Face Red, Eyes Dead, Soul Fled

Face red, Eyes dead, Soul fled.  That has become my spontaneous mantra every time I look in the mirror and view the unrecognizable soulless stranger staring back at me.  The psychotropic drugs that I am being force fed are not only causing physical weakness and pain, severe nausea, chronic headaches, fluid on my brain (the red face),and weird brain rushes, but also are alienating me from my soul and spirit.  This causes deep depression in me.  I am severely depressed right now, and I am starting to feel hopeless because I don't think I am ever going to be drug free (and happy and healthy, strong and joyful) ever again.  All I have to keep me going is my faith.  I am reminded of a commentary by a Christian as to why millions of Jews struggled to survive in the concentration camps instead of fighting back in a massive uprising.  The response was that when you face so much evil and hate, you no longer wish to be any part of such a world.  That is the way I feel.  I can no longer fight.  I knew that when my own mother lied to get me admitted into a mental hospital and I was force fed Risperdal which totally destroyed my brain forever. I am not going to struggle like I did a year ago, running up a thousand dollar bill on a credit card, as I vainly tried to escape the poison by going to motel room after motel room.  I just wish to die now, and until I am dead there is nothing I can do but anesthesize myself.  Fortunately, that is what comes naturally now.  I no longer have the drive, desire, ambition, or ability to engage and transform the world through love and joy.  For that, I need to be in touch with my soul, and my soul is utterly fled, hiding and protecting itself from the ravages of the chemical poison that is invading my body.  I knew this yesterday, when I listened to the phone calls I am going to be taking at work.  Everybody on the floor is beat down, demoralized and depressed on the calls they are taking (a combination of a demanding customer ingrates with a very fractured support infrastructure, and badly messed up accounts).  Normally, I would say to myself, "where there is no love, put love, and there will be love.  But as I listened to those calls, I knew I was powerless to draw upon my soul and spirit to sustain and nourish me.  I can only suffer.  When I went to yoga, I tried desperately to get back in touch with my soul, but I just couldn't.  I went through the physical motions, but I could never reach my spirit, not even during corpse pose.  It was horrible.  Whenever I have a bad day, I pray in the spirit, in order to bestow meaning, and draw spiritual strength to persevere.  I couldn't do that yesterday, and now I have to go to work, depressed and beat down with no access to my spiritual resources.  I honestly don't know how long I can continue this.  All I want to do is lay in bed and cry.  But I guess I will do what millions do--just walk through the day half dead.  I am so tired of being half dead. Last night I dreamed I was prostate before  a bishop, but even though the bishop was pleased with himself, every cell in my body knew "this is not me."  The powers that be are symbolized by the bishop (and what an apt symbol of worldly power), and they have me prostrate on the ground.  They may put me under the ground, but I still will die proclaiming who I am--a free daughter of God.  I may not have my life right now, but I still my voice, and I will scream it out THIS IS NOT ME. THIS IS NOT ME.  THIS IS NOT ME.  THIS IS NOT ME.  All I can do is cry and persevere in faith, and long for the day when I am able to be me again (and God help me, it may not be until my death).

Losing eyesight in my left eye again.

A miserable night as I vainly tried to escape the drugs.  I know from my severe nausea, my wooden legs, the sick headache, and the spaced out, lethargic, lazy feeling that I totally failed (not to mention the penultimate litmus test--I look in the mirror and don't see me, but some stranger inhabiting my body through abusive chemical hijacking).  The most distressing part however, is that the eyesight in my left eye (the surgically healed one) has deteriorated seriously.  No longer do I see the bright, vivid colors out of that eye.  Now I see the colors faded.  I want to weep.  I went through all that pain and expense for nothing--for these sadistic bastards just to ruin my rehabilitated ocular health once again. 

I was stalked last night by David Denny of the SLI (I know when someone from the SLI is stalking me under bogus screen names).  I can't believe the stupid sob doesn't get the message that I don't want anything to do with him or his abusive community.  I've learned that he and Tessa Bielecki have "disaffiliated" themselves from the SLI.  Bullshit. I also see that they no longer mention William McNamara in their web page.  Bullshit.  They are running scared.  Someone is suing the shit out of them for their abusive tactics and they are trying to save their piece of property.  I don't know who beat me to the punch, but my prayers are with them.  Something has to happen to stop the abuse that these people do in the name of God.  No wonder Denny was always so attracted to Islam.  He is nothing but a propenent of Christian Talibanism, and I am the unfortunate, helpless victim of the controlling power abuse which he initiated and actively fights to maintain.

Nausea, headaches, and crazy mood swings

Yep--I'm on psychotropic drugs again.  It's not only the constant suffering and misery caused by nausea and headaches, along with the pain of the nerve damage done to my left leg by their fricking apeed, it's the crazy mood swings I suffer when I am on psychotropic drugs.  I am fantasizing about hurting myself again, and the only time I do that is when I am on their stupid mind poison.  My lymph nodes on my neck, and even my underams are tender, and I know it is because my lymphatic system is straining to rid myself of the toxic poison, just like I that  I am being doped when I have to constantly pee--my poor kidneys are working overtime as well.  But the poison is taking hold and building up, and I just can't  fight it anymore. It's becoming increasingly difficult to maintain even casual social relations, and I struggle so hard (normally when I am not doped up, it comes relatively easy, if I apply myself, as long as I am not among strangers or a crowd), but I realize I no longer have the energy to apply myself.  Everything is focussed on just getting through the day, when I feel as badly as I have felt the last few weeks.  I hate my body. I can't stand the weight gain of 9 pounds over the last three weeks, after I struggled so hard to lose it, after their damned lithium caused me to gain it in the first place.  Now their psychotropic drug (and I think it is depakote) is causing more weight gain, insulting all the strenuous effort I made to lose the the 15 pounds.  I am up to 180, and I just watch my stomach spread, no matter what I do.  (What's the point of doing 50 minutes on a cardio treadmill?   Even my heart rate has gone sky high, and before these bastards started doping me, I had the heart rate of an athlete in her 20's).  My whole body no longer belongs to me.  It is the territory of a bunch of sadistic psychs who have violated every civil and human right I have.  The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that I am not the first that this has happend to---I think of Solzhenitsen, and today I read quotes from Victor Frankl.  I have to keep going, even though even my own body and mind has been stripped from me by chemicals.  I just don't know how I am going to get up and function tomorrow, as messed up as I feel right now.  I have lost years of my life, so what is one more lost day?

 

After a few days of being free from drugs--days when I felt calm, centered and joyful, able to think deeply about philosophical and personal issues--the doping has started again. It may have been in the tampered sleep supplement that I had to take last night for severe insomnia (why after a few nights of healthy and sound sleep and dreams, did I become insomniac again?), but it may have been in what caused the insomnia to begin with in the first place.  All I know is that I can smell the drugs in my urine again, and cannot stand the revulsion and self-alienation that I feel whenever I smell drugs coming from my own body that are seriously destructive to my body and psyche, and which cause alienation from reality. For it is being aware of, and fully attuned to reality that creates my peace and joy.   I realized that the other day when for the first time in weeks or months, I realized that I was noticing children playing, and lovers loving, and clouds in the sky.  When I am drugged, I am encapsulated in my own bodily and psychic misery and suffering, and it is all I can think about and focus on.  

While I was clear, I also realized that I am not manic at all.  I recognize manic depressives--not only do they go through clear cyclic patterns, their levels of manic behavior results in destructive and/or near psychotic behavior, and they act inappropriately.  I am reminded of a co-worker who I think is manic, who came to work one day after being fired, and after being reluctantly reinstated from sheer desperate need of a body, began pretending to be a supervisor, giving us orders!

I am not manic, but I do experience an elevated mood.  That is partly natural, because when I am healthy, I just have a "natural high" in regard to life, but I also think it is a defense mechanism against the overwhelming social anxiety that I experience as an autistic. It's the psychic strategy of the best defense is a good offense.  By extroverting elevated amounts of energy, I protect and defend myself from my psychic receptivity of, and projection from other's negative "vibes," and ward off my own personal anxiety that comes from social interaction.  When my energy is elevated like that, my brain finds it easy to communicate--both with myself and others.  When I am in an autistic mode, the communication centers of my brain just shut down, and I don't talk, either with others or myself.  I am aware of what is going on, but it is only later, when I can think verbally again, that I become self-aware of what has happened both as subject and object.  When I am autistic, my self-awareness as subject is seriously to severely compromised.  This happens more often that people realize.  It happens in crowds.  It happens when I am examined by doctors or subjected to unanticipated touch (though I have no difficulty in intimate situations). It happens when I am forcefed these psychotropic drugs (but marijuana certainly doesn't do it).   It happens when I am in a strange or unfamiliar enviroment, or surrounded by strangers or unfamiliar people. It happens in urban enviroments, but not natural ones.  Mountains, deserts, oceans, woods,and places of quiet, nautral beauty, like a botanic garden in the middle of a city actually can put me back in touch with my full, expressive self.  I've known that this has been a problem with me for years.  I remember telling a confessor that I thought I had an evil spirit of muteness--that sometimes I just cannot talk, even if the situation calls for it.  In retrospect, I can see how the autism has impacted me in innumerable situations throughout the years, for even though my brain can't communicate to myself, my memory remembers, and then when I able to go back and conceptualize the experience I do.  The first time I was aware that I was autistic, although I didn't realize it at the time, I was about 13 or 14 years old.  I just could not relate socially, no matter how hard I tried.  After a difficult day or rejection and bullying by others, I would go in the woods by myself and cry.  The woods would open me back up and I would talk to my inner voice, which I now rely on as the voice of God.  I was crying and asking God what was I doing wrong when I tried so hard, and kept failing so miserably, and my inner voice told me, "you are not doing anything wrong.  The problem is that you are autistic."  At the time, I thought to myself, "God is talking to me in an exaggerated southern drawl."  I assumed that God was telling me that I was artistic--that I had an artistic temperment, because what little I knew of autism meant that I would be totally nonfunctional in reality, and I was functional--even if just barely. As years went by, I became more and more functional, and my high extroverted energy is a big part of my being able to function.  When that is absent, I become a top target for negative projection and polarized responses.  I start training for a new job today, and already I dread it, because I am doped up (and the freaking headache that accompanies the drugging has been bothering me for the last hour and an half), and I know that means I am going to be autistic, and life is going to be hell.  It doesn't bother me when others dislike or misunderstand me.  I have endured the utmost rejection and misunderstanding when I have been most vulnerable and sensitive both psychologically and spiritually, and I have the ego strength (and wisdom--I already know who will project onto me, and why) to withstand it.  But I have to live in a social world, and I am sick and tired of struggling to fit in, when my own natural and healthy defenses are chopped out from underneath me by these drugs that make life an enduraance of sheer hell.

 

Drugs and anxiety

I think that I have figured out what kind of drugs I am being force fed--depakote, or one of its kin.  The key has been the unusual appetite increase I have experienced, along with all the other symptoms.  I am sick of headaches, nausea, and bloated stomach and gas.  I don't even know how much of my double vision is caused by the eye surgery and how much by the damned drugs. I even had chest pains which were worrying me, but nothing to worry about--it's only 1 of about 4 dozen side effects that the drug causes.  All I know is that I am miserable, and having increasing difficulty functioning.  I am noticeing something else too--a very dramatic rise in social anxiety.  I am feeling like I did as a child and teenager when social interaction caused severe anxiety and a flight or fight response. I noticed it yesterday at the doctor's office and then later, when someone made casual conversation with me at the gym.  The anxiety then causes hyperactivity and the need to flee. I haven't experienced social anxiety so severe like this since I was a teenager. What eventually helped me was what always has helped me--a hard, two hour plus workout at the gym--the first time I have been able to do a real workout in months, if not over a year.  The chemical shift self-initiated naturally by the brain in response to strenuous physical activity was what calmed me down, and made me peaceful and centered.  When are people going to get the picture that pharmaceutical chemicals are horrible and damaging to the human body and soul. Now that I think about it, much of the negative, and even hostile feelings that I have been experiencing these past few weeks is an elevation in anxiety.  The damn drugs are destroying my own hardwon psychological gains of adulthood.  These morons don't understand how difficult coping with autism really is.  I realize now that emotionally and socially I am regressing--and I can thank these goddamned drugs for it.

Happy to be queer!

4/30/07—I’ve had a much needed weekend of rest. The constant involuntary drug assault to which my body is subjected leaves me in chronic pain, nausea, and tension. I wish I could say that I was clear of the doping, but I am not. I just learn to function and carry on as best as I can with my limitation. Even now, I am doped up. What I long to do more than anything else is to get in touch with my spiritual self, but that is precisely what the drugs prevent (and when I think of how many people in this country are on drugs, it makes me weep over our country’s spiritual poverty. Nobody can fully exercise their spiritual faculties under the pervading influence of chemicals). Even for an adept like me, it is impossible to carry out a daily spiritual discipline when I am under the influence. I have no time to pray. I can’t even sleep well. I just get up and go to (and suffer) work, while I deal with the irritation, anger, and even rage that accompanies the subjective experience of brain and mood chemical imbalance, and the objective injustice of my situation that I endure. Normally, I would be able to temper, and even counter those feelings with the supernatural grace of spiritual love and joy that is activated when my will is in full awareness of, and cooperation with my spirit. But the chemicals of the drugs effectively blunt and undermine my relationship to my spirit, leaving me seriously handicapped. I long for the days when I could write every day. I long for a period of spiritual rest and rejuvenation, but I don’t foresee that happening any time soon. I just have to do the best I can right now. At least I feel rested. At least I have time. At least I can read, and now, write, even if just a little bit.

I am more and more certain of my vocation, though I no longer speak of it. It is something hidden inside of me, just as reality is kept "hidden" from me by the people who continue to control and drug my life in the delusional belief that I will think I am crazy. Maybe that is for the best. According to the wisdom of prophets and healers of the charismatic movement, the evil one can even read our thoughts (which is one reason to pray in tongues—that can’t be penetrated). Being completely honest, I have to admit that I have a powerful evil spirit within me, and thus I am not completely trustworthy, not even to myself. I have always prayed to God, no matter what, not to let me be sold out to the influence of the evil one, and I have a rock solid faith that such will not happen, even though my body may be destroyed in the process. I believe that the evil spirit in me is part and parcel of my vocation, and when the time is right (and it may not be until my death), it will be completely exorcised. But making me think I am crazy will not play any role in that. As part of my unique, if compromised, psychological and spiritual makeup, I instinctively sense, and actively resist all lies and liars. Even those lies with so-called "good intentions" all originate in the father of all lies and liars, and I refuse to give him comfort and aid, no matter the dislocation or suffering to myself. The fact that the Church would be so intimately involved in "perping" this lie onto me, is only irrefutable proof of how corrupted and compromised the institutional church has become in these climatic days.

It’s clear that after Constantine, the church has always gotten it all wrong anyway. Christians are to resist and/or enlighten worldly power—not be an alternative proponent of it. The churches seem to believe that exercising worldly power, using worldly, and even immoral means, is perfectly fine as long as they hate on sexuality and women (and Christianity is not the only religion to fall prey to this heresy). Now I admit to having a difficult time with a pagan approach to sexuality (and I consider myself an ally of many pagans). For me, sexuality always intimates commitment. Thus I am not a supporter of casual sex. I do advocate a sexuality that is fun, playful, and edgy, but one that occurs within a committed relationship. Sex most emphatically does not have to entail biological reproduction or openness to conception, though certainly many do wish to choose so, and that is indeed one possible fruitful aspect.

Commitment is difficult. I can see now that my big fear of a final commitment to Colleen was not primarily because of Colleen, and her negative issues, but rather because, even at 34 or 35, I was not ready for, or capable of the ultimate commitment. I had to mature into it, and what enabled that maturation was first of all, really accepting myself and my sexuality, instead of trying to run away from it into some phony, spiritualized realm of celibacy. For me that meant affirming the legitimate value of homosexual love, which in my defense I can say that, unlike my heterosexual brothers and sisters, I had very little socio-cultural validation or support. A homophobic culture does not lessen the incidenceof homosexuality, but it does greatly increase the unhappiness and psychological maladjustment of us gay people. Even now, I believe that the pain and misery I suffer at the hands of my tormentors, is primarily instigated by homophobes who believe that I am going to convert to celibacy. They do not know me, or my needs or what I believe. I am a lesbian. I do need a partner to help complement and ground me—especially in social relationships with the world. I am happier and more fruitful when I am partnered. Finally, I do believe that I have Jesus’ approval of my homosexuality, and an honest and committed partnership, and even marriage, with another woman. Writing on that will be for another day.

Doped up again.

I have written in a long time--to be honest, I just don't have the energy.  I have to drag myself to work everyday and yoga three times a week, but life has gotten worse and even more difficult in the last two or three weeks.  I am certain now that I am being doped up on psychotropic drugs.  At first, I wasn't sure because I felt so yucky and out of it after a severe migraine around the middle of March, and then surgery on March 22nd.  But now I am sure.  It is not the unstoppable weight gain (after months of losing and holding steady), the constant nausea, or even the constant headaches which necessitate.  It is not even the fact that I have to drag myself to work, where I feel miserable and enslaved to a job, that a few weeks ago was enjoyable.  It is not my inability to drag myself from a persisent lethargy that doesn't want to do anything except watch TV.  It is what is going on with my brain.  I had to use the dictionary to spell "necessitate"-- a simple word.  Even after looking it up, it doesn't look right to me.  It looks like a nonsensical word.  That happens a lot.  I go to read, and words look like they came out of Jabberwocky.  I have no reading comprehension whatsoever.  I tried reading some poetry this morning--a volume that I have read many times.  It was Greek.  I couldn't even begin to read another book on theology that I picked out.  It makes me want to cry.  I was reading at a postgraduate level by the 8th grade, and now I cannot even read a simple paragraph or verse. My oral comprehension is even worse. I, who always hear and understand everything that is said to me, now have to ask people to repeat themselves two or three times.  People talk to me and my brain is so slow, I cannot properly answer them.  I remember Dr. Huaman asking me when I had seen another doctor, and my brain couldn't remember the date, or make a connection to the date, even though I knew it was the last day of the last month. I've become a retard. I hate myself.  I hate my brain. I hate my body that can barely even walk, and is just a receptacle for the poison that destroys my soul and spirit, and turns me into a barely functional TV potato (I guess my persecutors can rest happy now.  I am the typical soul-destroyed, stupid TV couch potato, full of self-destructive rage and self-loathing, which seems to be their ideal American).  Most scary of all, are the brain rushes I am suffering from constantly, and which are increasing in number(I just had one about 15 minutes ago).  It is like a drug rush that feels like I am going to pass out, and then it leaves me shaken, like I just short circuited from life and reality.  I am afraid I am building up to an epileptic seizure.  I have to say a large part of me just doesn't care anymore.  My body and brain are so wrecked from the NSA's poison that I will never recover my health and vitality.  Never. Never. Never. Never.  I am just a thing to them, so I might as well just be a thing to myself.  Nothing I say, do, suffer, or endure has any effect on them, so I may as well just wait for the worst.  Maybe I will get lucky and die.  I am so tired of living like this.  I don't even want to fight anymore.  I just want it over with.