Narcan me mutherfuckers!

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Bi-polar trauma therapy: writing and ranting away...less morbidity a good sign

I laughed for the first time in while, except... I did make mention of my favorite subject which is...death.

Sorry to those afraid of death, but the fear was thrust upon me by hospital staff, and I had no choice than to either face it or do something serious. And no, I did not get these violent fantasies by way of a video game. They came at the expense of all of us really. 
Before I left to go out last night, my crappy "death" mood was getting on my own nerves. The Kern Valley Healthcare District ER gave me a dose of Narcan which put me in instant withdrawal from my pain killers a couple months ago. They didn't bother to tell me or warn me either. My body went cold-I saw my dead grandparents and a dead dog of mine-it was beyond description the amount of pain I endured. I hallucinated wildly, mostly skulls and KVHD administrators (the scariest of all). I know these whom I respectfully call enemies of fun and chocolate, to be vacant of that thing I like most in people-what it is that makes us real- that we do fucking "feel."

So many want to turn that off, but our option is numbness. We all think pain is bad, we think it is stronger than we are, but it's not, I can tell you from experience. You can't "out think" fear and pain either, you can only make it your fucking friend.

Tonight I laughed for the first time in months. I laughed as I told a horrible, gory, death story, and began to talk about the "hospital" and then I watched my mind about to get stuck in the muck. I have to face it, it was horrible, but I'm alive, and I can laugh. I laughed so hard tonight, I had tears streaming down my face. It was a break through. I have been wandering looking for myself for a couple months plus, tonight I found the new me. Quite an interesting person, funny too.

From experiences of not so great a nature such as being physically attacked, I have learned that once I can laugh at it, I fucking own it.

I am no longer experiencing the fear, I'm accepting it's relevance, and moving along. I kept getting whole life through. I get hurt and pretending I'm not isn't going to heal the wound. I could pretend that levels of pain that go with opiate withdrawal, unexpected- and in a chemically induced fashion- I'll just walk it off. You don't walk it off! You limp-- fall over--and cry and scream and cuss. Then you are healed. Healed the moment you laugh and accept it. These wondrous, almost heroic adventures I've undertaken, are mine. You don't get it, until you "get" it.

I honestly like being me. I like being free. And I'm fucking hard to kill like one of those housefly's who elude the swatter over and over then slip out an open door. I feel exactly like that fly. Oh, I have felt the sting of the swatter, but the first door I see open I'm heading out, heading for the wide open. For most of my life I ended up in bathrooms and buzzing at closed windows.

Now, I'm more like a bee, bumbling, pollinating a bit here and there. Some people run when they see me. Others want to kill me.

When I erupted from my hospital hell visit, I was broken--and hurt-and sad--and fucking scared to death...but truth is I think I may have scared death. Yes, I think death fears me-doesn't want me- likes to test me--and I live and breathe and I laugh. I laugh at those mutherfuckers who don't have a clue what it's like to have survived a half a century of bi-polar, and can still laugh.

It's a success! I kept looking at it as "why me" and made my own life negative. It is what is, but you can cry, laugh, and have all sorts of states of mind--they don't have to be judged.

But you know who I thought about laying in that hospital bed writhing in pain? I thought of everyone in the world. I thought of the pain of the whole world--all our human suffering. I took the focus off of "me" and looked at the reality of pain and suffering: it's a constant.

Then tonight I taught poker and the kids now call "poker chips" names such as "nichels" and "double nichels" and "quantanamo bay reds" which in your world would be nickles, dimes and quarters. For the whole night we called the chips by these names and made up new names for things. We tuned into the great wide open, the freedom of expression, and the acceptance of differences. Then they learned how poker is like the economy and that our game in particular felt like a "George Orwell" book, they didn't quite get it. But when I teach them, is when I learn the most. I showed them as our chips went up and down, what it's like to be in a capitalist economy. At the end of two hours of metaphors, they actually understood.

However, these kids are not your average kids-no they're like me--bi-polar. So, when I changed all the rules to "Uno" and began changing names of things, they were okay with it all. Not all people can live like that. They want borders and collars and leashes where I want to run in the fun, and create or tune into creation. 

Knock on wood here, but I think I'm going to just step up to my fear and poke it in the eye. Hello death-relieve me of my duties here-and pass the baton! And hello pain! I know goddam well I'm alive, because it hurts to be alive. It hurts everywhere to be alive. And now I handle my own healing, and I know I stepped forward, when I laughed at my hospital story. Yesterday I would have told the story with a haunted look in my eyes. I know there's nothing afterwards, I mean, nothing. No pain, numbness only, so while I'm here you will feel my presence! I'm alive!

But there's more than just hurt. I can look at the pain in many more ways, when I realize it has to exist for me to exist. I see a world in pain, and fighting madly to change things. I felt the pain of the world in my doctor induced death experience, and I don't regret as I learned what compassion is too. Compassion is not putting people thru the pain? No, it isn't. Compassion is letting someone have their  experience and rise from the ashes, so they have the confidence that nothing, not a thing, can happen to them to keep them from enjoying the freedom of life. It's yours to take. Nobody "makes" you feel anything, it's in you. They may find your weakness, and you should always thank someone for that. But once you expose your weakness--you have the opportunity to find the problem and fix it! 

  A child, 4 years old, was raped and buried alive. I think of this child but I don't think how horrible? I think this is life and she had her time and she went through hell, it's not that she's a victim or a bad person, as I  once may have thought. She was alive, she felt the pain, and you know she experienced deep personal growth. "Oh, but she's dead," some might say. She lived and she lived with courage. The dumb ass that killed her--we hate him-we want his ass fried to a crisp. Because we reject the pain. She was here and alive and he is here and alive, and he needs to feel pain. It's like a sander you take off layers of bullshit, trust me, it gets down to the nitty gritty of human existence when you're in fear and pain.

Tonight I laughed at death, and it's a stepping stone for me, but I live and breathe, and any thing can happen. With me, anything is possible and anything can happen. I so believe in our human condition. All of it is worth experiencing. I will enjoy the memory of the pain as much as when I got my first car or when I threw up a hoop that nobody could believe.

Bi-polar trauma writing therapy continues with more rants. (Oh, I was asked tonight if I was drinking tiger's blood. I was taken aback, I said, no you asshole, are you comparing me to Charlie Sheen? Hell no, I drink...lion's blood. I'm not that crazy.) Goodnight.