Monthly Archives: October 2015

Writey Write Write

Need to write. Bones tell me. Or maybe the nerves. Or maybe my arteries? Probably not the brain though, that guy’s a jerk.

I’m coming off a manic episode. I probably spent more money than needed. But given that the notion was coupled with the fact I now have a job and that I haven’t had a job for a while. I’m eager to return to some sort of routine. I didn’t spend TOO much. I’m ok. I actually resisted making larger purchases and reasoned out smaller ones. Such as an $8 book versus a $100 game. Or that other $100 game. Though… that other one I COULD get discounts…. Haha.

But I’m good. My wonderful girlfriend seemed to experience something similar and it was amusing. I’m glad she is who she is. There’s still something about her that brings about those pesky butterflies. And beyond that she has shown she’s ready to fight for me. Also welcoming. Just amusing she had something of similar disposition.

Anyway. I got to be up early, but my tired eyes don’t seem too bothered at the prospect of deliberating and writing. My body does feel some weird aches and pains though. That’s unfortunate.

Updates. Updates. I still need to do that thing where I write about being in jail. That’d be good.

OH. Saved a dog from the street on the way to church Sunday. He’s a cute fella. His family tracked me down tonight and they were reunited. Which is good because my neighbor was a b-word regarding the thing. People. Sometimes. I don’t get them.

But I’m glad I got a special lady right now I do get. (At least I hope) And she seems to get me (at least I hope). My education seems to be on the track to delayeds-ville, but maybe that’s ok for right now. One step at a time. It’s really good how good I have been. Just the small things and my outlook are that much greater. I can’t recall feeling this good. I honestly can’t. That’s amazing right? And I will hit a low soon as my cycle goes. And you know what? I got this. My girlfriend helps and let’s face it, my meds are actually working. My lows are not that bad. It’s just a mopey couple of days. I don’t contemplate Man and his fallacy and transform that into why I don’t deserve life. Instead it’s, “man, I’d really like to get around to finishing that book.” Or at best (worst) “I wish I could have finished school. That I didn’t mess it up when I had all that scholarship”.

But that. That is nowhere near the pressure I felt in my lows this past decade. Doesn’t even touch it. Instead I find myself daydreaming more often. What tomorrow might bring. What exciting future lies before me. Even if it takes a while to finish my degree. Or whatever. I’m not getting myself worked up about it. I’m my own person. And damn it, I deserve to be. I can do what makes me happy. And I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. This is what I’ve been fighting for. I have it. I still want more, that’s the way isn’t it? But I have what I need. That’s all that matters.

That’s a lot of vague things I suppose. But I’m content. What more is there to say?


Nights like this…

It’s evenings like this that make me realize why I have had so many troubled issues in the past. I’m not going to blame my mom here. I want that clear. It’s going to look a lot like that. Really, I just want to point out the trauma left from my dad’s accident and it how it relates to my mom’s structure (or lack thereof).

Those of you who know me, know my mom can explode. You also know that she takes everything to be the worst possible outcome. There does not exist any solution. There does not exist any mediation or any sort of middle ground from acceptable loss to life changing result. Every time she encounters a problem, she’s insistent that she’s going to jail. Or that she’s going to die. Or that my dad will die. Or that she’s going to lose her job. Or that she’s going to owe thousands upon thousands of dollars. There’s zero discussion. Absolutely no problem solving. It’s just “oh God we’re all going to die” at the slightest hint of any problem.

Now, that’s cleared up. I know that’s a big issue leftover from my father’s accident.

Anyway. I came home. I told my mom I had a pleasant night. She rested in her recliner for a bit. I’ve been in pain for several days and I asked her if she thought I should see a doctor sooner. We had already discussed seeing a doctor later in the week if the pain was persistent. I think I have esophagitis or an esophageal ulcer. So it’s hurting to just swallow my spit. She lay there for a bit. Then sat up, disengaging the recliner.

She started to scream at me about how I had no right to ask about seeing a doctor. She starts in on why she’s going to jail and how I won’t have a mother around. I’m completely lost at this point. I’m asking her to take a deep breath. She follows that up with how I’ve done nothing but make problems for her. That I’m a huge financial strain and that’s all it’s been since I’ve came home.

Now obviously that hurts to hear. I yell back. Immediately after, I take a more penitent tone, and ask her to calm down and use discussion voices. She refuses and starts off on a number of tirades. So I pretty much am hiding in my room. This has been a problem for as long as I can remember after my dad’s accident. She used to call me an accident. Or plead with God to fix me. She used to demand to know why God sent her a child like me. I would hear her saying those things. She said lots of things that hurt. She still does. It’s not ok. But she’s saying it because she’s never got a grasp on all that happened with my dad.

I have to consciously correct myself when I start plunging to the worst case scenario. I’ve grown up around it. It’s practically all I know. So I’m sure it’s much harder on her. But I really can’t take this. I’m trying very hard to withstand it. I don’t want to move out without making sure she’s going to be ok. But I also know I’m going to go through a lot of things that hurt so bad in my adolescence if I stay.

I pray for guidance. I pray for her to have some semblance of calm. But sometimes she just gets set off. I asked her to remain calm when I left to my room. I closed the door slowly and softly. She’s just stopped yelling and crying a minute ago. I might go check on her now. Hopefully that goes well.

But I mean. Growing up with all that. Having bipolar disorder. Is it any wonder I didn’t complete school? That I ran away? Or that I tried to commit suicide? I’m in a much better frame of mind now. And tonight is honestly the best I’ve ever handled a direct accusation about being the source of all of her problems. Maybe God’s watching out for the both of us. Maybe my girlfriend has just helped me gain perspective a lot on myself. I could list a lot of reasons. But it doesn’t really matter.

I just need to keep moving forward. And so does she. No matter how much she is stuck in the past. She’s my mom. I can’t sacrifice myself to help her, but I’ve still got to try.

A funny way to show it

It’s odd when I’m doing well. Everything falls into line. Instead of coming on here to rant and rave and detail something that happened. I talk to my girlfriend, my friends. I make plans. I go out.

As much as I want to write consistently, I don’t. I would love it. Maybe I’ll get the hang of it eventually. Interesting problem not writing caused though.

Yesterday a post went up. It was password protected and all that, but it is supposed to go live in the event of something like my untimely demise. Obviously. I’m still alive and well. Perhaps TOO alive. Obviously I got problems from it.

You know what though? Things are looking up even more. I just nailed a job I really wanted that I thought I missed out on. Considering I had a felony charge, it’s amazing I passed the background check (I sure as Hell didn’t when I applied to work at the other Target in town).

There’s a crap load of bad things happening really. But it’s all I can do to not get caught up in them. Focus on the positive. I got a job despite terrible odds. Also, my charges for the felony got dropped.

Ok, so I’ve kind of been waiting for this to happen so I would feel okay writing about it. I was concerned it might reflect poorly to write about it in anyway while the case was still ongoing. But now it’s been dismissed. Although now my potency in presentation will be lacking, let me try to dazzle you.

If you’re a reader (or a friend) you might know I had a suicide attempt back in April. I took a lot of pills. I apparently got way closer to death than I thought. I started to lose consciousness shortly after admission to the ER. I remember being handed a a drink and told to drink as much of it as I could, as fast as I could. It tasted like chalky chocolate (chalkolate?) milk. I then remember trying to say words, and only slurs were coming out. There was a rush of noise and discussion and activity. Then nothing I guess.

At some point my consciousness surfaces. I reach down and pull a urinary catheter, and the pain alerts me. I should clarify, I didn’t intend to pull it, it just happened and when it did happen, I was temporarily alarmed and alerted.

There’s shouting. A man is telling me to relax. There’s some sort of effort to reassure me of something. I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t think I’m doing anything. It should also be noted I was a point away from being considered in a coma on their scale (although, my research indicates the scale they used was inappropriate for the context).

Next thing I know. Pain. Everywhere. Screaming. Someone Angry. Feels like I just got tackled. As best I can tell someone is standing on me and thrust my face into the ground. I get terrified. I think I’m dying. In pain and minimal faculties to comprehend the situation.

And then I hear it. Like a bad dream I cannot forget.
“You deserve this! You did this to yourself!”

I tried so hard to cry out. I tried so hard to be heard. But my face was just pressed more and more into the floor and I felt like I was suffocating. Then. Nothing.

I woke up a couple more times because of the catheter thing (no idea why I kept doing that, it hurt). Eventually I briefly came to fully and my mom was on my left. The last thing I remembered surfaced and I tried very hard to whisper to my mom.

“Mom. I think someone assaulted me.”

She thought I was joking. She convinced me it was a bad dream. She said the doctors did say I fell out of bed though and that’s how I got my black eye. Can you see where this is going?

So I spend a couple more days recovering, go to an observation center voluntarily. Sleep most of the time I’m there, then I go home. I get back in touch with work and friends. Give some excuse to my leaders about being in the hospital. Tell only my closest friends the reality of the situation. I even wrote about it here some.

Still. I couldn’t get that odd memory out of my head. The really terrible dream I must have had.

Fast forward 3 months.

My mom is driving and she gets caught speeding. She gets pulled over. I kindly show my license to the officer and am ribbing my mom about speeding. I get asked to step outside of the car. If I have any weapons on me. I comply, and had no weapons.

I’m a little confused at this point. I get asked to empty my pockets and remove my watch. Now I know where this is going, but I have no idea why.

“Would you step over here with me sir?” The officer asks while leading me towards his car. “Want to tell me what happened the other day?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The other day, you punched and bit a cop.”
“No sir. I think you might have something mixed up”
“No, it’s you, I ran it right.”
“I really don’t know how”
“Well I’m going to have to take you in. Do you understand that?”
“I guess. I didn’t do anything though” (I’m sure he heard that a lot).

I put my hands behind my back. Got in the police car and took a ride to jail (More on that jail visit another time). The entire experience was frustrating. I was so certain it was a mistake and that something was going to clear up at any moment.

After I got out of jail, I got access to things such as the indictment. I was told about the police report.  I realized that it happened in the hospital and that encounter that was a very vivid and yet somehow cloudy dream was real. I was whipped out of bed after biting an off duty officer who for some reason was trying to restrain me and I had no control when I ended up biting him.

The summary of his police report indicated he was following procedure to restrain me. I would argue that he wasn’t if I managed to bite him. I can’t imagine I was very dexterous or sudden in my attempt to do so.  He interviewed no body. No one was listed as a witness. It was him writing up his own report and getting it signed off on. His report included a description of his visit to get his hand checked out because he was certain I broke it. The skin was not even broken and there was no visual bruising as informed by the doc he saw. I’m sorry, I really hate to insult people, but he also caused a huge issue for me. And I’m sorry that I hurt him, I am, but he didn’t handle it appropriately. He was wimp. I want to use a different and more derogatory word there, but maybe I have to good graces to avoid that.

So yeah. He was told nothing was wrong with his hand. So he filed assault on me. I want it clear, I didn’t even know there was ever an altercation.  I was the one who ended up with bruising, a black eye and head that hurt for days. OH, and get this. So the date of the incident report was sometime in April. They had footage of the incident. But didn’t request it. So it wasn’t in prosecutor’s possession. It was deleted 60 days following the incident. So let’s assume mid June. The indictment, that I had no idea was even coming to be a thing, was made sometiime early June. I never knew. No one told me and I had no reason to look for or follow up on.

Until the arrest. And you’ll recall, that was July 3rd. Well after the 60 day period that video would be held for. The officer and prosecution never sought the video. One can only wonder why. I couldn’t have access to it so long after the incident, so any evidence in my favor is now gone. It’s the fantastic police work here that makes me at least examine any criminal case.

We got my medical reports. Nothing about an incident where I fell. I think that should have been in there. Nor was there an explanation or an order for my restraints (also should have been in there). There is 2 pages in it that reference getting a CT scan. Why? “Acute head injury”. It’s not common practice to get a CT scan for an overdose. I needed one because I “fell” out of bed. But, there’s no mention of that fall anywhere in the medical records of my hospitalization. My mom was just told that I fell out of bed and they were concerned about a head injury.

Does this all click together in a very unique way for you? It does for me.

But you know. I’M the bad guy here. I also had to be turned down for jobs when I have a felony case pending. I’ve got evidence that happened. Wonderful. So it’s nice to have that dropped finally. Also I trust police a lot less (and I didn’t trust them much to begin with). I know there are some good officers out there, but from what I have pieced together, there was no reason for things to go that way.

Anyway. It’s behind me now. That officer can bite me (and then I’ll charge him). But I wanted to write for a bit, so since that’s over, I figured I could do it. Next time, I’ll write some about my actual night in jail. It’s not so interesting, but it did make me think some things.

Until then. Ya’ll keep your noses clean.