On mental “health”

Guys ‘n’ gals ‘n’ everything in between or beyond: It’s not a secret that I am mentally different myself. This is why I want to make a stand for my points of view on this subject. As always, these are my thoughts. They are but one truth amongst 7.7 billions of them. If you don’t agree: great! 

So first things first: I have been diagnosed “episodes” of depression, later Bipolarity, also suspected personality disorders, of which one was rather distinct, the other, latter one, unspecified. What I want to make clear though, is that you get these kind of diagnoses only when visiting a psychiatrist. Neither does this mean I actually AM these clinical terms, nor does it mean that anybody who hasn’t ever had contact to a psychiatrist is mentally immaculate. They still just lack a piece of paper that states their insanity.

So I have been depressed for at least 25 years. I am constantly depressed, but that might not even show or be obvious to the beholder. My depressions therefore vary from very light to very extreme. From my twenties or so onwards, also episodes of enlightenment, of mania would show up, where I’d be awake for hours on end, doing all sorts of stuff, being overall very productive and happy.

In my mid to later teens I would experiment with self harming, I liked and I still like that very much (from time to time), one time in my twenties, I would, in sheer despair cut my left wrist open, bled the sink heavily, panicked, mended the wounds myself and then went to work the next day as if nothing had happened. It’s one of my weirdest memories and one of many of my suicide attempts.

Anyways, this and some testing lead to the personality-disorder-diagnoses.

So I am different. I have learned to cope with all this on my own, because, seriously, I don’t trust physicians from the bottom of my heart. And I surely don’t trust Corporations dealing with chemicals, even more so.

To me, inappropriateness, not being mainstream, just being different is a huge problem in society. It does not necessarily mean that oneself is a problem, personally I just have big issues coping with society, with capitalism, with hypocrisy and civilization. I don’t think that is insane by nature, although it drives me insane.

What has been incredibly helpful to me, and this is basically why I am writing this, is learning of other people who think the same way. To read their thoughts, books, listen to their music, watching their art – or just conversing with them. 

Writer-wise probably the most influential person to me was Hermann Burger and his great book “tractatus logico suicidalis”, but also Jean Améry, Paul Celan, Linnéa Myhre, of course, Janet Frame and many, many more. Music-wise my goddess of all times will always be Anna Varnay Cantodea. 

I digress. In social studies, for example regarding people with disabilities, who are called the “impeded” in German, it was observed, that these people are less ‘impeded’ intrinsically out of themselves, but rather how society deals with them: with impediment. In Philosophy the only reason why you are not a pancake, is because it isn’t consensus, because it isn’t common sense. And in Democracy a majority is supposed to rule, a mega therion, a leviathan, that doesn’t even exist, that is more of a construct, than reality.

So if you are a minority, if you are different, it comes naturally in our society that you will be discriminated against, that you will be casted out, you’re out-group.

What I want to emphasize is that if you don’t work, and I use ‘work’ in all it’s meanings, if you suffer from not applying to what is deemed being natural, if you are confused by all the imperatives advertisement industry puts upon you, if you therefore suffer, you are mentally sick. It’s just obvious that something must be wrong with you, because you don’t fit into the box and you deny doing the same shit as everybody else.

But, good news, there IS a cure! Even better: cures, remedies!

What pisses me off most of all, is that these cures happen to cure symptoms, not causes. Although, I need to make clear, that this is a generalization. This does for example not entirely apply, if you are, say schizophrenic. It’s a well understood affliction that can be avoided with corresponding pills. The question is, why is the person suffering or is he suffering at all? Hearing voices or seeing things was a “gift” in days of old, epilepsy was a divine gift and so on.

So a lot of how we deal with all these afflictions derives from our culture, that’s what I want to say. I also want to make absolutely clear that you need to do what suits you best. I for example don’t take pills to treat my depression, because that’s my identity, that’s who I am. I don’t know who I would be without my depressions, and this is a terrifying thought to me. If pills or psychiatrist-hopping help you out: great!

I am reading a lot of books of either affected people or physicians, I am very interested in articles on the subject of depression. I deem myself to be an expert on the subject, I feel empowered by that, although I know I am not omniscient at all.

But what pisses me off is the mainstream attitude and what is being distributed in media. First of all, it’s all about Papagenoism. In mainstream media, only what transports a picture like: You are sick, but if you talk to the right people and swallow the right pills, you will understand how stupid Depression is, and how insane it is to kill oneself!” is okay to be printed. That’s THE only opinion acceptable. At least in Germany. Again, if it helps you: fine!

I said to a friend lately: “At least we depressive people DO actually think twice or thrice.”

But there is way more beyond this bullshit. First of all, it’s everybody’s right to take ones own life. It’s yours, yours alone, not anybody else’s. Even our supreme court in Germany ruled so, although politicians, slave merchants of the 21st century on behalf of corporations, don’t act accordingly. Why would they, they are making a shitload of money off of other peoples backs.

From what I have learned, finding the one chemical that helps you is an odyssey. I tried that again and again myself, but neither would I get better, on the contrary, I would suffer from the side effects. What helps me, because I am an expert on my own body, is Sativa strain Cannabis, Kwazulu at best. But that’s illegal in Germany. It’s a very dangerous, heavy soft-drug. Don’t do drugs! Your employer will dislike it.

When back in Germany after being an expat for five years, I tried to visit a psychiatrist because of my sleeplessness. That was fun. So first of all, this one to all those Papageno-fucktards, it was impossible to get an appointment. It’s because we don’t have enough psychiatrist in Germany and the the health care system is rotten to the core. After having to wait 2 months, which is close to a best-case scenario by german standards, I had my appointment. I was prepared, had all the important papers with me, diagnoses, etc. Two minutes into the appointment, the regular anamnesis, the psychiatrist asked me if I was a drug user. Blue eyed as I am, I told him about my casual use of cannabis, whenever I can get a hold on it – because it’s forbidden and by the way approved therapy is impossible to get, also because my former psychiatrist in the other country I lived before wouldn’t care, not even the psychiatrists in the psychiatric hospital I was forcefully being hospitalized in my early twenties would; and because it’s of utter importance to be honest at all times, but especially when it comes to reciprocal effects in chemicals – that dumb fuck immediately said: I don’t treat drug-addicts. Go get rid of your “drug problem” and then you may return. I went berserk, verbally. You know, I just waited two months for nothing and that flying fuck would even be paid by the insurance I was paying for on my own – for THIS.

Last time in my life I will ever talk to a psychiatrist in Germany again.

Since we already opened this box: The story behind my hospitalization is a great one, too and one of the biggest traumas in my life. So in my early twenties, I was coaxed, bended, talked into and made to study. I wanted to get trained in something else. Anyways, of course what I would have wanted to study was not okay, because bullshit in the eyes of my family, I had to study something in economics. I am a retard regarding maths. So, after weeks and months of mind bending efforts of my family I gave in. I shouldn’t have done this. Anyways, I became very depressed, suicidal, and because one of the very reasons why I am insane is my family, I wouldn’t talk to them. My mother would get in touch with my girlfriend back then (which wasn’t the best, but first relationship I had), which made her go even more bonkers about me.

To cut a long story short, one evening, I was completely unaware of anything, lying depressed in my bed, hadn’t eaten for days, slept up to 36 hours at a time, my doorbell rang. So I was living in a Souterrain Apartement, with barred windows, to convince burglars go somewhere else. It was a pretty safe place. The only problem was a locked door, leading to the cellar of my landlord. I couldn’t open it, but I suppose the landlord could’ve, if he had wanted to.

So the doorbell rang, blue lights flickering though the shades of my windows. I was a little curious at first, looked through a crack in the shades to see what the fuck was going on. My phone rang all the time all days long, by the way, my family eagerly wanted to get in touch with me to corrupt me, so I didn’t even hear this anymore.

Outside, there was a commotion of pigs, my mother and some ambulance. Now I was in full panic mode. Like big time. If you have ever in your life felt some rush of bone crushing anxiety, being pumped full to the brim with adrenaline, you know how I felt that moment.

This went on and on, people knocking, ringing the bell, I could hear them talk outside, some pig would use a flashlight to try to make out what’s going on inside the apartment, to no avail because the shades were down. So I was in fright-mode. For minutes. I would hide, I would keep quiet.

At some point I was really fucked up and felt like the fox in the den. I feared that the next thing happening would be the pigs entering my apartment through aforementioned cellar door. So when I noticed that everybody outside was away from the door, gathering around the corner in front of one of the windows, leaving an exit-route exposed, I put on my pants, no shoes on, knife in the pocket for self-harming, and sped out of the door like the smoked out fox. So I was in flight-mode.

I hear my mother SCREAM my name, not the first time she did that, but this one I will never forget in my life. I ran onto the street, nobody in my way, I was heading for the near forest to hide and cut myself, thinking I made it, then, bam!

From my right hand side, a pig, like in american football bodychecked me with all his momentum into a parked car. He broke my arm, the car had a serious indentation, and now I was in fight mode, finally. Apparently this is common practice in pigging, that one pig hides and blocks off exit routes, just in case. Didn’t know it until then. So the pig, and the other pigs arriving, worked me down, I was getting really aggressive, because you know, my arm was broken and I had to fight two pigs, those cowards, I was handcuffed and, in the same, broken arm, injected 7mg of Haloperidol by one of the emergency doctors. Now, I am afraid of syringes. I went berzerk. Effect. One more dose of 7mg Haloperidol, same arm.

Arms cuffed to the back I was fixated to a stretcher and put into the Ambulance.

Now if you ever, in your life got Haloperidol intravenous, you know what was up next. So I was like hovering inside a cotton ball, totally calm, although enraged. This is one of the worst drugs I know. I heard the pigs argue about their idea of me being “on drugs”, because they smelled weed in the apartment. I had been using incense, btw, but pigs are dumb as fuck, needless to say. This turned out to be even more stupid of the pigs later. I heard everything, but was immobilized und unable to react. I was laughing without any feeling into myself.

So they tried to deliver me to a psychiatric hospital. But because the pigs were constantly like: he’s most likely intoxicated, every hospital they called would answer, sorry, we absolutely can’t deal with that! He might even OD! We don’t have the personnel to keep an eye on him all night long.

I was, completely mute laughing my ass off.

So they had to drive me around for like seventy kilometers until I finally could be delivered to a university hospital. In fucking sane.

In the hospital I was lying fixated in the hallway for hours, on my broken arm, it was delicious. Finally someone would unfix me and my arm was being treated. That late night I had to go through anamnesis, wasted by the Haloperidol.

Next day, of course I had serious cramps, because of the drug. Just awesome. And the stay there was just obnoxious, but maybe more of that at some other point.

So this is what can happen to you if you’re depressed. It was traumatizing.

This is the one side of the coin, leading to me being anti-pills.

The other is that I am, for a fact, a trained social worker with some nursing training. During my training I did an internship in a psychiatric hospital, and so I learned how they run things on that side. First of all, I would talk to the delinquents. Big mistake. “Don’t do that! Else they might think this was some sort of holidays, here!” I would talk to them anyway, especially if they had something on their minds, willing to talk. What the fuck. In Germany, and probably other places, too, nurses are being told to keep a distance, especially mentally and socially to the patient, as not to get involved into their problems. Well…

I saw some female pharmaceutics trader working the doctors while doing an “internship” there. Some presents here, some there, constantly dogging the physicians. Awesome.

And the, of course, lots of the treatment I would have received, patients getting knocked out with pills, the only treatment at all being pills and more pills. This is why I said, in some story of mine: In Psychiatry you are not being helped, otherwise generally or temporarily “useless” people are converted into markets for pharmaceutical industry.

And In my jobs later on I observed more of the same. People would just be treated with pills. As if pills changed the world. And if the “problems” wouldn’t vanish, it must be an issue with the dose, so let’s increase the dose. If this doesn’t work, next pill and repeat. People look like fat, swollen meth-heads or heroin addicts after years and years of that approach. But for as long as the stock holders are happy, this is the way to go.

So, seriously, I despise Scientology, but regarding Psychiatry, we’re going d’accord.

I am still depressed, but I learned to live with that. I don’t need anyone to tell me that I am insane, I know that very well. But I also know that society is making people sick.

For more than two years now, I haven’t been working any more. I was getting so frustrated about how things are working out for people in need, and I have been working in the health care system in two countries for almost twenty years. I couldn’t cope any more. So I just stopped that. Because I know, that people like me, even if they think they were doing something good or useful, even if they do their best every single day – in the end they keep a rotten system from collapsing. This is why I stopped supporting that.

I know I am lucky, privileged, financially and intellectually independent enough to do this. But you know what? Lots of my anxieties and depressive thoughts vanished into thin air, once I quit. I had a serious breakdown some one and a half years after this, leading me into homelessness, but I can cope with that (I have already been homeless before). I don’t expect anything from life any more. I just want to live in peace. And die. In dignity. I will never again in my entire life, support this society any more or any longer. That’s my conclusion.

I want to pronounce all my best wishes to anyone out there who suffers from mental “health” out there. Eventually, you will find something that suits you. And that’s the only important thing. Claim as much happiness for you as you can. Don’t let yourself be grinded to death for psychopathic, capitalist Assholes!

Regards, A.N.E.

Veröffentlicht von Agimar N. Edelgranberget

I am insane.

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