June 18th 2020
https://jare.cloud Accelerating as a Service, Dropout Turned #Entrepreneur, Mental Health Advocate!
The following are various emails, posts, messages, and tweets I’ve had on social media and privately (my side, only paraphrasing their side without permission) in the last 24 hours.
They mark my mood throughout the day, and catalog the awakening I will be (and make no mistake – horribly) subjecting myself to.
Before the hospital, I sent different emails to my psychiatric nurse – note that this is all, indeed, drug-seeking:
I’m trying to communicate with Dr. B today. I’ve left two voicemails.
Points of concern:
- I need a new script for a Ketoderm thing some Dr at the hospital gave me once for my rash thing
- Need new scripts for all 3 of my orals
- 7 days early… I already got my meds 5 days early last month and they said ‘never again‘ which traditionally means about 18 months but all my scripts (except Seroquel which doesn’t get you high) and three packs of darts were stolen from me 3 weeks ago and I could really use some medication by now
- The only real action item for you: I was wondering if you have Dr. V’s note on file with her recommended dose of Wellbutrin? We still never got up to that dose.
mom tells me ‘I don’t even know whether Dr. B is in the office’. So look, let’s try to get Dr. N to write these scripts, to be filled today.
- Wellbutrin (hopefully at the increased dose)
All’s good in the hood.
It still would be helpful if you had Dr. V’s note for me to reference, though, back to my original point.
1 hour later:
I’m going to the hospital
While on way to hospital: I got my card and my money and I don’t understand why any of that is necessary.
Going to the spot that kills people with infection, killed my grandfather, and nearly killed me, more than once.
Now I wait and they won’t even help
Psych nurse wrote back something that included ‘If he calls you then you can leave the ER.’
At this point, I am no longer drug-seeking.
I’m at the hospital. I want ‘help.’ I want to be seen. I want to be acknowledged and given a bed and treatment.
I want some kind of an ultimate treatment that will fix me, and I don’t know how to put in words what I want to ask for. I know I won’t get it.
I email back a series of 4 emails, boom boom boom:
- Don’t want to leave without getting well
- I’m not unwell enough to be treated
- Some of them are looking at me like they’ve been dominated by king sasquatch ants.
- and nurse’s outfits are far too revealing
Next up, ‘the available treatment right now.’ Remember, I’m no longer drug-seeking, and I just want to get some help.
I’ve been in tears most of the day. I’ve been threatening random medical people to tear people limb from limb and I’d just like ‘something to calm me down.’
Can’t appear drug-seeking if you want drugs, right?
Still no drugs. Still no treatment.
At the hospital: I’m going to lose my shit.
She said ‘do ya want the meds or not’
I said ‘bro how many people do I have to kill before I get treatment.’
she says ‘the treatment options available right now are meds. Do you want meds?’
I said ‘I called my Dr. and emailed my nurse to get meds to get high so I guess just give me the meds then.’
They brought me clonazepam.
I was addicted to those – quit cold turkey, years ago, under supervision.
It’s harder to come off benzos than heroin.
It’s in my file.
My file is 4 or 5 three-ring binders.
This ain’t my first rodeo.
Next email to my psych nurse:
Listen, it’s been 3 weeks since I’ve been taking meds. I abuse my meds and I think they shouldn’t give them to me. I told this to the worker at the hospital and she basically said that those are my only option available. So I guess, I should take those meds and go home
The plan at this point was to give in to their recommendations, go home, and abuse my meds with a fucking vengeance.
A part of me wanted to see that worker fired. She could hurt other people like me, I thought. I just want to get treated. A part of me thought that it was evil wishing bad for others.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to get someone fired so that I can get treatment
Nah nvm, just called a cab to go home.
I go to a friend’s place. She gave me 4 lorazepams.
I calmed down.
The evening progressed and a random person she knew bumped into us while we were stealing wifi in the street.
We got talking.
He says he’s got a pile of oxies (oxycontin) and crack (cocaine) for us.
If I wasn’t high on her benzos, I would have gone.
I was refused my desired treatment by the medical system.
I was asked to continue consuming medications (and abuse them) just to keep the status quo, to keep ‘bouncing off the walls like a zombie‘ as mom puts it with venom.
I went home.
I had a great chat with the neighbors.
We fed some raccoons.
I might have just evaded death by overdose.
But I’m not concerned. I’m high.
I discussed about it with my sister, who’d just quit the health authority to set up her own clinic.
Me: Nobody in their right mind will do what I need to do: I need to be permanently chemically sedated on benzos (again).
Her: Unfortunately, public opinion has turned against them and they’re only ever prescribed temporarily now. They will not chemically sedate you.
Me: So fuck all of their shit.
They refuse to help when I cry, beg, and threaten.
Next email to nurse:
I’m sorry sis. You’re lovely and, ‘You’ve been an ally in this struggle.’ If the system wants to medicate me with same meds that I keep on abusing for fun, risking dying of overdosing every month, …
I’m not doing it anymore.
I consumed 4 lorazepams today and I think that saved lives. It prevented me from going to do oxycontin and crack with a stranger – because the benzos already had me high.
But, I’m never ever getting benzos again. I’m also not doing Invega.
I will not go to get those meds from Dr. N.
Fuck all that noise.
My nurse is nearly retired. I write to her (again, boom boom):
We can do facebook or email or whatever friends when you’re done with the system too. I’ll accept treatment again only when they have a cure. I’m doing it home alone with no supervision. Are there med protocols for self when I have a panic-attack and god knows what’ll happen if I get catatonic? I think, when I’m through with this, I might not even want a cure.
I write to my Chief-of-Surgery uncle who I’m close to. Twice
No word to mom or P yet. T knows.
After a hospital visit today and after abusing my meds, again, I’ve realized that the only way out is to be permanently chemically sedated.No Dr. will do that. Until then, I’m refusing all further treatment. But, I need help doing that safely, so I need treatment 1 last time to come off the meds I’m on. Please, do, tell me what my rights are here and what the protocols are. Don’t tell me it’s a bad idea (as personal or medical advice), my mind’s made up and I’m through. I’ve told my nurse I’ll accept treatment when there’s a cure. I told her, by then, I won’t want the cure. I also told her she’s a gem and a true friend of mine. That’s it. This is the course we’re going to go with now. Do they have med protocols for when terror/panic attacks get really bad? I don’t want benzos. I want to be catatonic if I can’t function. Am I allowed to demand that I’m able to smoke whenever I want to? I’m no danger to anyone, I proved that much today. I’m not unwell enough to be treated. I demand I be taken off all treatments. I won’t leave hospital grounds and I won’t even talk to anyone because I’m physically and emotionally incapable of it anyways. This is my right. I’m advocating. At what point do they take my legal control of myself away from me? ‘threat to self or others?’ I need medical advice before I go down this route getting medical treatment for a course of action nobody will agree with about how to not get fucked over by my own intentions of leaving this all far behind.
That’s messed up.
Email #2 to my uncle:
The only one reason I’m doing this under supervision is to distance those I care about from it. It will be torture. I will be out of my mind with terror and panic and I’m not even me anymore and I’m losing track of humanity and they’ll be like ‘oh Jare this big ol fancy Pharma stick will put everything back the way it should be.’ I put myself through torture for people I love all the time. These last 13 whatever 14 years of ignorance and sedation were only so nobody would have to deal with me. Including me. I personally think if I’m reintroduced to me I might still like the me I buried. The me I loved so dearly. The ability, the socializing, the future. Loving myself again and getting rid of each and every dopamine inhibitor is a sure fire way to quit narcotics.
I’ll spare you more crazy emails til my psych nurse responds tomorrow.
I write to the psych nurse:
Please don’t try to bend my arm on this. I require treatment and care because I am actively refusing further treatment. The decision’s been made and is immutable.
Crypto fans here will understand – ‘immutable.’
My tweets are examples of my realizations tonight before hearing back about the plan of action:
My knee-jerk reaction to something the old me found offensive on Facebook proves that these old habits will indeed die hard.
And then, from the depths of the internet – where I used 0 hashtags and wanted a public record to help others in the future going through like transformations – reaches out Utsav, a Hackernoon Editor.
Watch the love:
So now, this first episode – where I’m still free, yet trapped in the prison of pharma and street drugs, is on Hackernoon.
For more, follow the #hackersawakening tag or follow my Twitter.
In future episodes, I will no longer be free. I will be dancing a thin line between a voluntary patient and being involuntary.
I will be doing it as a sacrifice to save my family the pain and trauma. I will have limited access to technology.
The ultimate treatment is self-acceptance.
Of the whole.
The yin and the yang, quantum 1 and 0 and 1 and 0 and neither.
Mom just woke up. I made her a coffee and told her that ‘I have received love and support from all over the world.’