19 September 2013

Journal 2

You're probably wondering why resurrect a dead blog? Well, because I want to journal every day to capture just how much I cycle, what way, when. You get the drift. Plus I got shit I wanna get off of my chest.

I AM SPARTACUS!
Depression level 4, a little less than yesterday.

Anxiety right now, none.

September 19, 2013. Thursday. 1 year since I got locked up, lost my freedom. As I've said, it was politics that got me locked up. A relative was assaulted by another relative's husband. As I've said before, I was abused by Mike from 8-13.

I wrote a book after Mom died, detailing everything I had suffered. Chapter 8 was about the sex abuse I endured. I had never laid it all out in one place before I wrote that chapter. The damage it did, the fears it instilled in me, everything. Family reunion 2012. Sept. 16. I handed copies of that chapter to relatives that I thought would give a shit about me.

I also gave copies to Marsha, Jennifer and Mike. Included in Marsha and Jennifer's envelopes was a letter to them. I explained sex offenders to them, I tried to point out the victim's side. I cursed at them. I called them out on the war they ignited because of the husband's actions. I told them to knock their shit off.

I gave a copy of this letter to her boss as I ask for my medical records, give notice as to who is allowed to touch them, tell her about the HIPAA violations going on under her nose, and to question the bullshit psych referral they gave me. The nurse honestly told me to Google this apparent Dr. Khan. There's no Khan or Kahn in Cameron. I also gave her a copy of my actives and motives.

I threatened malpractice because they did nothing to help me when I was in duress because the Effexor was killing me. Dr. Vineyard wouldn't treat my psychiatric problems beyond Sept. 4, 2012. I was doctorless and psychless while taking a very negative medicine prescribed by the very doctor that dropped my care. They didn't make sure I was covered until I could find appropriate psychiatric help. That was Thursday. Friday, I tried to get them to tell me what to expect because if they weren't going to help me, I was stopping the Effexor cold turkey.

I had weed and klonopin. I was prepared, I thought, until the heroin withdrawal symptoms hit 3 days into it. I guess deep down I knew I was uncontrollably manic, I just didn't know how to say it I guess. But I did ask for help.

I got a new GP that told me how to taper down with what I had and convinced me that I wasn't dying, in spite of the 141 heart rate. That I'd had for a week. And his office set me up with my current psych.

Before the hospitalization. I was set up to go and my feet were on the ground. I just had to make it until October 16 and the new psych could clear all that shit up for me. (Yeah she just had me thrust into her face. Poor thing lol).

The affidavit that the sheriff used against me was 2 weeks after I had written those letters. It says that family members were concerned that I was a threat to everyone's safety. On it was my Grandmother (that still doesn't know me or my demons) and an aunt I was estranged from at the time. The sheriff refused to call my father, the person I live with. My family member helped get me locked up due to her ignorance and bigotry, said she feared I was going to kill my father in his sleep.

Just. Because. I'm. Bipolar. Turns out Marsha and Jennifer had been filling her head (as well as the heads of the Maysville Doctors) with "Sarah's scary, violent, mean" you get the picture. It was Jennifer that told the doctors I had used Facebook to threaten to shoot named people in the head. This was verified by the victim advocate. She flat said that it was Jennifer. The only problem with all of that is... I didn't bloody well do it. I've already said what I did.

So I got locked up, handcuffed like a criminal and paraded around the ER desk. People actually grabbed their kids and stared at me. My treatment by the person doing the psych triage was disrespectful, rude, threatened me, and was in general a big fucking bitch. And she lied to me. Everybody lied to me. From the sheriff down to the nurses on duty until night shift.

I was wrongly diagnosed as having schizoaffective disorder and was told I was delusional. Nobody would listen to me. I was denied a patient advocate of my choosing, or one at all. I was treated as a pathetic lunatic rather than an intelligent, non-delusional human being.

$250 to name POA's that will go into effect should I ever be hospitalized again, will take care of that little patient advocate problem.

By the way, the ex parte orders were dismissed when I finally went to court. That didn't stop the judge from ignorantly cutting me down in his statement. Yes my behavior can be atrocious. And the weed and klonopin got me through, Sir. HA!

Anyway after I was released, I was paranoid. Every car was them trying to start shit. I went as far as cleaning the shotgun so I'd be prepared. The only reason the house is even open right now is because I like the sounds of nature. Otherwise it'd be dark and I'd rarely emerge. Hell I'm a recluse now even with the house open.

I got another dog for the purposes of alarm and protection. It's because of my dogs I feel safe.

Oh and I sometimes sleep with a knife.

So really, hospitalization did more damage than good for me. And made your job that much more difficult.

Until Tomorrow.

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