The Wash

 

A washing we shall go, a washing we shall go, high ho the dario a washing we shall go!

I just feel like it's reasonable to take a step back, try to find some serenity after treating my body like a human science experiment for so many years... going from this patented drug to that one, this machine to the other to the implant. I feel like its reasonable to step back. Give the doctors a break. Let them focus on someone they can fix. That's what I want to do. I've been pushing them hard, and for what? I'm not even that important. These drugs have problems, like clozastill. 

     Thing is, as much as I didn't like Dr. Darcy the first time, the second time she was kinda nice, and I didn't want to rock the boat on that. 

 

    Maybe I thought my emotions would make my situation obvious. But I suppose maybe that's expecting too much. People are blind to what they do not want to see. I need to be quiet for a while.

     So many points in my life where it seems like I'm in a conversation with someone in which we are talking at each other and not TO each other. I almost get used to it. With my counselor, I can be myself and speak the truth and she gets it, and that's a beautiful thing. At MIP, it was the complete opposite. It seemed like a twisted game of choose the wrong words. Say what you don't mean, so that it can flow more easily. Like every conversation was multiple choice, but some whack job was picking the answers. If I hadn't been so out of it, maybe I would have picked my own. Hospitals can be dangerous places, for sure. 

Flat affect vs blunted affect vs shock versus full range of emotions.

Flat affect is an almost lack of emotional response. No emotional reaction, positive or negative. Like being stunned. That was me in the ER.

Blunted Affect means a reduced range of emotional response. So, less extreme than a flat affect. 

Shock means very intense emotions.

Full range of emotion is a normal emotional style. I feel like I don't experience this much. 

    The head doctor in the ER was one of those quiet, contemplative ones. Seemed like a smart man. Sometimes I confused which ER doctor was the resident and which was the attending doctor, but the head doctor was easy to differentiate. I guess I feel like I need to understand. To wrap my head around all of this medical. I read most of the notes and records, not to look for errors or even for explanations but just to understand the way they think. He called it flat affect... a lack of emotional expression. I'd say that I was afraid and feeling somewhat dissociated standing in that ER again. I didn't know what they were going to do. I just knew that my head wasn't right without the pristiq. I needed that medicine. And I got it. Thank God. I don't say much in person. It just seems like there's so many things I could say. So many things left completely unsaid. Like with Dr. Darcy. It was somewhat surreal. "I remember you" "Yeah, I took care of you"... I think we said a few other things. Repeating what I had said to the resident.

    I feel like the only answer to this insanity is stepping back. Just like I told CCBH. I swear the worksheets showed zero understanding of the problem. And where was the listening? Where was the empathy? I been chasing meds as if they are the answer. Some of them I need, yes. memorial seemed like family. I have to be grateful for the medicine, because it helps with some things. But the indoctrination seems soulless. And they wonder why I act paranoid. You think this is going well? Not actually. 

    I feel like I have to write about it. Because no one is listening. They say they are and then they turn their ears off. And then they wonder why I need counseling. No, we're the almighty doctors who know everything. Forgive me for being jaded. But there's a lack of humility in medicine. There most definitely is. A belief that medicine can do more than it actually can. Maybe I am just the disabled guy. Maybe I am the guy on the sidelines criticizing the man in the arena. But I think some criticism is necessary. I need to say something before it's over. Something other than repeating the medical bullshit they feed me. There's a lack of humility, a lack of common sense. Doctors without Boundaries, they should call it. It's too fast paced and inhuman for me. I need to communicate better. I should have realized I couldn't just play along. It's not working out. I'm looking for answers in all the wrong places. Barking up the wrong trees. I need to step back. I can still walk and talk. I should take that as a win. 

    There is one person who defends me more than anyone else. She sees that I can be very kind, smart, funny, considerate, patient, persistent, and strong. I don't understand this world. It runs over people. Chews them up and spits them out. It's very strange to me to threaten someone who showing up at a hospital for help. Very strange. Maybe I have a simple mind. I don't understand the system; I don't understand the doctors. Maybe I should have been a farmer. Technology truly is fascinating, but so inhuman. 

    Then there's the run of the mill insults that we throw at each other on a daily basis. Too slow, too fat, too messy, too short... why do we have to make the world awful? Am I just now waking up to reality? Hospitals are strange places. You take a bunch of people who are not doing well, and you put them together, what exactly do you expect to happen? We'll all just kumbaya right there in the ward? We'll drug it up and play cards and sit in classes and then go out into the world with issues and damage and everything will be just fine? I need some peace. 

    I've been too much time in hospitals. It's almost easier to be the worker in one sense: at least you can do something useful. Patients aren't even allowed to help. It's kind of a silly rule. I think allowing patients to help with the cleaning and the other tasks actually encourages that sense of community that felt more present at Springbrook that first time. 

    I hope to encourage others and get one of these jobs. I'm tired of feeling useless. That last hospitalization was extremely confusing for me. It was like, slap on label one and go here and drug it up and let's all indulge in our worst insults and the grossness of humanity together until we all hate each other and then let's slap on label 2 and ship out to the next center or hospital as if it makes any sense or accomplishes anything at all. Where is the humanity? Am I a person or a defective widget?

    I think the humanity was lost a long time ago for me. Those ECTs are a humdinger. I feel more like a machine then a person, and technically I'm a cyborg, I have an implant. Such a strange world. I don't see the humanity. Whatever is wrong with my head... it's like a medical pinball machine. I'm telling you; it's been almost 4 months since discharge... I have never had such a horrific setback. CCBH, it made sense in a way. They didn't know me. MIP knew me. That's what makes it strange. And Elle was my defender. Now that's been poisoned. I'm sorry, but my head is spinning from the med changes, the lies, the misunderstandings, and all the chaos of it. Never mind having a say in my own healthcare. Never mind that it has improved with space and boundaries. Let's do a hostile takeover. I don't get it. And then they wonder why I talk about trust issues and anger. They want to call me paranoid. Really? paranoid? It's worked out that great so far. Bullcrap. I don't get it. 

    I can't do more of the back and forth. I can't do more of the labeling and the centers. It makes no sense. None whatsoever. Every now and then you find someone who truly listens. If I have advice, it's to hold onto the listeners. Keep them. Don't let them go. Otherwise, you'll be from this hospital to that hospital to this center to that center with people looking up your rear and wondering what the hell is going on in this world. Ugly places. Ugly. Maybe not physically violent, but verbally violent, emotionally violent, medically violent. Sometimes I wonder why I hold back. 

    They say time heals all wounds. I think distance heals all wounds. Time alone doesn't do anything. Space is required. That's the only way to heal. I really don't like going near memorial. You can laugh it up, but I don't like going anywhere near that place. I don't think it's the people themselves. It's the fast pace, getting lost in the system. If I hadn't shown up to the ER on a Sunday morning, who knows? They actually had time to talk to me. It almost seems like the height of stupidity to go anywhere near that place. Confusing beyond imagining. Four months later and I'm still wrapping my head around it. I was miseducated on medications and hospitals. This is insanity. These places freak me the hell out. I really don't think there's anything paranoid about that. Communication has been terrible.

    I'm trying to step back and find some peace and centeredness. Which is what I was looking for at CCBH. It seemed to make them angry that I wanted peace. I'm not sure why. Maybe they thought it was a metaphor for suicide. I just don't want to fight people anymore. I don't see the point of so much conflict and lies and bullshit around mental health. I don't. It makes no sense. But I'm finding my peace in my own space, on my own time. It's just lonely. And I need money. So, I must sharpen my resolve and my focus. Standing alone is difficult. Something seems off about my perception. How am I this tired?

 

🫂 🫂  Smally 🫂 🫂 

Wierd Ideas part VI: Fear and Empathy

I remember the last thing I thought that night. I wanted her to know how I felt. I wanted to see my emotion on her face. 

That emotion was an intense fear, with some sorrow and anger. I wanted her to understand. I wanted her to be afraid too. I wasn't sure how to make her understand. In the end I decided I didn't want her to see.

cleanup on ward 2! Ashes is back!

Reflections

Your eyes looking back at me tell me everything you see

Your eyes tell me where I've been and the person I can't be

Your eyes tell me so much more then I could ever say

Your eyes come to me in dreams and then they run away.

My hopes float upon the wind like a gentle feather

They rise with every victory and sink with stormy weather

They fly so high when I am free of all my doubts and cares

They come to me to lift my goals with challenges and dares

My wisdom finds the meeting 'tween my goals and all my acts

My passions rising in the storm forever wane and wax

Until I find my soul's true counter forever will I roam

And if I never find her, I will find my way alone. 

Project #Next

I need to work on my drawing skills so that I can create consistent images of Sarah, Jess, and the others. Otherwise the AI makes them look different every time. And im wasting my life trying to be something I am not. I am a writer. Accounting is not very realistic. My health is too unstable. Accountec has done nothing but lose money. I've got to publish more writing. 

I know there are people in this world who do not want to believe in autism or to deal with it, but I have no choice. I have to face the truth that memorial medical and people in my life don't want to face: that I have autism, not bipolar, I have a trauma disorder resulting from years of medical mismanagement and misdiagnosis. I have been medicated out the wazzoo, and become a running joke because my body is like a science experiment.  And they'll believe anything but the truth, so help them God. So I take a few steps back. And I keep a safe distance from the bipolarizers and the doctors without boundaries. The God complexes. And I try to reduce expenses and adjust to my reality. The reality that the medication has caused me harm. A great deal of it.

My Greatest Hope and Prayer...

is to give the world my words and be at peace with those in it. The doctors have tried. I do need to step back. I need to do the slow and steady. I need to take care of myself and my home and stop ending up in hospitals. It's not helping. 

The End

     I think my biggest mistakes were not taking autism spectrum seriously, trusting Assmussen when I shouldn't have, believing that medication could do more then it actually does, going to McClean, and spending too much time in hospitals. In the aftermath of Prichards' abrupt resignation, I wish I would have been firmer and stronger. I wish I would have communicated better. 

    I regret allowing Leaves and Molly to shoulder blame. It was not their fault. It was a medication clusterfuck with some God complexes in charge. It got rather ugly. So I've withdrawn a little bit. Until I'm strong enough to face the remaining problems. I can't play musical centers/hospitals. Especially when they don't have a fucking clue and they are just pointing fingers. I'm too tired for the bullshit. 

    Given the carousel of medications that I've been on, the misdiagnoses, and all the stress and miscommunication, I have no doubt that it's true that some things are permanent. I think things cannot be undone, drugged away, or swept under the rug sufficiently. I can still walk and talk, I'll take that for a win. I'm tired of playing medication games. I think the only remaining step is to adjust the ADHD meds. Then I can work some and finish my writing. 

    They say I'm never going to have a normal life. It's not exactly a death sentence like cancer, but it can be if I'm not careful. Push too hard and you never know. I prefer not to give the doctors extra work at this point. I still apply to jobs, but with a hesitancy. And I just don't think it's realistic to retake the CPA. I'm not even sure I could pass the EA at this point. 

    The mind needs breathing room. I keep pushing it, who knows what might happen. I had micro seizures on mirapex. I had two comas. I don't think it's wise to push the mind too hard. It can break. I think it's too late. I think I need to focus on what I CAN do, not trying to push the envelope when we've already been down that road too many times. Pushing too hard is a surefire way to end up broken. It's not easy to work when you have autism, it's even harder when you've been through the med trains and the comas and the rest. They need to focus on pushing someone else... the young people who have the energy and capacity for that. 

    Some people cannot recognize true till someone is dead or dying. I think the people in my life should take a few breaths and think about how successful this has been so far. Maybe it's time to stop pushing, take what we can get? Before we hit coma #3? Just a thought. It's not actually the doctors that kill me, it's unrealistic expectations. It's not actually bipolar, it's pushing too hard and being unrealistic about my limitations. That's part of why I need to write. So that people understand the dangers of bad psychiatry. You misdiagnose, you ignore warning signs, you don't pay attention, then you end up with this. ANGER, dysregulation, attention problems, anxiety, spaceyness, depression, neuropathy, headaches, broken relationships, lies and accusations, and on and on from this center to that hospital to this other place over here until the health departments all say fuck it. Or I end up dead from medication gone wrong. It really makes no sense. 

    I need to slow down. I need to lower the expectations. Because this shit ain't kosher, and my doctors will quit, not because of THC or because I pester them too much, but because there's absolutely nothing, they can do to help me if I keep trying to do the impossible. That is the heart of the matter. Medicine has limits, especially with autism spectrum. 

    I've accomplished a lot for someone with my limitations. I need to call it quits while I still breathe. The mind can only take so much. At some point someone is going to have to have the common sense and the intelligence to say, this isn't fucking working. We need to stop. We need to step back. This is not safe. We need to take what we can get while we still can. Even CCBH said it. They said maybe there's some permanent difference that we can't see. Maybe all the meds fucked the brain. Even Prichards said it. Micro seizures. 

    We need to recognize that medication has limits. I'm still good at writing. Take what you can get. It was MIP that started the whole med train thing. ATLANTA SAID NO. No one was listening. By the time I was dumped on McClean it was too late. We had gone too far down the wrong roads, not learned a damn thing. I am a human guinea pig for brain drugs. That's what I am. All the combinations and permutations. Prichards wanted a case study. Well here it is. We done fucked up. Too many drugs, too many misfired careers, pushing too hard, expecting too much... getting nothing but a bunch of bitter and angry people, lots of accusations, and a lot of chaos. 

    This is why I have to step back. It's not worth the risk or the stress on the brain. Need to leave it be. I need to reduce expenses. Retire from professional patient hood. While I still can. I think there's only 3 people who haven't fully accepted this: two of siblings and my father. Maybe someday they'll understand. It's too late. Whatever capacity I may have had, it's not there. I will not have a normal life, I can still have a life, if I slow down, be smart, and go easy on the meds. There is no machine, no drug, no therapy for this. It's fucked. The best thing I can do is tighten my belt. Try, as Arson said, to enjoy life. He wasn't wrong. I know he saw all of this. But there's nothing he can do with unrealistic expectations. With therapy, I can still contribute. It may be hard to accept, but I think the medical community is starting to see it. It's too late. It's time to focus on the people they can help. That's what I want. For the medical personnel to focus on the ones that they can help. We can argue about the reasons, but I know we can all see, if we allow ourselves to, that it's too late for me.

    I think even my brother, who can't seem to see why this is a fool's errand, can see that the medical professionals are at their wits end. It's time to stop pushing. Before there's another medical error, or God forbid a stroke. I tried. I even let them cut me open. It's time to stop. I say that not only out of compassion for myself, but for my professionals. It's time to stop. I've been living beyond my means. I need to save money. This life has been a bit of a chaotic mess. But I got to meet a lot of cool people. I got to learn a lot. I got to travel. Now I need to slow down and stay slowed down. There are other people that need help, people with more capacity. There's no redo. I need to focus on finding people that understand. They don't hang out at mental institutions, addiction centers, or places like that. Otherwise, I need a monastery or a small, deserted island. I need some peace. 

Persons of Principal

YOU GUYZ! SPIDEY SAID NO DWINK BWEAK TILL YOU CLEAN UP DIS POND!

The positive parts of my life have mostly been with people in the real world. I think many of my concerns around medicine revolve around this idea of all the things medicine can do and the power of medicine. I feel that sometimes this conveys a lack of respect for the possible harm. When you have a system pumping humans through, maybe it's moving too fast? Maybe humans don't need so much fast paced microanalysis? I feel that I have more success in respecting people as they are then in trying to fix them. Maybe thats where the learning comes... in respecting differences rather then trying to hammer each one out. Cooperation is not a one way street. Finding one's way in a complex society requires two way communication, I think.

I'm finding some peace and centeredness in isolation. Perhaps it's coming time to stick my head out into the real world.

Kenzie

    Kenzie works in IMU. She didn't say much. She just laughed and laughed. I think laughter is great medicine. 

     I don't understand the world so well. I'm trying to encourage others. Here I am, going from hospital to hospital, Center to center, looking for some sort of insight in order to live some sort of life I've never had and at my age it does not make sense. I don't even like money that much. I see all this greed and the fast pace, and it makes no sense to me. I thought I wanted a faster life, but I don't see it. I don't see it realistically happening. If I'm getting threatened with insurance fraud and jail just for showing up for help, then something is wrong. Somewhere I'm missing the boat, all labels aside. I'm looking towards eastern medicine and trying to go maybe 1/3 the pace of the next person because it's better to go 1/3 as fast and take fewer detours then to go just as fast and go everywhere but where I need to go. At least going 1/3 as fast, I might eventually get somewhere. 

    So, I'm redoubling my effort to cut every expense that I can possibly cut. I'm isolating to the max. I'm focusing every available moment on staying the course: Keeping on medication, getting enough sleep, eating right, exercising, and making the moments that I have with others effective. I've wasted enough time. I've seen enough of the world. I've met plenty of people. I need to focus. I don't have time for keeping up with whatever joneses or popular culture or whatever else is not an essential part of my life. I'm sure they'll still argue about what the hell my problem was after I'm dead. Regardless, I need to do something useful. Meaningful. With someone that wants to do something meaningful with me. Someone who believes as I do. Who understands this mess of Whateverisms that my life is. For richer or poorer, till death do I come apart. 

    I want to write because I don't feel like I am able to relate to people in the real world the way I need to. I want to write because the world doesn't make sense to me. I want to write because I'm told I'm good at it. 

Truth

     So, my truth, that MIP and a lot of people have trouble understanding, is that I'm not actually a drug addict, I've been overmedicalized, I have autism, I don't believe that Bipolar is accurate, but it shows up from time to time, I've developed special nutritional requirements as evidenced by my GI problems, I get angry sometimes but I'm not stupid, I communicate better in writing, and I actually like people. I'm not rich, I'm poor. I'm disabled. I sometimes lose touch with reality. 

    I'm going to try to give the world my best, which is my written words. I'm going to try to make them really great words. I want my story to be... not a tragedy. The way it's been going, it's been writing like one for so long. I need to have patience and focus. I've lost interest in climbing ladders. I'm struggling to find the energy to care. I don't understand people that well. I think humility is important. I'm trying to find peace on the outside. I do worry about my health because it seems to have been poorly understood.