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.

still waters

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.

You and I might clash. I have a better idea. Help asap!

“When the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys.He becomes a sort of hollow,posing dummy,the conventional figure of a sahib.For it is the condition of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the “natives”,and so in every crisis he has got to do what the “natives” expect of him.He wears a mask and his face grows to fit it.”
George Orwell

I consider myself a liberal when it comes to humans and suffering and since we can spend hundreds of billions on soon retired aircraft,  I get annoyed when Veteran’s Benefits are slashed because of the cost factor.   Too many are counting on robots and drones and such as a reason but invariably injuries are long-lasting and life-changing.   Athletes get richly compensated and their risks are nowhere near a soldier’s.

So the problem is the suffering is also a reflection of us collectively and I am not talking about socialism or worse,  I am talking about helping in other ways than just words.   And there are those doing and not just saying they are helping.

“There’s a saying that you can’t put a price on a human life, but that saying is a lie because we have. We have, and it’s so much lower than you would think. Yes, human life has its price like anything else, and will continue to do so for as long as it doubles as a commodity.”
Nenia Campbell, Cease and Desist

I want people to understand this one very important point.  If you are a billionaire and in production of some sort then you hire people and those people may be retired or laid off.   Their fingers gnarled from the constant abuse of repetition and perhaps an unsavory boss.   This boss/owner goes him and for that family season’s greetings are easier.    Some hoever lose everything and very few to help out or even care.

It took Unions many times to get safer conditions and better pay.   To ward off the improbable accident or misfortune that at one time we never considered.   We surely can find fault with something that person has done and so we blindly legislate as a remedy for a symptom.

A 19 year old girl gets notice of her fiance dying in the Middle East and suddenly her life and the life of the parents are shattered.   Generals still sleep well and there is never enough compensation to recompence the newly indigent or those whose problems keep them second class citizens.   Second by what standard? Poverty,  medical bills,  Cancer,  Mother Nature,  Despots?

Not only does the Billionaire have electric all winter but at the expense of the withered hands of a widow or widower.

Does the Mother of a dead soldier see the name on a stocking and smile?   Do the generals stop by and offer condolences or send an emissary to pay their respects?   And the child dying of cancer,  where are those people who own a Nuclear Reactor who poisons for generations.   Where are they when a child is born with no legs or arms?   Where are the producers Malathion and the congenital birth defects and the toll that takes on a family?

Do we support ‘Make A Wish’,  ‘Give Kids the World’  or any other number of agencies who can provide relief?  And do we continue to support or grandstand or say we did enough?

http://www.sjbhealth.org/body_childrens.cfm?id=2305

The link above may shock many people but George Steinbrenner was a saint to the kids at the hospital which he paid for.

DepressionRedwhite

People who are different or people with a disabling condition.    Many tempt fate by a cavalier disregard for others until they are in a supine position counting off moments til the inevitable expiration of ego and all the rest.

We have shows like Criminal Minds or even SVU.   It is well and proper to prosecute the guilty but what is the fallout from legislation?   It sounds like a good thing until the human cost includes unintended consequences from the actions of well-meaning people.    At best legislation and lawsuits can temporarily bring some relief without a healing that is more complete.   Support Groups are generally run by lay people and it seems cures defer to treating symptoms but not the cause.

Cases of Irritable Bowel Disease is rampant among the Jewish populations after the Concentration Camps.  We have billionaires today still benefitting from the tragic loss of others to which many times there is no resource but a support group that meets once a month.

IBDAGenetics

And felons,  from small time hoods to murderers and sex offenders,  it seems that sticking it to them also has consequences.    Our nation is becoming very self-centered and not aware of the effects of legislation and a lack of housing that follows offenders.    But by the grace of God go we.

RachelShepards Kitchen

To the left is a homeless advocate who helps.  A private young lady with a heart and the dear young ladies on the right whose elder years are feeding the young and hopeless,  the aged and the so-called profane criminals who sully our word?  <— being facetious about the felons.   Hell,  I might be a bad person myself!

But this badness in others and ourselves is no farther away than head trauma in an auto accident to drug abuse and hate crimes.   We have offenders who never got treatment or programs to head off their own particular brand of abuse.   Stopping the cycle is a humane test.  Not silly PSAs by corrupt nabobs in Hollywood or actors who feel an affinity to some cause.   Those offenders have families too and those unintended consequences are things they share in and suffer over?

Cops beating up old people and other such abuses are more a product of our own pride.   So instead of helping we actually use sentences to get cheap labor and then wonder why the marginally gifted feel alienated,  despondent and angry.   East to be hard!

copssoupkitpoem_res_0_0.appeal

The food with Shepard’s Chapel Soup Kitchen is catered and high quality and no one gets refused.   Otherwise who are we but jailers of a kind????

old-graveyard-by-Andrea

The Monsters Among us.

GADChild

The sudden storm blew in.   The tumbleweeds rushed by and the howl of the wind pushed them like unwanted stepchildren.    I was one of those unfortunate souls,  who prayed for darkness and heavy rain.  The gloom seemed to cheer me up,  the low clouds compacted the world and the heavy snows further reduced the shrapnel of ugly words and harsher correction.

Even better was the icy and snowy weather that kept the devil at bay.    The whiteness like a signet made it official and angry ice cycles crashed from atop the roof of our house.   At night I would sleep walk,  perhaps to walk into the road or fall upon the broken glass.  One night in my dream state I decided the camper window should be a punching bag.   The echoes of anger that permeated my realm.

In my heart I cheered the removal of my anxiety.   The sound of the engine and in it’s wake a measure of relief.    On one occasion we had two cats.   For some reason that one day would harbor a death penalty for one of our cats.   With seventeen acres of land,  my father determined that one should die.

My brother took at him and with a thud,  my heart filled with pity,  anger and disillusionment.  Unbearable voices led me to the scene and the grave of soft ash an ethereal tomb.   Suddenly the Raven appeared and that poor cat with blood on it’s side to my astonishment that poor gray cat seemed to be begging,  hoping for some kind of reprieve and a tear or many fell.    My brother finished the task and that thought and an attempted or threatened murder of my mom at five,  congealed into an unholy miasma of doubt and uncertainty.

Like the gales of a winter,   this inclement weather was a well-timed respite.  Revenge against the Tsunami that always lain in wait.   A patient wraith with a two-edged bite and like a small warrior I tried to turn away that wrath,  especially for a mother whose esteem in our eyes was stunted.

TS1TS2

Maybe the rain was a song of sadness reaching out for love,  surely such wrath would pass but never did.  As I grew up the mixed messages closed in around me.    I made my peace with that person I called dad and seeing his own tragedy I gained perspective about him.   Unable to justify he reached out.  Forgiveness?  Without a doubt and an unlocked toolshed seemed so unimportant now.

I did not glory in his sickness but I did look back and realized the good that was hidden from plain sight.   No one can justify abuse but a humble heart finds a way.  Gasping for breath all I could do is hold his hand.   This warrior who too late for himself never really enjoyed the fruits of his ambition until the very end.

He and my sister found a common ground and her fear was not being able to be loved by him.   In all that,  that is my special moment with Dad.   The cold aloofness and rage was dulled by the medication and softness of a pillow.     As he drew his last breath,   I felt release in him,  the devils vanished in a bright light and the shadows cowered.

The lesson is never give up.   As  bad as life can be,  we can survive.  I survived a certain hell which has led to my OCDs and fear of random violence.   I have several panic attacks every day but I am learning to get well and move on.   One rung at a time.

What would you do?

Love is a BATTLEFIED,   by Pat Benetar

We have all tripped on a few landmines in our lives and then justified it as being human.   And there is nothing wrong with that,  except when you forgot about your own errors in judgment.   Do we need a remembrance to keep us straight or do we just pile on and let the chips fall where they may?

Now,  there are abusers out there and many are women!

{. Everyone quotes the statistics given by the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence: 1 in 4 women will be victims of domestic violence at some point in their lives, 1.3 million women are assaulted by their partner every year, 85% of domestic violence reported is against women. However, in a conflicting survey taken by the CDC in 2010, it was found that 40% of the victims of severe, physical domestic violence are men}

Okay ladies,  we need to gloss over that and for sure men do not want to seem like wimps but there is a time when someone is going to jail and if you deny that you were abused after being abused,  then it could be said that not all attacks are being reported! 

As usual the media loves to stir up the hornet’s nest and then leave a pile of manure in it’s wake.   And sadly,  the issues are buried as the next best story avails itself or some development where more accused surface and so the claims go on and on and on.

Men, as well as women, are victimized by violence. Sexual abuse and rape create substantial physical and psychological harm to male victims and perpetuate the cycle of violence. Men and boys are less likely to report the violence and seek services due to the following challenges: the stigma of being a male victim, the perceived failure to conform to the macho stereotype, the fear of not being believed, the denial of victim status, and the lack of support from society, family members, and friends.   This according to the National Coalition to Domestic Violence.

For more information or to get help, please call:  National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE   National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1-800-656-HOPE  National Child Abuse Hotline at 1-800-4-A-CHILD

So my friends there you have it.   People like that idiot James Brown (the announcer) is just as guilty and pathetic as the NFL and other media who purport to be about women and knowingly commit this felonious rendition of so-called social justice!

Of course we expect an open mind when we fail.   Presumably because ours was not so bad,  not really.   You don’t know me!   So,  it goes.    Then a scandal breaks and the media feeds the feeding frenzy by storming off stage in a fit or rage and letting you know where they stand.

But there is a letter missing.   A letter that adds clarity and truthfulness and is a humbling word that is fast becoming a desiccated symbol of  a metaphorical and geopolitical hell .   Bereft of logic and reliant upon emotions,  the best and the brightest (self-aggrandizement at it’s worst) declare to us unwashed,  trailer trash adults as intellectual deadbeats.

I want to buy the vowel ‘E”.   And adding this one small letter is to completely reframe humanity  as  more ‘humane’.     Fed by a narcissistic media and spin-meisters our society resembles the Catholic Crusades or Islamic Jihad.     But the most pernicious fly-in-the-ointment is ‘Political Correctness’.   By using this tactic the vocabulary becomes constricted like the Orwellian language of INGSOC where more is less or less is more depending on the current translation of the words.  Or the King’s English?

To many,  the News is a TV dinner full of political preservatives and false calls to justice and action.   They are probably the most guilty,   the Ken-dolls waxing euphemistically at over their own cant and hyperbole.   As a person with a severe anxiety disorder,  finding calm and relative bliss can be a chore.   Now couple those obstacles that everyone else shares is beyond me.


What Tiger Woods did is none of your business aside from the smarmy details and since I do not care about such things,  it is of no interest to me and it shouldn’t to you.  Find a hobby,  pick your nose or find your Ouija Board.    Don’t tell me they deserve it because they are celebrities.  I am no fan of celebrities but I do not get carping on others what a lot of you have done.    Yes, some of you do these things or worse and that includes a few woman as well.

I have never understood the logic behind  that or worrying about Janay Rice unless you care about her  predicament and help her now that Ray Ray does not have a job.   That’s none of your concern either but a matter which involves their family and they have the right to privacy.   They did not sign a waiver to make a lot of money thus forfeiting their rights to a bunch of truncated vigilantes with severe boundary issues.

Ray did very wrong and needs to learn that he can never do such things and then gets .   To say it is all abuse of women smells of sticking your hooked nose and split tongue into matters which have no bearing on your own life.    And anyway,  who are beating these drums?  The feminists see a chance to intervene with the end game being only their opinions.   Cause and effect  but the underlying issues are painted over with peace signs and slogans.

The dogmas are so entrenched and accepted that it seems any aspersion cast upon Republicans is true and means you hate the poor,  favor the rich,   etc.    One of those bits of hyperbole would be that a person is greedy if they are a Young Republican.   This is a common depiction and is accepted.


In a related report by the Inquisitr, ESPN’s Hannah Storm was almost teary-eyed as she described how she had to tell her three daughters about the Ray Rice video and the circumstances behind it. Furthermore, she called out the NFL, saying that the organization needs to draw a hard line on NFL players when it comes to domestic violence. On the other side of the issue, Michael Vick claims everyone, including Ray Rice, deserves a second chance.
Read more at http://www.inquisitr.com/1483368/ray-rices-wife-janay-rice-lashes-out-at-nfl-commissioner-roger-goodell/#iYCeljxi1cKMWwCQ.99

People have to stop piling  on to people for sport or a good story.     Many players still support him and the fans who returned their jerseys did so,   because they can get a new one.   Hopefully their is a commissioner’s dunce cap for falling prey to the pressures of hypocritical genuflecting idiots.

My blogs are relatively obscure because I go out of my way not to as popular with the wrong crowd.   One individual said my lack of followers and comments invalidate my opinions!  Really?   That’s like throwing spaghetti against a wall,  some will stick.   Truth or Consequences?

Now let’s look at some things that go entirely not commented on.    Look at any young lady/woman who makes it big and you get the eventual playboy cover.   Many of them will be featured in a movie in short shorts or panties then are slain by some sociopath or horny alien.   The same media that harps on treating women right, but do you EVER see them doing anymore than that?  No, never!   The best you get is still all about them.  (The media).

Wait that guy hit a horse.   I should protest protesting is cool.

And as far as younger females go,  they are off-limits until they reach 18 (The Olsen Twins,  Molly Cyrus) and just about legal team becomes fair game.    The song Plush by Stone Temple Pilots depicts the sense of urgency to deflower purity and to scandalize,   so is it any mystery that the message gets out and it is largely media of some sort that perpetuates virginity is some kind of weirdness that MUST be slain.     The confusing scene of sexuality and violence seem to correlate into a seamless package of adolescent dynamite.

These same architects of depravity will deny any part of the malaise that helped to foment.   Of course they could blame us or blame Ray Rice for his stupidity but you sure want to bury him and his career.   The unintended consequence is family security but all of that is out the window now because liberal progressives are unrelenting and are mission first.   The party of tolerance is anything but.     The thing with Adrian Peterson is even more personal as his reputation will never recover!   This is NOT about football,  this is about cleaning your own attics and basements.

Some of the fervor does not match the rhetoric nor offers any solutions other than castrating all men and do away with all sports.   Yeah that’s you.   You have no suggestions outside scarlet letters and editorial denouncements.    Editorials means ever having to say you are sorry,  even though you might be.    James Brown of the NFL.   Do not condescend to me or other men.     Those bad guys (gals) deserve redemption, even if you do not agree.

Outside of Christmas and perhaps Thanksgiving they help the needy but do they do this behind the scenes or with a microphone and a fake smile?   No,  because this is a playground where actors and media dress up like us and pretend to be us.   Only,   we know it is a ruse.    Like an errant preacher,  police officer or a teacher,  they are all about chances.   Chances they did not give to others!    Their misfortune is not any sort of vindication sought,  but that their perceived holiness is not assailed.

Janay’s life was miserable at times but how could I know that unless she said so?  And those people who are falsely accused remember the gallows of judgment that is worn as white sheets endorsed by grand-standing politicians.      A chief of police with dozens if keyed up rabble-rousers with hopes of becoming the next big thing.

Erstwhile Barbies with faces meant for Halloween and the sad slow march into an old folks home where the deer and the antelope roam, with visions of scrapbooks and compliments lost in favor of denizen of new generations.   The pretty little womanlettes garnering the drools and slanders of a hungry set of ravenous coffee-stained dentures and a deer rack in your garage.   This is the backdrop to the great witch-hunts.    Only you you .

George W. Bush did not serve  a fake turkey to troops but that  Urban Myth was grudgingly admitted to.   With the media they do it with roaming bands of rich,  out of touch sociopaths with cameras and an agenda.   Stop the hate!!!

I love that speech and admire the kind words about President George W. ush and if for no other reason,  because we should respect the office and their decisions and stop trying to ruin each other.   Because in the end,  we all fall short and my attempt is to get people to  stop being ruthless to each other.   Diversity is gift.   Trust me on that.

Life, Love and the Devil.

In 1970s there was a song written by Terry Jacks and sung by the Poppys.    It went something like this,  “Evil Grows in the dark where the sun it never shines,  evil grows in cracks and holes and lives in people’s minds”.

In my mind one of the scariest scenes in any movie,  was in the Exorcist and not for all the obvious vulgar things but a more subtle scene at the start of the movie.   Where the Priest is in the Middle East and where the music,  the chaos and more specifically the Dogs Fighting.   Evil v. Evil.

It is in those cracks and holes and scary dark places,  the imagination can run amok as the incessant hammering in the old town and blind sages suggesting something truly unhuman.

I remember as a young child jumping off the teeter-totter and the guy on the end bounced like that ball in the cartoons where you sing a long with silly songs.    Was that an act of evil or me playing the game and testing it’s limits?   Was this part of my Dad’s favorite pastime of wrecking me on my little red wagon or dumping me on the sled.   A habit that has in part made me hyper-anxious and mistrusting.

For me the darkness was a kind of shield where I could go unnoticed or maybe it was caused by being molested in a storm cellar in Texas by an older boy.    Maybe it was a grim reminder of some kind of attention even one I had no idea of that time.

I loved watching the snow at night and where there is little or no snow,  rain or wind.    Waiting for school to be closed and not having done my homework.     My kind of passive-aggressive Russian-roulette.    I also like walking in it,  I was virtually alone and safe.   Like maybe the cold prevented THE antagonist from inflicting more pain and sadness.

I was also a sentinel guarding the gates against sudden fury.    Like a life-size chess game I planned several moves ahead and this usually gave me the upper-hand.   In a grocery store I still feel trapped and almost feral.    I feel as if I can detect evil just by looking at a person.     So if I see that kind visible clue in the store I am more inclined to try and flee as soon as possible.

The thunder and the rain also is a weapon of mine.    The sounds of violence and the washing away of tears.   Those tears like Teflon let the fears ease as they run into the gutter.   The sun impinges upon that sanctuary like heavy steps they are first heard and then felt.

Fear like Poppy seeds float to find  a new home and  like Pollywogs in a muddy ditch they hide.   So too,  I hid.  The hot Texas sun and my friends in a segregated neighborhood marched in harmony while wild-eyed monsters with seething hate got to the front of the bus.

Evil cannot manifest itself in the seemingly sublime while underneath the dark moist rock were hiding earth worms and Rolly Pollys in eggshells.   A blue day sunwise can be quite a sight and when people talk about how wonderful it is,   I wonder.

To me a mean person is an icicle falling off a house and then that person reveling in it’s mayhem.   Kind of like that dude on Oz who plays Mayhem in the insurance commercials.    A mean person is even meaner who rapes the soul of innocence and the sharper of the knives are the ones who hold hostage.   Maybe my intense aversion to kidnappers are a reaction to my Mom’s pain.   Like the time in Florida she hid in my garage from my own father.

This is why to me you can not judge the sky by it’s color or love by ‘I love Yous’.