Daily Archives: July 19, 2013

Thank you!

Typing and wondering
Who will find my poem?
It makes me feel less alone
In life I am bored
Dying to be heard
I want to connect
With friends I elect
I’d rather not settle
With people who mettle
I’m sick of lies
All of the whys
When I write it feels right
Like someone has turned on the light
All of the likes
Inside it ignites
Feelings of gratitude
A change in my attitude
I am done being rude
I am here to be true
To find someone new
New friends, fewer ends
People I can relate to
They write too
They understand
They span across the land
Thank you for reading
It gives my life meaning


Feel your pain
Do not blame
Pain is there to feel
To help you heal
To identify
And ask why
It is your guide
Open up wide
Let it all in
You’ll see a grin
When you feel it all
There is no more wall
Feelings will pour
Unlike before
You can’t be sure
What you’ll know
It can take some time to show
When you find a cause
You’ll want to pause
Address the issue
Grab a tissue
Let it all out
Don’t pout
No need to shout
Don’t go without
We need to feel
It is all that is real

God vs. “god”

What do I mean why I say “god” – I’m not referring to a Christian version of God. I’m no Christian. I’m not an atheist either – nor would I would label myself agnostic. I believe in something – I’m just not sure what that something is. It could be an energy, a multitude of different gods, or it could be a collective force – all that is and ever will be. I believe in reincarnation – though that got me into some trouble. I believe in karma – but I don’t think I deserved hell on earth. I believe in energy and the law of attraction. I believe good things come to good people, and visualization and feelings are extremely powerful – but not as powerful as I believed when I was hospitalized.

So, when I refer to “god” – I simply mean a higher power, something (not someone) that controls the big picture and fits the pieces in the puzzle together. Some “thing” that hears our wishes, or feels our energy and answers our prayers or wishes.

I believe we all have “god” energy in us – we are mini-gods. We have the ability to carve our own reality through visualization and positive energy. If you can change reality, doesn’t that make you a god? Or at least – god-like? I believe so. I believe we all have the ability to create our own reality, and we can affect other people with our energy. We are incredibly powerful beings. We just have to know how to focus our energy on those things that matter most to us.

Keep Moving

Ready to move forward
But I still want to be heard
My mind is getting clear
As is the fear
I know what I’m afraid of
And what I’m aware of
My senses are returning
My heart is yearning
I no longer wonder what is wrong
I sing a simple song
I smile and laugh
My emotions are back
I feel love and happiness
Sometimes life is a mess
But it is my life and my home
I am not alone
My words spread
No longer alone in my head
People share their stories
Make me forget my worries
We are all connected
Like the infected
Tied together with a string
It makes it hurt less when it stings

Inside Insanity

Dreaming dreams
What do they mean?
I’m awake but don’t know the date
Seeing flashes of light
But it’s dark and it’s night
This is true fright
While shadows over take you
Dreams penetrate you
Nightmares become real
You feel the sting of their chill
You are ill, just don’t take the pill
Keep your morals
Your not a little girl
You are a warrior, ready to fight
Those that bump in the night
But it is day
Not time to play
Your mind has escaped you
Your thoughts they have raped you
You fall asleep
But far too deep
you think this is death
you take your last breath
you know you’re not done
that was just number one
now it’s your time to rise
show them what’s in your eyes
be strong in spirit
and make sure they hear it
I fear them and they fear me
Uncertain of what they see
Is it evil, or is she well
This world seems like a twisted hell
I know them
They don’t know me
I embrace them and shout at them
As if they know
I beg and beg, please let me go
They say no and grab two men
They grab my arms as I fall to the floor beneath them
Bruises line each arm
Like concentric circles that remind me of harm
Someone pulls the alarm
I’m certain this is my time
Time to leave it all behind
Unaware that it’s no dare
It’s a drill, of my will
How long can these delusions last?
When will this hell be a thing of the past?


I did not appear at the shop today. I was never contacted. Yet, my mood was still down and my nerves frayed to the point of angry anxiety. And I think I may have an inkling of what made things suddenly change. For about six days, waiting for *someone* to cover my meds in exchange for my servitude, I ran low and had to do some shuffling. I started taking 90mg of Cymbalta in the morning, I kept forgetting to take my 50mg Lamictal during the evening. It may seem like a small thing, but I was actually feeling a LOT better when I divided the doses into two points in the day. This could well be why I am so agitated and down. I will rectify it and be a good girl. If my senile brain allows my memory to work properly.

I was watching “Deadly Women.”

And they have this criminal profiler chick in every episode, and in this one, she was talking about this woman who basically murdered her ex-husband. She was  borderline and narcissistic disorder and the profiler said it”would be impossible for ANYONE to live with someone with those disorders for long periods of time.”

And my guilt addled conscience popped its head up and began the self flogging and self examination and put my own actions under the microscope.

I still don’t think I am that bad.

But then, what person really does grasp the extent in which their actions impact others?

What I saw as trying to maintain a tight rein on my world to avoid complete panic, someone else viewed as me trying to control them.

What I saw as being a devote self sacrificing mom, someone else viewed as some sort of betrayal and neglect.

So now that a stupid show has “provoked” my self introspection machine, I am guilt tripping and self analyzing and it’s never going to lead anywhere good.

So why can’t I stop?

I mean, I point blank asked the doctors and therapists about borderline or narcissistic. They all said I may have a quality here and there from multiple disorders, I don’t have enough of the criterion to meet any specific personality disorder. Thus my file saying “personality disorder not otherwise specified.”

Great, they’re comfortable labeling me fucked up, but they can’t even explain it with a diagnosis of specificity.

I suppose the ideal answer would be “Don’t watch thought provoking shows.”

I tried the avoidance thing for two years when reality and news were major triggers. It didn’t work.

And there’s no way to avoid being provoked into th0ught because every tiny thing around you has the potential to set off the spark.

I just wish I could get a solid diagnosis of what my personality disorder(s) are so I can work on them. What good is a non specific label toward helping me fix that which comprises the disorder? I may not be able to conquer bipolar on my own, but it seems to me maybe if I identify what I do that seems to put me right back on the hamster wheel then I can find the strength to begin tweaking things here and there.

I couldn’t even get a personality disorder properly. I am sooo cool.

Now…off to feel guilty about every crappy thing I have ever done because if I forgive myself then that’s absolution and not owning my actions and that’s a whole new personality disorder.

Maybe it won’t be a long torture, considering how the 93 degree heat has tapped me dry for signs of life. I am just weary and tired and uncomfortable.

And to a small extent, I think, still with a lingering depression in spite of the improvements.

Nothing is perfect though, right?


The End of The End

I stood on the deck of the single-wide trailer, watching the repossessors hauling off my car (the one I leased for my now-defunct business) and my three-horse trailer with the full living quarters, self-contained.  That one hurt.  So many memories of the west desert of Utah, the High Uinta Mountains where I got stalked by a Basque shepherd, almost getting hit by a tornado while camping in a Navaho fairgrounds….it hurt.

My big diesel truck I had sold to my dad the day after I picked up the red letter.  I see it as a red letter, no matter what color it really was.  It was red to me.  Dad almost got in trouble for collusion, but I cooked up a story that Dad’s truck had “tore up,” as they say down here, and he needed a replacement, and I still had the little car at that time.  Thankfully nobody got in trouble for that, and the instant the whole mess was over he gave me back the truck.  I don’t remember what I drove in the meantime, after they hauled the car away.  Doesn’t matter.

The red letter started it all.  I got a notice in my mailbox that there was a registered letter at the post office for me.  I wasn’t feeling too great, being in the process of shutting down my pediatrics practice and all, so I just tossed it aside and forgot about it.

A few days later, there it was again in my mailbox.  Shoot, I thought.  Maybe Publisher’s Clearing House has finally caught up with me.  I’m a millionaire!  Or maybe Old Uncle Mordechai, whom I never met but heard many stories about his eccentricities, has finally come into my life bearing a will that he left as he passed out of his.

So I took the piece of paper and drove the truck, full of dogs, to the post office.  I handed the slip to the postmaster and he handed me an envelope that I had to sign for.  On the face of the envelope was a red spanch that said: REGISTERED MAIL.  My self-control lasted until I got to the car.  I tore it open.  It contained another envelope.  The return address was printed in that self-aggrandizing font that legal firms use.  ”Winken, Blinken, Nod, & Assoc., Attorneys At Law.”  I tore that one open too.

Inside was a court order saying that I had been accused of stealing just short of $500,000, half a million, from St. Elsewhere’s Hospital in Armpit, Ohio.  I had indeed worked in a clinic affiliated with that hospital, but since I had never actually worked there, and certainly had never stolen a red cent from them or anybody else, I was mystified as well as stumped.

I rushed home and picked up the phone and dialed the number for the law firm.  Was there some mistake?  How could I be implicated in something of which I had no possibility of participating in?  They confirmed that yes, the summons was for me, and that I was accused of stealing half a million dollars from that hospital.

I had set foot in that hospital exactly once.  The Chief Financial Officer, whom I shall call Chuck, called me up one day at the clinic at which I was an employee.  Laura, he said, I need you to come and see me.  Now.

It was lunch break, so I was able to run over to the hospital, a block away, to see what Chuck needed to talk to me about so urgently.

When I found his office, he was looking mighty grim.  Laura, he says, I want you to look at this stack of papers.  It was a tall stack.  Laura, says Chuck, these papers are all invoices that came from your office.  You may or may not know, and it’s better for you not to know, that this hospital pays for all supplies ordered by your office.  This stack of invoices is just from this month, and it’s all billed to your account number.  I know, I know.  You didn’t know you had an account number.  But you do.  And billed to your account number are things like copier toner, staples, chart paper, coffee….mostly office supplies that have no connection with your practice, since you are a salaried staff member.  All of these invoices should be billed under the practice’s account number, not yours.  The total billings from your account number for this year are $97,000 and change.

When I could get my mouth to work again I said, Chuck, what do I do about this?  Isn’t this, like, illegal?

Chuck says yeah, it’s illegal as hell.  But you know what?  Your boss just sold a high-rise building in downtown Bombay, and even if we filed criminal charges against him, this town is so crooked you know what would happen.

Yeah, I knew what would happen.  I’d seen it happen before in that town.  The county prosecutor’s office was crooked as hell.  The right amount of palm-grease would get anybody off of anything.

So what do I do?  I ask Chuck.

I’d advise you to turn around, walk out of here, and find yourself another job.

Well, what do I do about the money it appears that I owe?

Don’t worry about that, says Chuck.  I’ll take care of that.

I didn’t get it in writing.

After getting the Red Letter, I did a lot of research.  It turned out that Dr. Crooked had continued to use my billing number for several years after I left his practice.

A few years after that, the hospital went T.U. (that’s Tits Up, a medical term) and was acquired by a huge “healthcare corporation,” whose team of lawyers set busily to work combing through the accounts looking for irregularities in the accounts receivables.  And they found the pile of invoices accredited to me, which by now had mounted to nearly half a million dollars.

Now what I have not told you yet is that at the time I got the Red Letter, I was suffering from a suicidal depression.  I had already been hospitalized once, and was barely able to get up out of my recliner to let the dogs out, and again to let them back in.  I just kept on losing weight, because I had no appetite and no one to feed me, so I just didn’t eat.  The combination of the depression, the malnutrition, and the wrong medication had me paralyzed.

So I had to rally myself around somehow to deal with the Red Letter.  I called the American Medical Association’s legal advice department.  They were used to advising people about malpractice, but this wasn’t malpractice.  They gave me the numbers of three lawyers who dealt with hospital law.  I called them all, and read each one the Red Letter.  Each one said the same thing: 1) you have no liability whatsoever in this case, i.e., it is bullshit;  2) you will without a doubt be acquitted, and then be able to sue them for falsely accusing you; 3) we require $20,000 as a retainer, plus travel fees, plus hourly fees of $275 per hour.

I was numb.  I had cashed out my retirement to build my pediatrics practice, which had been taken from me by Big Medicine and depression.  The remainder of my savings had gone to pay for my son’s residential treatment at a therapeutic boarding school.  I was living on disability.  I had nothing, and I was so depressed my brain could not even gather itself up to rise to the occasion.  I put the phone down and dissociated.

Finally it occurred to me that the only way to get out of this bind was to go and see a bankruptcy lawyer.  I did, and he said the case against me was dischargeable through bankruptcy.  I was too depressed to think of any other solution, so to bankruptcy court I went, and the case was discharged, and I lost everything I had that was not tied down.

After the tow trucks got done hauling off the vehicles, I stood there till it got dark.  Then I began to scream.  I screamed at God.  Why, God?  Why did you give me these talents and then take them away from me?  Why did you give me this brain and then make it sick?  Why, when all of my life I have never stolen as much as a piece of gum,  did you make someone accuse me of stealing some huge amount of money, and then take away the few things I had left that I worked so hard to earn?  Why, God?