i talk. they ignore.

I FOUND MY MEGAPHONE!

Part I

Me waiting in ER:  The pen was to keep me from biting & chewing the inside of my mouth.

Entry One:  March 29, 2016; 

On Saturday, December 26, 2016, at 7:45 AM, I left my house for work. It was no different than any other time that I’ve left for work. I was bopping to my headphones & ready to pull my full shift, from 8 AM – 4 PM. I clocked on & went straight to work. I don’t remember much of the following three or four days.  For that you would have to ask my daughter, her finance, & a family friend. What I do remember is that I was fine when I got to work and 8:00 AM, and I was still fine at 10:00 AM, when my daughter and I spoke on the phone.

By 10:30 AM, when my daughter came to see me& bring me food stuffs, I had developed a rapid heart beat, an issue with breathing, and was feeling very anxious.

That is about all I can say right now because I need a minute…

Entry Two:  March 30, 2016; 

That’s when my daughter & her fiancé noticed that I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me as I was starting to panic.

I have social anxiety anyway, so panic attacks are like family to me. They come in hard & fast, make me think I need to fight, flight, or freeze, then slip away & pretend that nothing happened. You know, like family. I have a few other psychological “disorders,” according to therapists’ opinions (mine, too, as I know how to read the DSMs I-V[i]), so before jumping to conclusions. . .

My mind started racing, & I started believing that I felt like I had just snorted or “parachuted” (swallowed a substance -- usually a narcotic -- wrapped in something else, like tissue or a gel-cap) a $5 bump (line of narcotics). I didn’t want to think that way, but what else could I think? I had NOT, knowingly, or willingly ingested anything weird or remotely related to street drugs in over a decade.

Symptom:  Pupil Dilation & Petechiae Hemorrhaging[ii]

. . .  I tried assessing my symptoms, but my mind was racing. I couldn’t get my thoughts together. I kept trying to get my muscles to behave. You see. . .

. . . in October of 2003, I was diagnosed with Polymyalgia-Rheumatica[iii] (no relation to Fibromyalgia[iv], which I was diagnosed with last year – 2015). I also was told by doctors that I had hypothyroidism[v] many, many years ago. . .

. . .  I kept trying to control my muscles & assess whether or not I could, or even should, stay at work. I guess I thought I needed to stay. All I know is that I usually completed all my tasks on time, or shortly thereafter, but that day I was nearly 2 hours late clocking off. Like I stated earlier, my memory of the events of the day are sporadic, at best. No matter how hard I tried to deny it, the only obvious answer was that I was exposed to something toxic while on shift. That would mean I either came into physical contact with a substance by happenstance or I was drugged.

Just the thought frightened me. So, I then had all these thoughts, assessments, & now conspiracy theories going round in my head. All I could think was that I needed to get to the hospital. It was all I could do to sit still, so that wasn’t an option. I couldn’t eat. I even had to force myself to simply swallow water that was already in my mouth without gagging & choking on it. I couldn’t relax. None of my skills for relaxation were working, & my symptoms keep intensifying.

Around 9 PM, my symptoms were so great they were interfering with my breathing. I had my daughter’s fiancé take me to the ER at PeaceHealth Southwest Medical Center. I asked the ladies at the front desk if I could have a blood panel performed because I was certain I was poisoned, or something. While waiting, I asked if I could have a Crime Victims Form, & reception told me that they are not the police, so they are under no obligation to report a crime. They said that was up to me. Later, I asked the triage nurse & was told the same line.

I know I kept repeating that “all I do is smoke weed, & I don’t do drugs.” I know they heard my words, but no one was listening. I repetitively said, “I love food & sleep too much to do this to myself.” “I smoke weed. That’s all.” When the blood work came back, the doctor smirked, & said, “You definitely smoke weed. That is very apparent. You also have enough methamphetamine in your system to down a horse, in my opinion.” I started sobbing that “I don’t do drugs,” Someone had to do this to me,” I wouldn’t do it to myself!” “I just started a job that I love,” “Why would I ruin it?,” & “I am finally happy where I am at, so why would I do this to myself?”

Later still, at my release, I asked the doctor, Joshua J. Hurwitz, MD. , that treated me the same question about Crime Victims, & like a good robot, he regurgitated the same response, “We are not the police. We are under no obligation to report a crime. That is up to you.” I was in no condition to speak to anyone, & at the time the phone was frightening me for no logical reason, mind you. I couldn’t understand why no one was taking me seriously. I still don’t.

Me in ER:  I took A LOT of pictures (that was all I could focus on – called “tweaking” or “spinning”)

*AS ALWAYS:  Let Peace, Love, & Joy be yours. Blessed Be!

*Entry Three:  Coming relatively soon. This is a challenge.

---

[i] http://dsm.psychiatryonline.org/

[ii] http://www.mayoclinic.org/

[iii] http://www.mayoclinic.org/

[iv] http://www.mayoclinic.org/

[v] http://www.endocrineweb.com/

Ode To Maya Angelou

My soul dwells in a vessel
That traps it without a care.
Imprisonment is a choice.

My soul is a hummingbird,
Flitting about here & there.
Freedom is a choice.

My soul sings with purpose,
Sharing love everywhere
Enlightenment has a voice.

Many Minds, Many Colors, One Heart, One Love

In the chaos of this endless vision

I am ever present; diligent.

I am peace as the glass-like top of a lake.

I am love like that of the turbulent ocean.

I am joy like that of a spring fountain;

Excited, sparkling, & bubbling over.

I connect with you & you with me.

We radiate from inclusion

*just feelin' a bit sappy this morning

Compromise? I Think Not!

Bill Hicks once said (maybe a few times) that “when two or more people agree on an issue I form a line on the other side.” He also said, “I get a kick out of being the outsider constantly; it allows me to be creative.”

If I am to be free, I must stand up for what’s right no matter the cost. However, when I do the right thing, my life tends to get worse or I become more & more separated from people. Isolation is a scary place sometimes, but it’s a necessary emptiness to avoid having to do the right thing all the time. The struggle is, for me, very real. I wear headphones when I go to public places most of the time because I cannot listen to people being mean. When I see or hear injustices, great or small, I have this compulsion to speak up & take action. I am afraid that my actions of integrity will have terrible consequences for me, of course, but also for those involved. An atom bomb is useful for destroying its target, but the fallout is enormous. Since I cannot stand idly by, I isolate.

I have become very comfortable living alone, but that was forced on me as a child & again with an empty nest. One of the families that I lived with while growing up would ground me to my room, sometimes for a month at a time. A few of the other families that I lived with would leave for long periods of time, again, leaving me to fend for myself. Even my natural mother, who loved me the only way she knew how, left me with strangers. I pushed my children out of the nest with my ideologies, but some of that was their own quest for independence. So, living alone is familiar (I find it intriguing that the root word is family); it’s like an old friend. Although I can have a complete thought, use the phone, watch the tellie, & come & go as I please without interference from outside influences, I still miss people.

Therein lays the conundrum. If I believe Paul’s warning in his letter to the Romans, then I am not to conform to this worldly realm, but “. . . be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, & acceptable, & perfect, will of God” (Romans 12:2 KJV). Even though I have a strong desire to attach myself to other humans, my soul has always screamed louder. I’ve always known that I don’t fit in or belong anywhere, & I am discovering that my mind has only recently become my own. It wasn’t the renewing of my mind that needed to happen for me. It was/is a shedding of societal, religious, & cultural dogma. Mayhaps it’s a rose by another name?

I want to be connected, but every time I become part of a group, organization, church, & yes, even families, I feel like I am letting them chip away at my soul. In order to be accepted with any human cluster I must comply with their rules or unspoken expectations. It’s the “sit down & shut up,” or the “just smile & look pretty” mentality, & “I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees” (Euripides).  Conformity is not an option for me. When I tell people that I cannot kowtow, most respond with, “you can’t, or you won’t?” & “it’s a give & take, a compromise.” While the Oxford Dictionary defines “compromise” as “an agreement [sic] of a dispute that is reached by each side making concessions,” it also describes it as weakening or harming “by accepting standards that are lower than [sic] desired.” I simply cannot compromise my spirit.

“Never, never be afraid to do what is right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society’s punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

Bein' Green

Creating More Jesuses: Literally & Symbolically

in my opinion of the following sacred text passage, i think it stands to reason that "god" was conformed into the likeness of man (both literally & symbolically) to create more of himself (both literally & symbolically). it is my educated guess that there is a bloodline from christ & also the chosen "enlightened" ones. i'll park the text of which i speak below & let the reader cipher for him/herself:

"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that HE MIGHT BE THE FIRSTBORN AMONG MANY BRETHREN. MOREOVER WHO HE PREDESTINED, THESE HE ALSO CALLED; whom He called, these He also justified; and whom He justified, these He also glorified." ~Romans 8:28-30

do you see it? he will be the firstborn of his bloodline? then he will call the rest. . . ? to me, this means both DNA related AND those of us that have "simply" been "called," will be even MORE important? if not, it's okay. that's why "christians" say it's the "living" word, right? because it's meaning is in the heart of the reader? personally, i think both logically & with imaginations, so. . . . it stands to reason that he would spread his seed with his love, mary m. well i've "preached" enough, & i don't even proclaim to be a "christian" (he didn't say to worship him, only to follow his example--why would i, therefore name my club after him? isn't that the ULTIMATE form of worship?)! *gets off soapbox

Puddy's Waitin On A Friend

Neck Rubs & Whistles

Get Outta My Head Delta!

So UR Rastafarian, R U?

when self-proclaimed Rastafarians simply think the religion is about smoking weed & are accepting food stamps & welfare & school loans & anything from oppressive gov'ts., i wanna shake them & shoot them. having to educate others regarding their religions (of which i am not), is both exhausting & exhilarating (but mostly, i like rubbing their noses in their own shit!).

rastas do NOT believe in receiving any handouts from any gov't. they refuse to be slaves, which is what happens when you receive social services. they may have many women (queens) in their lifetimes, but they are loyal to the one they are with. they always support their children (no matter how many seeds they spread about--if you use your dick you'd better man up, dude).the weed smoking was the first step in the rasta anarchy; they refused the ban on weed as it's part of their religion & the ancient african medicines.

these men, like the native american warriors will fight & die for these causes (like not using nuclear power). where is the self-proclaimed rastas loyalties? will he lay down his life for his brothers, sisters, children? then, not a rasta, dude!

i agree with most of their philosophy, but it's not my religion. if you're gonna claim it, i think you should understand the magnitude