It would appear that last post here on Ragnar caused a small stir among friends and family. I see why. If I were to see someone write something like that on their blog, in retrospect, I would be alarmed too. So for that, I'm sorry to anyone I may have frightened.
That being said, I kind of reconsidered things and resolved to take another shot here. Especially since I left off the way I did. I think I would be irresponsible if I didn't try to fix it.
Let me explain as to how I got to where I was, at that time. I was taking appointments from a therapist over the phone. Three in total. The deal here is, these appointments cost $140 per hour, and I have coverage that would apply for three of them. Basically, it was a trial run, so to speak. Janice sat in with me as I took them, because when it comes to verbally talking about myself, I get this block that's often hard to overcome; thus, Janice fills in the spaces. The first two appointments were okay. I wouldn't consider them groundbreaking by any means, but Janice seemed impressed, and that this was an improvement over the in-person sessions I'd taken a few years back (I disagreed, though). On the second session, I suggested to my therapist that this person would check out this very page, where I post about my ordeal with mental health issues. Indeed, it provides a journal of sorts to any medical professional to get a bit of a deeper insight into what's going on in my head.
I also asked Janice that we wait for three weeks between appointments for me to process what I'd just talked about, because it isn't easy to do. To a normal person, it's not a big deal. But for the self-conscious, like me, it's quite an undertaking. Those three weeks had passed, and at the end of that second session, I told my therapist I'd send them a link to my page, after I was sent an e-mail from them that I was told contained exercises and reading material that I could use to study. First thing... I never once got an e-mail at any time from this person. Second of all, I never got a way to send them a link to this page. Thirdly, when I asked again on the third session, this person said it would be rectified and send me an e-mail so I could reply with the link.
I never got an e-mail. And they never read my page. But they sure had no problem taking my $140.
This is coupled with an incident that happened in my personal life that I will not divulge, because I won't do that kind of thing here anymore. But on one night, I took off into the cold Saturday evening air and disappeared for three hours. Those who know me know that when I'm in mental or emotional distress, I often run off without any kind of notice. On this cold November night, that's what I did. Along my journey, I proceeded to strike myself in the face, on my left eye. Over and over. It hurt a lot, but not as much as the hurt I felt inside - thus, I was trying to drown out the pain on the inside with the pain on the outside. That's what many self-harmers do. It's the wrong way to go about fixing things, but with a compromised state of mind, like mine, many urges can't be stopped. And this night, I couldn't.
I stopped by an overpass along my way, and looked over, timing the speeding cars along the highway, as I wondered when would be the best time for a person to jump. It would be quick, final, and OVER. All the pain outside and inside would be extinguished. Until the thought of the aftermath occurred to me, thank God, of how it would wreck the lives of so many connected to me. I've been in this place before, pondering putting an end to everything. Being the last to arrive and the first to leave in my family. The underachiever being plucked out of the Cook family, leaving the pride of the rest. "Wait, Mike, there's still hope. Tomorrow's another day. You're smart, you work hard, you're loyal and dedicated, and you're continuously open to learning. It will get better!"
Those thoughts did NOT run through my head. Nor did anyone say them, without any meaning behind them, anyway. Why? Because I'm sick, for fuck's sake. I'm mentally ill. I've tried everything. Everything! In 1991, my world began to fall apart. I lost my career job only months after I started it. I lost pretty well all my friends, for various reasons. My love relationship fell apart. I had to go back to working midnight shifts at a corner store. I was vaulted out of the house I lived in, because after bringing my mother to a multitude of doctor's appointments out of worry for her abnormal behavior, it was discovered she had dementia, and had to move into a home. My grandmother's health was deteriorating. And not long after all of this, I lost my job at the store, too. The grand shining light of it all is, that it was my boss from the corner store that took me in. That boss was Janice. As I fell from the tower of happiness that was the late 80's, Janice was there with a giant inflatable pillow to catch my fall. If she wasn't, well......
I've been mentally ill since 1980. I only came to terms with it in 1996, when Alexandra was born. I've been reaching out for help ever since. Along with Janice, Zoloft saved my life, via a doctor who was willing to listen. But drugs are not a cure-all for what I deal with. I sought a psychiatrist from '96 onward, only to see one maybe ten years ago, or less. I went for these strip-mall psychiatrist appointments that seemed to yield no real results. In fact, as I've written here before, I was dropped from that office. Look, one thing a desperately ill mental patient does NOT need, is to be rejected by his own doctor! But it happened. A great number of things happened over the last ten years to compound my situation. Many of which I'll take the blame for. Some of which I can't. Nevertheless, here it is, 2022, and I'm still standing. I look at all this and I can say to myself, "I'm a fuckin' WARRIOR."
But man, is it tough. After breaking down at work at every job I've ever had, I was faced with the question Janice and my doctor posed to me.... "should you be on disability?" My doctor more or less insisted 'yes'. Janice is on the side that if I go back to work, a day could surely come where I might not come home. But I love to work! Even if the job sucks, I still like doing something that I accomplish. The problem is, that workplaces are generally toxic to people with conditions like mine. Especially in the environment of general employment today. I just can't seem to handle work-related pressure anymore. AND I HATE IT.
Now, after having had those three therapy sessions on the phone, which I'll never do again by the way, I came to the conclusion after the last one - that if I can't even pay a person to care about what's going on with me, what chance at all do I have at managing this?? I didn't hear back from my therapist after I didn't bother to book a follow-up. So I was deserted again. How much more of this is a person who's sick supposed to endure before something irreversibly terrible happens, like what could have taken place at that overpass that night?
So then, I posted that last blog, perhaps out of desperation, announcing the despair I felt after that last fruitless round of therapy appointments, and mishandling of certain issues. My intent in that post was to insinuate that one day, I see myself winding up dead due to my own carelessness. It's nearly happened so many times in my life, I lost count. How many bullets can I really dodge?
By the time December came around, I did resolve a few things to Janice... that I will not intentionally harm myself anymore, nor will I do myself in. Ultimately, why self harm? What in the bloody hell good does it do? Immediately, it brings balance to my emotions. I focus more on physical pain than the emotional side of it. Thing is, when the emotional pain at least somewhat dissipates, I'm left with the physical. In that last case, a pretty big black eye. And what good does that do? Nothing. Except it's a constant reminder to people around me that I might wind up doing worse the next time. Perhaps the next time could be the last time, ever. The worst that self harm does, is the harm that it emotionally inflicts on others. Primarily my wife. I can't do that to her anymore. I'm lucky she's stuck with me. I often call her My Angel, because I believe everyone has one, and angels never leave. I'm extremely fortunate to have one in the physical sense, that I can see and touch, and love. Why would you do any kind of harm to an angel? HOW could you?
With that all in mind, I began something radically different. In addition to my taking THC oil, which is a godsend to me when I feel off, I came upon an article on CTV's W5 about psychedelic therapy, with the likes of things like ketamine and psilocybin. Ketamine treatment is intravenous, and I don't believe it's available around here where I live. But psilocybin is a different story. Known mostly as 'magic mushrooms', where it comes from, there are capsules you can buy where you can microdose with it, activating areas of the brain that aren't normally regularly in motion. People in the W5 article swore up and down that it was the best thing that happened to them in treatment. It's interesting to note that in 1996, when I nearly died a few times from being unknowingly infected with mould poisoning, I just happened to stumble upon an article on W5 that perfectly described what I was dealing with, where doctors could not for the life of them (or mine) figure out what was wrong with me. Many thought I was faking! But that article cleared things up for me about my health. Now here I am, 25 years later, and another W5 article is pointing me in another direction.
Up to today, psilocybin is showing great promise. I've been very slowly weaning off of anti-depressants, completely off of Wellbutrin that I've been taking in conjunction with Zoloft, of which I've decreased by 66%. But I've been down this road before, and I know that chances are, I'll be unsuccessful. But this is the most optimistic I've felt in a while. The kicker being that psilocybin and THC oil is completely natural. Studies are actually taking place that are exploring that psilocybin may actually repair the parts of the brain that are affected by mental illness. Moreover, that ongoing treatment might not even be necessary. Some doctors are even wondering if it could combat dementia. But this is all in the early stages of study.
It would help, also, if it could be covered by drug plans, which is an uphill battle, because then pharmacy companies couldn't make much, if anything, off of it, similar to vitamins. So, that's going to come out of our own pockets. It doesn't really help that I haven't been getting any assistance financially in lieu of my work absence. I haven't had any kind of coverage for my lack of work since August. Revenue Canada told me I had to apply for Disability Insurance. We did, in November - after I swallowed a TON of pride, and we've gotten no response. They won't even answer our calls or e-mails. I realize this is the age of covid, but come on. I've been ill for decades. If someone with covid needs treatment, they'll get treated immediately. Do you know how frustrating that is to somebody like me? Somebody who's been outspokenly begging for help? It's supposed to be "Brave" for men like me to reach out for help with mental illness and assistance because of it. I've learned that this bravery gets you no-fucking-where. It gets you ignored, in fact.
So I guess I'll just have to self-medicate and keep praying that I'll get the professional help I allegedly deserve. But why do I feel UNdeserving?
Oh right, because that's the way the system makes me feel.
Maybe I should go out there without a mask and party and get covid. I know I'll get medical attention then. Then again, I'm vaccinated. I can't friggin' win!
But let's see what I can do with 2022.
Thank you for reading, caring, and communicating. I know I'm not always very easy to deal with. And I'm sorry.
On a side note, when Lent season comes along, I'll be off social media. But I will be active here and at my review page The Gravy Pot. If you choose to comment, the comments are subject to approval, but only to keep spammers out. Don't forget to tell me who you are.
Have a great year. It can't get much worse than the last two for any of us!
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