Monday, May 27, 2013

Don't change a Thing! Spare Change

What would I change about me? Or you change me?

It's been a long time, I know, 50 years of great luck, and I've heard those words “I wouldn't want to change anything about you” people have actually said that to me.

Usually these people have known me less than one month.Either that or they were asleep at the time.

I seek to find the truth, but more so, the truth for and about me. Change would depend on what I find. Others however are ready and willing to change me regularly.

My friends even put up a plaque at their house which is a bit of a slap, and maybe the truth too: “A friend is someone who knows all about you, but likes you anyway.”

You see what I mean? A put down that makes them look good for having me as a friend. They put this up after a conversation about “me” and I see it all the time, and just wonder. What exactly would they want to change about me?

Specifically, this information could help me. I'll just become a conformist, learn to fit in, and die with no memory and no truth.

I was in the grocery store and some fucking song kept playing/repeating, “I don't want to change myself.” There was a lull, and I spoke out loud, “I want to change me.”

Everyone started laughing, which didn't make me feel good. Then they were, “aw, you don't have to change.”

Then I argued the case.

“You don't know me well enough to realize the breadth of change I am in need of. I'm really needing some change. Ask anyone”

“Give it a month and you won't be able to stand me. It's an ugly reality.”

They defended me against myself.

“Your not that bad.” (Could have been a better try there, but nevertheless)

“You're fine.” (What the fuck does that mean? Fine enough as in a “fine wine” or “fine chick” or “getting by” just fine. ?)

I vehemently argued against there platitudes, bored, still insistent on this changing myself thing.

Into what?

I suppose I would make my mouth shut for longer durations, without spitting out every thought onto the pavement.

I'm sure others would agree, but they also want me to stop being “unpredictable.” This is both what some call my “genius” and others my stupidity.

Never knowing what I'm going to do, or pointing out obvious truths to deluded masses, out loud—in writing, then you become like me: An urban legend.

Yes, it's impossible now to even fathom what some certain people would want me to do or where I should go, but it's also about things I never did and never would do.

I may be crazy, but I'm picky about my crazy.

Bi-polar chic, we call it around here.

Methodical would be the word. Not maniacal, though I can be, there is a method to my madness.

It appears though, that right now, it's time for some change. I was hoping to simply change the world, now it appears to be more of a challenge of doing something about me.

Since everyone I know seems to either want to change me without openly saying it, but definitely trying to impliment suggestions. Seeded with this corrected thinking, what would become of me?

And everyone knows I'm simply a riot waiting to start. Rodney King couldn't do it better.

It's true.

I was discussing the hospitals in Kern County, and realized I have had an “incident” at most hospitals. There is no where here in this county for me.

One hospital may-lee included being thrown onto a marble floor as I tried to leave. Grabbed and shaken, definitely stirred, a nurse woke me after I took a dose of my own medication. Security guards, police and finally Elvis got the hell out of the building. All Because I took my own meds.

Though I must say the Rural Health Clinic in town KRV, “cleared” me for a visit. It took a week of gut wrenching decision making, but finally they called and I was among the priviledged who are allowed to make an appointment.

Which I did.

I was precise that I was there to clear up the thyroid and the growth in my nose. Now, the growth is bugging me, and the thyroid is questionable, as those pills taste just like sugar. But I cannot take the Seroquell.

Oh yes, my recent secret weapon against my “abundance of energy” causes leg cramps and jumpy legs. Horrible stuff.

The Doctor at Rural Health yelled to the nurse, “StAt!!”

I just stood there kind of surprised. Wondering what was so important. He tells the assistant. “Get her in with a Psych immediately.”

Mind you, I had not said hardly a word, just listening. But apparently, my Urban Legend, had arrived.

He chose not to prescribe anything for the psych, rather to alarm everyone in the office that Laura Hart was out of viable Psych meds.

“Yeah, that's great.”
The doctor, who is a first timer, never seen or spoken to me, has put the whole health clinic on alert as if I've climbed a fence or dug out of Alcatraz.

So, I wonder what would he change about me. Probably everything.

He told me at one point, that he is a “woman's doctor—I”m a gynecologist” he declares. Like I give a fuck, and being a woman it should be vaginally correct--but he goes on to explain that he cannot satisfy all the needs of a crazy bi-polar. I swear he said it just like this:

“I take parts out and I put some back, it depends, I stretch or tuck,” he really said this. The point I don't know, but I am going to watch my parts around him.

So, I'm sleepless, restless, and it's true, I have nothing but street drugs, or marijuana, to help me “hold on” thru this stat crisis.

Have a great day and don't think the people around you are planning your change of life....they really are.

Laura Hart—the Bi-polar American

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