The Holidays, 2017

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Whelp, it is time to get on with the Holidays. This year finds me doing well. I thank my doctor, who has an amazing memory and a willingness to keep trying when in the face of  defeat. It is uncommon to have people to talk good about their psychiatrists; I can say I have encountered at least one doctor who was subpar (he was months away from retirement and — seriously — would never even look at while I was in his office). Anyway, my doctor is leaving the practice, so I get to meet a new doctor come January.

When my doctor, Dr. S., told me he was leaving the practice, I had to cry. With my short time sick, I’ve seen six practitioners in ten years (not to include hospital stays). Not a large number to some, but a larger number than I would like. It has to do with insurance and availability and “the system”. My doctor got me on Disability with his copious notes and keen observations. This, I feel, kept me safe and stable in my living arrangements, which goes a long way toward being safe and stable overall. I had a psychotic break as recently as January of this year. It takes forever for the illness to go away, and for me to be feeling normal again (finally!). What a relief.

I asked what kicks off psychosis, what can I expect? I think it boils down to a crap shoot, because they really don’t know what causes it, and I think it is because they like us being sick and on medicine. If just one of those researchers could feel what I go through, I think there would be more money spent on finding the cause and a cure. But the marginalized stay cast in shadows, alone, disenfranchised, and sometimes bereft of hope. I’ve felt that way.

Dr. S. is one of the “good guys,” always upbeat, positive, and ready to roll with the worst of it. I went to his office one day, crying. I blurted out that if I stayed that way, I would commit suicide — a fearful statement like this could easily land one in the hospital, but since he knew I was living with mom, and that mom had an eye on me, he let me go home with a new battery of meds. Now that’s a great psychiatrist: one who will let you vent safely so that he can get to the truth of the matter.

I am going to miss my doctor. Maybe he’ll land back in my world.

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I am left right centered, hooked up and wired. We smoke half the day and find ourselves.

I follow myself and shadow my friends.

And there are others among us who care and cry when we are gone, though we still find ourselves alone.

Drink water or fantasy, and all is well within.

Done With Psychosis, Again

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My last psychotic episode, which began in January 2017, has finally ended. It ended in July, so that was a good seven-month run where I was overcome with symptoms. I’ve been able to determine that “Psychosis” for me is a delusional state, not paranoia or auditory hallucinations alone, but a blanket combination of hearing that is overwhelming paired with beliefs that what I hear is my ever-present reality. I follow what the voices say, especially at night when all is quiet.

I can see why paranoia is often a part of the diagnosis. It is what the doctors can see from my actions…I run in fear. I stay up all night, afraid. For me, however, I see it otherwise. Fear seems to be the by product of my delusions. The story line that picks up where it left off from the previous bout of psychosis, while the story line has also evolved as the psychosis has departed.

It’s getting to the point where I absolutely hate my psychosis. It is so taxing, mentally and emotionally. It is the narrative that won’t quit, that never takes a day off. I’m subjugated to the pressure from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep in exhaustion. Months go by where I have no self-directed days. Months.

Making use of my “down time” is something I want to pursue. Maybe a book, I tell myself. I can put all my pain down in the saga, the tragedy. Working harder than ever before, I can do this.

I’ll post more as I plan out my work.

Thanks to everyone who reads me. I lost my .com url with this last bout, so I changed my domain to bugbearandcaw.blog. With your continued support, I will keep writing.

 

Earth Aplunder

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Let’s say I’ve been having hallucinations. No, let’s say I’ve been talking to aliens. They’ve been showing themselves to me. They’re here to reclaim the human race–Mother Earth is dying. No. She is already dead–we humans just don’t know it yet.

I’ve been following strange sounds I am hearing in the environment–larger than life sounds, bigger than construction demolition, if you can imagine. The first sound I heard, another man heard it too. We stopped in our tracks and looked in the direction of the sound. Mouths agape, we made small talk, then hurriedly moved on with our lives.

The sounds are becoming more frequent. Different sounds: huge buzzes, big saws, massive rototillers. These are the alien machines eating people off the face of the earth. The time is now, but not quite yet. Someday they’ll all come and throw us into heaps of bodies. Bones will move alone without spirit, and air will taste like gas.

Sugar’s saint is Stella. Stella’s lover is the lion and they’re gone. Ready for liftoff, the spaceships holding those in the know are making their way past the trees and foliage unseen, to safety. For those of us left behind, is there hope? It will happen in waves until the grinding becomes so obvious we’ll not be able to deny it any longer. Life on planet earth is ending, and the humans who have pillaged and plundered her have to go. The green ones, the yellow ones, the blue ones–all gone.

 

A Thousand Dreams

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May you dream the dream
Of a thousand lives
And feel the weight
Of a lifetime of sighs.

May you dream the dream
Of a thousand souls
And dance the steps
No one else knows.

May you dream the dream
Of a thousand deaths
And cry the tears
For all your regrets.

May you dream the dream
Of infinite peace
And awaken love
When the illusions cease.

By the Numbers

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Inspired by PurplePersuasion’s blog, I’ll post my own numbers from the time I became sick four years ago:

  • Age of onset–37
  • Day I became floridly psychotic–May 17th, 2008
  • Days elapsed between onset and admittance into the hospital–333 – seriously
  • Days spent floridly psychotic–425 (estimate)
  • Number of psychiatrists seen–seven
  • Number of hospitalizations since onset–two
  • Total number of medications prescribed–16 (four anti-psychotics, four anti-depressants, four anti-anxiety medications)
  • Current dose of medications–30 mg Aripiprazole, 1 mg Lorazapm (both pm)
  • Average cost of medications per month–$61.50
  • Cost of medications per month in the U.S. if I didn’t buy them from India–$967
  • Cost of doctor visit–$45
  • Number of daily vitamins–four (Omega 3, C, B complex, Multivitamin)
  • Average amount of sleep per night–nine hours
  • Average number of hours worked per week–35
  • Number of jobs (including volunteer) held since onset–five
  • Number of years until I felt myself again–pending

I pass the torch to NetGuru. Maybe he will share his numbers.