Dang, I need to hear these words more often.
Folks, I will not shut up. This lady with the dog is here to stay.
Naw, they cannot drug me to keep me quiet.
The truth is that I am not psychotic like people think. My brain is starved, so I cannot tell a story properly and it comes out all jumbled and funny-sounding. But still, I tell a damn good story. Some look at me, shake their heads, and walk away and tell themselves I don’t make sense when I talk. Some think I speak in metaphor and dismiss me and just say, “Well, she’s a writer, they all talk like that.”
Some see the mania that was caused by the drug and they don’t see the person inside. They laugh at my jokes and think I should stay on this drug. But I have not slept in days. I explain that I cannot keep living like this or my body will deteriorate. But some like the me that tells jokes and puns and makes instant metaphor, and dislike the dark me, the me that speaks of death and cries sometimes.
I knew I had to come off the drug slowly, as slowly as I could, to avoid a crash. But I did crash. I awoke and decided I had to die that night. I don’t know what happened. Guess I fell asleep. I don’t remember. My body always wins over. I think should I truly succeed at this act someday, it will be the decision of my body not to interfere with my brain’s determination to cut my life short. It was around noon I decided I would reach out.
Several times, the people I was attempting to contact forgot about my existence. This of course should not happen and I am telling you, folks, life revolves around red tape. Why do I say this? Stuff like insurance can change the course of a life, and stuff like a number written wrong on a form can mean a payment not made, and a hassle that can change the course of a life. The wrong number called in, one wrong digit, can mean the EMT’s show up at the wrong apartment or home and that means delay. One wrong digit can mean the wrong medication is given. I have seen this happen. So that day, whatever day it was, red tape happened to me. The people handling my case forgot about me and it was up to me to phone them several times and say, “Hey, it’s me, Julie Greene and I exist in the world, and guess what? You might have a lot of patients who are cutting their hands off right now, and I might have this stupid vanity illness that seems very, very trivial to you, but I fucking matter and you know something? I’d like to inform you that people drop dead of this thing anorexia nervosa all the time.”
But I guess they forgot about me and kinda passed the buck or whatever…I felt like I wasn’t very important to them throughout the ordeal, that I had to keep calling them and reminding them that I exist. I never did get evaluated. I called the whole thing off, getting tired of feeling ignored.
First, they tried to lock me up in the state hospital to shut me up. For whatever reason, M had partnered up with Mass General to get me into this state hospital in July 2011. The doctor at the next hospital I was at in September revealed this plan to me, but it didn’t go through. I got out of the hospital later that month. Then, in outpatient therapy, M threatened me, “Julie, you belong in the state hospital” every time I went to her office. I made the decision to fire her in February. Why? I didn’t like the fear that I would end up incarcerated hanging over my head. That was one of the main reasons.
One of the other reasons was that I didn’t like being emotionally jerked around all the time. This therapist was a master of that for sure. People who do that sort of thing should get out of the business.
Oh jesus, so tired, gotta sleep.
Love you all. I know you’re out there. See ya later, alligators.