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.
In the next few months, we will be embarking on a quest to house homeless Veterans. This will be no easy feat, but it is achievable. The biggest and best hope is an informed people, who lay aside political hyperbole and false narratives. But what are these narratives? What are the options?
Feeding our own poor, who truly do need our help. Not senseless rioting, raping women and girls. Money that goes to the various social dichotomies, SAIN kits and policies that help victims of those heinous crimes. It is the women who suffer the vagaries by deed, police interviews and the court.
Ex-President Obama, was big on campaign promises (immigration) and short on real initiatives. The choke point was the Sequester. Well what about it? Nestled in these obtuse proclamations, was money that was diverted to (illegals, healthcare reform and the fish that saved Pittsburgh). None of these were Republican issues per se, but they are real.
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The bargaining chip was the suspension of military pay and benefits. Paring away needed support and doing an end run. Two billion dollars which were earmarked for Veterans and to the VA , to pay for illegals. Americans are watching us. What are doing, what is being done? Nadda and more of that nada.
The people that matter and the funds to get this done. Not five hundred dollar handshakes, the release sensitive documents and rapes that go unpunished.
More is going is to be said and done. Coming very soon.
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 .
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.
Being an independent person and having my day out to do shopping for my cat, I went to Wally (Walmart) and I never got to check out.
It was an otherwise sunny morning except for the Chicken Hawk snoring and the consequent lack of viable quality sleep. Being overly anxious 110% of the time my tolerance for silly people was reaching a nadir, the stress of GAD knocked me down and out.
Unlike most books and narratives on the topic of recalcitrant brain waves, this is both comic and serious. It plumbs the depths of medical malady and the lack of a coherent understanding of protocol.
Gaps in the Story.
Due to being advised of some of the particulars, some of the story remains incomplete but the upshot is the fact that now I have a record of seizure activity. So bear with me as I elucidate, I say e-lu-ci-date there son!
The time was about 7:30A.M. on Thursday, June 11th. I had what was told to me by hospital staff that I had a grand mal seizure that lasted over 30 minutes and that my condition was serious enough that I had to go to the nearest ER that was only about a mile or two away. Of course, said Chicken Hawk or Hawks as the case may be presented a conflicting story.
All I do remember are two to three snippets of consciousness after I had fallen or during it, whatever that means. I was shopping for my cats and although I am a portly bird, I do have a liking for the critters. Anyhow, I had pretty much wrapped up my shopping and was getting irritated with some of the shoppers when suddenly, I felt like I was in Emerald City and the whole seemed to shimmer and was like looking through stretch wrap. Not quite opaque. I felt my legs buckle once, then twice and then I started to fall and as I did cried out if anyone had noticed.
I remember talking to people and evidently postictally I became in their words ‘Combative’ and I was put in restraints. I even have a picture of me lying on the stretcher with my wrists restrained behind me facing down.
At the ER I woke up to see my mother and brother standing there and then one of my sisters who by the way is a nurse. At least that is how the story goes. After she left I was changed into a hospital gown of sorts because sometimes incontinence happens when you do your happy dance. Among other things.
I was given Ativan I believe to reduce aggression and my brother told cops and staff at the hospital that I am the least combative person that he knows. My mom surmised that I may have stopped taking my meds but that is something I do pretty well, aside from putting the hustle on the hens. You have to keep sharp with them.
On a follow up at the VA hospital I had referrals for an MRI and EEG. The MRI was pretty close to the last one with some issues correlating to my age but the EEG indicated potential of Epilepsy. So now, for at least six months I cannot drive and that will put a crimp on my dating exploits with the little honies in the coop.
Actually there is a honey that has helped me recently and will be coming back soon but more details on that later. She took great care of me and I have taken a very big liking to her tail feathers, if you get my drift there son!
For every downside there appears an upside and sometimes you must look for it and Chicken Hawks will be what they are and your best lady egg layer can provide a softer fall. My advice is don’t overlook the golden eggs, for they are numerous and well-timed and that one will make you forget the rest.
GI Joe with the Kung Fu grip, He who will remain nameless (Chicken Hawk), the cashier that called my mom and my mom for locking me in the attic. Oh and do not tell the Chicken Hawk I referred to him, cause he is a bit slow.
The story was true with a few awkward embellishments, if you know what I mean?
What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. Oscar Wilde
Why are we so mean? Why do we need to rain on each other’s parades? I was looking at youtube and observing some beautiful young women playing drums and they were very talented. But invariably we have guys ripping the girls. Talking about their lack of skill and so forth. What is it with people?
One of the worst things are those ads, the ones who talk about celebrities and their ‘ugly spouses”! Really? Or child stars who are now ugly according to those ads. I for one, think we need to take the logs out of our eyes before we diminish another person. Case-in-point, the Duggars! Leave those young girls alone because in a few weeks this will pass over and I have to wonder, what was the objective?
What’s next? I remember Tiger Woods peccadilloes and the sense of shame and dishonor perpetrated on Wood’s wife. Not our lives, not in the least. I find it sad that people spend so much time piling on the misery of others. I might respect those same people if they helped the indigent every day and sacrificed but no. the evening news frames discussions whether they have any factual information to back it up. or not and the Cardinals debacle is yet another scandal that drives the politics of personal destruction.
Instead of finishing people off, how about making things better. You know you can go to a retirement community and sit with a forgotten elderly person. Saw a news clip about a Rescue worker who dumped a terminally ill patient from a gurney at a hospice facility? Is that who we are? Hastening the demise of a terminally ill patient.
In the movie, ‘The Doctor’. William Hurt is shocked by the callousness of the medical profession and how dying people are degraded and dehumanized. Diagnosed with Throat Cancer he sees firsthand the cold. impersonal manner of healthcare professionals. They sing ‘Why don’t we get drunk and screw’, in front of the patients and the Doctor stated that he would wish his doctor cared less and cut straighter. Until that is, it is him who feels like yesterday, today and tomorrow is the same and sitting in comfortable chairs with the future darkly lit before them.
The other day I was at Walmart and had a major seizure and the police were called in and I was put in restraints and according to medical people I was being combative. I had wounds on my wrists from struggling and I just wonder how much is the stigma of being a veteran while in actuality I am a Meteorologist. My brother told the officers and medical personnel that I am the quietest least combative person he knows.
Take a look around any day. The British police run over an older man and they could have avoided that. Where is the rule that consideration of human life matters. The individual who taped the mouth of a dog with duck tape and caused so much suffering Pit bulls running amok and terrorising the elderly and children.
Society is getting more hostile and resolutely mean to ‘those others’. We are so worried about our own perception of ourselves that other people fade unless they commit a crime or offend us in some way.