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. 

Walls

I'm not sure if I don't say what I need to say or people simply don't listen. I'm trying to be more deliberate with my communication. People that don't listen, I don't spend time with. I now have a job that requires minimal talking so I dont have to stress my voice for no result (VNS implant). I'm saving my communication for when it has impact. For the most important things. Without the medication, I communicate mostly by the mychart (text) messages, which is something Prichards was completely unwilling to do. It's so much easier. Plus, it creates a paper trail, so no one can bullshit or do the run around. I talk to five people on a regular basis. Well six now. The PA, two counseling people, my sister, and 2 friends. Cutting down on social contacts keeps my head clearer. Maybe I'm hypersensitive, but I'm finding people much more difficult. I'm trying to be much more careful. Psychological walls, gates, checkpoints. It's not only harder to focus since clozaril dc, but I seem hypersensitive. I almost always have tinnitus. I suspect I come across as aloof. I need to protect myself. While people can argue whether I've had a hard time, I can plainly say that it's difficult to tolerate stress. So while people can argue all day long about who I am and what I am capable of, I can clearly demonstrate how extreme my limits can be. I just don't have the endurance, particularly when people work at cross purposes. 

Running people over destroys trust. People can call me paranoid if they like, but I dont have the patience or the energy for playing games. I need to focus on what's real. If I say something once and it is ignored, denied, or not heard, thats it. One strike and you're out. Communication should not be a war. People don't listen, they're gone. I'm done. 

There are many people that I have not had real conversations with in months. I just dont see the point anymore. If its not working, it's not working. I'm scratching people off the list. One day I'll be dead. I'm not there yet. But, while I'm still alive, I'm not going to keep grinding the same stones. There's text, email, voicemail. If you don't hear back, no hard feelings on this end, just know that it's not working. I'm done. I know people have no fucking clue, but its been 3 years since Prichards quit. My life changed. It will never be the same. Getting off clozaril, switching psychs twice, and all these hospital visits has been a nightmare. I do not have the energy to fool with people anymore. I'm done. You can blame me, my counselor, spravato, thc, you can blame the damn moon and then you can fuck off. Kindly please. Too many people in my pathetic little life fucking around. Call me paranoid, then kindly fuck off. I need breathing room.

Anyone that has the fool idea to screw with my providers, my healthcare, or my well-being, keep in mind that I'm always more then happy to contact the state and file a complaint. While I'm still living, I do get to make some choices. I've tried to be nice. I prefer to be nice. Now, I reserve the right to do I need to do to protect myself. 

If people finally fuck off for a good long while, then maybe things will change. But people are simply not taking a hint. Then they act surprised when relationships crumble, trust crumbles. If you can't listen to me, you can shout at the wind or listen to me through legal channels. I can be ugly too. I don't like it, but I'm learning to live with it. 

If you think I'm winning, you haven't checked the score. 

Healthcare Chess

Boundaries in healthcare can be very important. Without proper boundaries, it's easy to hijack or sabotage someone's well-being. To run them over, run over thier providers, to have one family member running another family members entire life byproxy. This breaks relationships, breaks wellbeing, and wastes resources. Eventually the hospital will have to choose whether to do its job or to help my family control me the way Prichards did. They tried the helping to control route. My counselor is the roadblock to that plan. So now either the hospital is doing wait and see like my family or they are finally getting the picture. It's a Healthcare cold war. Everyone wants a piece of the action, it seems. I've put up my own walls. 

Felled Man, M.D.

 

Pruning

    I'm closing down everything I can no longer maintain to focus on my deliveries, health and my writing. Only the essentials now. I'm still dealing with a lot of memories and ptsd. it doesn't help that people keep doubling down on sabotaging and undermining me. But I'm closing doors as much as I possibly can. Maybe some people will finally fuck off. Maybe my counselor will have to work overtime. Who knows. She gets paid by the hour, just like anyone else. So long as she is standing, the law is on MY side. So everyone (you know who you are), Fuck off. Thank you.

Responsibility

    There are times in life that a person needs to walk away. Sometimes you can explain, sometimes you simply have to move away as quickly as you possibly can while you still can. Further, sometimes life involves a lot of one way communication. That's not generally a good thing, but it happens. Usually, one way communication is a good sign that it's time to suspend communication or end it permanently. Sometimes you don't get a chance to say goodbye, much less to explain. 

    I've put all my communications on hold pretty much since march. Damage control mode. I don't know if or when some communications will resume. I'm focusing on what's real. Writing. Working. Maintaining my health. Maintaining space. Slowing down the bullshit train. 

    I'm hoping that eventually some communications resume. Others, I'd rather let go.

    There are many things I can take responsibility for. I can take responsibility for being funny, intelligent, kind, good at writing, contemplative, sometimes overthinking, creative, generally quiet, a bit edgy, somewhat tired, frustrated, cautious, repeatedly stabbed in the back, belittled, threatened, harassed, at times not sure if the world is falling apart, sometimes on the edge of leaving town, always thinking of contingencies, having taken THC to cope with all the bullshit and not getting what I needed in the first place, Given the incorrect medication, not given the right meds, over-diagnosed, misdiagnosed, lied about, had my reputation repeatedly and completely trashed, Having taken a lot of different medications (some by choice, others not), Gotten extremely pissed off at hospitals that just go completely apeshit (usually because someone stabs me in the back)... 

    I can take responsibility for so many things. I can take responsibility for people treating me like shit again and again and again. I can take responsibility for being messy, mismanaging trust, and for trying to have some control over my own life. I can take responsibility for not being a good communicator. I can take responsibility for that. At end of the day, there's so much responsibility. But I'm rather tired. I can take responsibility for my family using the healthcare system to run me over again and again like road kill. 

    I can take responsibility for many things. But I'm rather tired. I'm tired of people lying and being wretched excuses for human beings. I'm running out of the ability to not call them out on it. My counselor is the only reason I'm still alive and in one piece. The absolute, only reason. Otherwise, my family would have rearranged my biology and my psychology yet again. Someday maybe people will understand. Or maybe I'll live my life communicating by smoke signal. I don't know. I have to maintain some semblance of safety and sanity. My counselor is the firewall. So long as she is standing, I am safe. Some people find that enraging. But she's still standing.

    As of yet, my family has only dragged in 3 upstate hospitals, 2 in MA, and countless doctors and therapists to try to untangle the mess of drugs (medications) and issues that they have found with me. Who knows. I'm only in my 40s. By the time I'm dead, maybe we can drag the absolute entire eastern seaboard into this dysfunctional thing we call my life. Or maybe someday some people will finally fuck off. Here's hoping. 

F.U.B.A.R.

   One of the first things I did when I got out of the hospital was broadcast this website far and wide. I sent it to hospitals. I sent it to friends (including Health Dept). I sent it to all my providers. I sent it everywhere. There had been such a colossal and utter lack of listening that the only thing I knew for sure is that if I was going down, everyone was going to know why. Even if they chose to ignore the truth, they would at least hear it. 

    There's been forced medication, threats, manipulation, backstabbing, sabotage, medication carousels, diagnostic bullshit, and never ending chaos. When there is no listening, life is merely a long process of screaming into the wind, with the only result being that you hear your own echoes now and then. 

    Then they wonder why my counselor insisted on keeping going. It was because she had been in the storm with me, and knew the insanity that was my life first hand. She knew it all. She knew why I had to stop talking to certain people, she knew why my medication was fucked, she knew all about CCBH, she knew everything. "Lean on your counselor" Artstick said. My counselor was all that was keeping me in one piece day by day, as the world moved to obliterate me piece by piece. 

    And yet I still test the wind and put my ear to the ground, even as the weather has calmed. I keep vigilant for danger. They call it paranoia. I call it common sense. My life has become FUBAR... FUCKED UP BEYOND ALL RECOGNITION. I still have weird headaches, feel on edge, constantly looking for danger. No believes me, no one actually listens. It's just one long bullshit train and I just can't get off. Will anyone ever acknowledge the truth? Will anyone ever see the failure of the system? Or will they continue to bury it and play games? Will my life be an endless series of playing along, going through motions, pretending? Will it ever be REAL again? I'm still testing the wind and keeping my ear to the ground. Trust is a risk. 

It helps to focus on what I do well and what I enjoy, and eliminate the rest. Rather then put myself around people who clearly do not enjoy my presence or spending time doing tasks badly, focusing on the people who genuinely enjoy my presence and dont play mind games 24/7 is the path forward. I dont like it. I'd rather get along with everyone. But I can't control everyone and everything. 

Well, can't get stuck on the past. You can only move forward. Adjust. Try to forget. Walk the narrow path. Someday I will die. What will they say when they bury me? Will they lie then too? Will there be any truth left by the end? Or will my life be the never-ending bullshit bipolar train, complete with supporting cast and extras? Finding out one day at a time.

I need to be much more careful. Close more doors. I dont have the energy or endurance anymore.

This reminds me of the movie, the rainmaker. There's a part where the lawyer guy is trying to help the lady with her will and she wants to write out her family and at first he pushes back. But then he meets the family. He stops pushing back. Some people are bad in combination.

Ive been holding onto fantasies too long. I have to start cutting cords. Question is, if I end up in a hospital again, or have an accident or anything at all happens, what next? What will they think of next? What narrative, center, drug, rationalization, excuse, or lie is next? Where is the bullshit train heading? And how do I get off? 

The truth behind the medical bullshit is definitely becoming clearer. No one has given up. They're changing tactics. Watching. Waiting. Too convinced of thier own moral and mental superiority, desperate to restore prichards and bury thier mistakes, bring back the glory days when they drugged freely and buried the truth of the past. Everything they covered up with all the pills and all the shrinks and the defenses and rationalizations. their dogged determination makes my life all the more isolating and risky.

It's like the deepest ocean that I sink down into, as the realizations hit me again and again. No one has given up. They are changing tactics. The pressure is like hundreds of feet of water pressing down. Confess, thier eyes say... confess and become our acolyte again... restore prichards to glory... drink from the cup... give up your freedom and drug again.... repent... pretend with us... play along, we had it so good... Drug it up... give us what we want... please...

It's tempting to believe that people see you a certain way, or feel a certain way, or understand something. There's that longing for human connection. Sometimes the truth is brutal. Cold. 

    I didn't use to think it was possible, but people really can repeat the same lies so many times that they actually 100% believe them to be true. It's not even a fudging, it's a flat out, complete construct that is constantly repeated over and over again like a mantra. 

    It's like, if we keep using the word love but act hatefully, we lie to ourselves and believe we really are being loving. We can betray, destroy, demonize, and generate fiction in amazing quantities as humans. It's really been disturbing to understand how good some people are at acting horribly. They get so used to doing it that they literally will feign total innocence while stabbing you in the back. Pride is an excellent motivator. Selfishness. Hatred. Anger. I don't actually know why some people insist on doubling down again and again. I'm beginning to doubt the potential of humanity with everything going on in the world. 

    I do know why in my life certain people have been acting the way they have. They miss the myth of the drugged me. The me that was medicated into a robotic existence, and they use certain lies to justify their behavior again and again. It's become so very hard to even be around some people at all. I have stopped answering personal calls almost without exception, and I almost always regret answering the ones that I do answer. 

    And yet some people won't give up. Double down every single time. Far too stubborn to give up until clozaril and prichards are restored to glory, my defender written out, and the whole past rewritten to their likening, complete with praises, apologies and professions. I never thought life could be this kind of nightmare. I never thought my own family would keep spreading so very many lies and be so manipulative, two faced, and hateful, as well as shallow. But some people don't know how to stop. No matter what. 

    It's an ugly thing to have to tell people how awful they can be. Especially when they simply repeat their lies and double down again and again. They rarely even change tactics, it's just a rinse and repeat indoctrination and mind numbing hatefulness. It's exhausting. It makes me tired in my bones, a kind of dead tired where you feel half alive and you haven't even done hardly anything to justify the tired. 

    I really want to see what those hospital records say, but I'm willing to bet my father has been talking to professionals. Artstick refused to speak to him, and he was furious. But Arson, he's old guard like prichards, and he'll buddy buddy with my father. Arson flipped like a light switch. 

    What do you do with people so insistent on being miserable? When they stab in the back and give fake smiles? What do you do with force medicators who do not listen and do not bend? What do you do with people like that? You close doors. You walk away. And yet, they keep coming, as if by repeatedly reinforcing the awfulness, they somehow erase the bad. Yes, clozaril worked out really well for them. But it's been a fucking nightmare for me. And they will not stop. They will not shut up. They will never ever give up. I was trying to find the middle ground. Then march happened. 

    They're always gearing up for their next move. I'm getting exhausted. I really have tried. They literally do not know how to quit. I heard a phrase once "allergic to listening." That's what they are. I really do believe that they loved Prichards and his idealized, medicated, robotic version of me FAR more then they ever loved the real me or the unmedicated me. I started clozaril at 19, shortly before the 2nd coma, which they never came to the hospital ever. Strangers managed the whole thing. It does make you wonder. If that's family, then what is an enemy like? Too addicted to a false reality. A medicalized version of me to ever know or love the real me behind it all. What does it mean when a parent would rather drug you then know you? What does it mean? When they hate you so much that they would rather threaten, drug, lock up, do anything other then actually know you? How do you even hate a person that much? How is it possible? Especially if they are your child? How do you do that? what goes on in a person's heart and mind to actually hate someone that much? To drug them into non-existence? They'd rather lie and pretend then actually honestly tell me. Pretty fucked up? I think so. 

    They started me on drugs at 10. By 16 i was on multiple. I had already had several counselors. The drugs just kept increasing and I was locked up in MA by 19. The insanity that is my life. DRUG IT UP! But don't talk. Just drug and pretend. some parents are like that. I'm not the only one. 

    I waited for a long time for them to change. It's only gotten worse. 

The Narrow Path

Walking 'long the razor blade while watching for a fall.

It's the strangest kind of journey along an edge that's hard and tall.

Lined with crowds the path that stretches across the rusted edge

Their angry voices calling loud and raging for a pledge. 

Jackals dance and ponies prance upon green fields below

But oh how far the people are, the ones I claimed to know

While times still change and rearrange, depending on fortune's fall

Pray brighter days will rise from the haze of memory's faint recall

Too old to chase the shadows passed yet too young to chase the grave

I'm saddened as the heroes of once descend to errant knaves.

I seek out the message that may put these bitter hearts to rest

Yet all the while surrounds the guile that kindness cannot repress

Bleeding footprints along the path with no certain end in sight

With so many simply chasing one more peep or one more fight

Laughter will rise and with it the reprise as callers seek revenge

amongst gentle whispers of yesterdays that cannot find amends. 

Gossip is the magistrate and Jealous is the blade

Crossing fast and seeking solace before the light shall fade

Waiting till the time might come that echoes will finally silence

As words are made like cannonade repeating their ghastly violence.

Whilst I look unto the skies to bring mine eyes reprieve,

Silence comes like the blessed nuns walking forth to lament and grieve

Retreating from their castles now the angels shall merely observe

As the world rejects their words of wisdom to embrace the most absurd.

Thus logic is lost but at what cost and hatred reigns instead

Common Sense, which none repents, finds many tears to shed

So I continue 'long the razor blade into the misting clouds

And turn my eyes unto the skies, away from shadows' shrouds

Crowds follow the roads and stick true to the codes regardless of the price, 

For it matters not for what they fought so long as the stories entice

With truth erased and rewritten to replace the deeds they can't defend

So long as it fits, pray no one admits they have to smile and pretend

Amongst all these fears where are the ears that truly seek the sound?

For when all seek tales that ease the ails, reality won't be found.

Take the drugs and drink the suds, to deaden the doubt you feel

But do not be surprised, when all turns to lies, and the chaos becomes too real

Lies and rumors reverberate, and spread a bitter hate, yet no one  will repent

They just move on and dance along denying with each lament

The innocence retreats and repeatedly meets no refuge in the night

So the cycle revs up, as many drink from the cup ingesting hatred's might.

A call to the willing, amongst people milling and dancing down below

Walk along the path, or risk the wrath, of the Jealous blade's swift blow

No one's truth stands alone, with the casting of the stone will come a bitter fight

So choose your friends and play pretend, or walk the narrow path in fright.

 

Problems

    How do you know when someone has a problem? What does it take to cross the line?

    Is it enough that they use a psychiatrist to control them son and repeatedly stab him in the back? Does it have to move on to using multiple hospitals to do the same? What about repeatedly threatening, begging, manipulating, lying, and sabotaging their health while playing dumb? How much forced medicationings does it take? How many threats? How many lies? how many betrayals? 

    What is the definition of insanity? The saying goes, doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. Some people literally never learn. They prefer to destroy others and bring everything crashing down around them rather then be wrong. 

    We still haven't finished going through the paperwork from the hospital, but I'm willing to bet that somewhere there is a record of my father speaking to the doctor and repeating the same bullshit story that he's been telling everyone for years. Ever since Prichards quit. He's absolutely determined to destroy everything in my world unless I repent and restore Prichards to his place of honor and quit this counseling. It doesn't matter how many people he uses as pawns, what he destroys, what extremes he has to go to. 

    And then they say I don't have problems. And they play dumb and lie to me over and over again. Throw me trinkets and false compliments and bullshit me to death. I want to see what's in those hospital records. I'm tired of people playing games with my mind. 

    Some people just don't know when to quit. They don't take fuck off for an answer. Too addicted to control and self glorifications. I swear that man has so many pawns dancing to his tune and they know they are being used and yet they play along. Fucking twisted.

The Egotist

People are not made for love but made to be my toys

I build them oh so carefully to rush unto my bidding

Like a vengeful God I smite and engage my minions in my ploys

The world it revolves around my name, and I am always winning

I tweak my little playthings and I program them with care

I am the worldly doctor, and as such, you must beware

Should you dare defy me, I will rip your world to shreds

Lock you up and run you down, drug you up with meds

I'll make you into a liar and I'll threaten you by proxy,

I'll stop at nothing to control your everything,

even till you're dead,

I'll run you up and run you down

I'll play you for a fool,

I'll rearrange your everything

You are nothing but my tool.

I am the worldly doctor,

I know so much more then you

If you're lucky you'll still be breathing

When my game is through.

I'll drag everyone that I can find into my twisted games

I'll lie until the sun goes down if it gets you labeled insane

I'll play against your little life every card I've found

I hope you're feeling paranoid, because soon we're starting rounds.

    You know I feel like an addictive substance. People just can't stop fucking with my mind. It really makes no sense. People absolutely love going on power trips. Psychiatrists can be some of the worst. There's this one psychiatrist, his advice to me was to act like a robot. That was one of the last conversations I had with him. 

    I was a bit robotic on clozaril. It's some powerful stuff. Numbs you out and you're just running around with no real connection, no real emotion, just this emptiness that's kind of soothing but also haunting and you never form any real connection but live a meaningless and empty life.

    A lot of people preferred me as a robot. I was easy to control. It was an incredibly structured life, and I was devoid of personality. It was so empty. It was about toys and games and nothingness. Now they're so angry that I don't want the empty, meaningless life they had set up for me. And they make threats and pull strings and draw in every medical professional in the upstate to bring me back into the fold. They just won't quit. It's a new bullshit every day, adding to the legends and the repetitions and meaningless little nonsense that they structure their lives around. Thank God some things aren't legal, and some people are too proud to break the law. Usually. 

    I have no doubt that these medical people are smart. That's why I've been talking to them a great deal, to help them understand the games people are playing with my wellbeing, so that no one else gets drawn into the dysfunction that surrounds me. I think the medical people would rather believe the pretty bullshit that these people spin and cast me as broken or as a demon and let the others play hero the way CCBH tried to do. It's a beautiful lie. But they are too smart and I'm not quite so naive and brainless to let that happen. 

    Life feels like an amusement park ride that I just can't get off. Now I'm beginning to see that other people are getting tired too. We're all just spinning round and round and crashing into each other. I think a while back I talked about slowing it down. I feel like I just keep pumping the brakes but its difficult to make it stop especially when all the noise just doesnt dampen. The more time passes by the more the reality creeps in and the horrified I am by the past. 

    People are messy. They require a lot of maintenance and management and instead of getting quieter everything just gets louder and faster. I keeping closing doors and they keep breaking open and then its musical medications and backstabbing and manipulation and ceaseless and never ending games and its like living inside a pinball machine. The reality comes back again and again and im absolutely horrified by the past. The more I try to step away from people the more angry and spiteful they become, dragging me back again and again with thier narratives and demands. 

    Getting off clozaril happened 3 years ago, with a brief interruption. And some people will stop at nothing to obliterate my existence and make my life the very definition of "A Dolls house". It's sick. So pedantic and self obsessed, with little to no concern for my well being. And yet we play this game, and drag in half the county and virtually every state agency as if just to make a point. It's insanity on wheels. Never-ending charades... and yet... as much power as some people think they have, they do not control the law.

    Someday I will die. Right now im still breathing. It doesnt matter the lies and the labels and the parade of bullshit. They cant erase me. They keep trying, throwing trinkets and using manipulations and games. I'm still standing. These power plays are not fooling anyone or impressing anybody. They just make this name a joke and make more obvious the sickness behind it all.

    Some people will just never quit. Too obsessed with how important they feel controlling the world and puffing themselves up like peacocks, strutting around so everyone can see how great they are in their minds, and how pathetic in actual reality.

    Maybe someday they will quit. Maybe not. I'm not holding my breath on that. Ive got to try to pick up these pieces and move on. 

Cult Fiction

    Sometimes being part of a family is less like a company and more like a cult. There's a tremendous volume of stories that go beyond all reason to be more like ancient legends or folklore... members become caricatures or mythical beings of good or evil, and facts are pulverized and reshaped into stories of greatness or tragedy. There's a certain desperation when people don't stick to the script. A panic. A rage, even. Life becomes a predictable nonsense of walking around repeating the same phrases and pretending that life is rigidly predictable and that nothing happens at random and no one makes mistakes. People are either perfect or evil. Angels or demons.

    Sometimes families even have enforcers. If someone falls out of line there's always a sibling or a child or an aunt or uncle to form this stream of incessant checking like a stream of water wearing down a rock. 

    I'm rather certain that by the time I'm dead, people will understand the dangers of poor boundaries in healthcare better. There's only so much you can manipulate a mind and medicate it and threaten it and constantly and relentlessly attempt to pulverize fact and build fiction before it either breaks or turns the script. 

    Even CCBH knew. That crazy doctor ran around screaming about the family that operates like a medical cult and regurgitating various insanities and literally drove me and that hospital into the ground with the stupidity of trying to re-force medicate and what good did it do ANYONE? HELLO??!?!? Some people never learn. I'm a slow learner. But I'm catching up. 

    Anyways, more work today. I lost some money trying to start the tax business that the cult was insisting on and dealing with the fallout of the nonsense from the last hospital visit. I've been hardening some defenses and monitoring spending while trying to take care of the tax matter. 

    I really hope it doesn't get to the point that I have to start being blunt with people. I don't want to start saying things like "go F*** yourself" or "I'll see you in hell". Life shouldn't feel like a war, and regurgitating bullshit is getting tiresome. 

    I'm trying to focus on that peace. The ticking of clocks rather then the incessant prattling of people who cannot and will not mind their own business... the constant pushing and prodding, like a doctor probing a wound for a bullet. 

    I've had to close a few doors. Hopefully the hospital is cluing in and closing a few doors as well. Poor boundaries in healthcare is truly the devil's workshop. It breaks people, families, and organizations down. They'll keep saying I'm paranoid and crazy, but from time to time the story just won't add up. 

    Maybe this paranoia thing isn't so bad. 🤔 My social life hasn't been incredibly successful recently anyways. Maybe this gives me the space to actually refocus myself.

Dear God,

    I've been tested. I have failed here and there, as you know, but this is getting a little ridiculous. Please grant the health care professionals the wisdom and the humility they need to stop pushing Bipolar narratives and narratives about other professionals. I think they're getting there, but they may need some help, especially if my family is feeding them false narratives. 

    Grant the Health Department of the good State of South Carolina the wisdom it needs to stop wasting time and resources dealing with this little circus. To see that it does not help anyone. To see that if the doctors simply open their ears and close their mouths, they might save themselves some time and grief. Grant them the wisdom and the patience to keep my medicine filled. Thank you for the things that help me be what you intended and to follow your plan. Thank you for the strength, patience, and fortitude to wade through this nonsense. I really don't enjoy making people miserable. Maybe a few less surprises?

    Grant my family the wisdom and serenity to stop this nonsense. Thank you for showing me the way to a job that I seem to enjoy, as humble as it is. Thank you for inspiring me to write stories and poems. Help me to avoid misplacing trust as I have done with numerous individuals. Grant me peace and a quiet life. 

    Help people see beyond all these labels and beyond all the narratives and beyond all the symptoms to see that I am a person just like them. Just someone finding their way. Help me to focus on what I am good at and being me. Help people see that I am on the path, even though I cannot predict the future. Help them see that this has not been fun for me either. 

    Help me keep my calm and serenity. Help me find my humor and cheer. Keep us all safe and not at each other's throats. 

Amen

P.S. I think we're all getting there but I'm not sure, so maybe check in from time to time? I'll be in touch.

 

Vlad's attit a'genn. Taunting di seagulls. Dat bat will nebber lern. 

Connecting the Dots

 

    At least the hospital is finally learning when enough is enough. If certain other people would finally take a hint, mind their own damn business, and stay out of my healthcare, a lot of people could breathe a little easier, not least of all me. I hate to have to consider legal remedies. It's not pleasant. I still have that one friend that works in the health department. Though we haven't talked in a long time. I've had to close a few doors. I can't afford more setbacks. Trust is a risk. 

    I had a good talk with the healthcare team and adjusted emergency contacts. I'm not going to sign any further releases. It's time I learned my lesson. Some people will never give up. They'll shoot themselves in the foot to spite their patient, or their family, or whoever they feel they need to control. My life needs to feel a little less like a game of Healthcare Clue. If some people would just get a clue. I can't keep grinding the same stones. I don't have the energy or the desire. Then they wonder why I need a counselor. Brilliant. She's the one that helped me start writing the funny stories that make me feel good. She's the one that stopped Prichards. She's the one that cleans up the hospital's mess. She is the firewall.

    Anyways. The medication really seems to be in a good groove. The driving feels peaceful, and I'm enjoying my writing, when I get the inspiration. I've got a number of projects and the occasional poem going. 

    It's funny how the little things bring me back into tune. The ticking of a clock, the chirping of birds, the whirring of a fan. Every day has regularity now. Even the cat has a routine. Maybe I'll try to paint something. It will probably still look like a little kid's painting, but I enjoy it anyways. 

    I got tired of Gone with the Wind. Maybe I'll try reading a hardcopy at some point. The audio book is harder to follow. My sample of Cold Mountain ran out, but so far The Black Flower is good and somewhat similar. 

    Just every time I think of this healthcare monkey business, I get annoyed. I need to forget. Life shouldn't feel like a war. 

    I want to write something playful and funny. Like Tales of the Attick. 

    I've got more deliveries later. I have to finish that tax business. I'll actually get a little more back than I expected, because of a previous math error. I'm debating keeping my Taser in my vehicle because I drive to isolated areas sometimes. 

    I do need to relax a little. When I'm not in defense mode, I can actually be fun. Just last night someone asked me a question, and I was so businesslike. Granted, I was working, but still... some cheerfulness loosens things up. I've been getting some tension from driving so much and worrying. I need to do some stretches and relax. Enjoy life. No more healthcare whack-a-mole. 

You know, I'm feeling a bit more like my old self. The dots started connecting. I was remembering my last ER visit... comparing it with my conversation with the PA... they finally figured me out! I realized that the patient observer in the ER was following a script. I could tell because the life events she described were so very closely tailored to mine. She even changed her story a little, which made it seem rehearsed. I particularly liked the part where she insulted the doctors. And the part where she reported a doctor for mistreating a patient. Said she'd been dx'd bipolar and went off the meds. Described a traumatic event and multiple personalities.  Not entirely sure how much of the story was based in fact.

Anyways, I'm trying to be pragmatic. I really want to write some more. But the hospital seems to have surrendered on Bipolar... whatever they actually believe... I guess I can finally relax. Do what Arson said... try to enjoy life. 

    It's time to work on my records a bit. Some budgeting and planning time. Taxes is always a good reminder of the importance of keeping records. It turns out I forgot to include a form with my federal taxes and miscalculated my expenses. Hopefully I'll have a refund soon.

    I'm feeling much calmer with this new routine. I'm going to need to figure out how better to divide between writing and deliveries. Build morning and afternoon writing sessions around the driving.

   I actually enjoy Cold Mountain much more then Gone with the Wind. So far The Black Flower is good. I think I'm going to turn back to Tales of the Attick, The Watcher, and All the Colors in the next few days. 

    It all makes more sense now. I'm finding solace in sameness. When life stays the same from one day to the next, it's actually very liberating. I continue to work towards my goals in being productive, calm, and uncomplicated.

Keeping a healthy lifestyle, maintaining focus on the essentials, and finding some peace and serenity in the seasons of life... life will be calmer... the days will move more gently. God willing.

I'm still working on recognizing sarcasm, but I'm getting disturbingly good at recognizing rage, contempt, condescension, smugness, conceit, and pity.

Last night one restaurant was literally dripping with tension. The why is not clear, but the signals made more sense.

I utterly missed one episode of sarcasm until this morning. If I'm going to continue living in the South, I need to improve my indirect communication. 

I've got to find a place in this world. Life has become too dangerous since I peeled away the chemical layer that disguised the brokenness beneath. And now the world has this intensity as the lies become more clear. I can feel the anger of the people in the world. I can thier contempt. All the fairy tales fade away. From time to time it's brutal. 

I wonder how Artstick is doing. I really hope she still has some say in this world. Reality comes crashing down hard. I'm going to need a few rocks to hold onto. The past is never far. If I'm not careful, it will crush me like a bug. 

Cents

I'm like a bad penny. People are like, if we just shine it up, it will be ok. Too valuable to toss. Too ugly to like. Course, pennies lose any more value, and they will get destroyed.

Living in a family is a lot like having a job. The company goes through good times and bad. Every now and then you seek a rebrand, but the reputation still sticks. Everyone has a role and a place. Titles, even. Periodically someone is in danger of losing thier job, but then management realizes the price of terminating the contract. There's plenty of politics and maneuvering. Posturing. Power plays. Sometimes someone doesnt get the memo. 

I need to be careful. My job security is low. I can't afford a reorganization. We're going to have to cut costs. But if I keep overhead low, avoid outlays, who knows, I just might make it. On thin ice with corporate. But who knows... I keep my head down and I cross those t's and dot the i's, I might be alive and safe come new years... so long as reception stops answering the phone and AP prioritizes... maybe this outfit will still be around... 

But if the press people get too creative, corporate might come down hard. Let's all repeat the company line, someone is visiting from upstairs...

We ain't got no cents around here.