Sense of Surreality

It seems to me the great debate is between a sense of entitlement versus a right to life. As if to say, it's okay to treat people like a slave as long as they don't know it. I had this epiphany while on yet another mini vacay. Which makes how many this year? Something important is changing in my life and my choices lie between mid-life crisis and crisis of faith. The only thing I can say for sure is that I am in crisis and have been for the last 365 days as far as I can tell. Not to harp on psyche doctors again, but I'm sick and tired of being put in a box, labeled bipolar and then told that only this medicine will work because they're the doctor and I'm the patient.

Being a mental patient has a lot of harsh half truths surrounding it. It's a business filled with making assumptions based on patient history. Apparently there's no proper way to study a brain while it is in use except going back to the basics. If you want to know someone's thoughts ask them. The problem I have with the way the system currently works is that it seems the right hand has no idea what the left hand is up to let alone doing. For example, Certified Nursing Assistants and Nurses have a better idea of what is going on with the patients instead of the Doctors. In modern times the contact ratio is left on the shoulders of if I'm being honest about the position, glorified janitors.

I'm of the school 'thank your nurses' when you're hospitalized because they tend to know way more than your doctors about how you're doing day to day. Your doctor has lots of patients and may not have the time to get to know you while at the same time he/she is trying to heal you. My problem is being pushed to take medicines that I know I've had a bad reaction with in the past. What pisses me off is when a doctor refuses to listen to me that a medicine doesn't really work for me. This can happen for a few reasons and the number one being bad information from my family or friends.

Not to just continue the previous post by harping on the medical industry again, but it's a business where you can feel like a slave instead of a human being. When I hate my job or let my hatred of I don't know, but let my actions be dictated until that's what I do and say then I'm miserable. In my humble opinion this is the nature of my mental illness. The things I hate become the Hater Hates in my head instead of the that which I love. They tend to extend the hatred into other areas of my life and they're a persistent buzz day to day.

I try to compartmentalize, shift things around and focus my energy on better endeavors. I try to ignore the negative voices that get so loud all I can do is scream and sing along with Heavy Metal lyrics that I know by heart. When I'm full blown manic I can't communicate on the most basic level human being to human being. IE I find it hard to open my mouth and just admit how I feel. What's going on? I don't always know. I get trapped inside my head with no way out except the life saving medications that I trust to unlock my mental prison. By the time I realize I'm in a hospital I'm usually able to help again, but it seems to me that the previous miscommunications keep the doctor at bay with the bad information.

Once I'm able to help in my treatment my mask is gone. All that I do to fit in, to consider myself sane I'm told was for not. I'm lost on the end of the sidewalk with a long walk back through the insanity. No matter how many times I call foul I'm still stuck in the molasses with no kayak and no paddle. I guess that's why there's the saying the proof is in the pudding. Well honey I feel stuck in the Jello Pudding pop and I'm pretty sure that's not a stick up my ass either.

Locked In To Keep Them Locked Out...

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.

Dreams vs. Reality vs. Fantasy: Defining My Boundary Lines

I was listening to The Eminem Show when this blog post’s inspiration hit me. So if you’re a fan of Mr. Marshall Mathers you are aware that his body of artwork is extensive and includes songs like Stan, The Way I Am, Square Dance, and at the time of this writing I was enjoying Superman. His music is go-to tickle juice for my Muse and for my writing. This post is going to speak to how I use music to write and  give a glimpse inside my art making  process.

First, I have a lot of tools in my writing toolbox. My favorite is what society defines as a Bipolar mindset. The problems with this way of thinking are that Bipolar Condition (Mental Illness) can either be considered a blessing or a punishment/curse from my Higher Power. I also have the bad habit of smoking, cigarettes for the most part and marijuana. Weed and my psych meds disagree, so at the moment no green smoky treats for moi. I use other fiction writing authors and self-help books on obtaining better mental health as the majority of my current reading materials. And of course there is Coffee & Music, the other addictions I claim.

What my latest manic episode has taught me is that I have to do some pre-planning to tap into the gift from the universe that being bipolar allows for my life. If not, I get off schedule, out of sync with the world as a whole. Time becomes a fictional concept in my world. I believe anyone can do this just lose track of a clock. Unplug the ones in your room. Want to travel back in time? Remember any event from your past. Want to connect with Father Time again? Check the current time/date. There you go, how I mentally time travel. Most people I know just go to sleep to dream or label this daydreaming/fantasizing.

If you’ll remember from the following post I once upon a time in my life met with the band Type-O-Negative. Reality says, they have met a lot of fans over the years and couldn't possibly keep track of them all. In my mind they remember meeting me. It was that special of an event to me that if they don’t recall our real world encounter, well, my ego would hurt a bit. It is a great story that I still share today (tweaked as needed for the audience).

That’s thing about meeting a bonafide celebrity face to face. I’m a long time fangirl and I’m shy when these chance meetings occur. I can claim a semi-famous woman as a long time fellow artist. We were roommates in my late 20s and speak via the phone regularly. So I pimp, er, yeah PIMP my buddies as part of the ‘good to know ya package’ that comes with our friendship. Check her out, Jennie Breeden, creator of the webcomic The Devil’s Panties. I also know Mr. Jaz McKay, the long time power voice of 1560am KNZR. As my personal Howard Stern to my Robin Quivers, our viewpoints often agree to disagree which is what I admire most about him.

That brings me back to listening to Slim Shady. I’ve never actually met Eminem other than listening to his music. For me listening to someone I admire as much as I do, well, I hear something personal in their lyrics. The song Stan suggests for Eminem having and interacting with fans can be hard and taken personally. I hear a love letter meant for me when listening to most of his music. I feel special, connected, can relate, despite the fact that the real world has proven Marshall Mathers creates his art about the people in his life. Reality: he has no idea who I am; he’s never heard of Stephanie Monique, I’m “not even on his radar”. That is the beauty of great artwork for me. I can find something in it to inspire me. It speaks to me on a soul level. The song becomes a serenade of Goddess’s will working in my life.

This is what I love about letting that which I treasure be my religion. I gain something unique and meant for me by listening to music, watching TV, reading books, enjoying the artwork of others. I imagine that this is something everyone else could experience as well. When pain is something I need to tap into to create, my musical playlist changes. Personally, it is my challenge to remember to do as Depeche Mode suggests and take a walk in someone else’s shoes. Doing this helps to ignite my creative, setting my imagination on fire. Then I work to channel that into my own  artwork which I share with the world in blog form at the moment. One day soon I hope to share with an actual physical product, um, er, uh like a published book or two...

In the meantime I use writing as therapy and a way to help me do that tough, often daunting self-work necessary to keep it moving forward. I check the clock and connect back into this big beautiful world around me. I share my writing with the hopes that anyone dealing with directly and/or indirectly with the same and/or similar issues gains some insight that helps them to deal with their own challenges.

This is not to say that I am perfect, I freely admit I make mistakes. I also prefer to say I have no regrets. Uh, you went to jail for 3 weeks last year isn’t that a regret? Nope, mistakes I made played out in yet another weird way for my life. I’m not a celebrity yet, so I don’t have to worry about the whole planet knowing what I do. I do care about what the people in my life circle, my friends, family and community, think about my actions. I can say this because I trust that the reason for my recent incarceration was necessary for my life.

Through a belief in a Higher Power, I’ve gained this knowledge by living each day. Also I have a willingness to face the next one. There is a life lesson to be learned in how these events will play out. At this time, I’m cursing my Goddess out and doing a lot of self-care while I wait and see the results. I’m once again turning this Bipolar Experience into a blessing instead of letting it be a punishment for the crimes I committed. I'm facing a judge without the aid of a Johnnie Cochran. Remember my black ass is broke, poor, so I've got to leave my fate in the hands of a public defender. My lawyer is doing her best which is all I can ask of her. I thank Goddess daily that I’ve learned to take something potentially painful in my life and remove the power it has over me.

When Conversations With Tweety Bird Become Too Real

Differences make me well different, unique. A quick and easy explanation of this fact of my reality is I live with a white male who happens to claim being a republican. I myself cannot hide the fact that I am a black, female (most days bitchy), and bipolar. I can hide but choose not to hide the fact that I am a bastard (my parents never married). A lot of my personal labels happen to start with the letter ‘B’. This is significant to me because duality plays a powerful role in my life and the letter ‘B’ is the second letter of the alphabet.

Things associated with being black are poverty, the ‘N’ word, slavery, chicken, spicy foods, well this list is long. Most are just stereotypes that I personally try to disprove as a personal challenge. For the sake of my household and this blog I’ll do my comparison of American culture between myself and my roommate. Basically my roommate and I get along for the same reason my mother and I got along. We debate instead of fight for the most part.

Normally this is great for me and works for him, until Bipolar took over my life for the last six months or so. I spent some of this time in a mental hospital by choice as I realized I was approaching mania (an episode). I truly believed that I could prevent a full blown manic episode. As usual, that was not reality for myself or the people in my life circle.

My current living situation made this particular manic episode unique and better for the most part though. Once again I got a lot of insight into who Stephanie Monique is as a person, a good person for the most part. Though as having manic episodes proved once again, there was another step to learn. I’m not always as honest with myself as I’d like to be.

The dividing line between reality, my thinking, and the way I interpreted the events are my own perspective. When I let myself compare reality with the other people in my life like my roommate, I’m disappointed to learn I did not practice the actions I truly believed I was performing at that time. I’m surprised at their answers to my questions of what did I do? What did I say? I’m humiliated and left feeling exposed and vulnerable by their responses to what I believe happened. It is always different from what I thought.

My most recent full blown manic episode didn’t end until I’d spent 3 weeks in jail, November 21, 2015 until December 10, 2015. A question was posed by what I consider to be a very good friend. “Could she have done anything to prevent me from going to jail?” I’m sitting on this question for the moment, but I’ll revisit it during this writing session. As I said the episode started about six months ago.

At the start of this particular episode I finally addressed some of my bigger issues that I’d been ignoring like finishing the rewrites for Forced to Change. My fiction writer is Simone Lisbon. So I’ll shove off the creative writer aspect of my personality to Simone. She has a few blog posts to write and books to work on. For me, Stephanie Monique the biggest advantage gained by accepting my diagnosis of bipolar is when my brain does tap into the creative, my Muse is unlocked and I find myself productive with writing in general. Simone is fueled with her endeavors to write and receives a great deal of inspiration. I’ve spent the time trying to separate these two thinking patterns of my brain as they relate to me.

The mental condition of bipolar (another duality in my life) is documented among creative types of personalities. Jim Carey, Robin Williams, Carrie Fisher, Linda Hamilton, Edgar Allen Poe, Patty Duke, etc. I personally write from two different directions. I use the phrase ‘creative editing’ to explain away basically what I consider lying, so that Stephanie Monique explains my non-fiction side while Simone Lisbon tells the fictional version. I use both blogs to tell as much of the life side (my real life as I remember it) versions of my personal truth.

Armed with what I learned about myself and how bipolar plays a role in my life, I have to answer ‘No’ to my friend’s question. There was nothing she could have done to prevent my incarceration in the Lane County Jail system. It was meant to be. I trust my faith in my Higher Power that I experience what I do for a reason. I just don’t always get to know why Goddess thinks it is necessary at the time.

This is not a self-defeating behavior I can control. It’s the part of ‘mania’ that I did everything in my power to control and failed. My roommate did everything in his power to help me and he also failed. I was destine to go to jail. I passed go at over 100 miles an hour, I did not collect 200 dollars but instead incurred over 2,000 dollars worth of charges along with the status of felon on my record.

So despite my higher education at Michigan State University or the myriad of jobs that makes for a stellar work history I am once again, a bad applicant when it comes to traditional job hunting. No one or thing could have prevented it. The irony is that I learned two minutes made all the difference according to my roommate. He’d set in motion the events that would have landed my sweet black ass back in a mental hospital instead of a jail cell, but because I drove away from the house two minutes prior to his help arriving at our home I went to jail instead.

These events have yet to finish playing out. I have new charges to face, the state of Oregon has a record of my actions, and there is a judge in my future who will determine the results. My diagnosis is Bipolar and yes, I took my medication as prescribed, but because I eventually stopped sleeping and was unable to express the problem, I drove away from the house where I was living two minutes before I could be taken into custody by mental health providers.

I can say what happened next except my lawyer suggests that I don’t for the moment as she works on providing my mental illness condition as a line of defense in my pending case. It doesn’t really matter what I have to say now. My brain was thinking one thing while my body was doing another. Am I responsible for what happened next? Sure. I can say with hindsight what two minutes could have done to change what happened next. The problem is none of it matters right now. Hopefully it will matter tomorrow or at least by the time I’m headed into court to face it in my current reality.

No One Deserves To Die For My Belief System

Jesus Christ already died for it. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. already died for it. Treyvon Martin Already died for it. And as of today, McKayla Dyer, 8 years old died for my belief system. They all gave their lives and reinforced the need for me to change my thinking towards a world of Peace.

I’ve been working on this problem my entire life. How do I, one little person bring about WORLD PEACE in my lifetime? First, I accepted that I am considered crazy for wanting this as my overall life goal. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 1996. Why? Because I believe this is a possible goal. I believe with my whole heart that WORLD PEACE can and should BE achieved in MY lifetime.

When I first said it, I was told it was impossible to do. I keep being told it is an impossible job, in the meantime I continue working on the problem. I accept that most people believe it’s a crazy idea. What I discovered is I’m not the only one who gets to believe it is possible. Why? As far as I know, 18.2% of the US population is considered mental ill too. That’s nearly one in five Americans. I’ve had plenty of conversations with other mentally ill individuals and we’re all saying the same thing, just in our own unique ways.

The biggest problem I’ve had up until this point is one of greed. It’s the sin I kept committing in relation to this idea. I kept trying to figure out a way to make money off of it. As long as I do that I won’t be able to make my idea come true. So, steal this idea. Please, I’m begging you. Make it your own. Then tell it to the next person and let them steal this idea from you. Or borrow the concept of WORLD PEACE in YOUR lifetime and then share it with the next person. 

This idea was a gift from my Goddess to me. It is the same gift every soul on the planet is given the day they were born. It’s why I believe you were born to change the world too. This idea won’t be accomplished by one little person. It will take the entire World Population believing it is possible to pull off for it to happen.

It starts with one person. Some people believe that person was JESUS CHRIST. For me it starts with the person who is willing to live with their sins and the sins of others. For my belief system it starts with the person who will sacrifice their body, mind, and soul to prove their love of everyone by living, instead of dying. That person I’m labeling the ANTI-CHRIST. I’ve survived every person’s sin forced on me. I’m a person who is willing to keep living my life this way. I’m an ANTI-CHRIST. Are you one too?

My Relationship With Goddess, Feel Free To Form Your Own

What I’ve realize recently is this, I have a very personal, deep rooted relationship with God. I’ve had it all my life. This is not unique to me. It is true of every single being in the universe. What I know is not everyone calls this God. Some just consider it Self, some say Budda, Allah, the dog next door, the thing they’re addicted to, whatever a person calls It, It is real.

The first time another person forced their will on me, my connection to Goddess was inprisoned. It was locked behind a mental block, a wall was erected in my mind and God hung out beyond me, locked away inside that mental jail. As I grew up, made mistakes, was tested and had failures in my life, experienced pain, the bars, locks, and walls got stronger, bigger, overwhelming.

Reinforced cycles of abuse from my parents kept placing fear blocks on my mind. My mother’s fears of rape and pregnancy were transferred to me. I managed to avoid both. My bio dad’s fear of the white man, was not. I saw his fear and decided to figure out what it was he found so damn threating about them. I dated a white cop in college to punch that one home for myself. Good guy, turns out he’s bipolar too. We’re still friends today.

The mind is the only true domain of every being on this planet. Despite some people’s belief that they can read another person’s mind, it has yet to be proven to me. I find it interesting that the man considered the smartest on the planet is basically only a brain in a broken body. Stephen Hawking’s ability to think is charted as exceptional. He can be quoted as saying, “Life would be tragic if it weren’t funny.”

For me having a manic episode is like breaking through a lot of the blocks and locks on my mind. I have a deep understanding of myself, that I can only explain as God’s will working in my life. The problem is when my thinking hits the magical possibility level and basic laws of many human experiences disappear. Also add to that, I feel so wonderful I want to share with everyone around me. In my younger days I tried to force my perspective on others. In other words, I was doing to another person exactly what was done to me to put me in my mental prison in the first place.

What I know today is that my bipolar diagnosis was a major lock on my mind. For the first time in my life I didn’t trust my brain. I was told it was broken, sick. I was told by people I loved and who loved me not to trust myself. I was informed by people with a piece of paper and some letters on it received after an education that they knew better than I did about how my brain worked. I was told to trust doctors in general, and here stood a group of them telling me I was mentally ill.

What I believe to be true today is when I was first diagnosed, I had no understanding of what was happening to me. What I learned by having full blown manic episodes every once in a while over the last 19 years is that they are spiritual in nature for me. What I believe to be true about having them is that it was the only way for me to learn how to trust myself and my connection to God. I had a full blown manic episode last month and I checked myself into the hospital for the third time. I feel this was my last full blown manic episode, because I believe I finally have the answer to why I was having them in the first place.

Each fear I developed fell away and I saw the person I could be without misinformation and mistrust of myself. I see the divine plan of my life as put forth for me by my God. I once joked about a resident I had in my personal care home days that had every meal with her Jesus Christ. Not my or your JC, her son of God. What is funny about that now to me is she was correct. It was her relationship with what she called God. Just as this is my relationship with what I call Goddess most days.

My post mostly written while manic ‘How To Be A Better You’ was my way of saying that I believe you’d be a lot happier with yourself if you could trust your own relationship with your own Higher Power. I mention in the post that you were born to change the world. I believe we were all born to change the world and that we forget this fact through living. Yet, I know I can't say what is right for you, only you can do that.

I am a spiritual being having a human experience so I’m bound to make mistakes. For me, I feel part of my journey is trying to explain this in a way that makes sense to others. But as I’ve said from my very first manic episode, “When I stop making sense, please let me know.”