The Jesus Man

At 18 I spent the night in the waiting room of a mental health facility in Florida. I was living with my sister at the time. A friend, who also happened to be a boy, came out for a visit. I invited every friend to visit. He actually took me up on the offer, but then acted like an ass while he was there. I was hurt. Florida was a hard place for me to make friends. I didn't party and I was not interested in sugar daddies or being a trophy so it probably stung a little more than it would have anywhere else.
I had gotten a speeding ticket while he was there and then a day or two after he left I got pulled over again. As the police officer proceeded to give me a ticket, I made an off the cuff comment about wanting to borrow his gun so I could take care of the problem.
That was a really stupid thing to say.
It took me a bit and some "discussion" with the officer to realize he wasn't sure if I had just made a threat on his life or mine.
When he realized I had made a threat on my life he insisted that I give him a family members phone number as he felt the responsible thing to do was to release me to one of them.
I was late for work and I did not want to bother, worry, or embarrass my sister or anyone so I was not very cooperative.
I simply refused and tried to convince him to let me go because I really had no intention of doing any harm to myself. Yet I would not deny that I might like to... not be alive.
Damned honest core.
It took him putting me in hand cuffs before I realized he intended to make good on his threat and take me in to be evaluated by a psychiatrist if I would not cooperate. I finally decided to give him my sisters #.
But alas, it was too late.
So off I went; hand cuffed in the back of his police car to the 45th Street Mental Health something or other in Rivera Beach maybe, Florida. I was being "Baker acted." It was some law in Florida that said you could be detained against your will if somebody felt you were a threat to yourself. Too bad I didn't know about that law beforehand. High school and drivers ed had taught me nothing about that.
I only had to wait until the next morning for the psychiatrist that would evaluate me. It was a late Saturday afternoon, evaluating staff had gone for the day, and the next day was Easter. Thus those of us being "Baker acted" had to wait an extra hour or two in the morning so the psychiatrist could attend her Easter services.
Fortunately my sister brought me a change of clothes because I was appropriately dressed -for my job at Wet Seal in the Palm Beach Gardens Mall- in a very short shiny blue skirt and a Sheera print t-shirt with cute white go-go boots. I was not allowed to wear my belt or have shoe laces.
I don't remember how the blankets and pillows worked but I was given somethings to sleep with. Problem was there was only one room with two stretcher like beds and the benches in the waiting room. The two beds had already been claimed but I didn't really care because I would not have wanted to sleep in the closed room with some strange person when the night watch was at the desk on the other side of that door. Didn't matter to me that it was a flap door (I can't remember what those are really called).
There was also a padded room in the hall on the way to the bathroom. I wished that I could sleep in there but they would only have let me if I also needed to be restrained in a straight jacket... I kind of longed for it, but I would not admit that to them.
There were 3 men, one other woman (who was very strange), and the night guard there. Two of the men were approachable. One was there because his mom had called the cops on him for trying to break into his house to get his stuff, or because he had nowhere to stay, or something like that. He claimed she did it out of malice. The other had been in jail and they were trying to put him in a cell with a man that he knew would kill him so he threatened to kill himself. Both were actually surprisingly pleasant company and we had funny conversations. I was glad they were there too because the lady and the other man did not seem to be entirely all there and I will admit, at 18 and 125 lbs, I was kind of scared of them. I don't remember much about the night watchman/guard. So amidst my company I claimed a hard wooden bench and settled in for the night.
About 3 am I woke up to the talking of a police officer who was bringing in yet another of us psychos. He checked him in and left. The man made his bed on the bench across from me and began to tell his story, though I am not entirely sure who he was telling it to; me, the night guard, just anyone or no-one at all. But I was very awake and listened carefully to how he landed himself in my present company.
At some point that night Jesus had started talking to him. At first it may have been a more generic voice but somewhere along the line it turned into Jesus and Jesus was asking the man to do things. 

In the beginning of his hallucinations, the man seemed to have had been entertaining conversations with the Jesus voice. However, as the "Jesus" started to get more demanding the man started to wish for him to leave him alone. The "Jesus" voice started to tell him to do bad things and was getting increasingly persistent and angry with my companion as he argued that he would not. The man decided to tell his friends to take him to the hospital. At first they didn't listen but as Jesus got more insistent this man got more assertive with his friends as he explained that they needed to take him to the hospital before he hurt somebody. They obliged and then the hospital called the police and they brought him to our fine little facility. 

It was an interesting situation I was in and I wondered if I should feel more scared then I did.
This man was fascinating to me and I would reflect on his story for years to come. It bewildered me how he could think this voice was Jesus, but to him it was, and I admired the man for being able to discern right from wrong even when he believed it was Jesus himself telling him to do the "bad" things. I was impressed that he had learned how to keep himself in check. Because of that self control he became a source of inspiration for me and valuable educator. I knew if this man, who walked and talked with a very bad Jesus, could keep himself in check, with one foot firmly planted in reality, and knowing when to get help, then I could too.
And I have.
He really is a personal hero of mine and I wish I could thank him for it, but he was the first one to be taken from the waiting room the next morning and I never saw him again. I am not certain if I ever saw his face at all as I can only vaguely remember watching the back of him as he followed his escort, while trying to keep his baggy belt-less pants up, from the waiting room and into the unknown quarters beyond. 

Lesson Learned

Here is another blog entry I wrote awhile ago and wanted to edit, possibly re-write, but I have determined that I am not that great a writer and I'd rather get this one out then make more (then about two...maybe three) pathetic attempts at "perfection." (or is it four?)
So though it is not yet what I want it to be I will share my lesson learned with flaws and all.

I'd like to share one of the most valuable lessons I have learned from an individual. It is as lesson I learned the night I got to spend in the waiting room of a Mental Health Facility in Florida. I mentioned this stay in my blog entry "the story of my crazy little life."
Remember I was an eighteen year old Utah raised girl in a Mental Health Facility in Riviera Beach Florida being held against my will, but not entirely unjustly.
Everyone who was brought there had to wait in the waiting room until they could be evaluated by the psychiatrist and determined if they were "safe" to leave. I was brought in in the very early evening, shortly after the psychiatrist had left and she would not be returning until the next morning, if they needed her, and since the next morning was Easter Sunday she insisted upon attending her Easter Services ( though a bit annoying to me at the moment, I admired and appreciated the priority she put on that. Really of all people, she should be there celebrating and honoring a second chance at life. I was glad she went).
But for those who had to wait the accommodations were; one enclosed room with two hospital like cots and the waiting room. As best I could tell the "bedroom" had been claimed by a frighteningly large and very strange woman and a very reclusive male that I remember very little about (so little that I have wondered if he was a figment of my imagination). Though they confiscated all weapons, belts, shoelaces and shoes I had no desire to sleep in an enclosed room under these circumstances even if the door didn't lock. The rest of us got to find a place among the benches and floors. I was fortunate enough to get a bench. Of course there was the security of one night "receptionist" watching over us from behind the counter. We were limited to the waiting room and a short hall that led to a padded room and a bathroom. I wondered if I might ever find myself in a padded room. It didn't look that bad, sterile but strangely comforting.
That night I made friends with a man (we'll call him Derek) whose mother had him "baker acted." The Baker Act was the statute that allowed a person to be held against there will until they were evaluated by psychiatrist if someone in authority or a close family member felt that they may be a threat to themselves or others. Another man (we'll call him Todd) who had been brought from the county jail for threatening suicide if they insisted on putting him into a cell with a man that he knew would kill him anyway (only in a much more brutal way). I actually felt very safe with these two interesting men.
Around 2:30 in the morning a police officer brought another man in that was talking from the get go and I was never entirely sure whom to. I wasn't as comfortable with this man and I felt very small and naive. He was not a large man himself and rather looked undernourished. I was struck with the idea that he might be homeless.
From the moment he got there this man seemed to be talking about the "voices that were telling me to do bad things." As I lay there on the bench, pretending to still be asleep, I remember thinking "this man is genuinely crazy, I wonder what they will do with him?" Just like the rest of us he got a blanket and a pillow and was to find a place to sleep in the waiting room with the rest of us.
"Huh, this could be interesting."
I have to admit I was a bit nervous. He took a bench/ or the floor in close proximity and proceeded to tell his story. I am not sure if he was telling me, Derek, or just whoever was listening or nobody at all, but his story was definitely the most exciting there that night.
He began talking about when the voices started to come back. He said at first they were easy to ignore and he'd acknowledge them and would then tell them to go away. He was hanging out with his friends (which was entertaining in and of itself trying to imagine what his friends might be like) when the voices started getting harder to ignore. They started to tell him to do bad things. He told them that he didn't want to and that they should go away. At first the they'd go away for a time, but then they wouldn't go away. They started asking him to hurt people. He said he didn't want to. They started getting louder. He started telling his friends that they needed to take him to the hospital because he didn't want to hurt anyone. The voices morphed into Jesus, but this man knew that Jesus wouldn't want him to hurt people so he told "the voice" that, and that he didn't want to hurt anyone. He raised his voice and got stern with his friends "YOU take me to the Hospital right now, before I hurt you."

I am not sure how many times he had to ask his friends to take him (he repeated himself a lot) or how long the whole thing took to transpire, but the police officer had brought him to "our" facility from the hospital. I listened intently and though I was not sure if or what they did at the hospital, I hoped they would have done or given him something.

He was the first one to see the psychiatrist the next morning.

I remember being completely intrigued by the whole thing. It made me think, in fact it has ever sense. I have often thought "if this man, as crazy as he was, could learn to recognize this and maintain some values and self control then I could learn to deal with my issues, maintain some sense of self and be responsible for my actions." I could learn to recognize if I was creeping close to the edge. I think this experience has also contributed significantly to my realizing the importance of maintaining and teaching values on and in all levels of society. As our minds approach deviance from some very important core values I think it is import to keep them in check and get help before the "voices or feelings" get too loud.
This was and is a valuable lesson learned. I have sense been fortunate enough to have "coincidental" interactions and situations that have helped keep me ahead of the game (well at least ahead of some of the severity's). The old adage suggests that "an once of prevention is worth a pound of cure" and I strongly believe this is applicable to Mental illness and Mental Health as well.
I, personally, have been profoundly grateful for people who have been willing to talk about, write and/or share their stories and experience. It has helped me profoundly and personally and it helps to educate people in one of the final frontier's of medicine and health. I believe that through others stories, knowledge and help that we can better learn to treat and understand some very real physiological problems that as of yet cannot be tested by conventional means without greater risk to health and safety. The brain is a very powerful but also very delicate organ and it is not immune to malfunctions. That does NOT make a person less of a person.
These are some of my beliefs which, I suppose, is why I so strongly feel the desire to share my own experiences in both treating present symptoms and problems and preventing rapid progression of my own likely degenerate medical condition.

-tired head poetry

At the end of my journey. I care to think.
But it seems never ending because of the shrink
ing of my brain
that really has happened.
Evidence proven on the MRI although I knew all along
but still wanted to deny.
Because then I don't have to think
about snowboarding and riding
motorcycles
or other cycles
across treacherous terrain.
And I can just keep pretending, just like everyone else,
that I really am just fine.
Miraculously recovered because neurologist 1, Dr. Church, who killed himself by-the-way, did say he was very pleased with how my young self was doing.
That was enough. Satisfied the parents. No need for anything else.
...then hit again.
Still intelligent when the
"One smart cookie" I was
 said, "you should have seen me before."
because I was more.
more brain power and size
not shrunk from broadside
hit of the airbag that deployed all of its forces to "protect" my face...
"protectors" now all the deflectors of my care
protecting turned into betray.
Trust who I must
turned into dust
and I am left grabbing at thin air.
Which just isn't fair.
so unaware
of how harmful their games really are?
But they know. evidence in just how far they will go
to cover the freak show they carelessly continue to grow.
My head is tired. Tired of spinning and trying to sort all the pieces of
the culminating event. the yin and the yang, the messages playing out just as clear as the days they belonged to.
I don't understand the carelessness of that man and it breaks me again and again. I want him to be gone and my brain to be sane entirely again. but the sane and insane to contain will always remain because the feign of the trained was entirely too much for my broken brain that wanted to believe the feign and the game.
Untangle the tangles that you are not allowed to touch... Sort out with the sorts that are out.
Its not fair
and so unaware
of just how vulnerable you are
when you are hit by a car
and then people will take things too far
while defensively claiming you are,
At a time and in a place where all will agree
that blaming the client shan't be.
Countertransference implied
and then denied
Why does he hide
with no explanation or apology for the now implied misunderstanding?
So bizarre
the cancer you are
to my head
you are determined
to have dead.
"not I," said the kitten
when the big red rooster asked "who will help me let it burn out?"
...but "not I" is a lie because I did at least try
but I just could not help me die.
Even when God says
I maybe should try
to be all that is asked by this guy.
...that I know has talent and skill for the mentally ill that are that way due to TBI...
...But I will not try! thanks to Jesus man guy from the institution of younger years
And I will not try because I would rather not die
and I would rather like to believe
in the way we can change the world for the better by helping each other,
and sharing our truths no matter how hard it may be and
the reality of the ostracizing and stigmatizing that must be faced in order to be the change I must be to help proceed with the change I wish to see in this world.

To be or not to be? Die for a cause or live for change?
that is the real question 
And still I know the quickest way to kill fantasy is through reality
and maybe, just maybe, that is really who/what needs to die
the fantasy of that guy
and the amassed amount or manic emotions and memories
But he will not let the fantasy die, no matter how hard I try
the fantasy won't die
because reality is absent
...because very well I present?
when I am presenting.
Maybe he still wants the fantasy to cling to-
better I die than the imaginary, the presentation of my flattery,
And the pride inside
of the egos' held by "the best"

Depression

this post was drafted in 1/26-ish
Remember the Jesus Man and the night I spent in the waiting room of a mental health facility in Florida?
The next morning when I got to be evaluated I was told that I had depression. Maybe manic was used in there too, and maybe the word clinical. I really don't recall, at that point depression was the only word that I knew so it was the word that stuck. It was quite the conversation and bit of a hard one, especially since I came from my family where you just get over it and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I was not sure how to handle this news and was not sure I wanted to take medication. But I agreed. She was very persuasive and I liked her temperament so I listened and agreed. I also agreed to meet with a lovely psychologist, her name was Peggy (or maybe that was the psychiatrist). It was in talking with her that I learned that it was actually not a normal thing to have thoughts of self destruction and how. She legitimately and authentically answered "no" after giving it some thought when I asked her if she really had never thought about it.
It was mind blowing.
Maybe there really was a medical problem with me.
I also explained how I felt I was being crushed by an anvil like in the cartoons, only it was slow and constant.
I told here about how I wanted to break my brain open so I could see all the pieces and sort out the puzzle that was inside. I explained how I was stuck in indecision because I wanted to do everything and if I started down one path that would keep me from doing the other things and then I'd be missing out on those. She learned about my excessive jobs (I think I held four at the time) and my slew of activities I was involved in during high school. I didn't see her that many times, but I loved her and she was a great source of comfort to me. She helped me be okay with taking medication.
When I arrived back home all the way across the country a few months later, one of the first things I did was head to the library to find out what I could about this "illness" I had been diagnosed with. I think the word manic may have been used because I remember information about that in my stack of books. My stack was at least knee high, probably closer to my waist. One of those stacks that make you think "Wow, I am surprised a public library lets people check out that many books at once."
I renewed them a couple of times.
I will admit I did not fully read all of them, I probably didn't fully read any of them front to back really, but I read a lot. I skimmed to what was most important to know. What would help me. I only skimmed most of the personal stories as I started to feel the sense of hopelessness that was a common theme.
While I learned a lot, like that caffeine and alcohol are major contributors to depression and anxiety, that regular exercise and a healthy diet were important etc., Over all I really did not like how damn depressing they all were. How so much of the writing was there to convince me or my family members that this was going to be a problem for me my entire life.
With much resolve and determination I decided that was not for me. I would not like that to be me. I was not going to let this be a damned lifelong depressing battle.
And though I enjoy some crazy sometimes and I do occasionally go on antidepressant (this most recent because of the car accident) I feel that over all I have beat the hellish depression of my younger days. Even having lost myself and feeling the pain of rejection from some pretty intense situations, I am not depressed, at times delusional, sometimes sad and hurt.  okay, I suppose sometimes I am depressed but I have learned so many coping strategies and know how to identify it, treat it, embrace it, and avoid it as needed. And really I feel quite happy about this. Looking back I can say it sucks and it's hard but I can also say I have learned and gained so much in really truly trying to overcome it and/or work with it. I am a better and happier version of me because of it!
Really, depression is not all bad. :)

Inspiration for the Ethically Discarded

 I have disappeared from my home and family so that I can focus on writing my book. I'm very fortunate to be able to stay at a family members vacation rental about an hour and 1/2 away from home. It is an ideal set up for me to tackle this book that was writing itself for sometime as I struggled to process and stay ahead of the mania, effects of TBI, and a careless (or deviant) neuropsychologist. 

And, as if to confirm that this is precisely where I need to be and what I need to be working on, I had a chance encounter with a lovely couple from New Jersey this morning. The lady makes a half comment half comment question about the hot spring filled crater we are both admiring. I direct them to the even bigger crater across the road that is quite impressive and should not be missed if you are in the area. Excited to check it out they thank me. I ask where they are from. They answer and then ask if I live here. I say yes, thinking of the state then, correct my mistake explaining that I am from the state but that I live elsewhere and am just here for a writers retreat to focus on writing a book. That then spurs a new conversation which leads to me explaining a bit about the book I am writing. 

The lovely couple has a family member with bipolar, so without my having to disclose that I also have bipolar, they figured out that this was one of the conditions I have and was writing about. The husband is more quiet but the wife expresses interest in reading my book. She asks what the title will be. I forget to tell her what the title is (at this point) as I explain that I am a nobody so it may be hard to get published in a way that will be easy to find with just the title alone. Plus I know the title could change, especially if I actually find a publisher. So I give her this blog address and my name instead so she can find the book easily when I either get it published by a publisher or figure out how to self publish it. 

As I continue on my walk I start to worry about how this blog might be very overwhelming to most people and I realize that I didn't give her the current title as it stands. So I wish to share that and links to articles on this blog that I feel are especially important and that might help people make better sense of this blog and my intentions for writing it.  

The title of my book, as it stands is, "Ethically Discarded." 

Breaking, We all eventually do, Even you

Redefining Crazy 

The Magnificent Masterminds of the Medical Malpractice Model

The Jesus Man

I Walk Alone (what I wish I could teach the world about suicidal symptoms)

Bipolarity: The confusion and effects

https://amicrazy2.blogspot.com/2020/09/to-insi-for-unlawful-carnal-knowledging.html

There are more I would like to link to but these are few topics off the top of my head that I think are of crucial importance to this blog and the story and help I would like to share with others. For most, I kept all the blog entry links that showed up in the search so there are plenty of entries to read with those above links. However, I most recommend reading the entries that are first on the link and that have the title I share here. 

And now I need to turn my focus back to my book, but before I do I would just like to comment on the condition of bipolar and why I appreciate that this couple so easily offered up that they have a family member with the condition:

Bipolar is a very misunderstood condition that needs to be talked about a lot more than it already is. We really do need to raise awareness in order to: 1. Combat the irrational fears about it and people that have it 2. Help those who have it manage it better and have access to resources to help them manage this life altering and life threatening condition. 3. Get more research and funding for research on it. 4. Save lives, livelihoods, and relationships. 5. Combat the discrimination, stigmas, biases, etc. that cause very real and tragic problems for many people and that feeds negative thinking patterns and ideas in those who do have the condition.  

Thank you Lovely New Jersey couple for the brief but encouraging conversation and thank you for sharing with me just enough to inspire me today. 

Work it out or write me off

One of the hardest parts of recovering from a head injury is dealing with "irrational" emotions.
But irrational emotions are not an exclusive problem to head injuries.
Irrational emotions are also a problem when we are going through stressful life events.
Irrational emotions can be part attributed to puberty also.
They are a part of our basic human nature.
Sometimes our primal instincts are irrational.
Whether they are actually nature or nurture many of our "instinctive" reactions are irrational, like in snowboarding, if you understand the physics of it you know that you have to overcome the instinctive fear that causes leaning back and lean forward with the snowboard in order to have and stay in control.

But with head injury, emotional regulation becomes difficult and changed personalities are a common "problem" associated with head injuries.
I was 12 when my brain was damaged. 12; the middle of seventh grade, the beginning of all those exciting changes that throw your emotions all over the place anyway.
Anger.
That is the worst of the new and intense emotions in my opinion. That was the worst one to deal with and regulate as it could take over so quickly and cause harm so quickly.
My parents had their own difficult to extremely difficult issue's so anger was no stranger to our home.
I hated anger. I still do.
As a little little I was not an angry child. I was empathetic, shy but fun, and pretty laid back. I remember going through some elementary experiences that may have made me "mad" in some way, but I don't remember being "mad" about them. I would stand up for people or myself but I was never angry.
At least not like what I would experience later.
Immediately after my youthful head injury I don't remember anger then either. I was too tired to feel much of anything. But as my tired fog lifted new personality traits seemed to come out of the woodworks and there were times when I was very angry. Intensely angry. Instantly angry. Stewing plotting angry. Many forms of angry. It is a good thing I was surrounded by so many good people and it is a good thing I was really an empath. But you better believe being an empath with so much anger was a very difficult form to live in.
Other emotions and emotional reactions could be irrational also. But that anger, that most likely stemmed from head injury, and was an alien to my core may now prove to be my redeeming grace. Because some of these emotions caused me so much discomfort I was determined to figure them out and learn to control/manage them. I have worked long and hard for many years learning to self-regulate. I know that at times we can not trust ourselves because of our emotions and how they are effecting our thinking. I have learned to recognize so many symptoms that I can vocalize and tell people when I am irrational and my thoughts may not be so trust worthy.
I believe that many people reach some level of this as they learn to say "no, I am sorry that is too much for me right now." and that is a good thing.
However, while many people identify this in themselves, few are comfortable with being honest about it. I often have felt being honest is the best way and maybe I took the example of the man who was hearing bad Jesus to heart a bit too much ...I do have a tendency to do that, I'll take you to heart so unless you want to be trusted, appreciated and loved you probably better not try to help me...
But that is not what is usually understood.
Often in life we are so much more lemming-like than we ever care to realize as we follow all the rules, cliches, stereotypes and trends in thinking if a person admits they have had issues with other people we will hold it against them. We will be guarded and say "well this problem or thing that is making me uncomfortable must be them because they have struggled with others too." It is so much easier to write someone off and stay guarded in ourselves than to work things out and try to truly understand each other. At other times we do not want to face our own insecurities or maybe we made a mistake we don't want to face so instead of examining for ourselves we easily blame the obvious problem and let the more honest one take the fall for all.
It is an easy trap to fall into. I have myself plenty.
But I am also so keenly aware of our dual natures that it is both a strength and a weakness to me and I often make the "mistake" of trusting others to see what I so easily see but instead they will blame me.
So I have struggled some lately in knowing who I can trust, and who I should trust. The people who were supposed to help me decided that I am to blame for whatever went awry. Well they are right, if it is me that is the problem than I am to blame, but if that is why I went to them and their job was to help me fix the problem then... Obviously the agreement was to help me fix me, so blaming me for trusting them when it was their "professional" fires that burned me down or up just doesn't make sense. I don't understand their games, I don't know their rules, I have tried to learn them and I have tried to be honest about what I don't know and when I know I am in an irrational place and I was trusting them to be the professionals.. But somehow, I keep messing things up...?
Who do I trust? Can I ever really trust anyone after this?
Yes, I can trust myself. I know this because I am so keenly aware of when I cannot entirely trust myself and/or my emotions and I will ask for help. I wonder if they know how easily we can turn what we fear into the very thing that we fear when we are too heavily focused on our fear..
One of my realizations in reprocessing (and I have realized this before) is that I take way more responsibility and blame myself for way too much at times. I am the perfect scapegoat because I make myself one.
In these defining moments of my life, will I continue to be that or do I stand up for myself even if it makes people uncomfortable?
...and how far do I take that?
I'd rather be forgiving and work things out. I'd rather be forgiven and understood.

This writing did not go the way I thought. I am struggling to get my thoughts out the way I am thinking them so I hope it makes sense... but maybe that is okay, maybe this is for someone else or maybe it is for me to look at later, but it feels important so I will leave it.