Force fed psychotropic drugs again

Force fed psychotropic drugs again--I knew it was coming after I saw another truly stupid doctor on Friday.  It is amazing to me how little of illness and healing a medical school graduate know, but I am too sick to go to go off on my rant against the medical profession--there are so many others who do it so much better than me, including my favorite doctor--Dr.  Mercola.  Let us just say that the newbie neurologist believed the pile of shit she was told, and as usual mistook my autism for psychosis so now I am on anti-psychotic medication and not able to function.  Thank God I am not employed because I would not be able to go to work.  I don't know how I am going to be able to drive on tuesday for physical therapy but my left leg is getting worse, and my entire body is completely unresponsive.  My legs fill like they 200 pounds each, I can hardly walk or lift my arms.  I tell you what I think--like I told the neurologist I have Parkinson's (I know because I dreamed it, and so far, baby, my dreams have been more accurate than your goddamned medical diagnosis), but my brain which always tries to self heal, cannot self heal now because of the goddamned psychotropic drugs running interference so once again my body takes a beating while I am treated like a lab rat by these stupid abusive perverted FUCKIG GODDAM NEd ASSHOLES who I despise with everything I got.  I don't care anymore.  I am going to call it like I see it.  Everytime they mess with my body, they destroy it more, and cause me pain and suffering and agony and I am tired of it. I am too sick to fight anymore.  All I can do is endure it and hope for death, but as long as I live I will proclaim the truth, and right now, God help me, I am miserably, pitiably alive, but barely able to function, move or think.  I spent most of the day watching the PBS special on WW2, and I just feel like a shell shocked soldier, who keeps on going because there just is no alternative.

In physical pain again

In physical pain again, as I try to deal with the severe nerve damage caused by my abusers overdosing me on speed.  They had the inside of my vehicle so saturated with dope that I found it difficult to drive home.  I keep praying that I don't get into an accident when I am so under the influence of this stuff that I totally space out to reality.  Anyway, it is the same old story--the excess stimulants/speed irritates a nerve in my lower back that runs down to my left leg causing chronic spasms and fiery, excruciating pain.  I am really "high" right now, but I believe it may be partly from my own self-medicating from inside my brain (yes, I can do that), as I haven't taken any pain medication (other than Tylenol), since I learned that my dosage of Vicodin was tainted with speed.  Speed is ultimately responsible for the pain, so the end result would be an aggravation of my pain, even if the opiate qualities of the drug did kick in.  I thought about asking my health care provider for some Flexiril, but I don't like how it makes me feel.  I feel quite high already, thank you, and that tells me that a lot of pain is being blocked.  Even so my muscle spasms and nerve pain are severe, and I don't know if I am going to be able to do anything today besides lay in bed. 

I am not surprised by the overdose that I was force fed.  I know my abusers well enough now to know exactly how they act and respond to any action on my part.  They are truly sons, daugthters and fellow travellers of Jose Maria Escrivas--sadomasochists who delight in giving pain and enduring pain, who truly believe that pain and suffering is the ideal antecedent and goad for religious experience and conversion. 

I had a strong hunch that I was going to be punished for my most recent major decision, just like last week I knew that I was going to be punished, and sure enough, some lame Church bimbo who was so passively feminine that even her kids ignored her (oh but she believes that she has power--she belongs to a very powerful religious organization, and all she has to do is sell out her mind, morals, and soul)  threw so much dope on my back that I came down with a debilitating migraine and had to skip yoga.  I probably will have to skip yoga again, but inside, despite the pain, I am happy.  I am happy that I am so free of these hateful religious zealots, and I am happy that God gives me the grace and strength to act freely, even though I know that my tormentors will lash out punitively at me, causing pain and suffering.

They won't change my mind.  They can damage my body and brain, but I already have accepted the fact that my body and brain will never fully recover from the abuse I already have endured at their command.  They cannot touch my free will or my soul, and I reject them and the patricharchal paternalism and abuse they represent, live by, and force upon others.  They think that they are going to tell me that they only abused me to get rid of the evil spirit so that I could cooperate more fully with my destiny.  They are going to replay tapes of the speaking evil spirit and hope that my sheer horror at the evil that resides within me will change my mind.  But it won't.  Because evil cannot cast out evil--the words of Jesus proclaim it--and any so-called Christian who reads and prays on the gospels should know that.  The suffering and abuse that has been inflicted upon me is evil, and it can never cast out the evil spirit that dwells within me.  There is a historical term that describes this intention--Inquisition.  Yes, thanks to a resurgence of patriarchal conservatism in the Catholic Church, and the flourishing of Opus Dei, the Inquisition is alive and well in the 21st century--with a few postmodern twists such as forced psychiatriac hospitalization and psychotropic medication.  Stalin would be proud, Opus Dei!

I am reminded of the class psychology experiment that I learned while still in high school.  In it, the overwhelming majority of "normal," "good" test subjects would continue to administer supposed torture shocks and pain to an individual, as long as someone with authoritative credentials kept telling them that it was okay, or necessary, that the victim was overexaggerating, or any other plausible excuse.   No Christian who has a personal relationship with Christ should ever fall victim to playing the torturer in such a scenario, but all the smiling, smug, superior, and self-triumphant Christians who have taken part in torturing me have done exactly that, and yes I know who they are at the time they "shock" me, and I know what they are feeling, and they are legion.  Only one, just one, Catholic Christian ever played his part while his feelings were opposite that of his role, and I could tell that he felt compassion and pity for me, and that he was shocked by what Church "authorities" had done to me.  It was right after I had been released from six months incarceration in jail, and he had gotten on the bus to "spy" on me (the previous day I had met a fellow former inmate on the same bus line and she tried to hook up with me, but she was a junkie and I wasn't interested).  That isn't to say that I have been unsupported, because I have felt supported by feelings of compassion and pity from quite a few other  people--NONE of whom were Catholic or traditionally Christian or even "religious" (though maybe one or two are eluding my lithium damaged memory). 

Anyway, I bring this up because yesterday I felt supported by compassion and shocked outrage from another Christian for the first time in years--and he was in clerical black!  You see, the whole reason I was punished by the overdose of drugs yesterday, and am in such pain today is that I have formally announced my intention to enter into the Episcopal communion.  I do not feel healthy enough to write down my reasons for my decision.  For now it suffices to say that I have been thinking upon it for years, and a couple of days ago my mind snapped affirmatively.  I never make hasty decisions, and I always advertise my thoughts and feeling before acting.  Years ago I told a Catholic priest that I would leave  the Church if the abuse continued (I cannot remember his name either, courtesy of the lithium), and my mind snapped to that decision while I was incarcerated in an abusive jail setting, courtesy of Opus Dei.  Upon release from jail, I tried going into one Catholic church to pray, and was nauseated by the smell,and knowledge of what had been done to me in the name of spiritual direction, and had to get out quick.   I have not been in a Catholic Church since, and have no personal intent to ever enter one again. 

So even though my body hurts, and I am too high to do much of anything, I am happy because I am free--free to choose and free to act, and all the imposed and punitive pain and suffering in the world cannot take that away from me.

Fighting depression

Fighting depression as I realize just how impacted my brain/body is by the past and ongoing drug abuse, and increasing doubt that I will ever regain my vitality and peak performance.  I especially suffer with the inability to concentrate which means that I find prayer, reading, writing, and thinking difficult, so much so that I cannot be productive in any significant way while I am abused.  I watched part of a video on the epidemic doping of kids for ADHD and ADD.  What are we doing to our kids?  I read that bipolar diagnosis of children has jumped 4000% in the last decade.  What are we doing to our kids?  Feeding their heads, and destroying their ability for creative individuality by the chemical poison that the pharmaceutical industry is pushing on all of America--for obscene profit to them, and lifetime detriment to hundreds of thousands of individual lives.  As Michael Moore was interviewed for the show, he noted that by the standard determined to diagnose ADD and ADHD, he would have been identified as a "hyperactive" kid in need of medication.  He also realizes that the Ritalin would have crippled his creativity so thoroughly that he he never would have become a controversial and creative filmaker.  I agree with him completely.  By the criteria used to judge ADD children, I was hyperactive myself.  I was so hyperactive that I used to run to school, run home, run on my newspaper route at 6 in the morning, and run and run in the woods.  I will admit that I had a really hard time concentrating in school, but I think my attention disorder was not caused solely by any  "deficit" within me, but by an education system that did not know how to engage a highly intelligent and imaginative child who chafed at the traditional methodology and strictures of  education.  Fortunately for me, I learned how to zone out passively into my imagination, instead of into "acting out" behavior, and most teachers were content to let me sit in the back of class and read book after book, while I disengaged from the mind numbing boredom around me.  But had I been force fed drugs as a child, I never would have developed into the critical, intuitive thinker I am today.  I never would have developed my creative IQ and the unusually powerful degree  of concentration that I used to have (and hope one day to regain, if I ever am free of these damned drugs).  For hyperactive people are very capable of concentration and intellectual achievement--they just have to find and learn what motivates them to discipline and apply themselves.  They are not motivated at all by imposed objectives and goals.  But I don't think our educational system is any longer concerned with allowing each individual to find and claim their unique identity.  Education has become a fact fest designed to turn out drones of a hive "groupthink" mind and attitude.  That is the worst part of the drugs--whether Ritalin, anti-depressants, lithium, or any psychotropic medication.  They are crippling the minds of our most potentially creative and specially gifted  youngsters before they ever find that unique identity and vocation that is to challenge and uplift the social order to a higher, more self-aware level.  The world doesn't need more drones; it needs more individuals, and individuation requires a healthy and strong mind, and having suffered from two years of forced psychotropic medication, I can witness to the reality that drugs cripple the mind, and the spirit.  Hopefully, I can recover, because the damage being done to my brain has happened as an adult, but I weep to think of the damage being done to formative youthful brains that probably never will have the opportunity to reach their full potential.  For I agree with Michael Moore--as trying as my education was, for both me and my teachers, I would never would have become the creative, challenging, indiviual person that I am today, had the pill pushers forced their for-profit poison into my tender brain.  For that matter, I don't know if I would have so successfully overcome my autism had I been diagnosed as an autistic and put in a special ed class (in rural Eastern KY, there were no special ed classes--we were all thrown together and had to make the best of it).  This is not to say that special ed or drugs are not helpful.  They can be--on the rare occasions when a child's behavior is substantive and destructive and cannot be redressed by natural means (I think suburban and urban kids are just not getting enough physical exercise and play, and many children are lacking personal attention from their parents, many of whom  are inattentive to deep reality themselves, often due to drug usage whether legal, including alohol and prescriptions, or illegal.  I also suspect all the artificial everything that our kids ingest through junk and processed food). 

Anyway, kids, I share, and empathize with, your pain.  I find it incredibly difficult to concentrate while I am on this speed.  I cannot read, and I find writing laborious, instead of my previously effortless absorption.  I suffer from the nerve pain in my leg, TMJ, and incessant headaches that it causes.  The drugs separate me from my deep and free self, making prayer and a spiritual life severely limited, and since my spiritual life orders my days, I am seriously handicapped.  There is nothing I can do but endure this, but I am "offering up" this particular suffering for a whole generation of children who have endured irrepable suffering and damage to their brains by dope pushers--whether it be crystal meth from a corner or park, or Ritalin from the school nurse.  Hopefully, someday I can heal from this abuse, and can help others do so as well.

Trying to heal

Trying to heal, but this is difficult as I keep fighting headaches and the doping that is just draining all my energy and self-esteem.  The vultures are circling.  I keep getting hit up by low self-esteem men at the gym, as well as the Opus Dei operative who I know  is scandalized by my hermaphroditism, but who (no doubt following strict orders from his "superiors" and spiritual directors) keeps tailing me, inviting a personal response.  So let me give it to you--as clearly and gently as possible.  My energy and self-esteem may be in the toilet, (due to the constant drugging and headaches), but my pride and certainty in every aspect of my self-identity, including my queer sexual orientation, is quite unaffected and resolute. 

Yes, I was staring at a man in the gym yesterday, but do you know why?   Because, thanks to the lithium I was force fed, I couldn't remember his name, even though I worked with him for over a year.   I should have been able to remember his name.  Before the lithium I would have remembered his name, but thanks to the abuse, my mind no longer works in peak performance like it once did.  I feel it every day, when I reach for a word and the vocabulary option spread no longer presents itself in my mind like it once did.  Also frustrating is when I look at a face that I recognize but whose name I cannot recall.  That never happened to me before the lithium, and now it happens so frequently that I am ashamed to acknowledge it even to myself (the other day I found myself stymied, unable to remember even the name of my sister-in-law).  So yeah, I stared.  I stared while I tried desperately to remember his name, while I tried to compel the damaged neurons to reach out, grow back and heal, so that I can feel myself to be the undamaged, whole, healthy person I once was.  I failed, and that failure contributed to my low self-esteem mood for the day.  Sorry to ruin any hopes that you may have, Opus Dei, but I was never sexually interested in the guy..  As a matter of fact, I happen to know that he's a "brother," a "fellow traveller," a "bird of a feather," you know, a 'passing' (and at work, closeted), queer--just like me.

I also have to say that it really is stupid of you to try to make any kind of approach towards me at the gym.  I go to the gym to work out, and while I admit that I am very pleasantly distracted by all the fine, young women in short shorts and sports bras, I do not, and never have gone to a gym for social reasons, i.e., to "pick up a date."  I am not going to pass judgment on those who do--I think it's healthier than the bar scene, for sure, and in our co-dependent society, people cannot handle the loneliness of the single life, and are desperate to be coupled.  I want  to be coupled, I delight in being coupled, and know that I will not be living an abundantly full life until I am coupled, but I am not desperate.  I can live in my own skin alone, until I feel free and healthy enough to enter into relationship, and right now I feel neither free nor healthy.  But when I am released from this ridiculous abuse and web of lies, I already have a beautiful woman in mind, and there is no way that a gay male coworker, a low self-esteem man, or a needy, conservative Catholic who is locked away by ideology from inner psychic and spiritual wholeness, is going to distract me from my very optimistic hope of the future. 

If you really want to know though, what really appeals to me in a person, whether male or female, whether an intimate or a casual acquaintance, it is someone who has done their psychic and spiritual homework, and has moved towards adrogyny.  Women who are very comfortable with the inner masculine inside their heads and unconscious, and men who are very comfortable with their inner feminine in the same way are the ones whose maturity invite a deeper appreciation and response from me.  Patriarchal (aka "traditional") men and women do not meet the criteria, at all.  Androgyny entails a lot of personal work, and I don't expect younger people to be there, but as I am now middle-aged,  it is clearly self-evident who has engaged in a life of psychological and spiritual growth, and who lazily has allowed traditional roles and expectations to limit them.  This is not to say that patriarchal/traditional individuals cannot be good and moral people; it is just that I find their self-limitations irksome, and their projections infuriating.  I would rather be around good and moral androgynous individuals.  I would rather be around one person in particular, but I am waiting until I get the go-ahead from my inner voice, and I am petitioning that inner voice right now, but until then, I thank God for giving me the strength and resources to wait for who and what I really want. Amen.

 

Trying to figure out my next step

Trying to figure out my next step is not easy when I go to sleep with headaches, wake up with headaches,and fight headaches all day long.  Dr. Huaman is trying to convince me to have surgery on my right eye, and I am indecisive.  It probably would be for the best, since I suspect that I am going to have a vulnerability to excessive biochemical fluid and cells in my brain for the rest of my life.  Partly, it is the fault of the drugs that have been imposed on me, and continue to be imposed on me, but the undeniable root cause is that my brain cells are just not absorbing and transporting like they should.  So the concern of a swollen optic nerve probably will be an ongoing issue for the rest of my life.  But I have suffered so much physical, mental, and emotional agony at the hands of the NSA/Opus Dei doctors that I am loathe to give them another opportunity to inflict further permanent damage on me (I still haven't identified all the permanent ruination and scars they have inflicted on my body and brain).  Therefore, agreeing to any kind of surgery is a high risk issue of trust that my past experience and current circumstances make difficult to accept.  For I still am doped up and in pain, and all the dumbass "soldiers of Christ" who find it an amusing, alternative spiritual direction or a benevolent goad, should have to live with the headaches and inability to concentrate and focus that I have to endure 24/7.  This is not the time to reiterate the absolute degeneration of any "so-called" spiritual director who would inflict on another human being what has been inflicted upon me.  My time for payback will come, and my memory (despite the damage done by the lithium) is still extensive, and I can wait.  No, what I have to do now, is decide how best to proceed now.   I wish Dr. Huaman had rammed her medical opinion down my throat.  Then I would know exactly what to do, and I would thoroughly enjoy my defiance.  But she didn't.  She left the decision completely up to me, so now I am torn by indecision.  It doesn't help that she is impossible to read, with the most inscrutably neutral eyes.  I think she is a little bit "psychic" herself. 

I don't want to be antagonistic just to be contrary or rebellious.  I really want to do what is best for me and my health, but I have to contend with the fact that for the lasttwo years I have spent more money on treating my ill health than I have spent in all the years of my life.  The significant deterioration of my health didn't just "happen".  The medical profession's misdiagnoses and treatment, through deceit and lack of consent, deliberately and repeatedly caused my ill health.  It wouldn't be so bad except that I kept telling the doctors over and over how much pain I was in, and they wouldn't listen.  They just kept up the lies, the pretenses, and the relentless forced imposition of drugs that nearly killed me, and have left permanent damage. So, no, I cannot trust those NSA/Opus Dei doctors, because they have made it clear that they will not listen to or respect what I know to be true about the drug's side effects.  They don't care about my health.  That is why I am suffering so much right now, even as I write. So it is up to me to care, to defend and to preserve my health.  I have been very open to the Word of God for the past two days.  I didn't want to write about my Calcium and Magnesium deficiency a few entries back.  I didn't want to let these abusers know ANY weakness of mine, but God literally and undeniably commanded me to write it.  I always listen to the command of God, and I wish S/He would command me now, but matters must not be urgent, because nothing comes through, despite my receptivity.

What I have  "heard" came through in a dream.  I dreamed that I had been raped and traumatized, and I was asking God, "how do I heal?"  The answer came back, "Go back to Kentucky."  A holler in Eastern KY is where I spent my childhood, recovering no doubt (though I can't remember it), from the trauma of ritualistic abuse.  It is where I started to develop a sense of ego and self, slowly separating myself from the isolation of autistic fusion.  I don't think I need any more ego or self, but I think I need nature to heal me, as it did once before, when as a young child I spent hours and hours by myself in the woods.  I don't know why the woods are so healing for me.  I really don't pray that much out there.  I don't read or write much.  Sometimes I nap, but mostly I just am.  Spending so much time in the bosque, and trying to repair my body in the gym seems most appropriate right now.  I realized today, that I was glad that a prospective job didn't materialize.  I know that I amnot lazy, so if interiorly, I am glad to be unemployed, then it must be that I still need the downtime to heal from the psychic rape and bodily/brain trauma I have endured for the past years.  So heal me God.  I trust you. 

Suffering again

Autumn is here and I continue to suffer from being doped.  It is not with Serotonin, but with something that gives me constant headaches and nerve pain in my leg (in the past, that has always been speed).   I try to read a little bit, play some music, or clean house, but ultimately all I can do is watch TV or surf the web.   I cannot concentrate at all.  Still, I am not in the hellish sickness and pain that I was in with the Serotonin, so I sit here and try to suffer with it.  I keep thinking of the hero of Siddhartha--"I can think, I can pray, and I can wait."  I am not even able to think very much anymore unless I get out of the house for hours at a time, but I have got the waiting bit downpat.  I am just tired of being sick all the time. I am tired of being out of control of my body (the progesterone I am being force fed is very demoralizing too), while it is being drugged up by morons who don't have any idea of what they are doing (and yeah, I am very aware that I have to do everything if I want to survive).  Maybe I feel so bad tonight because I spent all day in the house--did not escape the doping for any length of time.  I am by nature a homebody, and yet I feel like the poor little stray cat I keep trying to adopt (homeless and terrorized by big, bad bullies). 

 

Hard to write

Hard to write--I find myself automatically censoring myself from expressing myself--yep, the people who have controlled my life for the last 10 years have done a really fine job of strait-jacketing my self-expression (interiorly and spiritually though, I refuse to give up to a lie).  Yes, it has been 10 years that I have lived in this hell.  I remember because the Spiritual Life Institute first started spying on me, and interfering with my life when I lived on County Line Road in rural Alamosa County.  One of my most vivid memories of County Line Rd, was waking up abruptly to an unexpected radio alarm about 6 in the morning. It was set to radio frequency and I woke up, shocked, to the words, "Princess Diana was killed in a car accident last night."  I am not an Anglophile nor a royalty watcher, but the words doused me like cold water.  Like most, I had a high regard for Diana, for all the reasons plenty of commentators have written about, but really I have come to admire her more as the years have passed, as I have realized how truly and desperately trapped she was by the expectations that others had of her.  Like myself, she refused to give up her quirky, unique self to conform and fit into the expectations of others--very powerful and highly resourced others.  I think it fair to say that the crushing rigidity and imposition of these others drove her to mental illness--depression and bulimia.  Had they just cut her a little slack, they would have realized that her quirky, unique self was a great and creative gift to the royal family, not a destructive challenge to it.  But she was up against a very entrenched institution, with centuries of accustomed superiority, and she just didn't have a chance.  My situation is similar to hers--I am trapped by other's expectations of me, but I have a spiritual resourcefulness and maturity that she lacked.  I haven't been driven to mental illness, but I have definitely been impacted.  My quality of life has been dismally poor for the last ten years as I have been forcibly denied any kind of friendship, privacy of life, employment, and freedom of expression.  In the last two years, as I have quit any kind of complicit cooperation with these people, they have destroyed my health by force feeding  me psychotropic drugs.  My body will never fully recover from the abuse it has endured, and continues to endure, though at a much reduced level.  The Serontonin has stopped, but some drug that gives me serious headaches continues to be force fed me.  I am depressed, and I believe the drug that I am being force fed now is responsible, since I can escape the feeling of depression by spending hours outside of the house.  I suspect that it is some kind of speed.  My depression may also be hormonal.  I have had my first period in over 3 missed cycles, and I really believe that I am being force fed progesterone which is turning my body into that of a whale.  I think my period was brought about by a 4 hour workout yesterday.  I had quit working out so hard because I was buffing out too much, but I am really dismayed as I now realize how my muscle is turning to flab.  I have fat cells and cellulite dimples developing on my body that I have never seen before--like on my legs.  The thought of having a fat, soft slug of a body is unbearable to me.  If I have to work out 4 hours a day to get back my muscular, hard body of which I was once so proud, I will do so.  It might get my cycle back on track too, another essential block of my self-esteem.

Some of my depression however, is related to a deeper realization that I am trapped by powerful forces which will never allow me to be free again.  These forces are either immoral, amoral, or a combination of both.  Religious institutions which abuse their mission of fostering and nurturing a spiritual life, and attempt to impose their will upon the individual by force, are immoral.  Corporations which base their decisions based on the profit motive and condescending cynicism for the customers they serve, are amoral.  Governmental agencies with six billion dollar budgets which violate the rights of innocent citizens of the country and constitution they are to protect and defend, are a combination of both.  Power is the great corruptor and soul destroyer, and somehow I have to make my peace with the fact that I will have to cooperate with these powers that have violated me so extremely, and indeed nearly extinguished me totally, in their stupidity and arrogance, rigidity and imposition.

That is why I have been thinking of Princess Diana.  I watched the final part of the Bashir interview, and while she never explicitly used the word, "forgiveness", (that I can remember), she was a very forgiving person.  The word she used a lot was "heart."  She was a person "of the heart."  I am not a person of the heart.  I am a person of the head.  That is why it is important that I listen to people who are people of the heart.  Diana was no fool.  She knew who her enemies were, and she suffered terribly at their hands, yet she also knew that it was her vocation and destiny to work with, and accept them.  Of course, one of them was her husband, and like many of the divorced, she knew the terrible pain of betrayal from an intimate, but there was no bitterness or anger in her pain.  She is a better person than me in that regard.  So I have been praying for enough forgiveness to accept the reality that I will be working with these power mongers who have caused such physical, emotional, and psychological devastation for the past ten years.  But I also know that boundary lines need to be drawn, and I know that I no longer consider myself a part or member of the Roman Catholic community for a whole multitude of reasons.  Forgiveness will not change the way I feel about that.  I don't even recognize that church as the one I joined twenty years ago.  That they would give a personal prelature and such powers as they have given to a truly perverse cult like Opus Dei (and they scared the shit out of me when I was in college--little did I know how truly scary they could be in their extensive power reach and abuse) is enough for me to leave.  I am relunctant to enter another religious community, but I think I am being gently called to consider it.  So I have got some praying to do.  Now all I have to do is keep the drugs out of my system so that I am well enough to pray...