Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Henry was watching to keep out the mouse
The symbols were posted up all here and there
in hopes that the aliens wouldn't be there
I tried to hide quietly, snug in my bed
While visions and voices all danced in my head
So then I stayed up, Henry in my lap
While around me the city prepared for their nap
When outside my window there came such a clatter
I leaped from my bed to see what was the matter
Away from the window I flew like a flash
I looked to the door in case I had to dash
Now, Henry! Now, Charlie! Bus lady and Jane
don't think that I'll hesitate to call you by name
If you come on the grass, if you come through the wall,
I'll smash away, smash away, smash away all.
Henry spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He watched all the doorways, where spirits might lurk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He made a nice bed from my discarded clothes.
I sprang to my bed, covered my ears against the whistle
The people all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard them whisper as they drove out of sight,
"Better not turn around, 'cause I'm haunting tonight."
2009/12/24
2009/12/06
gratitude/ two worlds
This blog has received over 400 hits. I'm thankful to anyone out there reading... it's hard to go "well no one's reading this" when I'm confronted with 400 hits. Thank you, guys. And PS, the quiet ones, don't be shy, you can comment too. ;)
I've been hospitalized in two worlds. The mental hospital world and the medical hospital world.
The medical route involved surgery, intense pain and months of rehabilitation therapy. The pain revisits me usually at moments I'd rather it didn't.
The mental route was a whole different horse. It's not something physical that they're trying to fix. They can't cut your head open, stick some pins in it and say "There, all fixed." The mental route is scary. Because this isn't just a leg. It's your mind. The thing that makes you, you. The thing that interfaces with the world to try to make sense of it. All of the sudden your entire world is unsteady, not just a leg.
Instead of surgery there are things like electroconvulsive therapy. Instead of pins there are medications that hurt your body enough to require regular blood tests just for the hope that the benefits it has will outweigh the damages it's doing. Instead of screws there are psychiatrists' shots in the dark trying to figure out what medication will help you.
When I was in the medical side of the hospital things had clean edges (at least, after the surgery and I wasn't freaking out anymore) Check the wound. ("Wow that scar is nice. The doctor did a good job." Do I say thanks?) Test strength. Exercise for range of motion. Walk with crutches. Once you can get down the hall you can go home.
In the mental side, there are no edges. I have memory holes of my times in the mental health ward. I have flat days and electric days and angry days but they don't join up in any sort of order. Life feels both heavy and fleeting, and I bounce around electric for a bit and then I go flat for a while and then I'm angry and it all seems to serve no purpose. Everything is blurred, and you stay that way for a while, while the doctors circle you and decide what medication they're going to try you on - and you don't get a voice here.
On the medical side, the only medication I freaked out about was a laxative and that was because I'd read the bottle and they'd given me a very large dose. The nurse came back, said "oops, shouldn't have let you read that," and took it away. But then she came to talk to me about it and allay my fears.
On the mental side, they try you on what they think will help. The side effects are horrible. You can't stand the fact that it's excruciating when you try to pee, that you're gaining weight, that you're grinding your teeth, your muscles ache, that you've lost your libido. And when you ask to be taken off of them, they say wait a week, see what happens. On the mental side they rarely allay your fears. And your body is running on their time. Your body isn't your body any more, it's a testing ground for this medication or that medication. And it continues that way until you speak up on behalf of your body and ask to be taken off of something, and then they drag their feet and make you (or at least me) feel guilty for asking.
On the mental side you get so stuck in a web of medications that you're not going to be finding your way out any time soon.
Am I free? Not really. One of my medications is giving me some pretty distressing side effects and I'm having trouble convincing my doc to take me off of it. (um. It's my body.) I'm not stuck in too big of a web right now though. I know what to expect from my regular meds. It's this new one that's making a mess of things. Gone are the days of shooting my brain with everything until the mental illness goes into remission (it never goes away). And if that remission ends, I suppose I'll have to get ready for another blast.
But for now I long to trade it for the simplicity of a broken leg.
I've been hospitalized in two worlds. The mental hospital world and the medical hospital world.
The medical route involved surgery, intense pain and months of rehabilitation therapy. The pain revisits me usually at moments I'd rather it didn't.
The mental route was a whole different horse. It's not something physical that they're trying to fix. They can't cut your head open, stick some pins in it and say "There, all fixed." The mental route is scary. Because this isn't just a leg. It's your mind. The thing that makes you, you. The thing that interfaces with the world to try to make sense of it. All of the sudden your entire world is unsteady, not just a leg.
Instead of surgery there are things like electroconvulsive therapy. Instead of pins there are medications that hurt your body enough to require regular blood tests just for the hope that the benefits it has will outweigh the damages it's doing. Instead of screws there are psychiatrists' shots in the dark trying to figure out what medication will help you.
When I was in the medical side of the hospital things had clean edges (at least, after the surgery and I wasn't freaking out anymore) Check the wound. ("Wow that scar is nice. The doctor did a good job." Do I say thanks?) Test strength. Exercise for range of motion. Walk with crutches. Once you can get down the hall you can go home.
In the mental side, there are no edges. I have memory holes of my times in the mental health ward. I have flat days and electric days and angry days but they don't join up in any sort of order. Life feels both heavy and fleeting, and I bounce around electric for a bit and then I go flat for a while and then I'm angry and it all seems to serve no purpose. Everything is blurred, and you stay that way for a while, while the doctors circle you and decide what medication they're going to try you on - and you don't get a voice here.
On the medical side, the only medication I freaked out about was a laxative and that was because I'd read the bottle and they'd given me a very large dose. The nurse came back, said "oops, shouldn't have let you read that," and took it away. But then she came to talk to me about it and allay my fears.
On the mental side, they try you on what they think will help. The side effects are horrible. You can't stand the fact that it's excruciating when you try to pee, that you're gaining weight, that you're grinding your teeth, your muscles ache, that you've lost your libido. And when you ask to be taken off of them, they say wait a week, see what happens. On the mental side they rarely allay your fears. And your body is running on their time. Your body isn't your body any more, it's a testing ground for this medication or that medication. And it continues that way until you speak up on behalf of your body and ask to be taken off of something, and then they drag their feet and make you (or at least me) feel guilty for asking.
On the mental side you get so stuck in a web of medications that you're not going to be finding your way out any time soon.
Am I free? Not really. One of my medications is giving me some pretty distressing side effects and I'm having trouble convincing my doc to take me off of it. (um. It's my body.) I'm not stuck in too big of a web right now though. I know what to expect from my regular meds. It's this new one that's making a mess of things. Gone are the days of shooting my brain with everything until the mental illness goes into remission (it never goes away). And if that remission ends, I suppose I'll have to get ready for another blast.
But for now I long to trade it for the simplicity of a broken leg.
2009/12/04
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