So. Quick review.
Last summer I was put on a bad medicine, and the dosage was a high one.
I had my usual 8 week depression in july/august/september.
I went manic.
I lost my GP.
I had no psych coverage.
The medicine was killing me, literally.
I wrote 3 letters and gave copies of them to my now ex-general practitioner in an attempt to out the corruption in her office, thinking that a doctor would have given a shit enough about ethics and the law to fix the problem. My mistake.
I got hospitalized for 5 days against my will beginning September 19.
September 21 I get served 3 ex parte orders. From Dr. Vineyard, her father - Dr. Keihl, and Dr. Keihl's wife, Sharon Keihl. It's a good thing I was taking a shit when they knocked on the door at the hospital to serve me.
September 24 I get out. YAY! Someone tried to get them to keep me. The wonderful Nurse Liz sat on my bed next to me during my discharge interview. She looked at me and said "You really pissed someone off." I was like, duh? "Someone called up here from the DeKalb County Sheriff's Office claiming you've been using the phone to make threats." I kinda giggled and rolled my eyes. Dr. Shuman turned to face us and said "I haven't heard any threats. On with the discharge."
Only now I'm too paranoid to go home until Dad gets home so I hang in St. Joseph all day.
My aunt, Marsha, was calling and going to the sheriff's office complaining because I was released from the hospital.
She has no ex parte on me, why the bitch fit?
Court Date 1 - October 4 (see how long they gave me to gather a defense?) postponed due to death in my attorney's family.
Court Date 2 - OCT 30. Continued due to other lawyer having a jury trial that day.
Court Date 3 - November 30. A mother fucking circus. Seriously. I was waiting for a goddamned clown to jump out and squirt me with a fake flower in his oversized overalls. It was brought out in court and in the ex parte orders that I had threatened to kill:
Her 2 (I think) kids.
The staff at the doctor's office.
The patients at the doctor's office.
With a gun. Me going and killing people with a gun. Let's think about that for a moment. If I'm going to be a killer I'm going to choose the weapon that makes the biggest amount of noise because I really want to get caught or die by suicide by cop. Yes, that makes sense.
There's also the fact that my firearms are not equipped with 30 round magazines, nor can I modify them to fire automatically. Unless I planned to buy a Tommy Gun and a violin case.
And. Well. As Dave so eloquently puts it, "You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if your life depended on it. Give it up and learn to throw rocks, you'll have better luck." Does that say anything about my marksmanship? Not that I apparently cared about collateral damage.
It was bantered around by my family at around the same time that I was going to kill my father in his sleep. That I shake because I'm violent. I twitch because I'm violent. I breathe because I'm violent. I just spray out fucking violence from my aura I guess. That helped get me locked up in the first place.
It was said, in court, that pretty much I'm a mass murderer and baby killer because:
I have bipolar disorder.
Yep. I have a mental illness therefore I can and will snap and kill people because those of us with mental illnesses are scary mother fuckers that should be locked away for life. Yep.
Ruling: In my favor. Sort of. The judge chewed me out and said my behavior was beyond unacceptable after quoting something he supposedly saw in evidence "I have enough weed and klonopin to get me through." The funny thing about that is... I don't remember (I'd have to look and I'm too lazy) ever putting that in print. It was not said in court. The only person I said "I have enough weed and klonopin to get me through" to was Stephanie, a nurse at the doctor's office. She was not present at my hearing. Now I'm going to have to find out what exact pieces of paper were put in as evidence so I know what to read. Nice. Anyway. I got the hell out of there.
The victim advocate told me that it was indeed Jennifer spreading it around that I'm a scary crazy person and I've threatened them with violence before and they're oh so scared of me.
Also. Marsha attempted to get another aunt to expose that I hear voices, in another very bad attempt to get me committed again, like just hearing voices means I have to be in a hospital. That is kinda funny. Except I had fun while I was there. And I made friends.
I united the crazy people too. That's how scary I am.
I started a support and advocacy group. Check it out here: http://stdymphnasmh.bravesites.com/ and the blog here: http://stdymphnasmh.blogspot.com/
I was in the paper twice, once here: http://www.newspressnow.com/life/health/article_21cdc383-164f-5529-a445-01c250e8b603.html
By the way, I don't hear voices. My own is loud enough inside my head, I don't need more. Thank you.
I have a new GP, a new psych, a new counselor. Everything has changed. Except for one thing. Everyone else gets to get away with their actions in current time, but, karma, will indeed fuck their worlds up as much as they fucked mine up. Seriously. Count on that right there.
I lock my doors as soon as Dad leaves for work or I come home. Seriously, as soon as he's out of sight, the locks click.
I got a new guard dog. She's my companion. Between her and Babygirl, my half pit/half lab, and my Border Collie/Husky mix, I feel safe. Nobody that is not supposed to be here is going to make it up my driveway without me knowing about it. Cherry sleeps with me. She's chow. She's rarely 5 feet away from me. She would tear someone up to protect me. She won't let people get close to me. She won't let animals get close to me. She keeps me a safe distance from "danger."
I'm paranoid as hell at times. What was that noise? What was that shadow? Who's gonna get me next? When are the cops going to come get me again because they believe Marsha and Jennifer's lies?
The events of being locked up were atrocious at best. That failure for a sheriff pretended to do it because I needed help. This was two weeks after I wrote the letters. I was called on the telephone and asked to come in because "Wes wants to talk to you." Ok, fine. I go in. "You're suicidal. You're going to the hospital." OK that's fine and dandy. Bite my shiney metal ass, they'll see I'm not a threat to anyone and let me loose. So I thought. So Wes told me.
I was such a threat to myself and others that he really bothered himself to gather backup and come get me like he did to that guy in Cameron that said something to his counselor. I was denied the right to see the affidavit that got me locked up until I was released and got a copy of my medical records.
It was all lies. None of it was based on an interview with me or my father. Oh yeah, I live with Dad. Wes refused to call Dad to get him to lock me up. Let me back up a bit. The day before I was violated, Sheriff Wes called my grandmother and my aunt, both of whom I was pretty much estranged from at that point in time. Therefore they know nothing of my moods, my meds, my doctor appointments or anything personal. Sheriff says "People are gettin' fired. She's crazy. This is crazy. She's gotta be stopped, XXXXXXXXX" Yeah, I gave you real lawbreakers and you bloody have me locked up to scare me into silence because it's ok for them to break laws and HIPAA. Thanks bud. Dick. Actually, I like dicks and pricks, so we'll call the Sheriff a case of Vaginitis. (18+ Blue Waffle Disease).
I really did wonder if I was going insane due to the stress and pissed offness of the situation. I'm sane. Thankfully, though not for lack of Marsha and Jennifer's trying.
I gained a new relationship with God and the Spirits.
I'm more in harmony now.
I sleep with a knife.
My room is booby trapped.
I know who I am and what I am.
I know my core values and beliefs and I hold myself to a higher standard because I am mentally ill.
I've learned from warriors and generals past.
I've a new look on life. Live it now or just die. So, I'm living.
I'm writing a book series, with spinoffs and study guides and trivia books.
NW Missouri will know me quite well before I'm done with St. Dymphna's.
I want to submit a mental health patient's bill of rights to the state of Missouri congress.
When I was locked up I was denied a patient advocate of my choosing and declaration. The social worker's manners and give a shit about the patient lacked a lot. Seriously, a lot. I was initially diagnosed as having schizoaffective disorder. The affidavit that Sheriff Vaginitis got through the judge said that I was off of my psych meds. Which I wasn't. It said that my family members thought I was a threat to others. That would be Marsha and Jennifer and someone they'd been snookering. XXXXXXXX mentioned earlier was included on the affidavit as a contact to back up the affidavit when she clearly told Vaginitis to go to hell, she was not going to lock me up and Vaginitis needed to call my father, whom I live with.
It took me 2.5 days to get the staff at the hospital to call another aunt (whom in the meantime was threatening lawsuits just to make sure nothing happened to me, like Haldol, again) to back my story up. They asked her if it was true. She said hell yes it's true.
Oh, side note. I'd written my memoirs of the time a couple of years ago to help me cope with mom's death. I included a chapter entitled "Don't touch me there," detailing my sexual abuse fiasco. I revised that chapter to change the fake names to real names. I printed these chapters and put them in envelopes. I gave them to members of the family that I thought gave a shit about me. I also gave Marsha and Jennifer a copy of it, along with a copy of the really pissed off rant I wrote for them in which I called them the spawn of Satan and unchristian. It turns out that one of my abusers showed up that day and he happens to be closely related to Marsha and Jennifer. I gave him a copy of the now infamous Chapter 8 of the book fiasco. He spazzed, though I did think he was gonna piss down both legs when I handed him the envelope.
Yes, I outed my abusers at long last, freeing my soul and finally gluing the last piece in place of the broken girl inside of me. She's reinforced with steel, mettle, determination, courage, will and the ferocity of a very pissed off mama wolverine. My inner child has healed and grown. We are one now.
I am rising from the ashes and setting myself up for success in the future, in my life.
I have a boyfriend that is deeply in love with me. I make him happy and he makes me happy.
Anyway, I still was stuck in the hospital due to a med change, thankfully to medicine that's not killing me and is actually working. The nurse practitioner happened to be someone I worked with at the prison. She remembered me and recognized me right away as the people escorted me to the psych ward. She remembered that I write. She said at one of our check ins, "You're writing aren't you, you're doing it right this moment? I can tell!" Damn she called that one right. "Let me get you a journal and a pencil." I wrote and wrote and wrote, I planned my approach to my wonderful attorney to get her to take the case.
Dr. Vineyard and her mother, Sharon Keihl took the stand, both bawling because they truly and honestly believed the lies that Marsha and Jennifer filled them with. They actually believed that me, the one that crys every time she shoots a deer or fillets a fish, could senselessly slaughter approximately guestimated 20 people. For absolutely no reason, according to them, other than I'm bipolar therefore I can be violent.
Sharon Keihl lied in her ex parte order. She said that it was in my records that I have been "more and more unstable over the years. She's abusive towards staff, including myself." First, I haven't seen the woman since before Mom died over 2 years ago. My father paid for my medical records. They're incomplete... and they say nothing about me being abusive toward staff. The only thing in there is some asshole that doesn't know me advised Dr. Vineyard that I might need committed. So now we know where the idea to lock me up unnecessarily came from.Oh, Sharon isn't a doctor, isn't my doctor, and as far as I knew had no right to read my records to know what's in them, let alone disclose that information to the public.
It also says that I had just pulled up and was sitting in my truck in the parking lot. I was indeed handcuffed and in Vaginitis' patrol truck, extremely pissed off. How the hell was I in two places at once. Oh yeah, I'm a witch! Although I do identify with many Pagan traditions and cultures, I do not practice Wicca or Witchcraft. Just not my thing. It's cool, though. An' it harm none, do as ye will.
The doctors were more succinct: "Threatened to shoot myself and my staff."
The victim advocate told me or led me to believe that Jennifer, with Marsha's help, was spreading it around that I had threatened to shoot people on Facebook. The stupid bitch had me blocked. How does she know a damn thing. I hated even seeing her in the doctor's office. I avoided her even. Now I really do. I don't want to be collateral damage when Zeus shoots her ass with lightning. Karma's a bitch.
By the way, these, things, Marsha and Jennifer, do not know me. They've never gotten to know me. They don't care about me, nor have they ever. So why the hell believe them? Why not just have a set of nuts and ask me?
I have become a warrior with mental health patient rights as a cause. We are people too and we demand equal treatment.
But if you really want to know what pisses me off: It's the fact that those assholes sat there and nodded when the judge said that they would call the cops if I showed up on their property. Even though I won. It seriously pisses me off that Dr. Vineyard can cry because she thought I was going to kill her and her kids, and then cry because she thought that she failed me, when I clearly stated in the literature I gave her and Stephanie that I indeed thought she needed to go on and specialize in something and get the hell out of family practice, she'd be happier and we need more specialists. I even said that I didn't think she failed me. That tells me that Dr. Vineyard was responding emotionally and illogically to my letters. I guess I was too honest and brutal about what was going on under her nose, or for all I know, with her help.
It's the fact that nobody had the intelligence to comprehend what I had written nor the balls to ask me about it.
Finally: Fuck you, Sheriff Vaginitis. Marsha, Jennifer; May your crotches rot with the real vaginitis.