Nov. 10th, 2004 @ 12:05 pm
I hate to do this, and this is in no ways a way to undermine and steal members from other communities but:
Heylo, I am a Toronto-based New Media artist who suffers from Bipolar Type II. I am collecting stories from other mental illness sufferers to be included in an installation this February 2005. If you are interested in writing about your mental illness and having it anonymously become a piece of art-installation please join at mentalmoments
Thanks for your time.
Nov. 5th, 2004 @ 02:18 pm
He was a small Irish guy about 70, he shuffled around but in his eyes and face there were signs of a different long passed life. His eyes were piercing and blue, but for the greying colour he had a thick head of hair a twenty one year old would have been proud of his voice was poetic and Irish very much like Richard Harris. You had to get close to hear but when you did it was worth suffering the stale smell of tobbaco, he could have easily soothed the most chronic insomniac to sleep with his words.
He told us once his life was fulfilled by grandchildren hugging and kissing him every morning before school.
His latest ambition was to walk alone to the corner shop five doors up. I have to wonder what had happened how someone with all the intensity, charisma and obvious good looks had found himself sitting in an armchair in a psychiatric hospital, even at 70 he had looks, a smile and a charm i could only ever dream of.
He died two weeks ago, and as i sat on the bus on my way home from hospital thinking over the news I wonder if he ever made it those five doors up to the corner shop.
There are people who whether they are clinically "mentally unwell" or have a twisted ankle or lying dying in a bed that will always moan, and wallow in greif and self obbsession and then there are those like Fred who will always fight to see the world in the way he once did no matter what the odds.
I don't know how i ended up where i am, and i look around the hospital and look at others and especially my very favourite person in that room and wonder how someone with so much to offer, so much beauty and warmth and intelligence can suddenly find themselves stuck in that place and often worse when they are locked away. I hope especially that person as well as the rest can return, though i look at some, the ones who sit waiting for the miracle drug or words that will change their lives from the prisons they have become and i know that until they start fighting for themselves rather than sitting entrenched defending against the curse that haunts them that they will forever be in that room, or locked up in the ward or in their own minds afraid, volatile and lost.
You can be afraid and lost and still fight. I make ground here and there and sometimes i lose ground but eventually i think it can get better, what have i to lose? I can sit scared at the demons i see and hear or i can fight. I can hide at home scared of the outside world or i can go out every now and again and take it on - the worst that can happen is that ill end up right back here, in hospital or seclusion with nothing but bare brick and a bruised and battered mattress for comfort.
Nov. 2nd, 2004 @ 06:02 pm
Hey i just joined.I'm not sure what my problem is i just know the councellors and shrinks thought i was cured when i was 7 and they couldn't be more wrong.I'm 14 now and more fucked up than they could of thought.All serious things asdide everyone i know thinks im a bit crazy anyway and i hate going to school cos everyone is too up themselves to talk about anything but things that give a hint at how cool they are.Whenever i try to get involved in a conversation and take it off those grounds they seem to think i must be crazy just cos i don't want to talk about the usual stuff.
You can find my ramblings over at my journal. Bipolar...actually may be schizoaffective...doc doesn't know...tons of meds, just got Geodon added to the list. Living at home with family...sucks, 30 and feel like a kid again. Don't know anyone expect for who I met online. And who I share stuff in common with, like damn disorders. Think I need a nap, but phone rings too damn much around here for that.
I just started a new community called sim_torture
. Come check it out.
|» Functioning High|
Today was psych appointment day.|
Shrink: Now, did you call me a couple weeks ago?
Me: Yes, when I was hysterically crying crazy from Effexor withdrawal
Shrink: Oh. How are you now?
Shrink: What did I tell you to do?
Me: Take Effexor again. I didn't. I just rode it out.
Shrink: Yes, I've heard the withdrawal is terrible.
Psychiatrists are absolutely insane. Why don't they tell you about truly nasty side effects before you start something? Blargh.
Other bitch/amusing point of the day is that she's trying to get me with a therapist, and wrote a long letter trying to get me into an overbooked one, in which she called me high functioning. High functioning! I know it's a term, but it's sort of like being complimented while someone is punching you in the jaw. "You know, for a crazy person, she isn't very needy..."
hey everyone, i'm new here and just wanted to say hello to every.|
took me forever to find out how to post, i'm new to this lj thing.
i hope everyone had a good weekend.
I go into the hospital they say "What's wrong" I say "I think people are watching me".... they say "Well we're going to observe you..." I said "that's the problem" they said "what's the problem?" I say "I think I'm being watched" they say "Oh you need to be in the hospital"...|
So they ask me "Do you think the radio is talking to you?"
I say, "Of course not don't be ridiculous.... it's the TV"
So they put me in a room with a TV in it and say 'wait for the doctor'
I see the doctor go by and I say "Doc you got to help me, I think I'm invisible" he says "I can't see you right now".
So I call my father and say 'Dad, I'm crazy' he says 'Oh it's all in your head'.
This is a great concept for a community! |
I often laugh at myself and my mental illnesses, and nobody gets it... or it makes them uncomfortable.
About myself: I'm Rikki-Lea, but you can call me Mufkin if you wish. I'm 22 (23 October 6). I live with my parents, but I'm about to move in with my fiance. We found a crappy little apartment that's falling apart... but I just had to live there because it's across the street from the hospital! haha.
I'm going through a really crap time right now. I'm trying yet another medication... Effexor. So that makes: 37.5 mgs of Effexor, 2mgs of Clonazepam, and the occasional Ativan when I actually leave the house.
Oh... right... So, I'm clinically depressed, have anxiety disorder, panic disorder, OCD, and agoraphobia.
As my introduction, I want to share a poem that I look back at and laugh at... I've added commentary to it in brackets:
There's a flower in my garden (oh... a flower! I must be in a good mood. I'm thinking of pretty flowers!)
Is it real? Does it feel? (hmmm.... I'm pondering the flower. Something is holding my attention! This is good!)
If I cut it will it bleed? (will it bleed? uh-oh.. my mood is changing)
Scream out in pain like me? (with depression comes attention... let's turn the poem from being about a flower, to being about me now!)
Will it change it's pretty colour (awww... back to seeing the beauty)
To justify itself to others? (to who? the other flowers? Like they sit around looking at each other saying, "omg... did you see what Rose was wearing today? ugh!"
Cry out in the rain (doubtful... flowers like rain)
As a way to hide the pain? (what pain? Is this the wicked witch? I'M MELLLTTTTING)
Wilt in the sun (awww... yeah, that's kind of sad)
showing it feels shunned? (again... by whom? "I don't think Rose groomed her petals today... that slob)
Does it feel inferior to other flowers? ("omg... that rose has perkier petals than I do!"
Will it close it's petals and hide for hours? (it will. Usually at night or when the flower season is over)
Will it shy away with out attention? (duh.. if it's not watered)
Blame it on Mother Earth's intentions? (ahh... see what I did here? I turned it into me again... I have issues with God)
And when this flower takes it's final breath
Will it die a painful death? (Isn't that morbid? It's a flower!)
haha... So I take this beautiful flower... turn it into something about me... and my moods fluctuate greatly in the 4 minutes it took to write it last year.
Does anyone else do this? Go back and laugh really hard when they realize a poem they wrote isn't at all about what they thought it was? Silly minds we have.
Anyway... HI! Glad to be here. lol