I don't know what a ministry of sound means to you. For me it is the subtle difference between being guided by sound versus light speed. Since being diagnosed bipolar I've learned that my eyes sometimes play tricks on me, but so do my ears. Have you ever felt like every pop song on the radio is suddenly speaking to you? I have and I'm grateful to my Higher Power for it. Music provides a direction, leading me with beats and lyrics. The curse is the reality but it is also a blessing in disguise.
I was in a unique position to be able to write a blog post while locked inside a mental hospital. I tried with beautiful failure to take advantage of the rare opportunity. The main things frowned upon while I'm living in a mental hospital are displays of anger, verbal & physical abuse, and sometimes just bouts of depression in general. I am encouraged to act normally and usually I have very little contact with the outside world so that I can focus on my health. Clearly in modern times these antiquated philosophies are falling away as new thought and new techniques are used when dealing with mental health. In other words as the human race evolves so does the approach to healing.
I grew up with Western medicine, doctors who think they're gods, especially psychiatrist and therapist. The thing that irritated me to no end is that the first portion of my hospitalization I was under the care of a man who refused to hear my voice and opinion no matter how loud I expressed myself. He declared my anger to be unfounded and a symptom that I was sick and only used the word of my now ex-roommate to determine that I needed to be civilly committed to the hospital. Another way of putting it, yet another asshole bent on dominating his patients instead of listening to them. Again no bedside manners but in addition to that he exhibited the worst kind of Dom behavior to and including forcing medication into my system that left me vulnerable to attack at night.
For me my creative, my Muse got locked up again while trying to have a little fun and help me and Simone out. I recognize now that I sometimes make a mountain out of a mole hill. I see the bigger picture with my tiny one story to tell side of the conversation. So here goes the reality check of living in a mental hospital for about 3 months. First my charges received at the end of 2015 are now working their way out. I've served 90 days of suspended driver's license and served 21 days in jail. I have new misdemeanor charges. Boo! I've returned to the status of homeless. Boo! I was living at the state hospital so I had a cot and 3 squares. It is what it is...
No I would not of picked a hospital to live in if I had a choice about where to house me. I feel like I've watched the world and decided it makes me cry. Like the Charm Farm song, 'the whole world is sick'. I think this is what Dave Chappelle meant when he ran away to Africa instead of signing a deal with Comedy Central for his show. I get some things, hate others and if I had a choice I wouldn't want to be in such a vulnerable position again.
I mean what is wrong with me? What did I do to earn this hell? The part that breaks my heart is to think that I'm alone in how I feel about my life. Every story I've ever heard that I took to heart and felt blessed about it not being my torment feels like a lie. It is almost impossible to face a new day with that as an option in my head. How do I wake up in such circumstances? Out of my hands for one. Divine path two. And something greater than little chicken me works even when I can't fathom how to be a part of it.
Now with the bulk of these issues in my rear view mirror I'm finally out of the hospital and getting back on my feet. I guess when I say I've been in the hospital some people think of mental hospitals as different from other types of hospital. Being sick is being sick and a lot of times I feel that some people just don't understand that feeling sick in the head can be just as bad if not more than being physically ill. Illness is illness and yes when I go on a mini vacay inside a hospital I'm trying to heal that which is considered broken not only by me but society. The only thing is, I disagree with the labels placed on me. I choose to view it as a time to get healthy, but if my doctor isn't working with me then how am I supposed to heal?
I've mentioned before that I really dislike psychiatrist who won't bother to listen to me about my experience with my mental condition. They pop me into a bipolar box and put me on the medicine they think will get me back to 'normal'. It is frustrating especially when I already know I didn't have success with a particular medicine, the opposite in fact. Then as was the case with one of the doctors I faced on this trip inside yet another hospital this year, he simply couldn't figure out why I was so resistant to the medicines even though my blood work told him I was at therapeutic levels.
I've learned to live slightly above what he considers normal. He decided not to hear me. He also choose to listen to other people tell him who I was instead of letting me do it. I'm an authority on Stephanie Monique only. I can't say what it is like to be diagnosed bipolar for anyone else. If they find my story similar to their own journey with it, then yeah, this blog is doing it's job. Not to dismiss my doctor's education as a whole but I'm the one who has lived in my skin and adjusted to how my mind works over the last 19 years. I'm sad to say he was nothing more than an annoying man in my path to healing. I hate that what I've learned this year is that my none medicine way of viewing my health is coming to an end. I see the benefits outweigh the struggle of doing it on my own. It's help that my body is now shouting please and thank you for it.
What pisses me off most is that despite my resolve to take my medicine as prescribed I've taken numerous trips into the hospital this year. In other words bipolar has been kicking my ass instead of me controlling my condition. I opened the door to my spiritual side and found myself having not only a mid-life crisis but a crisis of faith as well. Trusting my Higher Power is a given, but what I hated learning more was that I have miscommunication issues with my Higher Power. It has humbled me to the point where I'm learning the hard-headed way to ask for more help, swallow my pride and accept help when offered as well.
I was in a unique position to be able to write a blog post while locked inside a mental hospital. I tried with beautiful failure to take advantage of the rare opportunity. The main things frowned upon while I'm living in a mental hospital are displays of anger, verbal & physical abuse, and sometimes just bouts of depression in general. I am encouraged to act normally and usually I have very little contact with the outside world so that I can focus on my health. Clearly in modern times these antiquated philosophies are falling away as new thought and new techniques are used when dealing with mental health. In other words as the human race evolves so does the approach to healing.
I grew up with Western medicine, doctors who think they're gods, especially psychiatrist and therapist. The thing that irritated me to no end is that the first portion of my hospitalization I was under the care of a man who refused to hear my voice and opinion no matter how loud I expressed myself. He declared my anger to be unfounded and a symptom that I was sick and only used the word of my now ex-roommate to determine that I needed to be civilly committed to the hospital. Another way of putting it, yet another asshole bent on dominating his patients instead of listening to them. Again no bedside manners but in addition to that he exhibited the worst kind of Dom behavior to and including forcing medication into my system that left me vulnerable to attack at night.
For me my creative, my Muse got locked up again while trying to have a little fun and help me and Simone out. I recognize now that I sometimes make a mountain out of a mole hill. I see the bigger picture with my tiny one story to tell side of the conversation. So here goes the reality check of living in a mental hospital for about 3 months. First my charges received at the end of 2015 are now working their way out. I've served 90 days of suspended driver's license and served 21 days in jail. I have new misdemeanor charges. Boo! I've returned to the status of homeless. Boo! I was living at the state hospital so I had a cot and 3 squares. It is what it is...
No I would not of picked a hospital to live in if I had a choice about where to house me. I feel like I've watched the world and decided it makes me cry. Like the Charm Farm song, 'the whole world is sick'. I think this is what Dave Chappelle meant when he ran away to Africa instead of signing a deal with Comedy Central for his show. I get some things, hate others and if I had a choice I wouldn't want to be in such a vulnerable position again.
I mean what is wrong with me? What did I do to earn this hell? The part that breaks my heart is to think that I'm alone in how I feel about my life. Every story I've ever heard that I took to heart and felt blessed about it not being my torment feels like a lie. It is almost impossible to face a new day with that as an option in my head. How do I wake up in such circumstances? Out of my hands for one. Divine path two. And something greater than little chicken me works even when I can't fathom how to be a part of it.
Now with the bulk of these issues in my rear view mirror I'm finally out of the hospital and getting back on my feet. I guess when I say I've been in the hospital some people think of mental hospitals as different from other types of hospital. Being sick is being sick and a lot of times I feel that some people just don't understand that feeling sick in the head can be just as bad if not more than being physically ill. Illness is illness and yes when I go on a mini vacay inside a hospital I'm trying to heal that which is considered broken not only by me but society. The only thing is, I disagree with the labels placed on me. I choose to view it as a time to get healthy, but if my doctor isn't working with me then how am I supposed to heal?
I've mentioned before that I really dislike psychiatrist who won't bother to listen to me about my experience with my mental condition. They pop me into a bipolar box and put me on the medicine they think will get me back to 'normal'. It is frustrating especially when I already know I didn't have success with a particular medicine, the opposite in fact. Then as was the case with one of the doctors I faced on this trip inside yet another hospital this year, he simply couldn't figure out why I was so resistant to the medicines even though my blood work told him I was at therapeutic levels.
I've learned to live slightly above what he considers normal. He decided not to hear me. He also choose to listen to other people tell him who I was instead of letting me do it. I'm an authority on Stephanie Monique only. I can't say what it is like to be diagnosed bipolar for anyone else. If they find my story similar to their own journey with it, then yeah, this blog is doing it's job. Not to dismiss my doctor's education as a whole but I'm the one who has lived in my skin and adjusted to how my mind works over the last 19 years. I'm sad to say he was nothing more than an annoying man in my path to healing. I hate that what I've learned this year is that my none medicine way of viewing my health is coming to an end. I see the benefits outweigh the struggle of doing it on my own. It's help that my body is now shouting please and thank you for it.
What pisses me off most is that despite my resolve to take my medicine as prescribed I've taken numerous trips into the hospital this year. In other words bipolar has been kicking my ass instead of me controlling my condition. I opened the door to my spiritual side and found myself having not only a mid-life crisis but a crisis of faith as well. Trusting my Higher Power is a given, but what I hated learning more was that I have miscommunication issues with my Higher Power. It has humbled me to the point where I'm learning the hard-headed way to ask for more help, swallow my pride and accept help when offered as well.
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