There seems to be an odd trait I’ve noticed lately. I could be reading a research paper, a Psychiatric magazine or another Blog and there is a separation between Addiction and Alcoholism.
I started to think about it myself. When people used to speak to me and would say “So and so is an addict they’re in rehab.” I immediately thought drugs not alcohol. When someone says they have “addiction” problems I first think of drugs. When did the word “addict” become the symbol for drug user?
An addict is “one who has become dependent on something”, whether it’s drugs, food, alcohol, sex, gambling, or TV. The word “addict” is now spit out like some foul tasting seafood when it’s uttered. That needs to change.
That was the first part of my writing the second part is about my functioning level. I have to say it has gone down. Way down. It isn’t just the Bipolar Disorder, the Conversion Disorder is becoming worse also. I have no idea how to drag myself out of it. I was told it would get worse over time but I thought they meant in 15 to 20 years. My Psychiatrist is pushing for ECT again and I’m not sure I can handle it.
My state of mind as it is right now would be unable to handle ECT. I have been under so much anesthesia in the last year and a half to then put me under and try to Reboot my brain I’m petrified of the outcome. I don’t want to sit there drooling, staring at the wall for hours and hours while someone changes my diaper. But what if all of my pain, all of my anger, all of my guilt, went away while I sat there? I could still hear my dad’s voice and my sister’s but I wouldn’t have to feel.
I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want any of this.
The memory of some human beings is short when it comes to negative experiences. Mine is never ending.
My father doesn’t remember my going to Therapy when I was younger. I had to remind him. It wasn’t pleasant, I didn’t want to. He was starting to think like my sister and I wasn’t having it.
I said “The end of my being 17 I took pills and had to have my stomach pumped, I was also drunk. I was ordered to therapy in Wakefield.” “About 2 years later I took pills again and had to swallow the charcoal. I was ordered to therapy in South Kingstown.” “A year later I cut my wrists and had stitches. I was held in their Psychiatric Ward for a week and ordered to go to therapy in Wakefield again but at a different place.” “A few years after that I took a bat to J’s car and was arrested. I was ordered to one and half years of therapy, 2 years probation, a restraining order, I had to pay for damages, and a partridge in a pear tree.” I knew by this time he had tuned me out because he didn’t want to remember. I remember. I remember his face when he first saw me at the Psychiatric Ward. It killed me as much as it killed him. But I couldn’t stop. The pain inside was always greater than the pain outside.
Insights Of A Bipolar Rambler 