I woke up and began reading a book I’d ordered online. I think I may need to go back to paper. I use to have Nook until someone gave me a Kindle for my birthday. The Kindle could be a great tool and opportunity to have all your books in one space if it were not for all of its distractions.
When I first open my Kindle, it had tons of ads. I’m easily distracted and impulsive. Not to mention, they are pitching to me with all of my search history and buying behaviors. I love books, I would buy all the books if I could afford it. So it’s not stretch of the imagination when I tell you sometimes I go to read and end up looking for more books to not read.
Knowing that I’m impulsive and easily distracted I try to remove the ads. Kindle insults the person who gave me the Kindle by informing me it was bought at some discount, so I’ll need to pay an additional $15 to remove the ads. I do. That’s been years ago, the ads are back, I can’t remember if they ever left honestly. Maybe it’s something I need to investigate, if I don’t get distracted.
I said all this to say, I keep trying to read and I’d been beating myself up because I used to read often. Now I’m binge-watching Sherlock Holmes. I’m also looking for other shows to binge watch because I’m in the 5th season of Sherlock Holmes. I need something to escape in when it is over. I should probably research if the show was cancelled or if there will be other episodes. If I don’t get distracted.
I love a good rabbit hole. One of my friends nicknamed me the Queen of Non Sequitur. I’m going to name a collection of poetry this. I know tons of random facts I don’t know how I know, but when researched are true. The way my brain works, I can make all kinds of weird analogies. Another friend says this ability to break things down by analogy would make me a great preacher. Yeah, Jesus did that with his parables and you see what that got him, I digress. Also, I love digressing.
Anyhow, I started reading at 4am or so. It’s about 6:30 am or so. I’ve finished an entire book. This is the old me I remember. The me who read ferociously. I liked reading so much I read a book on speed reading, so I could read more… And then one day I just stopped reading. I’ve stopped writing and reading, except for the occasional poem.
I wouldn’t say I have writer’s block. You actually have to attempt to write to get blocked. I like had no interest in writing any more. After promising readers a second book. After releasing and withdrawing a book on religion, or my experience with religion. I’m back on that, the book about religion. I’m also working on my first comic with a beautiful friend.
When I was younger I wanted to write a comic. I put together an entire world with characters. A friend of mine edited comics and wrote for a black comic in Atlanta. For days I was into it and then one day I didn’t care. I’m weird like that… I have a lot of huge ideas but no drive to complete things and that’s my biggest failure.
I’m full of ideas. I’m also full of shit. I’d like to have less shit in my life which brings me back to my original promise to talk about my mental health.
I think they got my meds right. Mental health in America is so challenging. One, there are only like 10 psychiatrists for the whole population. Eight of them, no, seven of them are capitalist. One of them hasn’t realized they could make so much more if they stop taking insurance. One of them is too lazy to get into the billing, they just one to come to work and let someone else worry about that. They don’t want the responsibility of their own business.
The last one, well, they actually became a psychiatrist to figure out their own mental health issues… Some of the capitalist did this too, but they don’t care why you’re crazy. The tenth one is altruistic. They don’t need all the money. They’re ok making $500,000 a year.
At the end of the day, none of this matters because they are all booked and you’re playing Russian Roulette with mental health diagnoses and literal mind altering drugs. If you lack self awareness, are incapable of communicating, don’t do your own research and don’t have any mental health goals things are about to get bad fast.
On top of all this, depending on where you are in the country, how are you going to pay for this? What’s also important to mention, and I didn’t even know this until I actually worked in mental health, you should be getting labs every three months when you start mental health medicines. There are tons of side effects, weight gain, nightmares, hallucinations, diabetes, insomnia, exhaustion, suicidal ideation, suicide and heart disease. Not to mention, taking a lot of meds do a number on your kidneys so stay hydrated.
I’ve been on and off meds since maybe my late twenties. So that means it’s taken about 16 years to get medication that actually works. I was trying to explain to a friend why I stopped taking my meds so often once I was clear something wasn’t right.
There are a lot of barriers for getting your meds… The main one being your mental health. I am still not sure what day it is and these meds are actually working. I am still losing track of time. I’m writing a lot in these 15 mins though and I’m excited about that. I’m thinking clear right now.
Let me also mention. One of my greatest fears was that I’d get on meds and become someone else. Like, I’m super creative and I love the way my mind works… most times. I like that I can usually see the silver lining. I like that I’m slow to respond… and process. I like that I’m always thinking about people in layers. Like a first impression isn’t really true for me. I actually don’t know who people are no matter how they act the first time. If they are generally rude I stay away but I observe them curiously from that distance.
I know everyone has a story. I know, most people are not horrible to the core. Some of my favorite people are meanies, who turn out to be sweeties. I literally love people. I love to make them laugh. I love to hear about their lives. It’s like no matter where you come from people have all struggled with something. Some of the happiest people I know have been through so much. Which reminds me to prioritize joy and focus on the things that make me happy.
Anyway, where did I go before I digressed. I was explaining the barriers to taking meds being mental health. There are no social workers for adults unless you attempt to or kill someone, or survive killing yourself. People who ask for help aren’t a priority. So the way our society is set up in America, we just put out fires… We ignore people trying to give us their matches. Sometimes, we ignore there is an issue and pour gasoline on their dreams so they have nothing to lose.
I never knew I had mental health issues. I wasn’t comparing myself to other people. I knew that I was extremely lonely because my parents worked and the rest of my family was thousands of miles away. I was pretty responsible even though I didn’t want to be alive. I went to school without being told, I did homework without being told. I understood it would be bad if I didn’t graduate high school and I was bored at home, so I asked to go to summer school two years in a row so I wouldn’t have to take math during the year.
I was quiet in some classes. I wanted to fit in with cooler kids. I loved to make jokes and laugh. I use to imagine I was somewhere else, someone one else with a family where we hung out and did things together. I never wanted to be an athlete. This really bothered my mom. I didn’t like doing anything that required me to stand up in front of people.
I liked taking the late bus with all the kids who were in clubs, detention or who played sports. I loved the library. I liked being on the campus when it was almost empty, planning. I joined clubs. I’ve always had a lot of ideas. I’ve always thought I could make the world a better place. I still believe I can and maybe I’ve figured out how. That’s a different story for a different day.
A couple of years ago now, I checked myself into a hospital. My life was spiraling out of control. I was doing everything I could to hold on. I’ve never been able to keep a job. Between not knowing what day it is, struggling to get started, being easily distracted and losing track of time my attendance was terrible.
At the same time, I’m a workaholic. I excel at jobs where I’m given autonomy and specific responsibilities. I am meticulous in my organization. I’m early on deadlines. I’m passionate about my work and I’m always open to help others. I recently realized not to get jobs where I need to clock in. I need a job where I have a general expectation of which I should be there. For instance, if everyone should be in by 8:30 am, because I’m easily distracted I’ll probably be there around 6:30 am. I need to get situated, go over my tasks for the day, track my own progress.
Over the years, I’ve learned my shortcomings and make a lot of allowances for myself. One of the things I know, I’m easily distracted. If possible, I like to work with headphones on. Most times there isn’t any music on, just the feeling of something blocking the sounds around me helps to keep me focused. I’ve learned to set boundaries and ask for deadlines.
Most importantly, I’ve learned to ask what is the priority. I prioritize based on what is the most difficult. I like to start that project first and work on it early in the morning. Then put easier tasks toward the end of my day when there are more people in the office and more interruptions. With my last manager, I learned to keep a list of tasks.
I’ve always had a horrible memory. In fact, my memory is so bad I sometimes forget what I’m saying mid-sentence. And I’m like, how did I get here, what is the question again… If I’m interrupted, I don’t even remember my train of thought. I tell myself, if it’s important I will remember and this is true, sometimes.
After I started therapy in my twenties, I learned I had to allow the other person to talk. ADD IN THE HOUSE!!! I mean I didn’t realize I was cutting folks off. I also learned how to listen attentively, which means being present and not thinking about what you are going to say next. So when it’s your turn to talk you don’t have anything to say… And this makes people think you are listening too… I’m literally reading a book on validating people’s feelings, so I can teach myself this habit.
I’m always trying to improve and be a better person. I want to be my most authentic self, which is a foreign concept for Black Americans. Due to racism, we are required to wear masks. Culturally, we communicate and behave different. So you have to learn white standards and follow them even when white people do not. Me, I’m setting my own standards that are rooted in me being the best version of myself. So I’m embracing my grandmother’s dialect and remixing it with the King’s English.
So when I was diagnosed as Bipolar 2, I accepted it. I researched it. I took my meds… Until I had a bit of a break down and drove into oncoming traffic and then up a ramp to get off the freeway. At that point, I didn’t want to kill myself but all of a sudden it felt like everyone I ever loved had passed. Like I had an awesome job, a great place to live, I’d lost more weight than I ever imagined, my spirit was good, I was dating, I was the slimmest I’d ever been in my life and I wanted to die.
I drove to a restaurant after I exited the freeway the wrong way with people cursing at me and endangering everyone’s lives… I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for hours. I was afraid to go home. I was afraid of what I might do to myself. When I finally came out of the bathroom stall, my eyes and skin were beet red. I was exhausted. I was anxious about walking out of the restroom I’d been in for I don’t know how long. My face was wet from crying. My head was hurting and I was embarassed to call anyone. I didn’t even know what was wrong.
I’d started a business, on top of working full time, I had money in the bank, my apartment was beautiful and I actually liked the way I looked for the first time in life. Then, I didn’t know a side effect of the meds I was on was suicide.
I cleaned my face, went home and went to sleep. I was so out of it, I left my lunch bag and purse in the car, in plain view. I just wanted to make it upstairs. I took a long shower before passing out. The next morning, I got up like clockwork. Made breakfast and realized I didn’t have my meds, I’d left them in the car. I didn’t feel like going to the car and getting them. I told myself I’d take them when I got to work. I didn’t. They sat in the hot car all day.
Meanwhile, I was off focus. I took something for my moods and another something to deal with my ADD. Internally, I don’t notice that I’m different. People ask me if I’m ok. I’m super quiet and daydreaming. I’m thinking about how horrible I felt yesterday emotionally. Between calling clients I call my psychiatrist’s office. He only works three days a week. If it isn’t an emergency they’ll set me an appointment standby next week. Can I get there?
I love routines. I have a strict one. Monday through Friday, and I don’t work a traditional week, my Monday is maybe Tuesday. I work every Saturday, but I don’t care, I don’t have children or a partner. Plus, Saturday’s are chill and slow. There are only a few of us there and no supervisors. Then, I use to fantacise about every work daying being like Saturdays.
Back to my routine. Every morning I get up at the same time. I have a good large no carb breakfast. I take all my meds. I make my lunch from leftovers. I chop up some fruit and give myself snacks. I put one diet soda. I pack my gym back. Then I shower, get dressed and go to work. After work, I go to the gym. After the gym, if I need anything from the grocery store I do that. If it’s Monday or Wednesday I cook enough food for a couple of days of dinners and lunches. Every Sunday I go to church and then out to brunch with my best friend Kevin. If we aren’t too tired we go shopping.
On Sundays, after shopping and hanging with Kevin I come home and do laundry. Make a pretty big dinner that will only last a day. I make sides. I have a friend I work with and I pack him a lunch too.
Within this routine, I call my grandmother a few times a week. Usually when I’m grocery shopping. She thinks I’m using her to get recipes, but really I don’t initially know what to talk to her about. There are a lot of years between. I’ve learned in therapy, people have different concerns at different ages.
My grandmother gives me advice. She loves to laugh. I put her on speaker phone while I’m cooking and let her tell me everything going on in the family. I’m gay, an only child with no siblings and I live in a city where I have no family. So, I’m always out of the loop. When my mother calls every other month, she’s amazed by how well I am informed.
It isn’t until years later and my grandmother is literally dying, does she realize how often we talked. I also talk to my grandmother’s sister, Theatta. I realize there is a whole world going on between them. I ask my grandmother strange questions that tickle her. “What was her best friend’s name in high school?”
My grandmother doesn’t like to discuss the past. Still, I push. Sometimes, she’d imagine another world on the phone. Tell me about working for this or that white man. Every February for as long as I can remember, black and white footage of Black people being beaten and hosed in the south is aired. Talking to my grandmother, I realize this was her life. She tells me how heartbroken she was after they killed Kennedy and King. Now, I’m realizing she never discussed Malcolm X. I’m remembering how afraid she was Obama would be assassinated. I was proud she lived to see a Black man become president after being born and living during post slave law for a good part of her life.
I finally remember to take my meds, because even though I didn’t physically feel anything before, I’m having withdrawals. However the meds have been in my hot car and I’m too stupid to know I shouldn’t take them. I do. I’m sicker than I’ve ever been. I vomit. My head hurts and the withdrawals continue. I call the doctor, but it’s still not an emergency. By this time, it’s a weekend. The following day is Sunday.
I don’t go to church. I don’t go to work for days and when I finally do, I’m a mess. I don’t go to my psychiatrist appointment because all I can do to hold it together is go to work and come home and sleep. I’m detoxing from the meds. It’s so painful. Then I didn’t know, I already suffered from anxiety and PTSD. The meds working their way out of my system cause my nerve endings to burn. It feels like I’m being electrocuted without warning.
I never go back to the doctor. I never get a refill. I stop taking the meds. I get fired. And I can’t afford health insurance, help or shit, even my life.
Even Deities Evolve 