Waiting On A Friend

[wey-ting awn uh frend]: This is a rare mature reflection from The Stones, as Mick Jagger sings about the values of friendship as opposed to women. Then again, it might be about drugs. Keith Richards was a heroin user at the time, and the song could be a euphemism for waiting on the “connection” – the man with the drugs. Should Keith (or in this case, Mick, as he is singing in the video) get questioned by the police, his response would be, “I’m just waiting on a friend.”

The House God Has Forgotten part 80: There should be a handbook.

One day a couple of years ago the warden (who knows about this blog) gave me some advice; “Be careful. Sometimes someone can take it badly what you write.”

Sometimes the older generation has some smart things to say.

I would just like to say that IF you do take up what I write here in a bad way…remember this: even though it may feel like it is personal, I do not have anything against anyone I write about.

I write my feelings and the things I ponder.

Although sometimes it maybe is critical, I think it is good to be critical of such a large place that I work at…because everything is perfect.

If I have offended you, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize. It was nothing I do say to people to be mean as I said before…it is just how I think.

I get a few people that tell me that they enjoy reading The House God Has Forgotten. That they like my perspective on what is going on…so that is why I continue with the whole thing.

Eighty posts about life in jail: who would have ever thought I would have so much to say? That it would be interesting. I never thought so, honestly. I thought a few people would look at it and lose interest.

Then it got me reflecting: the people that send me a little note on messenger that they are reading, the people that tell me that “Don’t stop writing!” in my ear where no one can hear.

It means something to me. Every writer loves to have attention. Loves to have a conversation about what they write about. To be honest, the posts where people have arguments in the comments on Facebook make me happy! Just because I have started a conversation.

I don’t say this now to get attention, but right now I need some love. I question myself and I am EXTREMELY paranoid.

Most likely because I just like everyone can have those moments where they feel unsure of themselves.

Another thing that has got me paranoid is this conversation I am supposed to have with my boss on Wednesday. I hate being called into the bosses office.

Even when I say I am going to behave myself, I always end up getting in trouble.

Sure it is about me being sick, but I have this picture of me being in their office with another boss taking notes or the HR person taking notes. Picking at every word I say. Analyzing me.

I wish they understood how paranoid I get about things. How I take like anti-schizophrenia medicine because of my paranoia.

Don’t get me wrong…I don’t hear voices or anything like you see on Television where someone is acting all strange. I do not know if I look or act strange, but I get very fixated.

I don’t let it go and I always think about it all the fucking time. I wish there was a course on how to deal with someone and my illness. A handbook you could say with all of the things that go on in my head. Little things that affect me more than people who do not have it.

I think some people do not know what a struggle it can be sometimes. Sure I can sit there and honestly tell people “hey I am Bipolar” and it seems like “Hey I have a headache” but it is so much more than that.

I take all of these medicines that keep me from being one way or another.

One for stopping me being (or at least helping) being paranoid and manic.

One for stabilizing my moods (chemicals in my brain).

One for keeping me from being depressed (not anti-depression medicine that makes me manic).

Two for sleeping because all of the after-effects or the other three give you insomnia.

My doctor says I am heavily medicated. I call it survival.

I want to have a handbook, but I am tired of having to explain what is wrong with me.

I get afraid that if I say too much I will get myself in trouble.

If I say too little they will not understand.

I see my doctor two times a year. Last time I was there, we spent a total of seven minutes in his office.

So fourteen minutes a year I spend with a doctor.

See how I have to explain myself to everyone. Especially the bosses. I wish I could give them a mandatory course.

I would tell them about my childhood from my early teens until my mid-thirties I was obsessed with death and fought to not kill myself.

I did try it once. It was over a stupid little thing like a test to get into the university. I got ten points lower than I needed to get into a school I wanted to get into.

I felt so much pressure to get out of my parent’s house. My parents were using drugs and did not give me a good stable environment.

So after my knee surgery, I started hoarding narcotic pain killers.

Then that test result came in the mail.

I was devastated and I took all of the pills.

My father yelled at me for making too much noise when I was throwing them up. He was watching TV and it was too loud for him to listen.

Why didn’t he come into the bathroom and see if I was ok? What was happening?

I was even more obsessed in 2012. Then I was afraid of walking to the commuter train because I wanted to jump on the tracks. I would lie on the floor of my apartment and think: “How am I going to do it?” Then one thing that was keeping me alive was looking at my cats.

“Who would take care of them if I was gone?”

Then there is the classic: When people tell me I am not sick. That I am perfectly normal.

That it is just my personality.

I have to silently battle with myself. “Am I sick? Am I not sick?”

I will honestly admit something I have never admitted before. I miss being manic. I miss the feeling of being so happy about things, to feel like total euphoria.

Now I am just a person who needs a handbook. People thought I was more normal when I was not on medicine than when I came out with my diagnosis.

I would lie if I said that sometimes that I wish I never would have come out with my diagnosis. Not one time at work has one of my bosses called me into their office and took the time to understand more about what I go through.

To ask me questions. To learn what I go through or what it is like. To ask me what would make it easier for me when they deal with me. To know that I am not like everyone else. That I do not want special treatment, but that I want them to understand also that I am not some freak of nature that they should be afraid to know about.

I would rather tell you personal things about myself, that you do not understand my illness. Knowledge is power. You can help change people when they have stereotypes.

There was a girl a few years back that had my illness at The House God Has Forgotten that killed herself. I was devastated. Not only because I knew that that is how bad my illness can get.

But I was also shaking my head because of the possibility that my bosses do not understand our illness.

I am inviting all the bosses at The House God Has Forgotten.

Let me teach you about mental illness and tell you my story. It is full of curves and straight lines.

It may help you along the way it could have helped her.

1 kap. Yttrandefriheten enligt denna grundlag

Syfte och grunder

1 §   Var och en är gentemot det allmänna tillförsäkrad rätt enligt denna grundlag att i ljudradio, tv och vissa liknande överföringar, offentliga uppspelningar ur en databas samt filmer, videogram, ljudupptagningar och andra tekniska upptagningar offentligen uttrycka tankar, åsikter och känslor och i övrigt lämna uppgifter i vilket ämne som helst.

Yttrandefriheten enligt denna grundlag har till ändamål att säkra ett fritt meningsutbyte, en fri och allsidig upplysning och ett fritt konstnärligt skapande. I den får inga andra begränsningar göras än de som följer av denna grundlag. Lag (2018:1802).

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