If the hospital can't recognize autism, can't recognize trauma, then God help them because I surely can't.  If they can manage to screw up a hospital stay that badly, then God help them because I surely can't. Because if they wanna go legal, bring it on. We can all lawyer up and argue all day. But me, I have to let things go. Because I took the Spravato, knowing there were risks, and yeah, I contacted the nurse. They need to cool their jets, though. Count to ten and stop making stupid ASS out of U And Me PTIONS. That's dangerous. 

    LEARN SOMETHING ABOUT FREAKING TRAUMA AND AUTISM. IT'S YOUR DAMN JOBS. There's your feedback survey. Otherwise, we're not helping anyone. It's not like autism is that uncommon. And we know more than we did in the 90s. Anyways, some things are best handled in an outpatient setting. Elle understood. Leaves understood. Some of y'all could try a hell of a lot harder though.

    Anyways. World's got better things to do then waste time on a bunch of people that somehow can't add two plus two. Never mind ADHD, its not even that bad. Just be glad my autism isn't as bad as the kids at Springbrook. They can't even take care of themselves. I can still have a life. 

    Delusional? Sometimes. Angry? Not infrequently. Drug addict? Bullshit. If hadn't been for the mistake with Elle, y'all wouldn't have a leg to stand on. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a thriller to go write about blowing up hospitals. You done pissed me off.

    I think the hospital is more then a little bit misguided. Making assumptions, passing out blame and encouraging rumors isn't exactly the effective practice of medicine. It's borderline malpractice. 

What they could do instead is ascertain all the accurate facts, keep non-essential information limited, and coordinate care.

Clozaluiah!

     The problem with putting doctors at the pinnacle of an idealized medical thinking is that it encourages idolatry and a system of unequal persons and unrealistic expectations and interpretations. If the doctor is God and the nurses are disciples, then the patients are the ignorant damned who will and must obey without question. This perverse mindset promotes the idea that medications are the answer and that everything comes down to a substance or a system of regimented thought and it crushes independent thought and individual initiative, which THC became helpful as a means to unregiment and desystemize my thinking, to help me to break the rigid ideas where I was broken and the doctor was the messiah with drugs as his messengers. 

What Bipolar and DID have in common

    Bipolar and DID both involve a disconnection from reality. I've seen psychosis in action, and the ideas that come out are generally very far from reality. With Bipolar, you see such an incredibly inflated sense of importance, whereas with DID there is, in my experience, a great deal of agony and very little sense of importance. Someone with bipolar can feel very important and powerful, whereas with DID it is more like the invisible man. One is an ego out of control, the other is a wounded ego. 

 I've decided to diverge from my usual writing style to try my hand at thriller writing. So, I'm working with the story called "The Messenger". It's centered around a fantasy i had.

The Messenger - Crafting

    The message was heavy. He had crafted it for hours... days... weeks. He wanted them to know the truth. He wanted it written loud. he constructed his letters with ammonium nitrate, accented his words with a few blocks of Trinitrotoluene. he wrapped them in velcro around a surplus bulletproof vest, all connected to a homemade deadman's switch. He caringly altered surplus body armor onto a custom body suit, enabling him to move naturally but with added protection underneath a workman's uniform. he weaved hidden pockets into the seams of the shirt and pants, laboring for hours and then days with only determination and dedication as his fuel. He even got a part time job playing the part, working on his demeanor and body language along with some slang and work speak. He changed the company he kept, all to play the role to deliver his message safe and sound.

 Spidey learns. When I got off clozapine, my perception changed. It skewed my judgement for a while. But I've seen a lot of improvement. I'm healing.

In the hospital they got into this thing. Ashes has trauma? He's faking. PTSD? Insurance fraud. Drug addict. As if they know me. These mental patients. 

 

Ashes got carried away again? What do we tell the fire marshal?

Dear Leaves,

Molly taking good care of Spidey. Ebbyday. Tell Gryps Spidey says hi. Ebbyting berry gnice. Di internist got di blood all bedder. Groovy. Spidey's women take good care. 

Spidey

The primary disagreement i have with some of the doctors is over how clozaril has affected my life. I feel like it was detrimental, that it buried emotions by suppressing them and those emotions lay latent beneath the surface, bubbling up from time to time.

The side effects such as weight gain and sedation were just the icing on the cake for me. I only hope I am able to find a balance in my life post clozaril. I refuse to believe that I am an addict just because such a label is convenient for others and I was miseducated on what medications can do. I know the limits of these medications more clearly now. 

The Messenger

    Rain was threatening. Footsteps fell on hard stone. Lightning flickered in the sky above as he contemplated the task before him. Eyes of a woman across the way came towards, then away. Retreat marked her movements. Wise was she. 

    His fingers moved independently as he eyed the walkway, stepping forward. Determination echoed with his footfalls. He would not be deterred. His mind played with the shadows. A bird came fluttering down, hopped a few paces forward, then away as well. He worried his mood bled to his demeanor. 

    Today he was the messenger. Tomorrow, he would be silent. The words must be well picked, well played, he reminded himself. He suppressed a smile, tugged the tag at his breast and lingered the workman's belt. He must not linger. Attracting attention would not benefit him. He stepped forward, pretending to know a different path. 

    Eyes meeting another passerby, a curt nod given. Nervous eyes met him. He was not doing well. He needed to separate from his anger. Draw out his amiable side. Or there would not be time. The message was clear, the recipient closer by the footstep. But would they hear? Would they heed? Or would they turn away? When the response came, how would he greet it? 

    Voices across the way. He fell into a crouch, ready to tie the laces he left loose on purpose. Every cue, every action, every reaction must be carefully chosen. Too much time and grief had gone into planning to see this message left unsent. Light was fading faster. Passerby were becoming shadows. He took a breath. He could not afford hesitation. 

    His watch beeped the hour, and the doors opened, letting out the end of days. It was time.

Tigre

Lithe and orange and furry beyond measure

kitnip and scratching posts among his pleasures

with stripes and whiskers to mark his feline form

playful and pestering is simply the norm.

agile and swift but vigilant too

loyal and willing to always stay true

cunning and graceful but patient as time

always remembering that he is only mine.

Blank

She called my heart the other day

And I knew not the words to say.

I tried honesty 

I told her about the yearning inside

All of the things that I'd tried to hide

The games that I played to enter her soul

So many games with only one goal.

Then I tried humor

I laughed about my helpless delight

At the moment she came into my sight

The way that she lit up that light in my eyes

The way that I hated each and every goodbye

Then I tried pleasing

I spoke of her beauty beyond all the others

The joy that her presence always uncovers

The smiles that I held in my heart just for her

The lies that I told as I held her in wonder

Then I tried pleading

Reminding that hearts cannot hold out forever

That sometimes they are meant to be together

That fading comes fast in the breath of denial

That falling becomes its own bitter trial.

In the end there was nothing but nothing to say

And after some time the time washed away.

The Good Eggs

    I really am glad I met some of the people I met at Lost and Rigged, MIP, and even Springbrook, though I wasn't there as long. I feel like I did learn. I'm still learning. Maybe I need to experience more of life outside the hospitals. But trust isn't easy. There is danger in the world. I need to stop being so hypervigilant. I need to open myself to experience and strengthen that mind-body connection. I find it so bizarre how sometimes I give away trust so easily and other times it's like pulling teeth. I need to be careful with expectations. I need to understand more about who is right for me, who to let in, when, and how far. 

 

Perhaps we should lock the gates.

 

VLAD! SPIDEY JUST CLEANED DIS FLOOR!

That's it Vlad! Keep flapping! The Hospital is just obber di next hill!

Terrific Tuesday Everyone

    As we all know, Congress passed the new legislation. There's plenty of places to read about that, so I won't spend time on it.

    Life can be really mind bending in both its repetitiveness and the change that can come so unexpectedly. Today, I'm focusing on maintaining some routine. I've got some writing to work on and some errands to run while I wait to hopefully hear back on that job. Hopes and prayers on that one. A warm shout out to all the 9-5ers. I hope everyone is having a fantastic week. I'll try to get out another poem today and work on some prose.

They did the mash! They did the monster mash! They did the mash! It was a psych ward smash!

 

There she goes again, dreaming of stealing inpatient supplies

 

$20 on the patient! $60 on dr. Psych! Nono! $80 says she pins him!

What does it mean to be stubborn?

    Stubborn generally has a negative connotation. It means to persist despite evidence suggesting that one should stop. But another way to interpret being stubborn is to be perseverant, determined, or strong willed. It was stubborn to continue therapy against the wishes of the hospital. It was stubborn to not go to the phoenix center. It was stubborn to come out of two comas. I did it anyways. I'm damn stubborn. Because in the end it was the right thing to do for me. And that is why I am stubborn. I insist on doing what is right for me, just as jessica said I needed to do. And I don't regret it. Filing the complaint against CCBH was the right thing to do. I don't regret it. They can curse my name and hate me, but God knows on this I am right. Sometimes I am wrong. I was wrong to contact the nurse, I was wrong to keep taking Spravato. Those things I regret. But I do not regret being right. I never will apologize for doing what is right.

Why did I believe that Phoenix Center wasn't right for me?

1. Because the hospital itself wasn't understanding what was going on with me (Spravato, not THC)
2. Because my professionals did not agree
3. Because I have communication issues that would have made it difficult
4. Because I've been to far too many centers
5. Because there was a general lack of listening
6. The environment had become toxic, with too many rumors and resentments and not enough facts