suitably*wounded< Picture THE Tony Montana Quote Here >
November 6th 2006 05:21
You know which one, but now it is with even more length!
The name is Rhoda and I want to share her with you today because she gave me fits last night, kinda like what happens whenever the bitch shows up. So, sit back and be horrified at the tale of a fateful (ongoing) trip.
You see, back when I had the 'psychotic break' in July, Rhoda seemed to be the mastermind behind the assault. I'm woefully pathetic at describing the event(s), but let's just say that it was a cross between a panic attack on every drug in the universe and a depression that would even take the wind out of the sails of Ghandi, MLK, Mother Teresa and the annoyingly morning person encountered in offices across the globe.
I'd never experienced anything like that and, up until that point, I thought my circumstances couldn't get any worse. Ha! Like asking Britney Spears if life is better after K-Fed. Anyway, that's when I went in for my third vacation at the psych hospital of my choice. And I highly recommend to others to pick somewhere else because their food was absolutely unidentifiable. Remind me to tell you some dark and stormy night about the omelets made of Nerf sponge and Cheese Whiz.
They (the undead called health care professionals) couldn't grok what I told them by way of explanation. But hell, in their defense, no one else, including me for the largest part, cannot grasp the concept beyond putting it in the same categories that I've already mentioned. No people, it 'taint those. All else is Child's Play, just like Chucky.
What is it then? Thank you for politely asking. I guess the best I can provide is using a fear of death as a model to go by. Most folks are yanno, except the permanently suicidal (or rather, it's the exception for me) and for this to scare the living piss out of me took, well, a contact with the unknown to the height of horror previously unplumbed. The despair that followed made my eternal bleakness eat its dust. Kind of like when black isn't dark enough. I almost couldn't even hang (haha, not like that) through the night simply to make it until the doctor made a pronouncement the next morning. Of course, I couldn't do anything about it anyway, but you understand.
When my savior arrived, he prescribed more of what I'd been on but went off of when I moved to Dallas. I'd thought that was a good idea ( ::: snerk ::: ) because they'd seemed to not be really helping all that much and when the divorce would be final between Jaceson and I, no way could I afford the cost of one of my medications (Lamictal at around $280 a month) on a waitress' salary. Yeah, I was a bit presumptuous all the way around.
In the interim of here and there, my basic quality of life ( ::: more snerking ::: ) improved but this shit remained and tenaciously too. Plus, when it full regalia a la' Liberace, there ain't no way, no how to get Satan back in the box. And I try so hard to think outside of it. I can't tell when she's coming on nor what breaks the spell and makes her leave. The only thing at my disposal to combat the occasional deluge is to try and ignore it. Weak, I know, but any relief is definitely a means to a sustainable end. Because I can't kill myself for fear of THAT being on the other side. Plus Jaceson warns me off with a coffin burial and even though I don't believe in an afterlife, I still don't want to deal with claustrophobia forever.
In conclusion (I hear y'all cheering out there), you may wish to know why her name is Rhoda. Well, she is a Bad Seed if I've ever encountered one, either in real life (I'm looking at you mother), scary movies (4 was pretty bad) or in the reality of your favorites straight out of the Crime Library.
Unfortunately, I'm sure she'll be around some more and I'll again drive you nuts (ah, crazy person humor) with her evilness. Until then, pleasant dreams you guys and arm yourselves with tons and tons of garlic. I've got the stake all ready.
Peaces and thanks for my loyal few (waves at Bryn, my Nakama and Jaceson) who follow along. The rest who choose anonymity, I am grateful to you too. As well, I can offer you my witness protection program (expert funny nose and moustache -- the remainder is a closely guarded secret) to facilitate less embarrassment for haunting this desolate wasteland.
~Kemi
The name is Rhoda and I want to share her with you today because she gave me fits last night, kinda like what happens whenever the bitch shows up. So, sit back and be horrified at the tale of a fateful (ongoing) trip.
You see, back when I had the 'psychotic break' in July, Rhoda seemed to be the mastermind behind the assault. I'm woefully pathetic at describing the event(s), but let's just say that it was a cross between a panic attack on every drug in the universe and a depression that would even take the wind out of the sails of Ghandi, MLK, Mother Teresa and the annoyingly morning person encountered in offices across the globe.
I'd never experienced anything like that and, up until that point, I thought my circumstances couldn't get any worse. Ha! Like asking Britney Spears if life is better after K-Fed. Anyway, that's when I went in for my third vacation at the psych hospital of my choice. And I highly recommend to others to pick somewhere else because their food was absolutely unidentifiable. Remind me to tell you some dark and stormy night about the omelets made of Nerf sponge and Cheese Whiz.
They (the undead called health care professionals) couldn't grok what I told them by way of explanation. But hell, in their defense, no one else, including me for the largest part, cannot grasp the concept beyond putting it in the same categories that I've already mentioned. No people, it 'taint those. All else is Child's Play, just like Chucky.
What is it then? Thank you for politely asking. I guess the best I can provide is using a fear of death as a model to go by. Most folks are yanno, except the permanently suicidal (or rather, it's the exception for me) and for this to scare the living piss out of me took, well, a contact with the unknown to the height of horror previously unplumbed. The despair that followed made my eternal bleakness eat its dust. Kind of like when black isn't dark enough. I almost couldn't even hang (haha, not like that) through the night simply to make it until the doctor made a pronouncement the next morning. Of course, I couldn't do anything about it anyway, but you understand.
When my savior arrived, he prescribed more of what I'd been on but went off of when I moved to Dallas. I'd thought that was a good idea ( ::: snerk ::: ) because they'd seemed to not be really helping all that much and when the divorce would be final between Jaceson and I, no way could I afford the cost of one of my medications (Lamictal at around $280 a month) on a waitress' salary. Yeah, I was a bit presumptuous all the way around.
In the interim of here and there, my basic quality of life ( ::: more snerking ::: ) improved but this shit remained and tenaciously too. Plus, when it full regalia a la' Liberace, there ain't no way, no how to get Satan back in the box. And I try so hard to think outside of it. I can't tell when she's coming on nor what breaks the spell and makes her leave. The only thing at my disposal to combat the occasional deluge is to try and ignore it. Weak, I know, but any relief is definitely a means to a sustainable end. Because I can't kill myself for fear of THAT being on the other side. Plus Jaceson warns me off with a coffin burial and even though I don't believe in an afterlife, I still don't want to deal with claustrophobia forever.
In conclusion (I hear y'all cheering out there), you may wish to know why her name is Rhoda. Well, she is a Bad Seed if I've ever encountered one, either in real life (I'm looking at you mother), scary movies (4 was pretty bad) or in the reality of your favorites straight out of the Crime Library.
Unfortunately, I'm sure she'll be around some more and I'll again drive you nuts (ah, crazy person humor) with her evilness. Until then, pleasant dreams you guys and arm yourselves with tons and tons of garlic. I've got the stake all ready.
Peaces and thanks for my loyal few (waves at Bryn, my Nakama and Jaceson) who follow along. The rest who choose anonymity, I am grateful to you too. As well, I can offer you my witness protection program (expert funny nose and moustache -- the remainder is a closely guarded secret) to facilitate less embarrassment for haunting this desolate wasteland.
~Kemi
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Comment by suitably*wounded
Eternal Days; Author: Illness, M.
Comment by Bryn
Horrorphile
Comment by Anonymous
Comment by suitably*wounded
Eternal Days; Author: Illness, M.
The psychiatrists are another matter entirely. Some do care to the extinct of their limited (15 minutes anyone?) involvement and their ability (meme ahead!) to think outside the box. You are certainly right on the money about preconceived diagnoses being the order of the day and what follows that, this medication or that, is usually not much more than an apathetic educated guess. Sometimes I feel they might be more accurate and efficient just opening an edition of the APA and swirling their fingers while their eyes are closed.
You nailed all of this. Thanks for giving me another chance to rant. =)
Comment by Bryn
Horrorphile
"Say hello to my lil' friend ..." I'm assuming ....
Or perhaps it's "Yay-yo" ... lol