My Habeas Corpus

Ok, so remember back when I mentioned how during the first breakdown I fell for this Australian guy named James? I often look back at that time and think it was a perfect storm that began with discord between my mom and I, dramatic food/workout changes and feeling intense romantic feelings. When everything began at that apartment with those two roommates, I was developing feelings for my assistant manager at work. Now, I think I mentioned the tension I felt because he kissed me and had a girlfriend and was my manager, but I didn't fully divulge how much I was affected by it all. Right before I was hospitalized, I was stuck in thought circles about Vinnie. And one night it went from a crush to sudden very deep emotions - the kind that, like with James, made me start to basically live from the world of fantasy briefly. It was all one bad evening, but I went down the rabbit hole and basically started imagining our wedding. I made a list of my bridesmaids, I started to write invita...

Another hospital stay I remember was especially terrible. They all were, but this one had more agony to it. I remember acutely feeling rock bottom. Not like suicidal or depression, but like end of the universe lostness and confusion without any idea how to climb out. This one was where I believe the meds they gave me were at odds with the chemistry within me.  I have never felt as scared, terrified, alone, and unprotected as I did when I was in the hospital. Anyone who says, it is better than being out of the hospital where you could hurt yourself or do something wild doesn't really understand what they are suggesting. They might think it's a time-out, a retreat, a safe place. I assure you, it is not safe.  Forcing someone to stay in a hospital against their will teaches someone that you are not safe, people are not safe, the world is not safe. Exerting physical force to put another person's body where they do not want to be can be a monstrous act. No matter how bene...

I was thinking about explaining a little more about the hospital. It's an unusual experience. There's an intake time where they take your clothes and make you sign forms. I think they say that in some cases when you cannot be responsible for yourself, it's recommended to write and Advanced Directive, which means your care is entrusted to another person who will have essentially power of attorney over you. The problem with this is that I didn't have someone who I trusted to do that. Docs always tried to push this stuff towards my parents and only release me into their care. It was always trading one hell for another (back then anyways). Once you're in the hospital, you wear a gown or scrubs and those little footy socks. The rooms are barren, much like a prison. It's set up so there is not way to harm yourself. At night there are checks every hour or so to make sure nothing is wrong. Sometimes there was a flashlight. There's basically a group of rooms with a...

Back in school there were great moments of discovering Alan Ginsberg, reading Marx, visiting the Keys, learning about the mental health struggles of Zelda Fitzgerald, being part of Winter with the Writers, passing a chemistry and stat class. It was rebuilt. I had roommates. There were two. we got a tree for Christmas. We had friends over. One met her future husband, watched Friends, talked about how tiring the teaching was. The other went on dates with nice Christian guys (the ones that never seemed to show any interest in me, but who I think I was supposed to like), read good books, planned a non-tv-centric living room. We visited Coral Gables. I was working, trying to finish college. We did the South Beach diet together. I was doing the diet and also running a lot. I've been a runner since I graduated high school. I never went far or fast, but I always go back to it. Well, I was running farther and more frequently. I was stressed with school I guess. I started developing feel...

Transitioning to working at Starbucks was a growing period in my life. I was adjusting to a new way of life. I wasn't in school for a few months, I was processing sadness, confusion, new meds, and a loss of friends, but I was working. Knowing I could work again after two firings and two times dropping out of school was such as relief. I could make money. I could hope to take care of myself. I could imagine the possibility of not being stuck at my parents. I woke up at 4:45 am, had espresso and went to work. I worked with some really kind people. My identity was changing. I wasn't showing up as the straight A student who thought she had her shit together and was just making summer cash. I was there trying to survive, pushing through the daze of what felt like a difficult and somewhat unappealing existence and just following the training I was given. The structure and culture at my work then worked well. The manager was my favorite manager I have ever worked for. He was a s...

Today was a particularly brutal day at work. I am in pain, feeling weak and exhausted from a recent dental procedure. There was an awful conversation that really made me feel like I was on the ropes. I hate that feeling, kinda vulnerable, not treated the way I like to be. That level of weakness really cuts deep. Beyond all that, I suppose is still the ever present memory and struggle of managing my mental health, emotions, stability. Always striving to maintain that evenness, that keel that I'd say comes more naturally for other people. Between my waves of passion - which I have full measures of - there is a calm eye of the storm that I know I have to live in. But sometimes that eye seems so small, and the storm of life surrounding me feels so so big. Practically speaking, I have doctor's appointments I have to schedule into my life, my day, my time. I have medicine I have to pick up. I have prescription appointments every 3 months. I have counseling appointments I schedule...

For parts of this story I've thought through over and over, I don't like telling it as much. It's just facts I am unleashing from me brain. I want to move forward, but I will get this out. Um, well, I have always loved singing. Really really loved it. I sing in church most Sundays. A few weeks after my attempt, I was trying to sing and my voice would hurt, feel like a tiny guitar pic was like poking in my vocal chords or something. It seemed like certain notes. And it felt kinda hoarse, and just like catching, so I couldn't create whole round sounding notes. maybe like something inside was choking my singing voice. So we went to a doctor to evaluate it. My mom did haul me to an awful lot of appointments those days. Anyway, this guy stuck a camera up my nose and down the back of my throat. I think he might've looked down my throat too. I think he was an ENT. He found scar tissue he thought was causing the problem. The scar tissue was from when I was intubated follo...