering if it is made of Pyrex or a thin sliver I can jump through.
My step-mother claims to be a woman of GOD and goes to church every weekend...My father loves me more even though I am a "Gay."
Sometimes my son is the only one that understands me...sometimes my son is the only one that will play video games with me.
I hate books because they represent a long-term commitment with their "thickness" and all...I love articles and read for hours on the Internet.
I dream of Disney World...I also dream of Arsenic.
Money = security; however, Money = evil, therefore, Money = Rotting in hell wearing designer shoes. (my personal favorite)
I like to make up songs about any words that rhyme...I like to annoy people at work, the grocery store, and family functions for the mere sake of being annoying.
I like to think demonic thoughts, fantasize about blood and guts...but I hate "horror flicks." Hmmmm...maybe it inundates my mind with fun!
Until next time my fellow demonic darlings...
Truthaboutcrazy
On my way to work I enjoy my morning radio show and talking to myself...when I am at work I look at the glass window every ten minutes wondering if it is made of Pyrex or a thin sliver I can jump through.
My step-mother claims to be a woman of GOD and goes to church every weekend...My father loves me more even though I am a "Gay."
Sometimes my son is the only one that understands me...sometimes my son is the only one that will play video games with me.
I hate books because they represent a long-term commitment with their "thickness" and all...I love articles and read for hours on the Internet.
I dream of Disney World...I also dream of Arsenic.
Money = security; however, Money = evil, therefore, Money = Rotting in hell wearing designer shoes. (my personal favorite)
I like to make up songs about any words that rhyme...I like to annoy people at work, the grocery store, and family functions for the mere sake of being annoying.
I like to think demonic thoughts, fantasize about blood and guts...but I hate "horror flicks." Hmmmm...maybe it inundates my mind with fun!
Until next time my fellow demonic darlings...
Truthaboutcrazy
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
"The Breakdown, The Home, and The Indian"
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.
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.
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