That last entry was rather dreary, and I just feel like I need to say, my life is not dreary. It is comfortable and I have most everything I need and a good deal of what I want. I'm not healthy, that is something I would wish for, but I am not near death or anything.
I've been working out. I used the last two winters to built up my spring/winter/fall wardrobe. When I step out after the temps drop, I'm going to be stylin' baby. But I want my skinniest body back. I have to resist the Zyprexa that knocks me out at night, and makes my brain beg for food all. of. the. time. I think I have emptied the house of things I can eat. I looked in the grocer's circular to find some food, and I couldn't.
I'm a very picky eater. I will cook anything you bring me to cook. But I hate most food and my missing teeth make it really hard to bite or chew. One of my biting teeth on the bottom is loose, but not loose enough to come out, and it's been like that for a really long time. But it makes me not want to bite into things because when I do, it moves. EW!
There, a silly teeth story. I still haven't gone to a dermatologist for the cancer, but I will soon. Once Doc gets into the habit of work every week day. I have the name and addy of my mom's dermatologist that takes care of her basal cell carcinomas and she recommended her highly.
I have been battling the black and brown widows on the patio. So far I am winning. I got bit by one of them last year. And the year before that, Evie got bit and died. It's been a gas. Or a spray. Heh heh heh.
Doc let me get all of my jewelry supplies. Metal stamp kit, metal clay kit, a bunch of clay, jewelry for a doll I am making and for earrings.
So I am busy learning to do new things. I got my Wacom tablet, which is an electronic drawing pad. I'm lousy at drawing, but it came with software that lets me "use" brushes and mediums to play with. Once I am ready to set up my websites again, since I renewed them, it will come in handy to make the graphics like nothing else.
I haven't been writing, anywhere, for a while. It's been 7 months since I was in the hospital and while they have opened an investigation into the things I experienced, I am really to traumatized to care about whatever hollow apology I get. Nothing will change.
The Bell's Palsy is almost gone. I can't spit still, but I never really feel like spitting.
I'm having some head problems, even though I am taking my meds religiously. Hallucinations, both auditory and visual. I'll never get rid of them, I know that now. I have to ignore them. I can either shut them off completely, or not put myself into a near-coma. I choose not.
The second time I saw Shutter Island (I just watched it again), everything in it seemed so obvious.
Have you watched "Shameless"? Closest thing to my childhood on TV now. Doc got me into it.
I don't know if I had anything else to say. Any thing that was in my head when I started this is gone now. If I could have anything, it would be my memory.
My birthday came and went with just the right amount of celebration. I got a cake and presents from Doc for the next few days, as they arrived in the mail. I got a black cotton shirt dress, mini, with tassels hanging from the hem. I also got a Dodge Charger Daytona Hot Wheel car. And cake, chocolate cake with no flowers. It was a perfect week.
And Chewbacca's lime green and black mesh ESA K9 harness got here. A little adjusting, and it fits him perfectly. I just can't walk him because I'm afraid of this neighborhood in the dark and the pavement is too hot in the daytime. This all reminds me that I need to adjust Rose's harness that Chewy has been wearing back to Rose's size. The old cat harness I am using for her is breaking and too tight on her, she's gotten a little chubby. Not so strangers would notice it, but I do.
I've battled and been victorious against two black widow spiders in the past two weeks. When I'm done here, I plan to go out with the broom and bug spray and decimate some nests, the fuckers are taking over my patio. And after Evie died upon being bitten, ever since then, I have been freaked out about the others. And they all hang out near the nests. Evie walked through one, and I think stopped to freak out. That's when she got got. I won't let any of the animals walk under chairs out there. Today that stops. I go out, I clean up, I destroy arachnids of the poisonous persuasion.
Long-time readers may remember when I went into the psych hospital a few years ago, I was assaulted and nothing was done about it. Forward to my Oct/Nov psych hospital stay. I had a nightmare roommate, literally. I have real issues sleeping now.
I was asleep one night, and I woke up with someone sitting on my back with their hand on my face, pushing it into the pillow. It didn't work to smother me because she had stolen my pillows, I was sleeping on a folded up blanket. I screamed, got up, reported it, and was ignored. After I wouldn't give up and go back to my room, I was set up in the day room, where I fell asleep on a nest of chairs. I woke up to her looming over me. She had thrown up on me while I slept and then sat down next to my nest and stared at me until I woke up.
My medication was working so I didn't flip out about it. I yelled a little but stayed in control. I was finally put in the other day room, a locked door between her and I.
It took me a few months but I eventually wrote a letter to the Head of Patient Affairs, detailing the whole thing in a brief four pages, including mentioning which parts would be on the video they take. There was no video in the room, so my story of being smothered was not believed by anyone and no one talked to the woman because she was so "out there".
For all I know she was in there for smothering someone in the same way she tried to smother me.
I insisted the next day that I be signed out and released because I wasn't safe. I was threatened with court to keep me locked up, which I would lose. And then I was transferred to a lighter security unit to finish my stay.
On this past Wednesday, I got a response to my letter, informing me of an internal investigation and results in 30 days. So what, they prove it happened, and I get a letter of apology? Doc wants me to contact a lawyer, but I don't know if I can find one that will deal with a psych patient's story. I'm going to have to make a lot of calls and deal with a lot of stigma, but with Doc backing me up, I think I can do it. We'll see what their investigation turns up, then I will know if I have a chance in court.
So, there was that.
In October into November, I vacationed at my regular mental hospital. During those weeks many unseemly things happened. It was bought by "the corporation" they told me. The policy was keep us quiet, supervision optional.
My roommate sat on me in my sleep, and pushed my face into the pillow. I woke up, no one cared, they put me in the day room to sleep and I woke up an hour later with her looming over me in full view of the nurses' station. She had thrown up all over me while I slept.
This was how I was transferred to the lower security CD unit where I could smoke and drink coffee all day and a good part of the night.
But nothing ever came of it. I wrote it all out in a letter to them, telling of the damage it had done me. I held on to the letter for a long time and finally mailed it two weeks ago. It explained that they tried to resolve issues of this nature in a few days, but they were opening an investigation into my accusations.
The throwing up on me, and looming over me is on video. That will give more credence that what she did to me in the room, which is not on video, actually happened.
Maybe they will erase my bill. That would be cool. It's $1500. That would be nice.
This is my first face. Made on the Wacom Intuous Draw Tablet. My first computer sketch, my first "oil" painting. I had watched a tutorial a few times, then went out on my own, using what I had learned. The hardest part was the sketching and detail. The software I use is ArtRage Lite. A key for it came with the tablet.
I didn't get it with this in mind. I didn't know of the existence of this software and its powers of art. Oil, watercolor, pen, pencil . . . all pressure sensitive. I've had the most fun with the paint tube and pallet knife selections. I haven't even tried to use the tablet in Photoshop yet.
I got the tablet with my photography in mind. For touch ups, it should be brilliant. And for general drawing on photos and being artsy and such. But for right now I am too busy with this other painting program.
This isn't about where you stand on our 45th president. That is not the point of this. So keep your hackles down and help a sister out with your opinion.
As most of you know, I am certifiably insane. I have been hospitalized often enough for my doctor to get a judge to keep me locked up indefinitely. In fact, in October, I faced that very reality. I was assaulted by my roommate in my sleep and wanted out and the doctor whipped out my old files (in a box for effect) and my challenge to him was done. Anyway . . .
Congratulate me on now being legally allowed to own a gun! No, I am not getting a gun. But I could.
But now 45 is halfway to destroying Mental Health Care. While I have faith that the Senate will demolish a lot of the healthcare bill and rewrite it, I don't believe for a minute that they will be concerned about mental health (Party of Reagan and all that noise).
So, finally, my question: should I be hoarding medication? It's easy enough to doctor shop for medicare accepting doctors that don't compare notes and pass out anti-psychotics like Pez. If I use those special discount sites, I may be able to get around a year's worth stashed away in the hollow of a tree.
So . . . um . . . should I?
I saved a baby pigeon from Death by Cat today. I put it in the tree I think it came from. He won't survive the night with his wounds. There was nothing I could do for him but put him up away from further assault. There is a hollow where the tree splits into four large limbs. I gathered up his feathers and put them in the hollow, then carefully placed him in the hollow on the soft feathers. If I ever get rich, I'm taking every animal I find to a vet.
Chewbacca got his Letter of Service from my p-sychiatrist. We have been out on outings, he comes to band practice with me. We walked up to the donut store one day. Then another, we went to Lowe's and the dollar store. He is an angel. Stays right with me. Next month hopefully I can buy him an official ESA dog certificate to keep with the letter in the portfolio in my rucksack. Right now he is wearing Rose's pink harness and being called a girl by Uber drivers. I found a summer-weight harness for him. I'll pick that up in the next couple of months.
One weird thing happened this month: I have been obsessed with money. Before you nod your head and say "no duh", wait. Not talking about it like I have on here, that's always driven by someone else putting money into my head. I finally told Doc to stop talking to me about money a few months ago. And he did. Okay, so, been obsessed with money, mainly what I would do with it, and that just isn't me. But I had this feeling we were going to come into money from an unexpected source (as in, not his dad's inheritance, or the tragedy of my Nana dying).
So I get this letter from a well respected "bank" (you'll see the reason for the quotes in a moment) that I immediately researched and found that it is a bank in that it handles money in a secure and legal way, so "bank". No tellers or checking accounts. They have been assigned by my old 401k holder to open an IRA for my no-longer active 401k.
It has been years since I heard hide nor hair of that particular fund and assumed I lost it in the financial crash because it was in a high-risk, high-yield fund. It's $4,000. And all I have to do is fill out some paperwork and get it notarized, then fill out more paperwork to withdraw the money and BAM! We have come into money.
I am happy about the money, but not comforted. The thoughts that have taken over are obsessive thoughts about the demise of my Nana. They are damaging my calm. Will my mom tell me when it happens (not being crass, she didn't tell me until two weeks after my sister died)? Will she go peacefully in her sleep, as she deserves? Disturbing.
Okay. That didn't hurt. Kind of a relief to share it with people. I may not be comfortable sharing much anymore, but I can still find catharsis in it somewhere.
I feel like I owe a bunch of you an explanation for what happened beyond "Chris died."
Here's what I've learned in the last six months:
- the constant openness I was expressing was killing me. It allowed me to wallow in feelings I should never have given credence to.
- the lack of a solid following of a few, but devoted fans, after 18 years of this was beating my self esteem into the ground. I've been digging for months and I can't get it back yet.
- a string of tragedies that were purely mine was too much for me to share because it was personal, on a deep layer that few will ever see.
- the friends I have collected here over the years would never be able to fully understand, because it isn't just what I am feeling, it's going on actively all of the time.
- Our 45th president has the person closest to me on edge with this Korea nonsense, and I needed time for him.
I don't know if I will continue from here. I was hoping that I could get a back-up copy of at least one of my sites, but that has proven impossible. I am rebuilding at phoenixwillrise.com, but that's pretty empty right now as I take care of offline endeavors.
I have kept writing poetry. I got Bell's Palsy, freezing half of my face and I still can't speak well enough to record right now. Plus, I set up my mic using Chris' advice, and I can't even look at it right now. It's been six months, so of course I'm not over it yet.
And there I go again. Grief is a useless and harmful feeling and I shouldn't be wallowing in it. So, point made by my own impulsiveness.