I Go Far
April 4, 2012, 7:57 pm
Filed under: Mental Illness, Society | Tags: , , , ,

“Ready to Die,” the name of one of Biggie Smalls’ albums.

“Some say a man ain’t happy, truly/Until a man truly dies,” Prince in “Sign of the Times.”

“I’ll bee dat,” Redman in a song by the same name as the quote.

I got home from the hospital Monday night after being admitted Wednesday, March 21. My twin sister picked me up at 6:15 p.m. I was staying in the psychiatric unit, Tucker Psychiatric Clinic, of Chippenham Hospital. Everyone there just called it “Tuckers.”

I was in the hospital because I was caught walking naked outside, in front of Martin’s on Forest Hill Avenue Wednesday night. I did it to abandon the things (clothes, laptop computers, etc.) made out of love for money, rather than just love. And because I heard a voice say a couple days earlier, “All who enter my kingdom must enter empty-handed.”

I almost didn’t write, but it feels worse not to. My anxiety that the world is ending is now replaced by a restless, fidgety feeling, like I’m waiting for days to pass so I can finally feel relaxed. The pharmacist said restlessness and anxiety are side effects of the Invega Sustenna shot used to treat (symptoms of) schizophrenia. I had to get the shot in the hospital because I refused to take the medicine my doctor prescribed, so some judge ordered me to take medicine. Even before the “court order,” my doctor at the hospital, told a nurse to give me a shot against my will.

I was acting kind of crazy, refusing to wear clothes or eat. (I peed and pooped on the floor, also—another story.) But really I was rebelling… because I felt unrest when I didn’t, like I was complying with unjust treatment. This is supposed to be “the land of the free.” Well, not if you’re a paranoid schizophrenic and refuse to take medicine (and you end up in the hospital). I’m NOT okay with that.

After a few days my rebellion just turned to “I can’t wait to leave,” so I conformed, wore clothes, used the toilet to pee, and took additional medicine by mouth. I didn’t poop much while I was there (except when I pooped on the floor). When I did poop, I used the toilet the hospital offered me.

I’m normally not so bold as to poop on the floor. All my life I’ve generally conformed to the ways of my society, even when I disagreed with them, working jobs that totally sucked. I was a mean kid, but I swallowed my feelings of anger to be more likable, as if dismissing anger makes it go away. SIKE! I just ended up being quiet and muted most of my life.

The time I pooped on the floor, I suppose I was still feeling how I did when I wrote my last post: that I’d finally found the source of my unhappiness in life. As I wrote in my last post, I believed that the reason the world around me always seems insincere is because it follows the ways of the Devil (if he exists) rather than God. After I pooped (and peed) on the floor I was happy. I kept hearing this voice in my head say, “devil-may-care attitude,” (and “Boobie trap,”) but that’s not how I felt.

I also considered the night I pooped on the floor that it was time for some battle or escape. I also thought that by refusing the hospital’s offerings, I was letting go of old ways that had hurt me to make room for something new. If I had nothing (no food, no toilet, etc.) surely God would give me something, I thought.

In a way, I did find something in the hospital I may not have found anywhere else: “crazy” people who didn’t know “the rules” of what not to say, as I know them. One patient named P— walked around looking angry a lot. It made me want to stay away from her, but one day I forced myself to talk to her. By that time, I was convinced that God makes no mistakes, that my “condition” was not irrelevant, and neither was anyone’s. I asked P— why she looked so angry.

“They trying to set us all up to go to Hell,” she said, still looking angry. WTF! My sentiments exactly, well the part about the “set up.” She kept talking a bit, and said, “I have the baby Jesus in my womb and I feel them keep cutting at it and cutting at it.”  Wow. I thought I was pregnant with the second coming of Christ and that Satan sent someone to chase me and kill the baby in my womb in February 2008 in my first psychotic episode. As the “hallucinated” enemy drew closer, I felt “hallucinated” pain in my abdomen. (Of course I wasn’t pregnant, except with God’s purposes for me to fulfill on earth: my dreams/passions.)

I’m convinced another patient named A— could hear me talking to her in my mind. She cried a lot. She told me she was afraid of demons that were haunting her because she had practiced witchcraft with some other people. She was crying one day when I told her, in my mind, “Give me some of your fear, let me help carry it.” I imagined the fear flowing from her head to mine. A few minutes later, she still seemed upset. I said aloud, “You still don’t feel better.”

“It’s not fear,” she said. Something in me was wowed. I knew she heard me. She refused to tell me what was wrong. Maybe she was afraid or felt I wouldn’t understand.

Two days before I left the hospital my doctor asked me what I thought the voices were. I hear them less now with the Invega Sustenna shot. I told him I thought they were God and sometimes the Devil. He told me they were hallucinations.

Maybe they are hallucinations. I choose to believe otherwise. I guess that makes me crazy.  “So be it,” as I heard a voice say one night in the hospital while I was trying to sleep.

“So be it,” is what a 70-something-year-old man told me he said when he thought he was going to die. The man, whom I met at the gym where I worked, refused to tell me the details of the situation. He just said he saw his life flash before him and said, “So be it.” Then he heard a voice say, “Lie down and play dead.” He did. And he survived.


2 Comments so far
Leave a comment

Wow, I was wondering where you were. Sorry to hear what you went through, but it sounds like you learned something from it. Glad you’re back.

Comment by TreeHugginVamp

I did. Thanks for thinking of me.

Comment by enlustered

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