LPCspGa

Feeling Like a Rock!

I am feeling like an avalanche coming.    The smallest tremor to set me off.  Don’t get me wrong,  I am not considering any self-harm, to me or to others.  The shadows are coming again,  slowly,  but steadily.  One or two  of these are in ‘living color’.  Shadows of doubt,  panic attacks, like a Tsunami.   I hear the roar,  waters that creep and fill me,  with pains of high and Low Tides.

I have thought of my new name.  Do you like it? It was pretty racist to behold.  I have shanks of poetry,  misplaced grammar and enough hubris to weigh me down.  But rather I wish to find a copper coin.  I wish to elucidate,  on a lily pad called destiny.  I want to pick away the burrs.  To the Longfellow chaps.   I want to find a nuance and let it work for all of us.  Not a twenty and definitely not a line for ghouls.  I want to make mince meat into pies.  Not lines of craters nor lines of white.  I wish to find… and destroy it.  I wish for them to grow.  Not in some rusty hole.  I pray that these come to pass.

It is the dawn of anxiety,  I see my head floating downstream.  Portable Sinkholes,  elaborating,  roiling downward,  and making life ‘like a buoy’, a respite from the darkest downs.

A song, a note,   reveries with plumb lines,  like spider webs twisted.  Sometimes the emotions are overwrought, with their own insanity, glossed over but not forgotten.  Let us play harpsichords and twing a violin.  Let’s stop the wrong kind of thing.  Planting history with falling leaves.

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Dream within a dream 3

Maging masayá sana ang araw mo!

Ang pangit ng Tagalog ko
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My Mental Hospital Experience!

This was surely not any agenda of mine, being nullified in expression and seemingly nullified physically.   Near midnight,  I started to have these monstrous seizures.  I probably should have waited this out.  But destiny had other plans in mind. But as I arose to pack for the ER,  I fell.   Many items came down with me.  My corpulent cat was hiding behind the dresser and came out to see how I was.

She has an innate ability to discern disturbances that are emotional and physical.   Her support was at a safe distance.    Alternating paroxysms further enhanced my trepidation and Paramedics offering commands that I could not execute.  When I was aboard, the screaming sirens and ministrations of First Responders, further causing my bafflement.

At the ER,  I was given Atavan to diminish my distress,  moved to a triage area, which must be a kind of waiting room. for the insane,  I guess.   As I arrived there, I became a bit more lucid and a lot more dubious of my condition.  Long story short, the Doctor sent shivers down my spine as I was advised that I could volunteer or be induced too, with athe involuntary fate, much worse for the wear.

Arriving at the hospital,  I remarked to the person at the desk,  that this is surely a jail and he consolingly implied,  that it was not.   I was in fact,  diminished,  limited and just wondering what had happened.

After my entrance,  into the umbilical tether of mental health,  I felt lost.  Like Air Force Basic Training, sans shoe laces and a shave.   Once the skin check,  non-invasive but no less obtrusive, I donned medical garb,  we all have the grasp of that situation.  Flowing rhetoric and mindfulness.

I am sure that my consternation did not make my accommodations any less Bohemian.   A full-sized bed,  with a relatively thin mattress.  The rooms were bare but really clean and er, safe.    After making the bed sleep worthy,  I fell into a fitful sleep,  garnering about 40ish minutes of more slanderous slumber.

Then at 6:30AM,  I thought I was reliving the aforementioned basic training.  One guy in the food line,  kept raising his hands (one-at-a time) high into the air.  His bunk-mates seemed to pay him no mind,  but new admit-tents were a bit shocked .

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Okay the food was decent and rooms clean.  Groups were fairly well run, and actually did gather some useful tips,  with ersatz coffee,  blended and roasted.  As the days passed,  my bewilderment slackened and it was kind of fun.   However, at each crisis, I was becoming more aware at this dichotomy of egress and a curfew of 11PM.   Felt like something didn’t quite fit and yet,  helping others muddle through.

I guess the therapist’s notes, saying my intelligence was very high, was a temporal aphrodisiac,  in a place where spoons doubled as knives and shoes strings were sublimated into lashes.  I did all that I needed,  in the first day.  I actively participated, and read books like a magic carpet ride.  I negotiated around the titular gendarmes and picayune rules meant for us all.  A few dust-ups and a litany of users, getting methadone and other meds.

In the end,  my regular Psych was baffled why I was in there, in the first place.   I pleaded with the ER,  that the information for the Epilepsy and so-called Bi-polar (Manic) congealed and morphed into a misdiagnosis.   When freedom rang,  I pushed for expediency,  with shoes tethered tight,  my personal belongings that were sequestered, in twin bags.   In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, “So, it goes”.   Inside,  we were lodged into a Miasma, with my name on  it.  Now,  I was emancipated with croons and cries and a  bit of dishevelment to boot.

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In The Name of Discipline?

The ads are appealing,  promises and guarantees that hard loving their teens would make them more likely to be good.    So many of their restrictions were flat wrong.  Using mail as a carrot stick was wrong on so many levels.   Subjecting them to strip searches and BCS,  were and are dehumanizing.    Add in lack of phones to parents and family,  and there is a great quotient for abuse.

“Parents teach children discipline for two different, indeed diametrically opposed, reasons: to render the child submissive to them and to make him independent of them. Only a self-disciplined person can be obedient; and only such a person can be autonomous.”
Thomas Szasz

 

Hey,  timeout was no big deal.   The backpacks were supposed to be 30% of their weight and the 70lbs they  bore is quite a bit more.   I have some links that are must reads,  because they talk about deaths and extreme physical abuse.   One Asian girl was thrown off a truck and died.

https://www.hcn.org/issues/61/1913/#comments

http://www.hcn.org/issues/61/1912?src=rc

 

A movie called ‘Bootcamp’,  starring Mila Kunis pretty much sums up conditions and punishments doled out,  to intractible slaves (teens).    Besides the Cavity Searches and beatings,  make me think of Concentration Camps as to a catharsis from being out-of-control brats (which many were).

Abducting these kids with the permission of teens would be disallowed in the first place.  Called ‘Escorts’,  they would go to the kids and haul them off in handcuffs or being drugged,  ending up in some camp far away.   We treat criminals better than this.   Factor in some judges being paid to send kids off to jail or boot camps,  then how can that be right?

 

 

Thankfully the number of camps have been from like 18 to 3 camps and most have better safe-guards.   But while they do some things,  death is not among them.

 

Some of these kids are mentally ill and sending a kid who has real mental issues is a non-starter.

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The Rape Hologram

I watched a movie last night about 17-year-old Eun An. (Nam Bo-Ra).   I highly suggest that anyone who can view this 2012 film, (Don’t cry Mommy), please do! It a very heart-breaking story.    This movie is about more than one victim, it’s about a mom and  daughter’s happy life together,  being shattered irreconcilably.   Making matters,  worse,  is the sexism.    It is a narrative about responsibility and how jurisprudence and its own misogyny,   perpetuates the myths and the realities.     In the end, this it is not a blog meant to bash men,  but rather where to start,  in addressing education.

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“Revolution is the negation of the existing, a violent protest against man’s inhumanity to man(mankind) with all the thousand and one slaveries it involves. It is the destroyer of dominant values upon which a complex system of injustice, oppression, and wrong has been built up by ignorance and brutality.”  Emma Goldman.

Yes,  but what are we going to do about it?  Laws are a means to an end.   Votes! What does this do, for victims?  The net  effect resolves nothing and they do not placate the victims which include, the family of those victims!

In this movie,  a mother seeks revenge.  Because the perps are allowed to go free and the main perp,  gets a couple months of probation.   Eun-Ah in the mean time is let down by the system,  let down by a culture of near silence by and the continuous ‘rape culture’.

To make matters worse, the girl was raped by these assholes, a second time.  With her own self-worth utterly destroyed,  she becomes even more disillusioned.    Now let’s put this into perspective,  a girl is raped, twice!   Her mother is outraged and the legal system suggests, to settle!  The mother throws down the money offered to her.  At that point,  the perp’s family accuses her daughter and her mother as being loose.

After a recent blog on RallyPoint,  one guy used the Duke LaCrosse team as an example of how men suffer too?  WTF?  Let’s break that down also.  I am sure the legal system let them down.   No!  We are not going to go there.  Compared to the millions of girls and women are who are sexually brutalised, an anecdotal inference to that,  is so sexist,  that is no wonder that this issue, propagates into a miasma of legalise.

“I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman’s inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman’s fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.”  ‘Jane Austen’.

As a solution,  neither more laws with no justice or settling out of court will cause the rapist to abstain or ,the mother’s sadness to be any less sad.

The solutions are many,  but it will take more than rhetoric and blaming the victim or more laws.  It will require consideration of how the woman feels and judges adjudicate cases against perps.  It will require education and one that is not an attack on all ,males but , listening to mothers, girlfriends and wives.

As an aside,  a friend in Germany of mine was raped.   She asked to hear story about keeping the baby.   I told her that my NOT place to tell her what to do.   Her response humbled me  because she told me that I was that I am the first to not suggest,  but listen.  She was crying!

The name of the game  is being supporting.  It is not about me,  but to advocate meaningful change, which includes,  like the movie, remedies and compassion for victims everywhere.

This show made me cry,  and not feel bad about crying!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting in Clover

It was dark and quite warm,   the clunking of tires on the uneven pavement became like white noise.    My trusty black Tuxedo cat layed on my hip and purred and we both fell into sleep.   The steady beat of life reverberated like a clandestine dream.    The humidity was hell-fire and I welcomed even the slightest breeze.     My car,  my home.   A Honda and I guess being relatively short can be useful at times,   especially curled up in the car.

The escape was worth it…   from the tumultous hyper drama and wailing miscreants I found a jagged rock to lay upon,   whose pains entrenched in me,  an appreciation of being to myself.   I never wanted in my entire life to be surrounded with no way out.   Watching movies I would become so apprehensive that I could not reconcile that kind of violence.   People controlling you.    I wanted to be a ship that drifts far out to sea.   Clad in comfortable clothing and nesting in a silent harbor.

On my trips my faithful cat would either sit in the back window on the headrests her head bobbling now and again.   She was my sentry and she would do her rounds,  clamboring upon my lap and then looking out the window.   The stares were an endorsement and utterly surprised people would point.    I had my faithful sidekick,  who she herself was bound for a while.    My heart longed for the frienship between man and cat and the simple comfort of being loved and without the pain of parting.

The world has a lot of hurting souls and just a kind word of encouragement helps.    I would find dark garages with enough light to scare off ghouls and to keep kitty warm or camp out at night in my car at a Walmart somewhere.   You could see the drug trade stealthily closing deals and pretending not to notice and trying to sleep at a darker portion of the lot.

Feeding kitty was a joy.   She thrived on entertaining me,   leaping wildly from one perch to another with her favorite being upside down and playing the passenger side headrest.   I ducked under the covers and prayed for stillness and when done,  she would saunter purposefully back to my side or laying close to me.

There were the stormy nights when buckets of rain fell from heaven.   We would go to a rest stop and park as the rain drops and sometimes hail buffeted our buggy with my cat hunched close by in fear and me petting and reassuring her that her daddy would die for her.

Even at the DR,   I would explain my issue needing the cat to keep me from going over a waterfall head first.   I was needed and feeding her gave me joy.   To be needed and to not worry (as much) GAD does that and MDD does not make it easier.    We find flashlights hidden in a dark mosaic.   The fear that binds us,  has a loose grip.  We wallow in a dreamstate,  each moment it’s own.   We see God in our invisible tomes leading us to a safer home.

One day at a parking lot at a Walmart were a bunch of twenty something eccentrics being harassed by the manager.   I went over to the young people and started talking.   I envied their caravan of adventure,  the girls clad gothically and yet provocatively which only added to the enigma.    They were very nice people and I attested to the manager that would soon be on the way.    Understanding misunderstood people is the stuff of dreams.   We are all broken and yet delivered from the arbitray tract of land that constrains us all.

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Prozac Nation. Your thoughts! The Long and winding Road.

As I watched the movie Prozac Nation,  Christina Ricci is sitting naked on the bed while her mother comes into the room and opens the window tells her to get going.    Ms. Ricci is going yard.   She is off to Harvard to ply her skills and hone her narratives on life as she experiences life away from mom and dad.     Her home life was idyllic in the sense of having nice clothes and a supportive mother but she did not like people because she assumed they did not like her.

She of course had her drugs,  mainly medication for her behavior but she added X,  LSD,  Marijuana and Alcohol to her mind bending menu.    She had a narcissistic,  womanizing  father who avoided her  during her early teen years and a madly manic’ mom whose insecurities rubbed off on her talented but troubled child.

After the first party her own manic behavior corrupted her friendships and she was openly antagonistic at the worst moments.      She already had an emotional problem and the sense her life was going to be short.   She was also a cutter and obsessive about her writing.

On a personal level her behavior is NOT necessarily outrageous given her medical,  yes medical condition.   Depression and anxiety is not cured by psychotropic drugs because cognitive and awareness therapies can redirect some of the more harmless inclinations.    Those treatment modalities may not cure and so the right medications will help fix some of the neurochemical issues.

When I first started taking Citalopram it was not effective so was switched to the drug Sertraline which did alter my awareness around me.    Initially my family and specifically my brother indicated I was more aggressive.   I may have been but I believe a lot of that was a change and the change was discomfitting.    I resolved that I was becoming more aware of what was eating at me.    My comprehension of my behavior and thoughts became my own.

The sheer terror of public speaking is a theme that caused me a lot of anxiety as a kid and was not helped by the constant threat of violence in the schools.    Corporal Punishment hardly phased the hard-butted strong-willed student but to the good kids,  it became an obsession and fed into my own distrust of 99% of people.

I understand Elizabeth’s (Ricci’s) impulses and her lack of control and the desire to please everyone long enough to find an egress from a social situation.  Hers was self-medicating.   I was fairly skilled in language and was a prolific speller with a great vocabulary.   I read college text books in fourth grade because they were fun.     What I hated was the spotlight.   I really loved sports and always felt like people who were watching were judging me.    By the time I was in my early twenties I went back to the high school and played basketball during recreation at the school  and a childhood nemesis who said,  “Damn you are talented.”    I tell you,  for a moment in the social context that was a homerun.    I did practice and I shot threes with touch.   I prided myself getting lost in a place I felt safe.    Both scared and excited was when I made my first bucket in a game.   I remember like it was yesterday.   A high arching shot and nothing but net.   That was an ice breaker of a kind but too much is a bad thing.

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Retreating into my own little Universe I groped for safety without a safety net and the feelings of being judged,  even by family.    My hypercritical thinking makes me a very good weather forecaster but the downside is that skill causes me confusion and alarm.    I have overcome a lot of things educationally but extreme anxiety has rendered me inert in many situations.    I sometimes hate myself,  question my own sanity and perceived stupidity.

The exact origins I am slowly rooting out.   I am reconnecting with friends from my own class of 74 and finding out that the girls thought I was cute and so on.    But this is a slow process and reconciling the pain and anguish is hard.  My cats help and we share a symbiotic connection that I believe benefits us all.

So her behavior is not unusual and her journey through the darkest abyss is a journey that we must take.   The therapy, drugs and finally a modicum of self-acceptance.    We are what our neural pathways allow for.   Mine is a hardwired hyper-awareness.

Real life In The Fast Lane.

Most times just going to the store can be an event that can only be coped with by getting in and out as fast as possible.    You feel like to see the curb you have to look up and you resent people getting too close to you and not being sure about their motives.   The hate and revulsion you bear is multifaceted.  For example,  my writing might be better except I find it hard to be too long in one place.   Sleep helps but I am getting older so do I want to waste too many days.

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I care for people who are hurting.   I have worked at the Shriners and the CCFA and done charity events to benefit others.   That stuff is good and I am pretty humble about it,  even as I donate to special causes for the alleviation of hardship.   Outwardly I am respectful but inwardly very untrusting because my puzzle was shaken so much that I do not know that all the parts are still there.   And considering the fact that I might fail I use the excuse of quitting to preserve my margins.    I just can’t take another loss.

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Some tragedies have been more profound than others,  so heartbreaking that I trust precious few.   Exploitation of the weak is a mortal transgression especially when I see no sense of guilt but the sociopathic behaviors of people who may be family or friends.   You can apologize and I will accept it,  now if I can forgive myself.

I just fed my two cats.   I have so much fun at the labor of love because they will not or cannot hurt me.   I am not perfect but I am no Jack the Ripper,  nor do I spit on any man’s grave.   When Saddam was hung I felt no joy although he had done enough that his death was the only solution.   Barbarity is always barbarity.   I just wish that people would apply astringent to all wounds,  sort of like MDs.

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There are times when the tides of my consternation wash over me and I get confused between the different points in my life.    Not knowing where the hand may come and realizing that no one really comes out ahead.    So,  at this moment I was feeling bad but my kitty insisted on soft food and I realized it was her time and all I could feel (to both of them) was mercy and love.    Figuring the rest will work itself out.