So, lately I haven’t been very active on my blog, for multiple reasons. First of all I am lacking inspiration. Everything seems pointless to me, I am empty and instead of oxygen, my blood carries hopelessness.
After having experienced another inappropriate meeting with a psychiatrist earlier this year, I vowed to never actively bring me into a situation like this ever again. Well, as always, I failed myself. Indecisiveness is some kind of dark force. The Process Church would maybe refer to the grey forces. Others Indifference.
I have been in a dark place for days, weeks, months, years even. My hope to find me some place out of society lies in ruins.
My mother would constantly annoy me, I would self harm more and more, slept rough when escalation was in the air, and I would frequent the railroads. I used to be walking around erratically, wouldn’t eat, killed time. And on top still are all those practical problems I fail to solve.
Finally I gave in. My mother managed to get me an appointment with a Psychiatrist. Went forward pretty quickly. I was contemplating about my deficits. Still am. The appointment went in the usual direction of “no hope at all” – I felt misunderstood – and she wouldn’t even prescribe me anything. Instead, what I got was a ticket for a ride in the mills of psychiatry.
Right now it’s my eleventh day in a psychiatric hospital. Since my violent first institutionalization, that has been traumatic to me this has always been a source of decompensation anxiety that kept me somewhat running the show and rendered me extremely reluctant to ever end up there again, I tried to avoid this.
This time it’s different. Although I am feeling very uncomfortable in here and feeling pressed all the time, it seems that I can still cope. The personnel is quite empathetic here, the doctors are, like anywhere else, quickly drawing to conclusions. Picture this; the very first session, the anamnesis: “Excuse me, but to me you look like the typical Borderliner who realized he cannot go on like that…”. Great. And, like ever so often: „The reason for your Depression is weed!“ Me: „No. It‘s not. I know weed very well. Besides I have been depressed 6 years before even starting with weed.“
Yet, there is a kernel of truth to this. Smoking weed on and off, especially excessively HAS destroyed a lot in my life. I must admit this before myself. And of course, problems start when you’re off the weed. Like an Alcoholic (although I don’t want to compare these two with one another, so let‘s rather speak of addiction in general), the worst part is to admit there is a problem. But, as always, it‘s more complex than simple exclamations like: it‘s the weed‘s fault.
The Head Psychiatrist is putting a lot of pressure on me, something I have problems coping with all my life. For example, I had to find three topics for the conversations with the Psychologist (who is also very relaxed and empathetic) and I would have no idea. Talking about myself is incredibly hard for me. Writing not so much, but doing the talking. My thoughts were revolving around this. I would write a list of my problems, which was growing larger and larger the more I thought about that, but that made deciding which were the most important ones an impossibility. I was really scared. I would come forward with this in the next meeting with the Head Psychiatrist, and again, he would put pressure on me. When I couldn’t deliver three, but dozens of topics, he said it needed to be three, because he’d like to see how I am thinking (that made me so angry, because, like three terms reveal how I am thinking…) I was given more time to ponder, more dread. In the end, a nurse would help me with that, which was a relief. Only that I somewhat am not happy with the actual outcome, simply because I am that fucked up. What we came up with was Communication, Self-awareness and Stress relieving / coping strategies. You know. Compared to my existential issues, this is cosmetics. Maybe it’s a start. I don’t know. My biggest issue is having to be alive.
Anyways, in the end, the Psychologist wouldn’t even bother. She was fine with general confusion. Completely pointless pressure.
Therapy started immediately, apparently I am off the label “bipolar”, I am back to Quetiapine and also got Venlafaxine prescribed, of which, until now I do not feel much of an effect at all.
The daily routine here annoys me. Either the days are packed or there’s nothing to be done at all. It’s exhausting. To be questioned all the time, to have to deliver, let alone all the questions roaming my mind day and night. One is being confronted with oneself almost all the time. Still, I don’t have no clue.
Secondly all the other patients are a constant source of irritation to me. It’s quite silent in here, though, and that’s good. At least I can retreat here, avoid the others.
I am reading a lot. First I finally managed to read Orwell’s “Animal Farm”. The introduction to it fucked me up, because it just spoilered what this book is about – like you don’t get the idea yourself. I’ll be cautious with introductions in the future (If you haven’t read the book and don’t want it’s message be spoiled, don’t read on now).Then again, I noticed that the revision of this book was a failure. I mean of course, the book deals with the October Revolution. That’s a no brainer. I don’t know whether Orwell did this on purpose, or if it just happened accidentally, but what I found most remarkable above anything else is what the book seemingly isn’t about. Or what it just scratches the surface of. While you read how the revolution fails, how Animal Farm fails, you should notice what the animals are left with. They’re back to the beginning. Feral Capitalism.
As in “1984”, Orwell manages to play delightfully with language and its power to corrupt. I think the timelessness of Orwells work is its biggest value. It’s easy to apply the book to China, albeit China is “Animal Farm” and “1984” on metamphetamine.
Anyways, what I concluded off the book is Lord Acton’s words: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”, nothing ever changes because of, well, humans and that’s, as well as the hidden critique of capitalism best described with Orwells concluding words: “The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again: but already it was impossible to say which was which.” Recommended.
Well, and then I read Lászlo F. Földényi’s masterpiece “Melancholy” – in german, of course, but there also exists an english translation. What this guy did is remarkable. In short: the book covers 2000 years of melancholy, its perception over time, its qualities and meanings, it’s just incredible. This book should be common knowledge. I was so impressed, I will now start with his latest, prized book of 2020, “Praise of Melancholy[me translating the title]”. I might write a separate article reviewing both of the books, because it cannot be done in a few words.
Back to my current situation. The food is hideous, I am smoking too much, I don’t sleep well, I am eating too little by common standards and way too much by my own. I feel restless, puzzled.
I have to explain myself all the time, something that’s extremely hard for me. Like: Why don’t you eat fruit? Why don’t you have breakfast, why, why, why. Why, because I just love to be questioned all the time, yikes.
Some of the therapy is quite nice, like Art Therapy where I started to make a skull from clay, the art therapist mentioned my „virtuosity“ and the richness of detail upon making the skull, it was such a ridiculous remark, I almost had to laugh. On the other hand, some of the therapies collide with each other, or the days are just so packed you cannot breathe. A fact that drives me nuts because what I really want to avoid is me to explode/implode. Organisation is none of the personnel’s qualities. So my days start with being stressed out. I hate that, especially because it‘s not my fault: it’s the structure around me. I would organize my day differently. I‘m getting too little sleep and cannot work against that. And I suppose industrious sleep deprivation is one of their goals.
One of my screening‘s result got lost and so I had to do it twice — and I‘m still lacking that insight.
Then there was this fucking barbecue. Because I am eating vegan here, this turned out to be a problem. You know, on my own I would fast/binge, the reason why I went vegan is that I don’t want to unnecessarily destroy the planet, and because the meals are part of the therapy and conflict is to be avoided. Turns out I am the only one thinking that way. The very nurse who filed me in made a useless fuss around this. When asked upon arrival what I wanted to eat I told her that ideally I‘d like to go vegan, if impossible — vegetarian. So she knew I am not a religious Vegan. Days later she took me aside asking what we should do with me regarding the BBQ. I wanted to avoid any confrontation and said that there needn’t be nothing done. There will be salads, that‘ll be fine. She would harass me for days, not changing anything. And, you know: I HATE PARTIES. I HATE TO BE THE CENTER OF ATTENTION. POINTLESS PARTYING, USELESS CELEBRATING, BEING AMONGST PEOPLE: fuck that. In the end, I was told that my regular meal would be kept, instead of all the other‘s whose were ordered off. Fine, I thought. On the afternoon of the BBQ she would harass me again, she bought vegan shit. F U, I thought. Let go I said, I was told I could have my regular meal. Pointless discussion, then I got it my way anyway. I was almost exploding. If they want me to self harm, they’re on the right track.
Another day they fucked up my working clothes, ordered them, sent them back and asked ME if I knew what was going on. Since that day I have to work on a therapeutic farm, which is extremely exhausting, but at least I can do my shit alone and on my own.
A Paper for the health insurance company was „shredded, because in the corresponding office they felt there was no need for that“. What? Wtf.
Germany resumed to practicing for Catastrophe in all of the country — first time after thirty years. Are we back there again, I thought. We fuckin‘ are, those Alarms will now take place every year to condition the Germans.
I really don’t know where this road leads. To me it’s kind of an experiment IF there can be done something. I don’t suppose so, but I also know the limits of myself. My horizon tends to be narrowed only by myself. I am an idiot, you know.
Currently my goals set are: Getting somewhat better. Finding myself. Maybe, for the first time in decades, develop some sort of happiness.
I constantly fear that this is not realistic.
What I definitely don’t want is returning into this society. Maybe I can develop powers unknown, grid, balls, whatever. Again. This is the rehabilitation system and I do have no place in Germany. I hate it. German society is rotten. Everything german is despicable. I don’t wanna be part of this ever again.
I am not sure if anything substantial will come off of this. I am lost within my thoughts, I don’t know who I am, I have accumulated problems all my life and then there is the horrible world outside of me that I simply don’t want to be part of, that I am fed up with. What actually needed to happen were a miracle. Miracles. I don’t believe in that. I don’t believe in myself. I am worried a lot.
To be continued… probably. Because this episode of me being there will most likely go on for weeks.
P.S.: Fun fact: First day, upon being shown my shared room, the nurse told me that that morning they had a bat flying through the rooms there. Omens?
I also came to some insights:
• The biggest and most important job in life is to sort oneself out. To know who you are, where you want to go, what your talents, i.e. your money printing skills are. I know none of that. To everybody younger than 18: you better start to sorting that out right away or you’ll be fucked up like me. You got to find your biological niche as soon as possible, to use terms of biology.
• There is a phenomenon previously unknown to me that I call kakaphemisms in Psychiatry: It’s the counterpart of an euphemism, for example pressure test refers to a weekend at home…
• And of course, there were those constant revelations related to L. F. Földényi‘s book that I already had had on my own, underlining my total redundancy on this planet. Like that I‘d need an Amnesia because there simply are notions, concepts and revelations that, once you experienced them, cannot be undone. In fact, I stated this during anamnesis: What I‘d need is an Amnesia.
• And to come to a concluding point: after talking to the nurse regarding the three topics, immediately after this, Nietzsche came to my mind: If you stare for too long into the abyss, the abyss might eventually stare back into you. So my thought was, to put it another way, especially regarding the occupation of a nurse: It‘s easier, though, to look out of the window, than standing in front of a mirror.
Regards, A.N.E., I hope this is kinda helpful for anybody.