crazy, happiness, health, life, mental health, mind

Oriented in Person, Place and Time

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Being admitted to the psychiatric unit was a disaster. Pulled apart by endless assessments and thousand meaningless questions of the personnel added to the distress and confusion.  “Who are you? What is the date today? Do you know where you are now? Why are you here?”

Fear and misunderstanding mixed with the bitterness of prescribed mediation gradually and surely forced to the orientation in person, place, and time.

Who are you?  – I am a human, I am a female

Where are you? – I am in a mental health facility

What is the time? – Morning, 9 am, March the 2nd… um  … 2020

First, all these sounded like abracadabra, weird, surreal, and merely stupid.

Self-Identification? – Female. (Whatever).  Labeling self and others through I, You, He, She, We, They …. split the whole reality into ugly pieces.

But it was indispensable to remember I am a female, 33 years of age, since saying this with an idiotic smile got her out of the crisis stabilization unit. No more intense surveillance, the prescribed pills were flushed down the toilet, and she breathed a sigh of relief no longer suffering from the upset stomach, skin blemishes, and drowsiness.

Trapping the identified HERself in the matrix of time: the past, the present, and the future was another torture. The time orientation made no sense: none of the personnel could adequately explain why the past that everyone sees differently should have the only one version sloppily reflected in history textbooks and broadcasted through mass media. Why the future that is never known should come as the definitively hopeless scenario, and why the present must be the bridge that connects the past sufferings with the anticipated hysteria.

She learned that the past was always the time when everyone was poorly trained and ignorant; horrid mistakes were made due to lacking in advanced knowledge and modern technology. While the far future presented as promising; the near future was pictured as the dreadful prognosis of stock market crashes, gory conflicts, infectious diseases, and environmental disasters. The present was  the drama, the panic, the sensation widely spread through TV and the Internet.

Today is Monday, March the 2nd, 2020 – she said that nonsense looking straight into the dirty eyeglasses of the psychiatric nurse. She did her best to look as serious as possible.

 – You are doing really good my dear, – the nurse hurriedly made notes getting ready to sign out for the day.

They discharged her a month after. She slowly walked out of the hospital, leaned up against the dirty brick wall, and lit a cigarette. She closed her eyes letting go of the espoused person, time, and place orientation; smoking, smiling, and disappearing in the cold November air.

    

happiness, health, life, mind, psychology

Feeling Lonely

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Loneliness feels like the joy of Colombian coffee and fresh baked cookies

Loneliness feels like watching comedy shows on the treadmill and breathing in the refreshing darkness of Friday nights after intense workouts

Loneliness is a quiet getaway from vain attempts to have a partner enjoy shopping malls, dinners with girlfriends, and in-laws’ visits

Loneliness can get you into spending Saturdays in a public library

Loneliness can mean home remodeling

Loneliness feels like orchids bathing

Loneliness looks like gardening

Loneliness comes with the time to review a monthly household budget and to plan a vacation

Loneliness allows the time to finally see a nutritionist and a fitness instructor and to start watching the diet and working on the beach body

Loneliness comes with taking care of sleep patterns and substituting sleeping pills with meditation and walking before bed

Loneliness feels like a cozy private room where you can have best one-on-one with yourself

Loneliness can smell like essential oils and taste like vanilla chocolate

Loneliness can get you into feeding flamingos and swimming with horses

Loneliness comes with a quiet mind and the tranquility of blue aquarium lights

Loneliness is the mirror where you see your true self, no mask, no make-up, no false bravado, nothing artificial

Loneliness will not allow you to fake confidence and pretend. Loneliness is the friend that never lies.

Every time loneliness knocks on the front door, I greet it with a smile. I feel at peace it is here, and it’s time to take a break from this busy life.

anxiety, crazy, happiness, health, life, mind, psychology

Dealing with Stress

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How do you spoil yourself?  – I was curious since my girlfriend was always tense: tight jaw, intense look, back spasms, and the ongoing fight-flight-and-freeze demeanor.

What do you mean?

 – You seem to live under too much stress all the time.

 – Don’t you get that I gotta work?  – She sounded awkwardly defensive and desperate trying to excuse her being in the worry box 24/7.

 – How do you spoil yourself? – I repeated the question soaking a chamomile tea bag in the water.

 I have no idea, Vixen, never thought about it. What do you do for yourself?

Everything that makes me happy.

 – My job makes me happy.

– Good for you, – I finished my tea and went home, she focused on her financial reports.

When we met later that year, she looked different; no eye puffiness, no extra weight, no shortness of breath. She sounded sincere thanking me for the compliment on her appearance. Her response to my “what do you do to look beautiful?” was “I am dealing with anxiety”.

She learned to allow herself not to think too much, substituting excessive worries over performance. reviews and audits for daily treadmill running and fresh water.

She started practicing thoughts stopping focusing on breathing in and breathing out.

She overcame the fear of socializing and took several drum lessons from street musicians; rhythmic hand drumming helped relax almost getting her into trance.

She developed the habit to daily watch sunsets.

She de-stressed while coloring pages with fluorescent pencils.

She pampered herself with home foot-spa and stone massage.

She started her Mondays holding sea shells to her ears listening to the sound of waves.

She finished her busy days with sandalwood incense and meditation music in the headphones.

She stopped sacrificing the “me time” for Friday parties.

She quit drinking and totally replaced alcohol with purified water and tummy workouts.

She put valerian root in the bedroom to improve her sleep and discontinued watching action TV shows prior going to bed.

I did not respond much to her “I decided to prioritize myself, life is too short not to indulge” since she was perfectly right.

 

crazy, happiness, health, life, mind, psychology

Coping with Depression

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Hey depression. Here you are again, take your time since you are back. I can’t be present for you now since I gotta run errands.

It took some time for me to get to this point, to the point where I realized that fighting with myself makes no sense, so I started taking the depressive mood with a grain of salt.

First, I felt desperate opening my eyes in the morning feeling stuck in the stinky mud of hopelessness, worthlessness, and the entire loss of energy. My days would start with the gloomy “No, no, no, I can’t live like this, this crap will never end”. Here I was, unable to get out of bed, wanting nothing but to hide all day in the bedroom behind the drawn curtains. Daylight with people’ voices and kids’ laughter outside got me irritable, triggering the pain that everyone is happy, while I am doomed to live in the inescapable pit of despair and view the reality through the filthy lens of my messed-up mind.

Then I became resistant. I started a long fight with my helplessness, believing that I can beat the gloom and doom and change. My family got happy seeing me getting out of bed, eating, exercising, putting my make up on, and going to a psychiatrist for a scheduled visit. The guy kept putting me on something that was supposed to fix me. “It will normalize your chemical balance and improve the daily functioning, honey.”

I would nod, I would smile, I was very polite and always paid the bills they sent me from that clinic – I liked him calling me “honey”, or “dear”, or “sweetheart”. I kept picking up the prescribed medications from a local pharmacy and flushing the pills down the toilet. Being drugged was never a way-out, but I would come back for his sweet-talks and brief hugs until this started draining my wallet.

The next step was therapy. A young lady was sincere in her efforts to help. She was fresh from her grad school and eager to make a difference in this world. I liked her, I tried to give tips after our sessions; she always refused referring to her code of ethics, boundaries, and other nonsense. I knew she was struggling financially as a single mom, overworked and underpaid. After two months of our therapy sessions, I cancelled all subsequent appointments and mailed to her home address a check with a thank you note and a request to spend the money on a newer vehicle. The check was never cashed, she was very descent and honest, I liked her even more after that.

Therapy got me into watching my thoughts, questioning my hopelessness, and disputing negativity. I did mood charts, took warm baths with sea-salt and lavender oil, and meditated with incense prior going to bed. The following morning would start with the same depressive crap, but I would know how to make it through the day.

Finally, I got bored, simply bored of following or resisting the mind farts, knowing that the mind will always be there, telling me whatever, and there is no possible way of turning it off. The realization got me shocked, then sad, then blah. Finally, I got entirely unconcerned, I had the life to live and things to do even with a broken tape-recorder in the head.

The alarm-clock rang to start the day, I opened my eyes and yawned, the gloom combined with exhaustion and nagging irritation was there. I got up and went into the bathroom. I wanted to get ready, I had things on my agenda: to drink water, to clean my fish tanks, to get roses for my girlfriend’s birthday party, to drive to the airport, to finally see the mountains. The depression was there, I shrugged my shoulders, letting the mind do whatever, I did not care, I really wanted to start my day with drinking some water.

crazy, health, life, love, mind, psychology, relationships

Falling for an Addict

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 – Wrong guys are after me, they keep breaking my heart, I do not know what to do.

 – No honey, you fall for messed up people.

 – You can’t say that, Vixen. You are my friend. – My girlfriend had that enticingly-vulnerable look; huge deer eyes, pale skin, and alluring gestures.

 – You love suffering my dear. Attracting alcoholics, drug addicts, liars, and other mentally sick dudes and losers is your passion. – I had no time for her tearful helplessness that morning. I was busy and ready to go.

 – What shall I do?

 – Go back to work, unless you want to get fired and share the misery of your unemployed dates.

 – I was hoping for your support

 – I love you dear. But I am not supporting your love for freaks and losers.

 – You are cruel, Vixen.

 – Go back to work, honey.

Her mannerism was hypnotic, her appearance was anorexically sex-appealing. She was the magnet for troubled guys, and she enjoyed them. Her classically messed up boyfriends knew how to hug, how to kiss, how to fuck, and how to empathize. Each relationship started with expensive presents, mind-blowing sex, and endless horrid stories of their heart-breaking childhood experiences. Her each date had a perfect excuse for being miserable, misunderstood, discriminated against, unaccepted by the society, and exceptionally vulnerable. She kept being dragged into the bullshit of her boyfriends’ uniqueness, swamped by myriads of reasons for losing money and for their inability to stop mixing anti-depressants with liquor and get their lazy asses back to work.

She loved the feeling of euphoria coming home and seeing her partner sober on the couch watching old French movies or analyzing stock markets. All her dates were intelligent and highly educated. Adding lofty attitudes, alcohol, and psych medications to their ivy-league diplomas and family possessions was very charming to her. She felt mesmerized and ready to fall in love ardently defending the guys’ instability and furiously denying any attempts to get her to common sense.

Her pain of discovering her dates passed out due to overdosing on benzos or alcohol blackouts was very real. She would call 911 and spend sleepless nights in a local emergency room blaming herself for everything. Deep in her heart she would crave for the moment of their hospital discharge. She knew they would come back with buckets of roses, diamond necklaces, and heart-warming words of gratitude: “you are exceptional honey, I feel so lucky I have you, I would have died without you, you have saved my life again”. She loved that, enabling their addiction and the unwillingness to seek professional help.

She suffered a lot blaming them for being unable to keep the job, to maintain sobriety, and to stabilize their manic and depressive episodes. But the pleasures from the “I neither do drugs nor drink, I am way too spiritual/educated/intelligent, blah-blah-blah” lies were much more gratifying than the reality check. Their pretended empathy and awesome sex kept her around adding spice to the toxicity of the relationships.

Once one dude passed away, the other one would show up with a big cock, fake promises, claimed bankruptcies, and fancy gifts.

Being up and down was her way of living. I did not have much patience or compassion for it.

 – Have a good day, honey, – I gave her a hug and left the diner feeling the sadness of her almond-shaped eyes on my back.