...so mobe is in the cuckoo house and doesn't get to make her own decisions! I have retained my dignity and been allowed to keep a journal only not with my own pen and pencil. Instead they have removed the plastic ink-fills out of ballpoint pens and encased them in oxygen tubing for fear that someone will stab someone with a hard pen. It still has a point and any re-re with a fair amount of competence can utilize them to stab an eye or ear or some other dangerous part of the body to wound. I'm not complaining and it's far better than none or the "crayon trip" of a lifetime. I am here on the second floor and it's been assumed that my welfare is being looked after and cared for. It's not fun in the least to have to twirl for a stranger in your underwear so they can note your scars, marks, tattoos and injuries. I know they have to do this to cover their own ass and I am compliant. I was brought the usual "wash-bin intake gift" with soaps I am allergic to and clothes and towels and tissue and two tubes of "sparkle fresh" toothpaste...note: WAMPHYRII DO NOT SPARKLE! There was no brush and/or comb because I might "groom myself to death" and I didn't care. I showered before hand and I only wash my hair once a week because of how long it is and the fact that I keep it up 24/7. Sleep would be an enemy of mine, this evening, with all the worry of the future and the loathing for the prison I am in and the one I am trapped in in my mind. My legs would deceive my weaknesses as they always did, and I would find little comfort in the adjustable bed. I am allergic to the sun and most artificial light as you all know or should know by now, so naturally, I have been giving the window seat on this "flight" and the door seat is lit up like a NYC runway at La Guardia ensuring to cover any portion of me that hasn't gotten it's lifetime dose of the poison that is daylight to me, yet.
People here are real put out by intelligence. Most individuals are like me, on the suicide train headed no where but blindly follow or violently disagree with their care. I am and will continue to be an integral part of my own care in a rational and involved manner and not allow anyone to mess this up. It is who I am. I spent most of yesterday in this hospital and the only medication I received was not my own and given to make me sleep and calm so as not to bother their banter. Several individuals had gone over the neatly written list of medication and indications I brought with me to make their jobs easier, yet no one recognized my need for my anti-inflammatories for the evening, hence the thrashing and pain and inability to win some sleep. Dawn is now breaking and I find myself awake at a time I would be bedding down at home and I am hungry and in pain. But I know I cannot eat having not had my medicine despite me telling them two of my meds are for the purpose of starting the machinery up. I don't recognize any of the faces from last night signifying they have changed the guard, and am now stuck with the unwanted task of reiterating all over again my medications and special needs. I will give one hat's off to them in that instead of being put in general population in the psyche ward, they did place me in "geri-ville" where the elderly and feeble are that have come here for their own mental help needs. Nothing like repeating one's self some fifty or so times in less than twenty-four hours to make one's mood a brighter day! And it's funny how when explaining to someone in the medical field about your grief and depression they always assume you were violated or abused. Maybe we all were or most of us, and I surely was in the past but it did seem that every question was "who raped you" and "did anyone ever abuse you" and I am fully aware what role those two questions have played in my mental instability. I just find it crude to assume I was as if every single person who likes watermelon and fried chicken comes from the south and is a black person who was beget from the slaves of old. It is inaccurate and I am sure there are some people who haven't been violated in that manner who need professional help.
These problems we all have and have had a hard time sorting through them. Mine are not unique or special but have their own devastating effects on my psyche as do others', and no matter how hard you fight and push there will always be a force pushing you back further into your hole. I wonder if life itself wants to keep some of us down to perpetuate a continuity of sorts so that it has its own lasting legacy. My chest hurts from heaving and sobbing in my sleep over the worry and "grets" of the day. I am not here to make friends or play cards, I am sure of this and really have no desire to do so as these are not my people and once I leave it will highly be unlikely I will ever really see them again. My personal pain is mine to bear and I have no use for groups and have a low tolerance for their issues as they have their own crosses to bear. I have no wish to be social and feel no need to discuss my personal affairs with anybody other than the nurses and staff who are trained to help me find my way back. Unfortunately I got put into "bin" with my cigarette's paraphernalia and they think all fat, red-headed, sick, angry, intelligent, EPP, suicidal/homicidal women can be fixed with the same one solution across the board. The system is broke and flawed kiddies, tremendously. And its flaws are "designed" to BE THERE and not by accident. I have no wish of contact because I am in my unhappy place, and singing karaoke badly with a bunch of elderly misfits who need help like I do isn't going to help me. I don't want the burden of giving a shit about them when I am trying to dig myself out of my own shithole! I am not being mean, it is an integral part of who I am considering I know what I need, if even I cannot myself provide it. So, because I refuse to play nice with everyone's else's grandparents and give a damn about them, I am considered outside some theoretical spectrum of normalcy and also considered a problem to solve or fix, considered broke. DUH! I am broke and need fixing, but not the same kool-aid and cookie bullshit I got at the last nuthouse!
Every cell in my body is crying out to be left alone. I want to be left alone and just don't trust a single soul to respect that. I wanted to be left alone when my own mother took to hand the rendering and beating of my flesh to surrender to her will! I wanted to be left alone when the babysitter (male) that my parents left me and my older sister in the care of decided it was about time this eight year old learn what fucking was about! I wanted to be left alone when most of my family, my "loved" ones, opened their mouths over and over in the course of four decades to defamate me and assassinate my character unjustly and wrongly! I wanted to be left alone when driving to and from work and perverts would drive up along side of me to hit on me and ask me what my bra size was and if I would show them my titties! I wanted to be left alone when teenagers and strangers and their children would mock me or gesticulate their loathing of my self appearance, without any provocation on my behalf as my body grew larger as I ate less because of my disease! Now I am in a place where I should be left alone and watched and tutored and cared for and they find it their sworn duty to bother me continually and try to force and coerce me into "sharing" what has been a painful and very dark personal experience for me. So smart, and they leave me alone with a wooden chair I could snap with little to no effort despite my disabled state and stake my own heart with the shards of wood long before they knew what happened or how to prevent it! I just can't have television or a phone or a clock and am not allowed to be alone excepting when "they" want me to be. I don't like people and I don't trust them and this is the reason. They just aren't logical and they don't make sense.
I trust them even less if they are educated because they think that little piece of paper framed on their wall gives them the right to look down upon the rest of us and frankly, friends, I could write a writ of diplomacy and declare the sky is always puce in color and get it notarized as a valid document but it still wouldn't be worth its paper to wipe your asses with nor would it be true! I wasn't "designed" for this world is the least of it! Outside of my kid, who despite the love and kinship I have for her and still manage to avoid at most times so I can have my solace, there is no other person really that I would risk life and limb to protect and nurture save innocent babes who cannot defend themselves.(and by babes I mean kids-wiseguys!) I don't have any real need of companionship for the most part and find people in small doses is just fine with me. I am the Episcopal version of agoraphobic. It's that simple. And would any of you feel any different had your whole support system betray you time and again and those you are to love and respect be the real monsters in your life? I have tried to get along well enough only to get kicked in the cunt time and again by the very community and family who I should trust above all others and seek out in my time of need. And I didn't get this way over night! I have been this way ever since I was a child of thought, ever since my own family's rejection and absolute punishment for not fitting in. C'est la vie doesn't begin to cut it. C'est mon vie! And now I have to repeat it over and over and over verbally to one person after another as if the telling of my truthful tale with strike the listeners with stupidity. "Quiz at eleven!"
It's supposed to make me happier and no matter how sunny it is and how warm it appears to be outside, there will always be those of us NOT designed to share in the joy of such things...tbc~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.
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