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?