Personal responsibility and psychiatric calamities shall be the title of my first fucking memoir.
If anyone cares to know, I am righteously angry at the moment. So if you want to read some angst and rage… PROCEED. If not, go away.
Why can’t you tell a psychiatrist to go fuck themselves? Well, it’s socially not reccommended since they can institutionalize you. These elements of social etiquette infuriate me; just another subtle means of establishing control on people. All the subtles you shouldn’t do this add up and wear at me over time. Hell, even crying in public is so fucking frowned upon because it seems the majority of the populace is so disengaged with their emotions. Plus, all the “spiritual” folk are neurotically avoiding “negative” emotions because they don’t want to “take others energy on”.
Is there a place in society for rage and sadness? Is there a place in the world for these big feelings? IS there a place in the world for me?
Yet, those deemed with expertise and a side of arrogance can steamroll all over vulnerable persons with technicalities, ridiculously overpriced drugs and a general lack of empathy that makes me think Lizard People might actually exist.
Part of me cautions to be compassionate, after all doctors and other health practitioners are people too! They aren’t supported in their jobs… they have problems too… are what I say to mayself as I slowly back myself off the precipice of a mental breakdown. I resent myself in part for keeping myself from tipping over the edge… maybe I should just fall of the cliff… maybe it would feel liberating to not exist… maybe it would be more okay if I just numbed out to this existence.
All of this is coming up inside of me in reaction to a series of inconsiderate events regarding my forms for my Ontario Disability application (admitting that I am making one makes my throat constrict) starring at least 4 doctors, 2 social workers and a few handfuls of office staff.
There are so many problems with the system… The most highlighte for me today is the systemic victimhood and disempowering policies that are entrenched in the Ontario medical system-especially in regards to mental health. I am rocked and whipped into a a storm of rage that pours out hot tears.
Everytime I try to rationalize, to calm myself down; my mind tries so many excuses…
“Hey! Blame the Wynne government for all the cuts to health providers!” or
“Hey! Blame doctors because they have no humanity!” or
“HEY! Blame the scary and shitty Big Pharma because that’s who all New Agers blame! or
“Hey! Blame your family for fucking everything up in the first place!” or
“Hey! Blame your brain because it’s all structurally and chemically fucked up!” or
“Hey! Blame your wounded slimy soul that’s tainted by all the shitty and immoral things you’ve done throughout time and space!” or
“HEY! Last resort- we can at least blame the fucking WIFI!”
All of these feel like fake lies you would tell to a child to calm them down.
Yet taking on the full responsibility for these events… crushes me.
I fucked up. I failed. So, maybe I am a failure.
I can write a stupid blog post in 10 minutes. Can I write 2 academic papers in a year? HA!
I can remain calm when someone is yelling at me. Yet, I practically choke on my own tongue trying not to rage at this stupid psychiatrist.
I can apply for 3 jobs a day. Yet, my unemployed life is filled with charity work and burrito blankets.
Today was the first in a long time where I felt I could understand why people kill themselves…
That’s a scary thought, sure, but I had it.
This will probably pass. But in case anyone was wondering, I don’t ALWAYS have my shit together. I’m not always happy. I don’t really buy the love and light bullshit. I am still lovable even at my worst. So there.