Who am I, in this moment, today, now?
How about now, who am I now? And now? And now? How is it that my thoughts can go dark and then clear again? Which is the "real" me?
A lot of facts(?) surround me – a lot of voices speak in my head. Some of these were voices not previously known to me, because, in my zeal to appear normal and average, I worked at stifling the unusual thoughts that came into my head, thinking they were the mutterings of a not normal person - a mute with Tourette syndrome.
I was encouraged in this belief about myself in various ways, and one was that at the age of 15, I was hospitalized for something that I would now describe as an anxious, acute, major depression. It turned me into a nervous, pacing, sleepless and unproductive person I could barely recognize. My parents, who were having their own problems, put me into a psychiatric hospital, where I was given enough thorazine to to wipe me out and make me compliant.
There are a lot of details I won't go into here, but there was a lot of rebuilding to be done when I got out of the hospital and returned to my life. I am proud of the 16 year old who saw she was about to get dumped in a "tutoring school", which was essentially where people with dysfunctional kids, and a certain income level put their crazy, uncontrollable t
eenagers. Except I had decided to not be one of those, and enrolled in an accelerated, HS diploma night school to make up some of the time lost in the hospital, which would eventually put me in a normal school, with normal dysfunctional kids.
But before that happened, I'd already had my introduction to psychotropic drugs, specifically antipsychotics, which we given at doses sufficient to keep us all dopey and vacant.
This may have been considered reasonable from a medical point of view, as zombies are easier to control, but I question it's value for me who, whatever else I might have had going on, was never psychotic.
I left this place, at the age of 16, after 9 months, not due to any claims of a cure, but because I had become an incorrigible patient. I had been introduced to pot and amphetamines, as well as barbiturates, while in the hospital; it was, in fact, the raiding of the barbiturate closet was the action that got me, and a few others, kicked out, the charge being "abuse of the facility".
This is one of the earliest of the stories I have formed into a life. Often I am able to casually just toss it off, minus the remorse, the blame, the judgment, and whatever else came along when it was all going on. When you've censored your life into the images you think are normal, (because you definitely are not), you can forget who you are.
How about now, who am I now? And now? And now? How is it that my thoughts can go dark and then clear again? Which is the "real" me?
A lot of facts(?) surround me – a lot of voices speak in my head. Some of these were voices not previously known to me, because, in my zeal to appear normal and average, I worked at stifling the unusual thoughts that came into my head, thinking they were the mutterings of a not normal person - a mute with Tourette syndrome.
I was encouraged in this belief about myself in various ways, and one was that at the age of 15, I was hospitalized for something that I would now describe as an anxious, acute, major depression. It turned me into a nervous, pacing, sleepless and unproductive person I could barely recognize. My parents, who were having their own problems, put me into a psychiatric hospital, where I was given enough thorazine to to wipe me out and make me compliant.
There are a lot of details I won't go into here, but there was a lot of rebuilding to be done when I got out of the hospital and returned to my life. I am proud of the 16 year old who saw she was about to get dumped in a "tutoring school", which was essentially where people with dysfunctional kids, and a certain income level put their crazy, uncontrollable t
eenagers. Except I had decided to not be one of those, and enrolled in an accelerated, HS diploma night school to make up some of the time lost in the hospital, which would eventually put me in a normal school, with normal dysfunctional kids.
But before that happened, I'd already had my introduction to psychotropic drugs, specifically antipsychotics, which we given at doses sufficient to keep us all dopey and vacant.
This may have been considered reasonable from a medical point of view, as zombies are easier to control, but I question it's value for me who, whatever else I might have had going on, was never psychotic.
I left this place, at the age of 16, after 9 months, not due to any claims of a cure, but because I had become an incorrigible patient. I had been introduced to pot and amphetamines, as well as barbiturates, while in the hospital; it was, in fact, the raiding of the barbiturate closet was the action that got me, and a few others, kicked out, the charge being "abuse of the facility".
This is one of the earliest of the stories I have formed into a life. Often I am able to casually just toss it off, minus the remorse, the blame, the judgment, and whatever else came along when it was all going on. When you've censored your life into the images you think are normal, (because you definitely are not), you can forget who you are.
I read all your posts one after the other. Your writing is raw and honest and brave. And also very good! I am inspired by your continued push to be mindful, to find meaning and not give in to despair. Keep writing!! Through your words you are helping others as much as you ever did. God knows there is a need for openness from the heart out there, telling it like it is.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Alison, I hoped this would find you. And thank you, truly, as I love your work as well.
DeleteHappy to see you got your "pen" out again ... you are brilliant with words .. this gift should not be wasted but definitely shared . I love you . See you Sunday .
ReplyDeleteLizzie
Awww shucks - and thanks for your feedback. I feel like I'm taking off my clothes in public...
ReplyDelete