Hollywood has been shaken by recent suicides, Robin Williams, Chester Beddington, Dana Plato, Kurt Cobain. All of these people seemed so happy even the day before they died. How could this happen? I am here to show you…
A systematic breakdown
On New Year’s Eve, I suffered a dissociative break from reality (the details were in an earlier post.) I called 911 on myself three times in 3 days. The third time, I was Baker Acted – pink slipped. I learned from my mother that when it is too much to bear to overdose your way into a suicide. I also learned from my mother that the cops can be treated like personal assistants.
From New Year’s Day to January 5th, I was in a psychiatric facility. I had my first real manic episode (more on that later) but I was so manic that it took 7 sleep meds to get 90 minutes of sleep a night. Seven! It should’ve been enough to stop a heart or at least take down a horse!
January 5th, I was discharged against the wishes of the doctor, because I am lucky enough to afford a home health aide.
January 20th, I have an appointment with my longtime therapist and she scales back my meds, little did I know she scaled them back too far and the shitshow started rising.
January 26th, I call the numbers I was given for humanistic counseling. The list was terribly out of date. Three people I called – retired, two more – weren’t accepting new patients. I found one in Hudson and left a message. I get a call back and the woman is too confused to make an appointment (why? I don’t know, I just needed an appointment).
January 29, still trying to get an appointment with a therapist. After they don’t return my call, I tell them “this is why there is suicide solution and mass shooting problem in this country”. Obviously I won’t get a call back now.
January 30th, call my long-time therapist and her phone lines are down…
January 31st, I have two appointments scheduled – one with an addictions counselor and one with my family practitioner. They are at the same time. Stressed and confused from the lack of meds, I miss both.
February 2nd, I am losing it. I’m having a party. I get meds off of a friends. I call my family physician and he doesn’t call back.
February 3rd, I miss my therapist’s appointment because, in a fit of rage, I tell I am going to sue her. I get enough meds for a few days until I get in with a doctor. The next five days will be spent running back and forth getting black market meds…
February 5th, go to Metro Health – I am told he would rather see me die that give me something like a mildly controlled substance (in my panic – I forgot that the weed calmed me down. Remember my 420 article?)
February 7th, I finally see a doctor, he gives me what I had been taking on the black market – it had been recommended, it works so perfectly with my other meds that this is the most normal I’ve ever felt in my life and I owe it to my new best friend. He has no names of therapists either.
By February 9th, I realize that I still need more meds, but my home health care aide is back after I fired her.
February 10th, I get the wrong meds (if I didn’t know pharmacology – they would have killed me in one night!).
Look at how long I have persisted! But now, I will be running out of psych meds because my meds needs to be adjusted. This could lead to a dissociative break. But it won’t. (You have a home health aide, that will make sure you get back to get just a little more until February is over. And, unfortunately, if the doctor’s don’t cooperate, there is always the black market…)
These breaks are usually marked by violence – mass shootings, school shootings, work place shootings, domestic violence. During these breaks from reality, hallucinations occur. I hallucinated that my daughter was hunting me down. If I had been a little less grounded, I could’ve killed someone because, in my mind, it was self-defense. I knew I had to do something, so I called 911 and locked my self up. Psych wards are much better these says and it feels like summer camp. I learned to write the blues…
February 10th, my home health aide finds a therapist that is not accepting new clients.
Look at this saga of trying to get help. How many people, manic or depressive, paranoid Schizo or multiple personalities have this kind of tenacity?
This is why an American has a “gun problem.” It’s not the guns, it’s the mental illness. No, it’s not the mental illness, it is the lack of compassion and professionalism! I had a doctor at the ER literally telling me he “would rather see me die than write me a script”; he harped on me about missing the appointment. Most people would’ve returned and shot up that hospital, but I don’t even kill stink bugs.
I’m still looking for a therapist…
I forgot I bought counterfeit pressed pills! They should be here any day now. But the question, now, is: do they have Fentanyl in them? I don’t need a super Xanax!
I’ll be ok because I can afford a home health care aide… My insurance is spectacular, which is why everyone needs it…