Every time I start cleaning the abyss which is my home office, I find something weirder than the last time I started cleaning it. This time however, I might have found the great, great granddaddy of The Strange.
For those of you who didn't already know, I used to be nuts. Certifiably. It all started with depression, which lead to antidepressants, which lead to anti anxiety meds which lead to more meds and more meds more meds until HOLY HELL I was on anti-freaking-psychotics because all those hundreds of other psychotropic meds?
They were making me paranoid and under the impression that the TV was talking to me and about me, amongst other fantastically bizarroland things.
In a nutshell, I was suffering from drug induced psychosis. I was drugged quite literally out of my mind. Fortunately, after the "doctor" who was treating me vanished (and was presumably relieved of his medical license) I got a new doctor who weaned me off of the shit and got me back on my mental feet.
Anyways.
While I was on the Crazy Train, I used to write a lot. VOLUMES. Truckloads of Crazy. And today I found a large pile of it buried under underneath the most mundane of things - like old bills and bank statements, etc.
WOW.
I couldn't shred up that shit fast enough lemme tell ya. Because the thought of me having an accident or dying suddenly and leaving that crap to be discovered by my daughter or my Dennis scared the hell out of me. It's a time that I'm embarrassed about and don't like to think too much about because well, I said and did some REALLY cuckoo stuff but thankfully, by the grace of I don't know what, I managed to screw my head back on and move forward and I never looked back.
It would break my heart if the last things they had to remember me by was a bunch of twacked out nonsense rambled by a woman in the clutches of insanity. You know? I would far rather have them remember me how I am right now:
Blissfully happy.
Unquestionably loved.
And last but not least... (relatively) SANE.
1 comment:
In my vast experience (like ol Jack Crabbe from "Little Big Man") I have seen first hand what you here describe. I worked mental health for several years. Did a lot of work with a men's schizophrenia group. But what bothered me most was the community mental health services being provided to the everyday Joes and Jills like you and me. At the State Hospital they used to teach patients to smoke. (It keeps them occupied) and the quickest way to easy treatment is to dole out the drugs; and more drugs; and more drugs....needless to say, I turned to another line of work.
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