Ger'asene Apologetic

May, 2006

The Ger’asene Apologetic

They came to the other side of the sea, to the country of the Ger'asenes.
And when he had come out of the boat, there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit,
who lived among the tombs; and no one could bind him any more, even with a chain;
for he had often been bound with fetters and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart, and the fetters he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him.
Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always crying out, and bruising himself with stones.
And when he saw Jesus from afar, he ran and worshiped him;
and crying out with a loud voice, he said, "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me."
For he had said to him, "Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!"
And Jesus asked him, "What is your name?" He replied, "My name is Legion; for we are many."
And he begged him eagerly not to send them out of the country.
Now a great herd of swine was feeding there on the hillside;
and they begged him, "Send us to the swine, let us enter them."
So he gave them leave. And the unclean spirits came out, and entered the swine; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the sea, and were drowned in the sea.
The herdsmen fled, and told it in the city and in the country. And people came to see what it was that had happened.
And they came to Jesus, and saw the demoniac sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, the man who had had the legion; and they were afraid.
And those who had seen it told what had happened to the demoniac and to the swine.
And they began to beg Jesus to depart from their neighborhood.
And as he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed with demons begged him that he might be with him.
But he refused, and said to him, "Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you."
(Mark 5:1-19, RSV)

My God, My God, what have I done?


May 4, 2006

As I write this the voices are, for the most part, quiet. They make no comments or suggestions as I type. When they do pop up, I ignore them or tell them to shut up. They do not praise me as the consummate writer or tell me I am the Second Coming or encourage me to do something else, something irrational, foolish but oh so compelling. And they don’t tell me lies, lies I used to repeat to people sometimes. I am racked with embarrassment and guilt. Neither do they console me or entreat me to relax. I seem to have escaped their power, and their solace. Some of the events contained herein have been pieced together after the fact as I sometimes have memory lapses, especially when under heavy stress.
When the voices began sometime in 1987, I was under terrific stress in my abusive first marriage. My then wife was into New Age spirituality and was supposedly channeling spirits, mostly very negative and abusive, perhaps evil. This experience opened me up to the reality of the demonic playing a role in human life. I became part of a charismatic prayer group in approximately 1989, which served to reinforce and actually overemphasize this idea. My voices told me I was an exorcist. Such spiritual ideas often accompany madness; there is often a fine line between the madman and the mystic. In the world of the mad, spirits abound, saints and demons, Satans and Christs. Most mentally ill people I have met say that there is a spiritual element to their illness. Mental illness seems to break down barriers between what might be called normal reality and the spiritual realm. It is often overwhelming, resulting in much famously odd behavior and claims. I became a spiritual warrior, battling demons everywhere I went. I regularly if not constantly said prayers of exorcism and protection for others and myself for several years. This fascination made me sometimes physically ill and led to generally benign but irrational behavior at times. I believe such prayers have their place but to be preoccupied or fascinated with the demonic as I was is not healthy or logical and perhaps gives it more power. I still believe there is demonic influence on human life, but living a good life and having an active prayer life is protection enough. The non-spiritual person sometimes seems the safest of all from the demonic. Was I influenced by demons? No way to really know. It’s a possibility. All I know for sure is I have had problems knowing what is “real” for nearly two decades now. I do not recommend charismatic spirituality to any one with psychotic tendencies or any mental illness that features any problems discerning reality. It is simply too stimulating. I do not recommend New Age spirituality to anyone at all; it can be dangerous, especially in its more extreme forms.
The voices no longer seduce me with loving words into their incredible world where I am the center of the universe, where everything is about me and in me and through me. Where I am encouraged, recruited to be the Christ. Christ was and is me and I am female (At the time of this particular delusion I was attempting to live as a woman). I turn down the job but they insist. The Church’s secret is being revealed as they speak, Christ was and is a woman named Marquesa. She, I, wrote the Gospel of Marquesa on a beach in Galilee after the resurrection while the apostles, some women, played volleyball in the sand. Somewhere in the bowels of the Vatican, Cardinals are gathered ‘round an ancient pallet, sealed for nearly two millennia, reading my words, in modern English (It seemed total gibberish in about 300 AD when they sealed it up), written in #2 pencil on canary yellow legal pads 2000 years ago. It was treated as a mysterious and secret religious relic all these centuries, self-preserving and a total mystery. It was locked up in a vault many centuries ago at the birth of the Vatican and all but forgotten. But with all the miracles I performed and the tabloids proclaiming me the Second Coming, and the movies and books and special appearances on MTV, someone looked up the name Marquesa and found it referred to this ancient relic. At the same time they are reading it, I am lying on my bed, listening to them while I am writing an exact narrative of these unfolding events on that 2000 years ago beach, which is exactly what they are reading which is exactly what I am hearing (and writing) and they read their own exact words and are told to have pity on me as I lie there, experiencing all this in my New World bed in a little western town nearly half a world away. Paradox, paradox, there lies madness, there lies madness. But I cut a deal with them, they get to keep their male messiah and I publicly turn down the job of Christ in exchange for them opening up the Church’s vast riches to help the poor and set up a world wide adoption network since they are so against contraception and abortion. I am, too, against abortion I mean, but I see it as a necessary evil, but if they lightened up on contraception and did the adoption thing, and helped the poor like they’re supposed to, they could outlaw abortion without triggering a back alley blood bath. I would make a good Messiah but I still turn down the job. Somehow I know I’m not God. Okay, so how about the Holy Spirit? Same trap, the Trinity thing, you know.
Before that I was Mary, the Mary, and besides that nearly every significant female, known of unknown, before or after Mary. I was the woman behind every great creative man there ever was. The wife, the concubine, the slave, the apprentice. I was DaVinci’s servant girl, but you see, he was just a kindly, half mad eccentric who wrote down my words, and showed his brother my sketches. Mona Lisa was my “Mom”, done from memory since she died when I was quite young. You see, I have forever been the main source of creativity in this world. And the key to God’s will being done in mankind. As I tried to tell Einstein, God does throw dice with the universe, except for me. I always do His will so others can have free will. The constant thrown into the equation to make it work. But at the same time the wild card, the free radical, the warrior princess, forever ready to serve anywhere in any capacity to allow determinism. To be up to this task I was made half angel, half human, born into every generation to serve it.
I was, of course, Eve, (The whole “Fall” thing happened so that people would need each other, if no one was ever afraid, like God says, everything would be fine) and before that all the non-human predecessors back to the primordial puddle where life came into existence. I was there when God dipped His finger into the ooze to give the first sparks of Life. You see I was the cell that would one day become mankind. Before that I was a little girl in Heaven with my Daddy, God and we talked outside of time and together laid out the whole history of the universe. He would propose an idea and I would tell him if I thought it work out. I gave suggestions along the way while I played at His feet, but He did most of the work, just letting me help ‘cause He loved me so much. I’m not sure where my brother, Jesus, was during all this, maybe taking care of Heaven. He wasn’t actually my brother, but that’s what I called Him. I was never anything like God; really, I was just the human archetype, with angel added in to make me immortal. I was never reincarnated, I just lived forever. When I “died” I would just wink out or time for a holiday near heaven and then back into time into the same instant as a child. Sometimes an infant, sometimes a toddler, sometimes a ten year old, whatever worked best at the time. Always an orphan, but always “adopted” in some way by a key person in that generation. Mary was the exception to the angel and adoption stuff, I was totally human then to make it work out, theologically speaking. God knew I could do it once all by myself, so to speak. Especially with Jesus around most of the time. After Mary things changed a bit, of course, since the Kingdom of Heaven had arrived. The person, Mary, went bodily to heaven, while “I”, now Marquesa, received again my angel and went back to work. Yeah, a bit of magic, it’s called a miracle. Things were actually easier, what with the gift of the Spirit and all.
In this present lifetime, I am again only human as it is the turn of the millennium and a cusp in the history of the universe. Everybody thinks this is such an evil time, but relatively speaking, it is really the most peaceful time in history. There are no World Wars or any major wars at all, no Atilas or Hitlers or Pol Pots or Stalins. We just don’t think we’re at peace because there is media coverage of every awful thing that happens anywhere in the world. So much used to happen that hardly anyone ever knew about before the written word and, eventually, radio and TV and satellites and the World Wide Web. And there are just so damn many more people in the world and so much fear. We’ve reached capacity, population will level off soon. Evil per capita and en toto is actually the lowest it’s ever been. Satan was actually totally defeated in Jesus’ incarnation. All that’s left are his leaderless demons and the fear residing in mankind. So, as of this lifetime, there is a critical mass of creativity and Spirit in the world. I get to retire soon. Live a normal life and die like everybody else and stay in heaven. As for the Second Coming stuff, I can see how there might be some confusion, it being around the turn of the millennium and me being so famous and important and all. “Blazing across the sky.” Nobody knows when Jesus will come but the Trinity, not even me.
Not long after all the Second Coming stuff and the deal, about a week, I saved the earth from destruction a couple of times. Again lying on my bed, I was spiritually sent out to the boundaries of our solar system to confront an armada of alien warships on a mission to destroy this evil place called earth. Technologically advanced, they were unburdened by the spiritual and religious constraints on science that have plagued the earth. I was sent as the example of earth spirituality and to point them to the Trinity. They were much impressed and cowed by this great thing known as the Spirit and its ability to reside in so called humans. They opted to study this God and his amazing beauty and power. And returned home. The next day I was called to face another armada from the other end of the universe with similar results. I made vague reference to all this when I checked myself into the mental ward soon afterward, as I was so overwhelmed. They let me go the next day, just a glitch in my medications, not to worry.
The voices tell me what people are thinking and the Spirit allows me to speak to them in their minds. I have averted many suicides and other tragedies by this telepathic counseling. Sometimes I simply comfort people, other times I give suggestions but always pointing them to Jesus or the Father or the Spirit, whichever person of the Trinity serves them best.
Such is the ride I have been on, specifically for the last several months, but with ever increasing dysfunction for the last twenty years.
My voices told me for nearly ten years (I can’t pin down the time this actually began, maybe 1998) that I was actually a woman, that my image of myself as a man was delusion. The horrific Satanic Ritual Abuse I suffered as a child created this delusion. The voices supplied me with an alternate life as a girl and a woman to counter my male memories. My birth certificate was changed to male after the old courthouse in the small town where I was born burned down, something they do in Montana periodically to update their records (There is another story related to my birth certificate but that will come in the next section). Changed in an effort to keep me hidden from the cult of abusers, who viewed me as their chosen one, the one to lead them into the coming new millennium in which we would rise along the Antichrist. When these voices began in about 1987, they soon after helped me through, or perhaps into, two psychotic episodes. A third, less severe occurred in 1992 and several other times I was near psychotic, especially in 1999. The story of the abuse started coming out in, I believe, 1996 and played out in my mind usually dictated by the voice or voices, until about 2002. It has taken until this past year to seriously question the bulk of the story. I still believe I was abused at some time during my childhood but nI now doubt it to be as extensive or horrific as the narrative given me by the voices.
Perhaps I should say I do not hear my voices with my ears, they are not auditory hallucinations. I am told this makes them more like learned scripts rather than voices, which seems actually to give the abuse story more credibility were it not for all the other obviously deluded “thinking.” They occur in my mind, much like thoughts, only in a conversational manner, they refer to me as “you” and themselves as “I” or “we.” They also often use my mouth. I simply relax my jaw and they whisper through my mouth, using my tongue and jaw. For these reasons I find “voices’ a better description. I was certain for many years that at least one of them was God; he seemed to love me so. My constant conversation with “him” or “them,” meaning the Trinity, was constant prayer. I often had what I considered spiritual experiences. In the latter stages they could immobilize me as I lay on my bed, “praying.” This was not only a trance state, but also proof of their divinity. For years I was convinced that I could not live without them. I could not trust the evidence of my senses, they deceived me into believing I was a man and so many other things. I was mad, I could not handle my existence, make my own choices, I had to totally rely upon God. It mattered not that there were so many contradictions, that I suffered much, servants of God suffer, its scriptural. The problems could be my fault, through my sin, or else they were delusions, things were actually just fine. However, I am financially, professionally and personally devastated.
The impact these voices have had on my life for the past twenty years is immeasurable, as they were my guides through these years in all phases of my life. I consistently either avoided discussing these voices with counselors or psychiatrists or, when I did, I greatly understated their importance and prevalence. I did not want my God and guide to be criticized or taken away. Once, around 1998, I did mention to my psychiatrist that I heard the voice of God. He immediately suggested increasing my antipsychotic, which was already at a relatively high level, tranquilizing me too much, I thought. I discouraged the change; this was precisely the type of thing I feared, though my voices were remarkably resistant to medication as they are not strictly hallucinations, as mentioned earlier. As I mentioned, I was told by my voices to ignore the evidence of my senses, I was mad, they could not be trusted, “just trust us.” I eventually insisted that this was impossible. How can one simply ignore all the input of one’s senses, especially when faced with adverse consequences and such great contradictions? It was no way to live.
I was married for thirteen years to a very fine woman. I became convinced I was somehow justified to have an affair. I was also exempt from the moral taboo against such things because of the abuse I suffered as a child. Afterwards, when it was discovered, I was surprised my wife cared enough to be devastated by it. My voices had convinced me she did not care about me anymore, that she was unfaithful herself. She was not unfaithful, I am now certain of this. I was not exempt from consequences and not exempt for tortuous guilt. The voices then convinced me it had not actually happened, that I had been framed. I must admit to some complicity in this and perhaps most of my negative behavior. To say it was all the voices is too convenient. There must have been some character flaws driving at least some of it, though it is wrong to say that mental illness itself is a character flaw. Neither I nor my now ex-wife will ever be the same. In just the past several months I was convinced I had come into a large sum of money and subsequently went on a spending spree whose repercussions I will feel for several more years, if not the rest of my life. I now make decisions ”on my own” and feel less than confident about it, but at least what I do is relatively logical. After my destructive first marriage, I worked hard to develop a sense of personal integrity, and succeeded for the most part. This sense has been destroyed; I am struggling to regain it. I feel I will be able to continue to be stable, though time will tell. I count only a few weeks now in my new life.
There are two little boys in my life (my second wife’s grandchildren) who need me to be a man. My time with them used to be very free and fun and beneficial for all concerned. I have been a major influence in their life, a more complete and dynamic presence than their very decent but limited father. Due to my actions of the past several months (dressing as a woman, irresponsible spending, and a complex little urban neighborhood misunderstanding I choose not to go into) our time is now supervised, limited to the immediate vicinity of their home, and I was at first questioned as to how I was dressed before I came over. This is understandable, especially considering that the parents are both developmentally delayed, but I struggle to accept it, I feel frustrated and insulted and it is frustrating for the boys. My former wife tells me I just need to be patient; the parents need to see that I am stable. Time will perhaps heal, in this as in many other facets of my life.
In the face of much evidence and economic and legal necessity, I have perhaps come to my senses. I know I am poor and deeply in debt, and with consequent legal difficulties. I now know I am male, I no longer dress as a woman, and, as I said, reject much but not all of the abuse storyline. I still desire to be a woman, I have had gender difficulties from my earliest memories, but this will have to come about through “normal” channels, if at all, and not by spiritual intervention. I lived dressed as a woman for much of 1999 and 2000 and again for most of the last seven months. Without my voices to support me, it has become too difficult, too hard to take the hurtful comments, the stares, the ostracization, the bathroom problem. I face opposition in my entire family and was unable to find a suitable job, though I did work briefly for a former employer. I am trying to discern the will of God in this matter, through “normal” channels. I will be male for the foreseeable future, perhaps the rest of my life, though at this time I find this difficult, if not impossible to accept.
I do believe that God was active in my life these last twenty years, perhaps mitigating the damage at times. After separating from my first wife in 1989 things seemed to improve, a lot. I was able to overcome my problems with reality through hard work. I remarried in 1991 and, superficially at least, life was good for several years. In the past decade, though I managed to get a couple of BS degrees,in many ways things simply got steadily worse, I was less sane, the “demons” came out that I was repressing. This decline coincided with the “recovery” of the abuse “memories.” Throughout, I was wholly sincere in my desire to serve God and I believe He honored that. I accomplished much good during the past two decades, there is simply too much damage done, too much pain, too much confusion, too much… to believe that He was truly my guide through it all. There is much more the voices told me, I haven’t the will to pull it all up, but I think you get the idea. I seek God in my heart now, not my mind. Which brings me back to my place with the voices mostly quiet, in a way bereft, but mostly relieved and with a halfway decent grasp on “reality,” if there be such a thing. The Ger’asene is sitting on a rock, clothed and in his right mind, yet feeling lost, guilty, out of place and foolish. And has little idea what to do with himself.


My God, My God, what have I done?


Update, October 2007

I feel like I have overcome my transgender fixation. I took a lot of time and thouhgt through all the scenarios of a life that followed that path. They all led to dead ends. I no longer believe this is God's will for me. I have a good part time job now, hope to go back to grad school in 09. Will declare bankruptcy after the first of the year ( its pretty bad when bankruptcy is a step up). Been almost two and a half years since the divorce. I feel like i am finally healing from it. I actually had a date with a woman this month. It went well but not ready for a relationship just yet. I'm still depressed a lot and occaisionally manic, but I maintain insight and don't listen to the voices anymore. Things are pretty good.

Paradox

Paradox
God
All powerful creator
Omnipotent
Omniscient
Infinite

The ancient question:
Can this God
create an object
even He
cannot move?
Pardox.
Or is it?
What of the human heart?
Tweak the question a bit,
Can He create
Something
Even He
Cannot control?
Adam and Eve
His chosen people
Those healed by Christ
And sharply admonished
To tell no one.
His Popes
You and I.
Those who love Him
Choose to do His will.
And even they
Stray.
Evil happens
If we so choose.
Free will you say?
Or Omniscient error?
Proof for the atheist?

Love.
Love is all powerful.
Love creates.
God is Love.

Love does not control.
Love not freely chosen
Is not love.

Man’s heart roams free.
Paradox?
Painful truth.
Is this God cruel
Or mad
Or absent?

Can one who has experienced the power of love
Doubt the existence of God?
Can one who has not or has lost love
Or who has seen evil
Believe in Him?

Evil?
Love’s absence?
Can this infinite God be absent?
Or simply choose
To withhold
His omnipotence
For the sake of love?

To love so much
As to allow
Evil?
Choice?
Madness
Divine madness.

God chooses not to control
The human heart.
Evil will control
The human heart
If the heart so chooses.
Yet love remains
God.

Sodden

There’s a hole in my heart where the rain comes in
Blue skies or gray it pours in like sin
There’s a hole in my soul where their eyes bore in
Pouring judgment on me until they win
My sodden heart breaks at the seams
And my laden soul cracks at the beams
My God My God I can’t bear the weight
My Lord My Lord I can’t stand the wait.
What have I done
But try to follow you
Sweet Jesus you know I’ve ached to be true.
But here I am
Broken and torn
Sodden and saddened
Beaten and worn.
And still it rains and bores and pours in on me.
I am left on the cross street for all to see.
There he goes, that’s the one
Hell I wish I had my gun
Stares and sneers and a deadly remark
And now I lay alone in the dark
I did not shield myself from anything
Wore my soul on my sleeve, everything.
I did it all for love, did it all for You
So to hell with them, I have been true.
Yes, I’m broken in every way
Yet I live to cry another day.
Sodden, I know all that they say.
Beaten, yes, but just for today
I rise, I walk. I face the fray.
I love You still,
I come to do Your Will.

Now 2

I want to start over with this life of mine.
Do it better from now on.
I’ve spent so much of myself
somewhere other than here and now
and somehow anything but happy.
“One day, one place at a time, OK?”
Tomorrow is worry and fear,
yesterday is judgment, regret.
Today is all I have,
now is where I’m at,
so I’ll stay right here in now ‘til its over
because everything happens now.
Nothing happens in the future,or the past.
No amount of fear or worry
can make anything happen in the future.
No amount of regret can change a thing in the past.

I have my own small space in now
where I have some control, if I want it.
With a little work, I can do pretty much what I please,
Be happy, be sad, be content, be afraid...
I now choose to be content within this space of mine
and as I move my space around in life,
to interact with others, or not,
I choose to remain focused on peace of mind,
not worry or fear, so maybe I’l be able
to hold my part of the world together
as now goes on.
And I hope I might somehow make life a little better
for those whose space is most intimate with mine.

Now is all we have
and all we need.
Lord , help me to be here now.
Always now, help me stay away
from other places, other times.
Let me be here now, with you.
Let me be happy in my now, in my little space.
Let me be responsible only for that which you give me, Lord.
Let me not be afraid.
Please Lord, let me not be afraid.

Still

Trust is gone,
the only thing that relieves the fear
is anger, and that only lasts so long.

I could hardly trust myself to breath, my heart to beat.
life became fear of movement,
and movement the only thing i could do.
Life became fear of forward motion,
of time, especially time.
For any forward motion brings risk
and risk is terror without trust.
Deliberate movement became an antidote,
dance became therapy,
anger became a release.
Planning was beyond comprehension
as it takes faith in the future.
Organization was difficult in that
it took trust in myself,
in my decision making.
Decision making was fine for the immediate, physical,
nearly anything immediately physical was OK.
But anything requiring trust in the future
was futile.
And there was the constant fear
of the movement of time
and of the present.
Fear of now and all its possibilities

Trust in me
Says my God.
How can I when I fear every passing moment?
Be still and know that I am God.
Be still, but I can hardly stand to sit
Let alone be still.
Be not afraid
I am with you.
Really?
I am with you always, until the end of the age.
Before I formed you in the womb I knew you.
Every hair on your head is counted.
Be still and know that I am God.
I have loved you with an everlasting love
I have formed you and you are mine.
Sorry, I just can’t, I gotta go,
Somewhere, anywhere,
I just have to keep moving.
I am with you
OK, then come on.
We can talk on the way to… somewhere.
Be still…
OK, I’ll try to be still in my head but I got to keep moving.
Bless the Lord, Oh my soul.
Yeah, I really like that one.
Do not forget all the gifts of God,
OK, like be still, and think about the good stuff.

So I had my deliberate motion
in walking through the snow in the dark.
It took a while but I noticed,
It was beautiful.
So quiet, just the crunch of my feet on the snow,
So still, just a few snowflakes gently drifting down.
Somehow I had shut out the cars going by on the street.
With my hood up and my head down I couldn’t see them.
I noticed my breathing, fast and shallow, like I was scared.
My heart, too, beating fast.
Ok, lets be still.
Slow everything down.
Relax, body, slow down, heart, feet.
I stopped, took a deep breath,
And looked up.
The big white snow flakes drifted down
past my eyes through the blue black sky.
They seemed to come from nothing, out of nowhere.
They appeared and fell all around me,
Slowly, continually, gently.
I am with you.
A flake landed on my cheek.
Like a tear.
Angry?
No.

Trust in Me.

Thanks T

Just lost, late at night...early in the morning. I have a big, bold print out on 8 1/2 by 11 on my wall, the one on the far right, fourth row up, written in a fit of positive thinking: I LOVE MY LIFE, ALL OF IT. EVEN THE PAIN. THERE LIES LOVE. I don't look at it very often. My 9 year old grandson read the first line out loud a few days ago while we stopped in at my apartment. I didn't look up, until I came back much later. Maybe its right after all. Maybe its real. I'm trying to be real. I really don't know how. When I look back on the things I do and say, so often they're just not real. I was just going with the flow, or trying to impress, or please. Yep, people pleaser. Of course, the real me, if I could ever find me, wouldn't be good enough... for... what?... who?... I don't know, I just wouldn't be good enough if I were really me. So I'm often someone else. Who? I don't know that either but it has to be better than me. That's why I like you. You seem to be you. To be real. I remember being me sometimes, being real. I remember it felt good. I could just never keep it up very long. I always lost myself. You see, this illness, which I've probably had all my life, it just didn't hit big time 'til I was 30, separates you from reality sometimes, but you're never exactly sure when it happens. You think you're cruising along just fine annd then things start falling apart and all of a sudden with a horrific, gut renching realization, you realize you have been living in a delusion for... hours, days, even years. And everything crashes. Your whole life falls apart. And maybe you just cry for a while, or maybe you cry and pace the floor all night or maybe you cry and pace the floor all night and then pack some things by noon the next day and walk down to the emergency ward and say I need to go to the...closest Funny Farm, Nut House, Loony Bin, Insane Asylum...no, where I live right now we call it 5C, the mental ward of a hospital in a town 32 miles away. But if you can't get it together to check yourself in, you'll probably either end up in jail for nothing other than being crazy or they'll come and get you with big beefs and choke you out and put you in that funny shirt with eight foot long arms, Straight Jacket, and put you in a metal room (padded cells are for rich people) on the top floor of the county hospital in what's called 5 point restraints (somebody told me this, I didn't count) where you have to call the beef for a bed pan to go pee. and hopefully they drug you enough so you sleep for a long time and hopefully somebody shows up and vouches for you and they let you out into the "population". On the top floor. Where the more advanced "patients" stay. Where they let you out a few times a day for fresh air or smokes on the roof with 9 feet high fences with barbed wire on the top.
But that was nearly twenty years ago, I live a pretty good life now, reasonably stable, I work, part time. receive SSD. Had a real good marriage for about 6 years and a not so good one for six years and separated for a year and divorced over two years ago. This illness is mostly to blame. I'm one of the lucky ones. I really am quite stable most of the time. I don't "look mentally ill" And you really can't tell by looking...
OK folks, I'm really tired, this isn't good for me, been awake for 21 hours now, I'll pay for this. I just had to tell the truth, be real, even if nobody ever reads this stuff.
Thanks T.

What Does Depression Feel Like?

What Does Depression Feel Like?
For Therese

Like I’m a spectator at my own life.
Watching and wondering why I am so sad.
I look at the blue sky, the trees, feel the breeze,
Hmmm, I should be enjoying this.
Instead I’m sighing heavily, taking small steps,
(Takes less energy that way),
My shoulders drooping. head down.
Hey, you idiot, it’s a beautiful day!
I look up.
It hurts to look at the sky,
Not my eyes, my heart.
Why does that hurt?
Its beautiful, that’s why.
And I am so… not.
It feels like I am outcast, apart, alone.
I am with my grandchildren.
Nine and eleven.
I watch the scene, it seems idyllic.
Actually my ex, step grandchildren, but
They love me.
They are beautiful, wonderful, little people.
I can hardly stand to be with them.
I push them on the swings
And as they laugh
A wave of palpable gloom
Flows out from my gut.
And I want to run away
And hide or even die.
I’m in my body now.
Its not fear, though I am afraid of it.
There is no word for it.
“It” is a flow of almost physically heavy,
very heavy, emotion..
Perhaps a combination of the downside every emotion I have ever felt since I was the one being pushed in the swing and I’m overwhelmed by “I can’t” and “Why?” and “I’ve got to get out of here!” and “I don’t understand”, and “I’m going to cry or yell….”
But I somehow stay, I even smile.
For them. For a while.
This is so hard.
Let’s go guys. (I need a cigarette)
The air and the sunlight are thick and heavy,
I feel like I’m moving against
Some slow but steady current,
Like a river of mud.
And yes, I feel unclean.
And they’re disappointed we’re leaving so soon
And just when I thought I couldn’t feel worse
I feel guilty and weak and….
Worse.
I have disappointed loved ones again.
Somehow that’s the worst thing I can think of right now.
And I’ve done it.
Again.
It’s always been like this.
It will always be like this.
I want to die.
But the boys…. I manage a smile
Want something to drink?
They always like that.
The mini-mart/gas station/A&W
Is always so bright and busy with cool stuff all around.
I feel better.
“Papa?” One of the boys holds something small and cool but mini-mart priced at twice its value and I wouldn’t buy it even if I could afford it. And I shake my head and say I can’t afford it, sorry, and he’s… that word again and I physically droop and almost cry and I pay for our drinks with a heavy sigh and I still manage a smile as I ruffle their hair and give them a bump of my hip on the way back to the car with the primer black hood and fender I can’t afford to get painted but it’s dependable and they like it.
And I love this but I can’t stand it for much longer.
I let them play their radio station.
Unless the lyrics are too trashy
Then its oldies or light rock and my gut burns with that emotion
As I drop them off at home.
Bye Papa. Bye guys. (I’m sorry)
Damn… I couldn’t… I didn’t… Why?
Guilt. Shame. Love. Pain.
Chain smoking and a few diet cokes
I get free ‘cause I’m a regular at the bar and its more bearable.
Home is upstairs. Empty.
I want to run away somewhere but I don’t have the will.
Thank God there’s an elevator.
On the way up I sigh and cry and
I open the door and I sink a little lower looking at the clutter,
But now I can sit in my dusty prayer chair and be still and
Know that He is God.
I close my eyes. And cry.
Eventually, I’m aware of Him.
I’ll live, somehow.
But why?

Thanks so much Therese. I'll think about making it beautiful, giving it a light, and I'm working on tearing it's guts out, but, as you know, its very messy.
Marquos

Therese is here:
blog.beliefnet.com/beyondblue/2007/10/12-ways-depression-is-like-a-p.html

Perfect

Perfect, strive for perfection, so noble.
So deceptive, so insidious.
Tasks come before me,
I don’t hear the inner perfectionist say it must be perfect.
It’s the knot in my gut, the anxiety that rises up
The depression that looms as I make my attempt
Then the inner critic as I go about my work,
Nothing is good enough,
So often nothing gets done.
So many tasks abandoned,
Ideas and titles of essays unwritten.
Perfection, the great paralyzer,
The constant critic.
Insidious as it shows itself in relationships gone wrong
Over unrealistic expectations.
So difficult to love and be loved
As in love we must love the imperfections in the other
And reveal them in ourselves.
A simple walk down Main Street,
Or in the park or by the river.
Seeking peace and joy.
But all is not perfect and the gloom descends.
Acceptance of this beautiful,
Imperfect world
Seems the only way out.
To use this critical eye
To see the world exactly as it is
And love it anyway.
My God, my Father, my Papa.
He made this world, these people,
who am I say they're not perfect.
How it hurts me to demand I be
Better than my brothers and sisiters.
A demon looks over my shoulder
And whispers in my ear.
Help me brush him off, Lord
Silence him.
I shall not know joy until.

Mind Freedom International Newsletter

MindFreedom International Public Service Announcement
http://www.mindfreedom.org - urgent: please forward
Thursday, 11 October 2007
How to Screen Yourself for Normality for Free!
by David W. Oaks, Director, MindFreedom International
WASHINGTON, D.C.: Today has been declared "Mental Health Screening Day" by the psychiatric industry.
But wait! Don't panic!
MindFreedom International, a nonprofit human rights coalition of 100 groups, launches a campaign today to "Screen the World for Normality"!
You can screen yourself *now*, wherever you are, in five easy steps.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NORMALITY SCREENING SELF-TEST
1. Make an animal noise. Now. At your computer screen or wherever you are. Make any animal noise: Meow of a cat. Moo of a cow. Anything. Louder the better.
2. Evaluate yourself. Here is how:
3. Did you make an animal noise of any kind? You show no sign of normality. Congratulations!!
4. Did you did *not* make an animal noise of any kind? You show no sign of normality. Congratulations!!
5. Spread the word: Encourage others to take this simple Normality Screening Self-Test!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WHY SCREEN YOURSELF FOR NORMALITY?
This screening was designed by experts. Every normality screening brings Earth that much closer to declaring victory.
Seriously: End the discrimination and segregation of "mentalism" in the mental health system today! All of humanity are in the same mad boat. It is time to ask some of those "Officially Labeled Mad" for navigation tips.
We normality screeners thank the amazing physician-clown Patch Adams and his international clown network. Their clown troupe in Florence, Italy, helped devise and inspire this normality screening effort.
The Normality Screening campaign is sponsored by MFI's "Voices for Choices in Mental Health Care Campaign" in cooperation with the Mad Pride Movement and the International Association for the Advancement of Creative Maladjustment (IAACM), which is a real organization that Martin Luther King, Jr. called for creating more than ten (10) times.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PLEASE LET OTHERS KNOW about this Normality Self-Screening Test both on and off Internet!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
STAY TUNED HERE for more news.
Just a few hours after e-mailing you this, I and a wonderful MindFreedom Normality Screening Crew -- that includes both a physician and a psychologist -- cross the Potomac River with our rubber chickens and squeaky red noses to peacefully screen for normality directly in front of the American Psychiatric Association headquarters.
Really.
Watch here for results.
We are optimistic.
But then again, we're just not normal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A FEW NON-NORMAL WEB LINKS FOR MORE INFO about...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Screenfor Normality Campaign
Other successful MAD PRIDE activities this week include Belgium (featuring an appearance by Dan Taylor of MindFreedom Ghana Africa)... An Australian music concert... UK's Bonkersfest doing normality screenings... a photo op at the Alternatives 2007 conference in St. Louis:
http://www.mindfreedom.org/campaign/madpride/screen-normality
or go here: http://tinyurl.com/3dudcq
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
David W. Oaks blogs about normality screening here:
http://www.mindfreedom.org/mfi-blog
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mad Pride Movement:
http://www.mindfreedom.org/campaign/madpride
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
International Association for the Advancement of Creative Maladjustment (IAACM) which Martin Luther King, Jr. really truly did call for more than ten times... along with brief videos about how to screen for normality:
http://www.mindfreedom.org/campaign/madpride/mlk-iaacm/mlk
or go here: http://tinyurl.com/2xvqfn


The only requirement for *you* to call yourself an IAACM leader is peacefully follow these MLK-inspired nonviolence guidelines:

http://www.mindfreedom.org/campaign/madpride/mlk-iaacm/peace-rules

or go here: http://tinyurl.com/2cf3u3

And yes, also in the spirit MLK and Gandhi, MindFreedom is seeking to engage psychiatric professional organizations in mediated dialogue.
Videos of MindFreedom activists and allied psychiatric survivor/mental health consumer groups successfully dialoging at the World Psychiatric Association conference in Dresden, Germany in June 2007 are here:

http://www.mindfreedom.org/campaign/global/world-psychiatric-association

or go here: http://tinyurl.com/2rfc9x

In Arlington, Virginia for the next few days you can meet and hear from the normality screeners themselves, who are attending and speaking at the International Center for the Study of Psychiatry and Psychology conference, special theme of defending youth from psychiatric human rights violations. David Oaks is one of the keynote speakers:
http://www.icspp.org

MindFreedom International Live Free Internet Radio this Wed., 17 October 2007 at 4 pm features an interview with one of the "normality screeners" in front of the APA headquarters today: psychologist and author Al Galves of New Mexico. You can call in live. Host: David W. Oaks.

http://www.mindfreedom.org/radio

And of course, please visit Normal, Illinois, USA. Because once you've visited Normal, Illinois then you too can wave your hands around and honestly say to your friends, "None of this is Normal":
http://www.normal.org

PLEASE LET OTHERS KNOW about this "Normality Screening Self-Test" both on and off the Internet! Please forward, print out and tell people!
More news at the MindFreedom News Web Site:
http://www.mindfreedom.org
Don't see a news item? Submit it to news@mindfreedom.org
MindFreedom International is a nonprofit human rights group that unites 100 sponsor and affiliate groups with individual members. MindFreedom is the only group of its kind accredited by the United Nations as a Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) with Consultative Roster Status.
MindFreedom International is also one of the very few totally independent groups in the mental health field with no funding from governments, drug companies, religions, corporations, or the mental health system.
All human rights supporters are invited!
Join or donate here:
http://www.mindfreedom.org/join-donate
For hard-to-find books and gear (including a Normality Screening Kit, complete with rubber chicken) go to:
http://www.madmarket.org

FOR MORE INFO:
MindFreedom International Office: 454 Willamette, Suite 216 - POB 11284; Eugene, OR 97440-3484 USA
web site: http://www.mindfreedom.org
e-mail: office(at)mindfreedom(dot)org
office phone: (541) 345-9106
toll free: 1-877-MAD-PRIDe or 1-877-623-7743
fax: (541) 345-3737
Please forward.
Want to get off this MF News e-mail announcement list? Two easy ways:
1) To unsubscribe e-mail a blank email to
mindfreedom-news-unsubscribe@intenex.net
Be sure to "reply" when you get the automatic unsubscribe confirmation message.
2) If you have any trouble getting off this list e-mail to office(at)mindfreedom(dot)org with these words in the subject line:
unsubscribe mindfreedom-news

So Sad

So Sad


It seems I don’t know how not to be sad
I learned it so well, its apart of me now.
Sadness is my response to most anything.
Its the one emotion I can count on,
the only one not ridiculed by the voices in my mind
(or the people in my memory)
or second-guessed by my heart.
I sometimes cherish my sadness
as the only true emotion I know.
Anger is evil, happiness unreal
and love is impossible but
Sadness will never let you down.
You can’t go wrong being sad.
There is always reason to be sad,
even if its just about the past.
You probably won’t hear
“its dumb to feel sad”
or “you’re gonna regret being sad”
and you won’t be disapointed with sadness, either.
If you’re sad you’re ready to hurt
and you don’t have far to fall.
And when the hurt is gone
you don’t have so far to come to be sad again.
It takes a lot less energy to be sad
You will probably be known
as compassionate
by those who don’t know you well.
Yes, there’s alot to be said for being sad.

Happiness is overated, peace is best, thats what Jesus gave his disciples, do not be afraid is the most common phrase in the Bible, and acceptance of reality is imperative.

Sunday

Sunday


I’m feeling much better now,
I hardly think of it at all.
I’m only anxious for the morning now
and a little of the afternoon.
The depression comes and goes these days,
Morning, afternoon, evening,
like a wheel that turns
with a shift in the wind.

Yes, I’m feeling much better now,
except for those sunday afternoons
when the Black Terror builds in my gut,
‘til I’m terrified of myself and the future
and the past and the present.
And the anger and the horror build ‘til I know I’ll kill or die...
and its gone.
The Black Terror doesn’t come often,
but the threat of it looms over sunday
like a Hindenburgh about to touch
its mooring post.
As the afternoon creeps by
I fear every twinge in my belly
and dread every wrinkle in my mood.
Some times there’ll be a swell of It
run low and slow through my soul.
Just enough to remind me
just what it is I’m afraid of.

Perhaps it was on sunday afternoons,
all those years ago,
those people took me to their room.
And the terror was for real.
Right after sunday school.
But I hardly think of it at all anymore,
I’m feeling much better, really.

Enemy

Depression, I fear you. You have brought me low. Many times you have driven me to despair, gripped by a cold, wrenching fear from my gut to my spine. I fear you more than death, there is an ending in death but there seems no hope in your ever ending. To put depression to an end one must regain one’s will, for in depression one’s entire will is taken up in just surviving, there is no will left for living.
I fear your spells of anger, the ones where I am so near the edge, the edge of madness and violence. I fear you most of all. Even a hint of you is fearful for I know you can grow quickly, fed by my fear and lifelong attitudes
Perhaps I will never be completely free from you but if I can learn what makes you grow and stay and thrive maybe I can diminish you to a place where the drugs will make you seem to go away. As it is they only seem to take the edge off. I’m still depressed, I’m still scared, anxious. And sometimes I just can’t take it anymore and I’m walking up the hill outside my house screaming ultimatums at God about help and healing... and it helps. I feel better, the next day is easier. I thank God for one good day and manage to struggle through one more week.
I always look to the weekend to be healing but too often it feels just like the rest of the week there’s just not the demands on my time, not as many tasks to do. I still feel anxious, depressed, despair is not far away, I’m just not pushed, there is less stress... in some ways. Sundays are the worst and the best day. I seem to often have attacks of anxiety and near psychosis on sundays. Though they can take a couple of hours in coming these attacks are mercifully short in their intense stage and afterwards I generally feel quite good. As though I’ve conquered some demon from out of the depths of my mind. But depression, you are still my enemy. I fear you more than death.

I have learned that anger suppressed feeds my depression. I realized recently I still have much suppressed anger towards my first wife. She abused me in every possible way, used me up, drove me mad, and let me go when I was of no more use. I loved her, something in me still does. Perhaps that is why I sometimes feel I could actually harm her, something I didn't do when we were together. I have prayed often recently to be able to forgive her, It is slowly being granted but not until I began to express the anger in bold black letters on my sketch pad and computer. Long diatribes of violence, painfully drawn out of my heart in tears. I am spent. I ask my God is that enough? I get the sense it is not. The only thing I can thank her for is she drove me trembling and broken to the feet of Christ at the same time she drove me mad. I escaped to Christ, He was palpably near as I slipped into psychosis, a calm gentle presence nearby or within as reality shifted toward evil. He was with me, keeping the essential me intact even as my personality splintered, spun, and cried so desperately for freedom for the captives that I was chained. I cling to Him now. Still. Always. Whenever my grip upon Him is loosened and I slip, my life loses balance and meaning. I sink.
She was pathologically jealous. Every blink of my eye was punished as a look at another woman. Every emotion I expressed was chastised as wrong. When I expressed no emotion I was cold and heartless and "dead". I was allowed no friends, no family, no money. She demanded absolute fidelity and truth on her terms, terms shifting and impossible to meet. I can say quite literally I could do nothing right and things I had nothing to do with were judged to be my fault, evidently on some supernatural plane. She herself was free from all restrictions. She lied easily, more often than she told the truth. small lies and grand, involved schemes of interconnecting lies. Every day we fought, she attacked in blunt or subtle ways but consistantly punishing me for imagined evils. Once or twice a month there would be the exceptionally cruel battles that would eventually drive me out into the night to walk for hours and sleep in hallways or laundramats. She would seek me out never letting me go, but letting me rest a bit when I had been gone a day or two. She would be kind for a bit. SHe feared losing me. I was her support as well as her foil and target. I looked good next to her. She often threatened suicide should I leave. Somehow I loved her. She was exempt from her demands of absolute fidelity as she was often unfaithful. She had at least three abortions. This does not count the time, early on when she had me acquire money for one and then used the money to pay rent. I doubt any of the pregnancies were from my loins.
In the end she entered into the New Age and channeled the spirits that drove me over the edge. That is another tale. The anger seems to be dissipating a bit. Writing helps.