Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Psychotropic Drugs Causing Severe Depression

It's official.  I am depressed, and it is caused by the psychotropic drugs I am being force fed, whether at work or at home.  In desperation (because I had a severe headache that I recognized as caused by excess csf fluid behind my eyes), I took a Diamoxx, hoping to be able to bear the psychotropic drugs that I knew it was tainted with.  Big mistake.  I am so high and depressed right now that I don't even know how I'm going to get myself to work at a job that I already find distasteful. I am furious as I realize that I am going to have to have surgery because these morons keep doping me against my will.  But more immediate than that, how can I keep functioning when I feel so fucked up on these goddamned drugs.  I don't know how.

Monday, January 29, 2007


I dreamed a couple of nights ago that I was insistent that others call me, and relate to me as "she."  I wasn't directly in the dream, but I knew the person that was in the dream was me.  Then somebody pulled a lifelike mask from the woman's head to reveal a badly deformed male (looked like the boy from the Health channel who has a terminal skin disorder, whose skin looks severely burned), and said, "See, "she" is really a he.  I felt bad for the man because I knew his deformity was so bad that he would never be able to function well in society.

Int:  There is a strong, if unconscious gender identity conflict going on inside of me.  It is inherent in my body/psyche constitution as a hermaphrodite.  As a young lesbian in the bars, I would look at the hard-core, stone butches and thank God that I didn't have any kind of serious gender identity issues.  My humbling comeuppance is what I get for praying that Pharaisacal prayer, "Thank God I'm not like that person." (Maybe that prayer always has an unconscious projection associated with it). 

My persona is feminine, but my deepest identity in my psyche is masculine--that is what this dream means.  But I would never be able to live out my deepest identity in society; my masculinity is too deformed for social acceptance.  So I have to move to some kind of resolution, some kind of bi-sexual integration that addresses and satisfies this conflict.  I have always prayed to God to make me more of a woman (I always knew that something fundamental was lacking), and being in a sexual relationship with another woman always makes me feel more feminine, but there has got to be something deeper that I can address.  Maybe I need to dialogue with the poor, deformed male in me who can never realize his identity in society.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

More psychotropic drugs

I am being given psychotropic drugs again.  It is in my Diamox, and I don’t believe that scraping off the outer coating is working with this current prescription, as it did with the former one.  I know this because of the weird, alienated way I was feeling.  Last night at yoga I could not go deep into meditation, as I have been—once again, I felt separated from my spirit, just like when I am on psychotropic drugs.  So, I’ve quit taking the medicine, and I feel better, and more alive, energetic, and more like myself already.  Last night, I dreamed that Mom was doping me again (it reminded me of earlier in the week when I was watching a rerun of The Sopranos Pilot.  Tony, who for all his macho mobster, alpha male status, is completely powerless in the face of his mother’s undermining machinations that she hides behind a helpless, victimized fa├žade.  Tony tells his therapist, “she is just a little old lady,” and Dr. Melfi responds, “not to you, she’s not.  She is very powerful.”  Anyway, in my dream, I got angry, and when my Mom asked me what made me think that she was doping me, I yelled back, “because of how fucked up I feel.”  All of a sudden, my Dad appeared out of nowhere, unkempt and unshaven, with his fist raised against me, demanding “why are you talking to your Mother like that?”  I said, “Dad, they are doping me against my will,” knowing that Dad would take my side (because as abusive as my father was, it was never out of manipulative desire to control).  He did understand and sympathized with me, but he still cuffed me across my shoulder anyway, saying, “you don’t talk to your Mother that way.”  Dream Interpretation:  I have neither Mother or Father to support me in my efforts to evade abuse and injustice, but then I have known that since I reached the age of reason in early adolescence.  It is up to me, all alone, to persevere and endure.  So, I have quit taking the drugs (which I need to control the level of cerebrospinal fluid in my body), even though that will have negative repercussions as the loud buzz in my head never abates, and my head feels like it is floating on my neck.  Without the drugs, I probably will have to have surgery—the thought of which terrifies me—but I would rather have surgery than be alienated from my spirit, energy, and deepest self, through the administration of psychotropic drugs.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Getting my legs back.

January 13, 07—In some ways my health continues to improve, as I live without fighting off the invasive and hateful psychotropic drugs that have completely ruined my health and caused a 35 pound weight gain that I finally am chipping away ounce by ounce.  I realized today, at the end of yoga class, during final meditation, that I finally can do contemplative prayer on a deep level again.  Because of my work schedule, I can only do yoga three times a week, and then meditation is 5-10 minutes, so I need to take the initiative to do contemplative prayer on my own and try to get back in touch with my spiritual life, which was lost first through the constant, banal noise of jail and then the through the soul destroying drugs.  But I have to be very careful about verbalizing my spiritual life—there are misunderstanding and manipulative predators ready to pounce on anything I say as an indication of a mental condition that needs coercive and pharmaceutical intervention, just like in Stalin’s Russia.  Still, I do want to make some changes, to try to get back to the real me, of whom I’m proud to be, and who I really like, and even love.  To that end, I’ve given up my TV, and the next step I think will be to force myself to wake up to an alarm after 9 hours of sleep.  I’m sleeping too much right now, which feels good but accomplishes nothing.  I dreamed the other day of a yoga teacher who couldn’t teach the class because she was handicapped in her legs. That teacher is me---archetypally, my vocation is that of teacher, and as yoga is a spiritual discipline, I am a spiritual teacher, except that right now, I can’t teach.  I’m too crippled in my legs.  So I need to work at getting my legs back.  "To dream that you legs are wounded or crippled, signifies a lack of balance, autonomy, or independence in your life. You may be unable or unwilling to stand up for yourself. Perhaps you are lacking courage and refuse to make a stand"  There are many ways to teach.  It is time to start pursuing my true vocation again.  I can't get my independence and autonomy back directly, so I will have to do it indirectly.  But I have to do it.

Friday, January 5, 2007

New Year Musings

     I am feeling lonely this week following the holidays.  I desperately long for a significant other and lover—not just for sex (though that is a big part of it), but also for intimacy and companionship.  I know (and personal history and experience bears me out) that I am most fulfilled and motivated when I am in an intimate relationship.  My relationship with Colleen had a lot of problems (and I was equally responsible), but those days I now regard as the halcyon years of my life

     It is not as though I have spent my holiday week in depressed fantasy.  True, my energy levels are very low for me and I need an inordinate amount of sleep most days—10, even 12 hours, as my poor, battered brain tries to recover from the horrific pharmaceutical trauma it endured back in October and November.  Yet, my ability to concentrate has returned, and I have been reading some intense books quite profitably, that is, prayerfully.  I haven’t been able to really pray for over a year, because I haven’t been able to center myself, as I have been fighting off one soul and mind destroying drug after another---anti-depressants, speed, lithium, depakote, and risperdol.   When my spirit is so destructively ravaged by these chemicals (and they are legal!—does this give one an understanding of the abysmal spiritual, psychic, mental and emotional health of the citizens of this country?), all I can do is function at the level of an animal.  Sleep. Eat. Do what I have to do to procure food—in my animal world, go to work.  Even yoga, which is my number one spiritual discipline right now, had been reduced to an endurance stretching class, in which my limbs and muscles felt heavy and dead (they still do, though I am starting to reap spiritual benefit from my practice of yoga once again).  There was no joy, no telos (relationship and prayer with God), no life of the spirit whatsoever.  In short, TPTB had, through the castrating use of drugs, reduced me to the average, stereotypical American.  For compassion’s sake, I suppose it’s helpful to know the sheer hell, the “lives of quiet desperation”, in which most Americans live, but I don’t want to live there. 

     I praise God that I am able to pray again, even if it is just at a rudimentary level, and as always prayer reveals to me, my own self.  TPTB think that I don’t have a clue; as usual they manifest a complete ignorance of me and my mind.  My reluctance to verbalize what I know is based on respect—respect for truths and revelations that are unsettling and reality shattering, not just for me personally, but for all humanity (it also is based on prudence, having learned the hard way that I can expect to be severely punished for my beliefs and feelings).  Maybe, to be honest, I still am working on accepting the implications of such revelations myself, in which case getting my life of prayer back is essential.  Maybe, too, the big obstacle is the evil spirit that inheres in me.  I know that 2/3rds of the triad of TPTB do not believe in evil spirits.  That is too bad, because while my assessment is based on highly subjective factors and criteria, I know that there is some degree of satanic influence over me—how much I cannot say, but I am aware of it and fight it and pray about it.  But according to my prayer with God, the time is not ready for it to be removed.  A big clue as to why this is, came about through reading Scott Peck’s book on his exorcisms—two case studies; one successful, one a disastrous failure.  (Let me just say that I don’t think a traditional exorcism would be helpful for me.  Both of these women were “possessed,” i.e. had lost a large portion of their free will and psychological and spiritual integrity to satanic control.  I honestly don’t believe that I am that bad).  Peck attributes the success of the one case to the fact that the woman had a loving spouse and family support.  In the failed case, the woman subjected herself to the ministrations of the exorcist team with no family or spousal support whatsoever.  Peck draws the conclusion that he would not again recommend an exorcism for someone unless they had the loving support of a family network.  This conclusion confirms my own experience when I pray about removing the evil spirit (normally when I ask God to help me remember the satanic abuse I suffered as a child).  God is always very firm (and with me in that prayer mode, God is usually indulgent), and refuses my request, telling me to wait until someone I love is there with me.

     I don’t want to “use” somebody to help me probe the depths of my horrible, traumatic secret, but the truth is (and again I know this from experience), there is nothing as healing and empowering as love.  Real and true love is an arduous realization, but I am ready and have been ready for some time to love.  Now, it is a matter of waiting.  I can pray all I want about the containment of the evil spirit.  It’s definitive removal is still some years away, because even love doesn’t happen all at once.  It grows slowly and takes a few years to really mature.  One thing love is not, though—abuse, and after suffering abuse for the past 10 years at the hands of people who think they love me, I can guarantee that I will never hook up with an abusive person.

     I think an intimate relationship is also necessary for healing because what the satanic cultic act did (I think; I can’t remember), was to steal my innocent sexuality and “sacrifice” it for their own pathological needs and purposes.  This is why I got so hooked into a desire for a celibate vocation, even though I have no calling.  I needed to relive that sacrifice of my sexuality and try to redeem it from the dark, satanic, psychological hold that those evil people put me in.  Now, I realize though, that only a healthy and happy (and for me), homosexual interplay of my sexuality will redeem that stolen sexual innocence.  In the meantime I wait…for a woman strong and brave enough to take me on….<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Tuesday, January 2, 2007

Christmas Musings

12/25/06—I am in a pensive mood this Christmas.  I just don’t have my normal energy levels to befriend me—the ongoing legacy of the abuse I suffered at the hands of psychiatrists and forced medication.  It is a good thing that my new job is starting out slowly, working only 7.5 hours a day with two 4 day weeks back to back.  I get fatigued after about five hours of work, but fortunately, the training class is at a reasonable pace, instead of the usual frenetic, cram-as-much-as you-can mode, and so I find it easy to stay on top.

     I am grateful to have a job, but I’ve got to say, a few of my co-workers are really low-hanging fruit.  They already fired a couple of people for stealing, but a friend of one of the fired has really negatively hooked into me, and delights in constantly pushing my buttons with his immature and lame, but highly vocal negativity.  It doesn’t help that word is going around that I was responsible for snitching off the two thieves.  Someone overheard a conversation I had with the person who really did see and tell, and misunderstood.  But I have to get used to being at the center of whatever moral storm is in the vicinity.  My nature precludes otherwise.  For better or worse, I have a spiritual gravitas that means I’m involved in moral issues and controversy (even if only as an unwilling recipient of projection), even though I may do everything possible to distance myself.  I cannot fight who I am.  Instead I must embrace it as creatively and lovingly as possible.

                I also am sad over the condition of my neighbor who I do believe is dying in thehospital.  Part of me wants to help, butI know that it is his time and there is nothing that can be done.  He has a positive attitude towards his own life and death, and I can only hope that I go out the same way.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />