"I'm not scared of you" REALLY?

my rational anger is increasing rapidly.

Freaking JACK ASSES!!!

I WAS SUCH A *@$** MESS AND THEY JUST KEPT MESSING WITH ME!

THEY TURNED ME INTO SOMETHING I WAS NOT BECAUSE I WAS SO DAMN IRRATIONAL WHILE TRYING TO HOLD MY OWN!

I WAS **#@ PARANOID AND IT WAS SO OBVIOUS AND THEY TURNED IT INTO ME BEING OBSESSED WITH THE JACKASS THAT MANIPULATED ME TO PROTECT HIM MYSELF!

....breath

and though the all caps magnify the intensity of my emotion, it is not unsound at this moment. I am not at all manic. Which makes me that much more angry. This is rational. This is the reality of the shit you start to see more and more clearly as you stabilize.

It is very, very hard for me, in these moments, to believe that he didn't know what he was doing, that he didn't know or recognize the harm and damage he was causing. 

Now it is getting harder and harder to believe that his "I told you not to try and solve this" was not strictly for his sake; was not reflective of his fear that I was onto what I intuitively was protecting against when I sent those crazy emails; sent because I needed them to not be missed. "Stop emailing me" was a command too late, yet not at all because he still pulled out just in time because I was manipulated well.

Vulnerable

broken

"you isolate yourself"

limited family and social support

slow processor

caring

rejected

hypnotic voice

"I've tested your brain in ways you don't know"

so many things...

BUT I KNEW

broken, vulnerable, fragile, desperate

I still knew

BECAUSE

I have been the expert on the other side of your damn profession since I was 12!

I am the other side of what you do

and 

I KNOW WHAT YOU DO!

The energy to be angry

What a strange journey this has been. The mood stabilizer it a good change so far. I did have a moment of realization and again embarrassment as my mind stabilizes and wakes up still more (I thought I had entirely). And in that moment I felt as though they (the self-centered Ego's doctors and directors of IHC-Neuroscience Institute ) were right, I am of no value and no worth. My embarrassment and frustration ironically exacerbated by the so-easily-had new feelings of okay, that came so quickly with the new medication. I was sure, in that moment, I deserved to die...
Fortunately, I have been through enough of this and I have emerged victorious from deep and dark places before, so I was still able to hold onto, "go to sleep and reset" coupled with the "your going to be okay" energy of the new medication. So I slept and settled and the next day was good again. Much better than before. Still hard to get out of bed but this time it was the exhaustion-after-a-race kind of tired not the can't-even-explain-and-don't-want-to-because-it-sucks-so-much-and-sounds-pathetic tired. Better.
And that is when I started remembering more of those long lost memories and putting together pieces of all I have learned and forgotten/buried over so many years. I am remembering my theory or my disliking of a theory, or maybe it is an assumption and a label based on observations of the inexperienced minds; I am remembering the warning that "antidepressants and other such medications may increase the risk of suicide and/or suicidal thoughts." And I am remembering how this bothered me, because they really only increase the risk because the person now has the energy and ability to follow through. The medications don't cause the thoughts as some statements I had heard and read implied, and it is highly unlikely they cause the suicide. I am stating this as an implied fact with no other alternatives and I know that this may not always be the case, but if there were anyway to prove this opinion of mine, I'd put money on it being accurate the vast majority of the time.
As I have said before; When medication is working correctly it does not change who you are and it does not change the problems you have, really it might not even change your thinking, it just changes your chemistry enough so that you can then make the needed changes.
That is my theory and I could explain it in greater detail with a lot of support and evidence from personal experience and many observations and conversations I have had over the years with many people, however that is not what this moment on my blog is for, instead I go back to my remembering.
I had that moment of weakness from my weakened brain, confidence, self esteem, thinking and all that  had been growing for so many months fed by the Institution that was supposed to be helping me. Nurtured along by a bullshit investigation as I was trying to figure out what was going on with my head. And instead of the simple acknowledgement of the problem and the treatment I needed I was faced with suspicion and walls by those whose job, and ethic responsibility it was to help me figure it out.
Fortunately I recognize this and so that moment did not and will not last. Now I am gaining the strength and the correcting chemistry to face my problems, which was what they actually were, and since I am still paying for it and will be as I seek treatment and sort out the screwed up psychology of the situation that so deeply effected me, they still are my problem.
And I am kind of really pissed.
Because
When I was fighting for my life he turned a blind eye,
He'd rather let me die.
Why?
and considering what I was turned into to by him, or by the whole institution;
what a freaking egocentric ignorant, or brilliant grooming, jack ass!
What a freaking debacle of me.
Maybe they are frauds and maybe they new exactly what they were doing, buying their time to statute of limitations, and gaslighting as a back up, and avoiding intentionally to treat or prescribe in a manner that would give me my strength to both recognize and fight back.
JACK ASSES!!! FREAKING CREEPS!!!

and it is so funny, because now more stable I can actually allow myself to feel and be angry. I can allow it now, because it won't destroy me. But still, I am magnificent even without my mania, and I just might destroy them... maybe.
Not manic, I think I can, because they have brought it so heavily upon themselves in there ruthless carelessness.
But just like I tried to tell them before, just because I can does not mean that I will.
I am undecided still. Some time they still have bought, ...and yet their bought time is still on my tab...
jack asses
hmmm....
to damn bad I still have the negative effects of head injury, I'd conquer this things so quickly, but alas I am slow, and these tasks take there toll.
And this they know
...Oh Captain, my Captain, you may want to return, because this fire doth burn!!! (and not in a sexual way -sarcastic sorry)


** I do hope as time goes on and the medication makes strong my sanity,
that I do not loose all my oh so clever creativity.

TBI patients = Malpractice insurance

A comedy of errors turned into a tragic perpetuation of harm. And all along the way I was begging them to stop the perpetuation of the harm and pain. However they did not want to admit any guilt so it continues as an abuse of power.
"First do no harm" says the APA
and IHC will add "...But if you accidentally do then don't admit it and light those gas powered lamps  to burn the evidence up with the patient."
Right now I feel angry.
When medication works, it does not change you, it does not change what has happened, it just changes your chemistry and makes it so you can then handle making the changes that need to be made.
It is so simple.
And it could have been so simple.
It should (spelled correctly) have been so simple!
I was in the right place, trying to doing the right things, going to the right people to try and get the help that I knew I needed. But they kept moving forward in their errors, by covering and denying and trying to pass me off without following through.
Did they know that me getting the help I needed would make me strong enough to stand up for myself and fight back against the mistakes they made?
How deeply disturbing is this debacle?
Are they insurance frauds?
My emotions, more balanced, are most certainly still strong and more powerful in ability with the "right" help.
Which they -now obvious to me- were not.

To be or not to be?

...now hopes and dreams fall through
knowing they were fiction just like you;
A dream I believed in that just isn't true

This Little Bluebird -thank you Christina

Reality in simplicity
I am finding my way around.
Feet planting on the ground

Still, do I embrace all parts of me
the imperfectly creative insanity
that beckons me carelessly
and wants so badly to be
a part of me?

and wants to be free...

Like a Bird -thank you Nelly

The Road Less Traveled

...slow at processing new things.
He was giving me knew information. Important. I was psychologically processing through some PTSD so processing as a child and an adult.
This new information replays over and over-
that is a trick I have learned-
to help me process new information.
and I link it to things I know
connecting it to prior knowledge.
I am very good at this,
It is the strength of my creativity
I think it comes from my being forced to use the surface streets of my mental infrastructure.
then finding that I liked the scenic route.
I found it pleasant, enjoyable, enlightening
So I have used my surface streets far more than is common.
Ever discovering more along the way
Maybe this has hurt the building of the efficient super highways,
But I have found so many hidden treasures and
besides
my super highways are so deeply rutted with negative thinking
I will always fall into those deep ruts of negativity and be stuck on that track if I return to them
So I avoid those.
they don't get fixed
while I enjoy the side streets.
It is not super efficient
so I am slow at processing new information...
 But I keep going and I have figured out how to drive in circles until I can learn them if I need to,
circles that, at times, confuse my guest instructors, because I am still driving and I am connecting even though I haven't really figured it out yet.
But I keep going
Paying attention to how they connect.
and they do-
connect to prior knowledge-
This is also a teaching strategy -scaffolding
So
New information is where I got stuck. New information he was giving me.
I looked for connections. there were some and there were none.
Prior knowledge suggests abuse, manipulation, rejection, self preservation
or (maybe and/or) fairytale and fantasy...
The words, the feelings, the drug that he was
These are new things to me. I have not experienced anything quite like this before...

...here is something deeply personal that (in my sanity) I am reluctant to disclose -because then people really think you crazy,- but this is my safe place, so I pray you be kind in your judgements.
Something that I felt there was close to what I felt so very long ago, in the dream that I had as a child, where I felt God's inexplicable and incomprehensible love, the love that changed how everything felt -not as much then when I was a child but -as I aged. A love that you would do anything to return to but simply cannot... because you are mortal and human and meant to be just that.
So those are connections to that new information I was receiving but too slow to process...
What is it?
And what do I do with it?
That intensity doesn't just simply burn out
Thus, he is, admittedly, like a god and devil to me and the taboo's, forbidden, his denials and refusal to discuss, even his protecting and covering his ass, they feed that misconception and it seems to grow overtime.
You see, when the very human element (that he perceived as the problem) is missing form the equation the only connections I (a human) can make are manipulation, abuse, self-preservation, rejection, fairytales, fantasy, and/or otherworldly thus perpetuating and growing that touch of human insanity.
But as I think and review... from my processing place anew, I know, though to his embarrassment and maybe in spite of himself, -maybe still as a groomer,- he had developed feelings and chemistry was a part of this equation.
So my god of this world, the one who can actually physiologically change me, had feelings for me... and what do I do with that? Again...
I thought he only had as much power over me as I allowed him to have
but maybe I am wrong
-Oh dear kiwi god,
Please release me from my fantasy.
Let me be rational again. Please be real and human again.-

...And maybe Dr. She is right, I have been dealing with this crazy my entire life... compounded, complicated by TBI... Or did that actually knock some sense into me and that is why I am not full blown, talking-to-God kind of crazy?
Oh the joys of the side streets and the adventures to be had when we go off the beaten path.

and further still into this analogy
another possibility

Maybe I am the god of his world
burdened under the weight he put on me.
Do I tell or let it be?
I have the responsibility to hold him up by letting go at my expense
or put down his world, passing it off to the false gods of DOPL and APA
...because I am not a god
and I don't want to be the judge
the weight of his world is crushing me.
Is his world out of balance and I need to speaking out for my sake, his sake and/or other clients
to help bring it back to ethically
Yin and Yang
what is my place?

...too deep, I could get him into trouble...
too deep, I could get me into trouble?
too deep, I was in trouble

the Kintsugi Artist

I need her to accept that I am broken. She and he wanted me to believe that I am not. ...maybe it is because he believed I was not that I feel she needs to believe that I am, maybe I just need things to play out this way for my own head, but while she believes I am not broken I need her to understand that I am.
and here is why
Kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with a very strong glue that includes gold.
I need her to be the artist and repairman to put me back together in a more solid and beautiful way. When she says I am not broken she may be speaking truth because she, the skilled expert, sees me as the pieces of a whole and easily repaired, but I know I am in pieces and hearing that -me being the unskilled vessel- does not understand what she is saying. I do not know if I can trust that she will be able to find all the pieces and put me back together properly if she does not see and acknowledge that I am in shards of me.
Unlike the pottery of Kintsugi, I am a living, breathing, thinking being and I have to trust my artist, I have to, in essence, allow her to do her job. I cannot if she does not see me for what I am.
And I am broken
the evidence is in
my job history
my confidence
my relationships
my rejections
my inability to follow through
how I isolate myself
my identity crises
my tears that come so damn frequently that I am not even embarrassed by them anymore.
Those tears that happen everywhere and are triggered so easily. This is not the first time in my life, though it is the longest and the most.
Broken because I know, that if every person or even half, had tears spilling out as much as I do I would never be the only one at the grocery store failing in their fight to hold them back... and guess what, I have, for these last so many months, been the only one. I know because I secretly look for it, studying, researching, because I think I can't possibly be that different. But I have rarely -over so many years- noticed people fighting back tears and failing the way I do. For many many years I had it beat, but no more, and now it's so much worse. So bad that I am not even embarrassed by it.
Why bother being so? I'd never be able to get anything done if I held onto that embarrassment.
And the weird thing about now, the biggest difference, is that they just come so randomly, so easily triggered by the simplest things, while -really- I am hardly feeling, as they well and run. Hardly feeling compared to what it was when I was young. But maybe the intensity of the tears then was magnified by my fighting so hard to contain them. Maybe that is why they flowed less, but I felt more.
I don't really know but my dear sister agreed, it's not normal and there is definitely something "wrong" if that is happening so regularly.
Wrong hmmm... You see, I prefer broken. I would rather be broken then have something wrong with me.
Broken feels fixable,
wrong feels innately flawed and expendable.

Sorry, not sorry, but I am an artist now!

A purple cloud took on a life of it's own.

And as I analyze my thoughts and actions in these moments, I wonder, "Is this really productive? Is this really helping me? or am I just feeding crazy?"
Truthfully; I don't think I care. I am enjoying this writing journey, and I am enjoying the painting portions too.
So maybe I will chase that dream for awhile. Pretend I am an artist of words and paint. An author and an illustrator. Writing for my life, Painting for my pain.
And I can chase the dream more fervently, without fear of rejection, because I already know that
I am not an artist.
Maybe here the rejection won't hurt so bad, because here, in this space, I know I don't belong and that is what I have to offer.
Diversity.
And the therapy of it all.
Embracing your perfectly imperfect even when others do not.
So chase away
A dream to play
In the field where I don't belong

An intentionalish  painting of an open mind.