Thursday, March 30, 2017

The First National Mental Health Pride Day, Parades Scheduled...

I was sitting in the waiting room the other day, thinking...

I was waiting to meet my 12th mental health professional, (give or take, and wondering if this time would be any different. You can't blame me.

As I thought about the many roads I've traveled trying to find my way to mental health. It's been a constant battle, that involved husbands, children, friends, family, strangers.

Some have been supportive, others have been less than, still others have kicked me while I was down. Every. Chance. They. Had.

I've had professionals, and non-professionals, and healers, and quacks. They've tried every thing. I've tried every thing.

But there's always one more thing...

So as I say in yet another office, hoping that this one thing, will be THE thing...

Because nobody actually wants to live like this.

Nobody.




There will never be a mental health rights movement. There will never be mental illness pride parades. There will never be a day when being mentally ill will be accepted.

As I thought these thoughts, I couldn't help but feel sad. We didn't ask for this. We didn't choose it. We really are were, for the most part anyhow, born this way.

I tell people I'm disabled, I no longer try to hide it. After a lifetime of playing pretend has gotten me... well... where I am today. I don't want to pretend anymore.

I can't pretend anymore.

And I can't try harder anymore.

No, there will never be a Mental Illness Pride Day, because pride and mental illness will never go together.

Isn't that sad?








Wednesday, March 29, 2017

I'm trying, and for now, this is enough.

I'm trying. And for the first time in a long time that is enough. I'm still not stable, I've been trying to get stable for... years... But I'm trying. I've not been optimistic about therapy, I've had many unsuccessful attempts at making myself socially acceptable but it member sends to work...

Perhaps that's because I'm not. Socially acceptable, I mean. Nor will I ever be. Nor do I have any desire to be. I want to be that old woman with long proudly gray hair pulled back in a pony tail. Wearing a tank top and paint splattered bib overalls. Surrounded by color, and animals, and nature, and life.

I would however like to participate in society from time to time, and to do that, I must figure out how to at least pretend to be a hooman. So, I told my new therapist this, and I told her that pills aren't going to fix, this, whatever "this" is.

Whatever I am.

I Don't do hoomans anymore, in fact the second I sense the hooman coming out in a person, the second I am gone. I prefer the animals. I can trust the animals. At least with animals, I always know where I stand.

Hoomans, well, you just never know with them.

I'm trying. That's all I can muster at the moment, but trying is better than the alternative.


Sunday, January 29, 2017

Or the terrorists will win...

The visions have been coming for four years now.  Horrible nightmares of my country torn in two. Friends become enemies,  families ripped apart, protests in the street.

Then I woke up to nightmares become reality.  The same visions that haunted my sleep,  now in the full light of day.  

I've many friends who voted for this and they know not yet what they've done.  They aren't racists,  and certainly not fascists but they voted to turn this country back 100 years,  and they don't even understand what that really means.  

They aren't people of color,  or immigrants,  or disabled, or sexual assault victims.  They aren't the very poor,  or the homeless,  or the disabled.

And they aren't political students or students of history. Surely if they were they would have seen the visions too.  

They would have seen the black churches being burned,  the swastikas painted on buildings.  School children being taunted by classmates,  being told they are going to be deported,  or that slavery will return,  or that they aren't allowed to be of a different religion.  

Something dark and ugly has risen,  and there is no putting this cat back in the bag.  Not with all of those teeth,  and claws, and spitting, and anger.  

Politicians somehow convinced a large portion of the population that in order to save us from the threat of Shira law,  they must place everyone under Scaryia law...

If we don't become terrorists ourselves,  the other terrorists might win.  We can't have that.  



Friday, November 11, 2016

Meeting my own needs...

I didn't need all of those things.  I didn't want all of those things.  I just wanted to live.

I only have so much energy you see. And it must be rationed.  My time is limited as well,  because I must sleep so much to not only restore my energy, but to reset my swimming mind.

Sleep.  One needs sleep.

Shelter.  We all need shelter.  We don't all need a mansion,  but we do need more than a cardboard box.  It needs to keep us warm,  keep us dry,  and hopefully give us a bit of privacy.

Having PTSD means privacy is essential for me.  I get overstimulated far too easily and it starts to wear on me after awhile.  I have to have a safe place to hide when things get overwhelming so I can reset.

And food.  People need food.  Real food.  This isn't something that I have always appreciated,  but I didn't realize that I had Celiac Disease until recently.

But I have to eat what I can get.  A lot of food is donated.  And I don't have a real kitchen,  so I tend to eat poorly. It's not good for me,  I know,  but you do what you have to do.

You also need water.  So much water,  so often,  for so many things.  You don't realize how much water you need until your access to running water is no more.

We each have a jug of water in our space that we fill when we're in town.  Mine is an old one from a water cooler.  Between the Roo dog and I,  we need to fill out twice a week sometimes.  But we only use it for drinking.  If I were cooking or bathing ,  no way !

Bathing is a nice luxury,  the pool here has a monthly pass so we go there every other day or so, shower,  soak,  swim,  exercise.  It's our one luxury in life.
When we can't afford the pool,  one of our friends usually lets us use their bathroom for a bit.

Speaking of bathrooms.  I miss them the most.  Of all luxuries in life,  thus is the one...  Without plumbing,  or an outhouse,  you are left with a bucket system.

Three buckets.  Let's call them,  #1, #2, and #3. Numbers 1 and 2 are self explanatory. Bucket #3 is sawdust to cover the #2.

It's not elegant.  But it works.

Which brings us to another modern necessity you don't really think much about until it's gone.  What do you do with trash.

I mean,  you use what you can,  compost some,  recycle some,  but there is always waste.  And it has to go somewhere.  It builds up fast.  You have to have somewhere to put it . . .

I'm kinda in the middle of nowhere.

I have Internet though,  and for me that's a must.  I'd go crazy without it,  though,  sometimes I go crazy with it.  I need to have contact with someone.  I mean,  I'm anti-social but not dead.
The Internet is my line to the outside world.

Sometimes my only link.  For weeks at a time.

For a long time I fought to have a "normal" life,  but I don't have to fight every day now.

If I could live totally without money,  I would.  In a heartbeat.  I hate trading what few precious hours of health I have for money.  It's miserable.

And so,  I live apart from society.  I do this because I must.  It is the only way I will survive this world.
 
To be neither of it,  nor a part of it.
Is my own version of the Alexander Supertramp life.  My own version of the Magic Bus.

And I have a companion in this adventure who is very much the same way.  He understands.

I am fed,  I am sheltered,  and I am loved.  My most basic needs are met for the first time in a very long time.  And I owe nobody anything for this life I live.

And if the zombie apocalypse happened tomorrow my life wouldn't change much at all.

I'm cool with that.

Is not much,  but it's mine.

I've never been able to say that before in my life.  It's not much,  but it's mine.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

To a life less complicated...

To a life less complicated...
The road less complicated. The road to less. For, isn't this what I was searching for all along?

A simpler life...

It would be difficult to imagine more simplicity, without going full Victorian of course. I've gone full on Busbilly, which is not so very far from living in a van down by the river...

Somewhere in the middle of the San Luis Valley, there is a gutted out camper, with a bed in one end and a potty chair next to the closet in the other. That's my new home.

I've spent the last month deciding what can fit and what has to go into storage... more stuff in storage. More stuff gone. More people gone. More ties to society gone. I've gone from a hoarder to a minimalist... in just 745987 easy steps!

Tis a good thing.

I've left much behind these past few years, but as much as I loved that old life... it was never really mine. As much as I left it, I can't remember a time in the past 10 years that I wasn't exhausted. Where I felt as if I had finished anything. Or accomplished anything. No matter what got done, it was just never enough...

And now, it is enough.

To have food in your belly, a warm place to sleep, someone who loves you... I've given up much, just for these simple things. And each day, I appreciate them... even when they aren't there I appreciate them.

Next to me is a not yet magic school bus that houses a man who loves me, and more than that, a man who gets me. And I get him. Indeed we are kindred spirits in this realm, both searching for that road less traveled. Both weary of society and uninterested in the rat race.

It seems to work for us, as we have yet to have an argument despite having been friends and coworkers for over a year and a half, and dating for almost half of that. We wake up, we worry about each other, and the animals, and food, and water.

It's all very primitive.

And right now, that's all I can handle.