The Limbo Playground
Memories of Delusion
I’ve been going through it these past couple of weeks. I don’t know why exactly, or more specifically, I don’t know what triggered this bout of depression.
I’ve also been filling myself with negative self-talk. Everything in my life is fair game, but my writing is a special hit zone.
Perfectionism and Bipolar lead to either working non-stop or paralyzation for me. During my recent period of writing paralyzation, I found a notebook from my last locked-down psychiatric stay.
In it were all my HIPAA complaints in detail, the character list of everyone that I thought was part of a ploy, or maybe a play at that point, and these journal entries.
Back Story
For context, my fiance had committed suicide a year before this hospitalization. I strongly believed the suicide was anything but that.
I supported a murder theory that I created because the reality of the situation broke my brain.
With a murder scenario well embedded in my psyche, it was easy to think I was in danger as well.
I’m not sure how this exact incident started. I played war. Dodging and weaving an invisible army within the trailer park where I lived. Avoiding all enemies for hours.
I made it out only to be greeted by an ambulance that I thought had been destroyed by a flamethrower.
I was taken to our local hospital and was diagnosed with psychosis. An attempt to title 36 me failed due to a miracle moment of clarity in which I voluntarily admitted myself to the hospital.
Hope this helps.
I feel a need to share the highs and lows of my diagnosis. Reflecting on my wellness growth from times of instability helps me to stay compliant.
I also feel that vulnerability and honesty are two strategies for breaking the stigma of what it means to have a mental health diagnosis. I want people to know that they are not the only ones battling unseen illnesses.
It is okay to ask for and receive help.
Delusional thinking can be a trap for me when I’m not being mindful. Checks and balances, including therapy and medications, can help me to prevent myself from slipping out of this world into my own dangerous space.
These are real journal entries of mine. The writing has been cleaned up to fit medium standards.
Journal Entries
Saturday 10/23
Another day in Paradise here on the 5th floor at Summit hospital. Why am I here? That's such a loaded question.
Why do I think I’m here? I legitimately got run out of the trailer park, which weirdly I’m all right with.
I’m not sure what I think happened. To speak with anyone about what I really think will surely get me put in the state hospital for the rest of my life. Something I’m not ready for.
Maybe once I’m not in here, someone will tell me the truth.
All in all, this has been better than ChangePoint Behavioral Health Center.
I know no one will be looking for me. I’m sure no one even knows I’m gone. If they do their payouts on my life will be difficult to get unless, of course, there’s a falsified death certificate. Again, assuming I’m halfway right about anything.
What do I know for sure?
Summits ER sucks. Eighteen-plus hours on a gurney in a cold room is inhumane.
Upside down port in my right arm and an asshole watching me through a peep window are not high on the UN’s list of human rights.
Not sure about the title 36 thing. I mean, I know that happened, but what for?
Oh, because I covered my head for privacy, that’s right. The wall peeper couldn’t see my thoughts that way.
How could I forget that unwritten law to fill the state hospitals with terrified survivors?
And now I know for sure there seems to be a cycle to Title 36 the PTSD-filled runners or homeless or the elderly. What a gimmick.
5 stars for this hospital?
Who voted? People that hold life insurance policies on us ? Who writes these fraud contracts?
If it’s real to me, then it’s reality. Try fighting that fact.
10/24
Sunday at the best spa in the White Mountains. Slow, lazy Sunday. No pressure, no stress, food delivered, hot shower, chosen family. yay
10/25
Monday in the behavioral health problem unit. Sounds better than psych ward, I think.
Seeing that everyone alive has behavior issues and quite possibly everyone on earth has psychiatric problems, only the brave are willing to step up and admit it. So being the odd man out, black sheep, and weirdo is a superstar status, in my opinion.
So what happened to get us all here in this intersection? It seems like suicide for many, lack of meds for others, and me, well that would be the plot twist.
Needless to say, this white mountain adventure has been more of a nightmare than a dream come true. I hate it here on this portal to Hell Mountain.
Yes, I did save Doc (my dog) by coming to Arizona and maybe, in some sense, I did save myself. However, without the DocMan, it just sucks. Maybe Doc is the superhero in this story. I don’t know.
The truth is a funny thing on a mountain full of pathological liars. They twist the truth to feed their agendas and don’t give a rat’s ass about the collateral damage they leave in the wake.
Yes, the delusion is vast out here. Reality and surreality are just like the people with only one degree of separation.
Being an outsider certainly didn’t help me. All the worst people gravitated to me polluted my mind, body, soul and spirit.
Who am I now?
I am my true, authentic self now. Literally, how do you like me now? So much so that I was worth more dead than alive to 90% of this mountain.
It’s funny because you can’t kill something that isn’t alive.
So now I wait for the prognosis of my destiny.
I’m good with doing the limbo right now. Soon though, I’m going to knock the pole down and start being that squeaky wheel.
I trust this system as much as I trust any system. It is not very much.
Life is holding right now, so I will gorge on gourmet hospital food and pack on some pounds. Not a problem for now. Everything is for now. Eckhart Tolle would be proud.
The weekdays here are torture between 11:00 and 3:00. No fibbing, I almost missed the paper mache and gingerbread houses from the ultimate shithole for us crazies - ChangePoint.
Maybe I have become mostly antisocial maybe not.
I still have some blistering questions that I honestly will not address until I’m positive that this Title 36 thing is no longer hanging over my head.
Tuesday 10/26
10 days since my mad escape from the portal to hell — Running Bear RV Resort. I still don’t know where the bear was running to or from. I don’t know whether or not what I believe happened did happen. At least I’ve been free from the association of being part of that park. So that’s a huge win.
10/27
Finally, an answer. Yay. Going to a place called Mercy Manor.
A safe house.
Top Bunk baby.
I seriously don’t know what I’m getting into. What I do is that my escape from the White Mountains is imminent. For that, I am grateful.
10 years in the delusion of the White Mountains. In two days, my life as I know it will be changed. I can’t wait. The bonus is if I hate it, I can change it.
