The Myth That I Am Unable To Assess My Own "Condition"

So a phrase I hear every now in then, running around the Zuhl household is... She can't assess her own condition! She doesn't know when she's going down hill!

This is a phrase that makes me puke blood. I do know what's going on, bitch. I understand when I am not doing as "well" as you "want," "parents." I do know! I know when I am being plagued with a heavy bout of mysticism, and I know that very well. I just don't go around announcing it, like they seem to expect.

I know my parents. Wouldn't it be so much easier if Rachel would tell us when she's going down hill, so we can be ready to drive her to the hospital and pump her full of medication against her will? Yeah, that would be easier.

Yeah, not really. I understand your concerns. I think you are dumb. I think you know little about anything when it comes to "getting me back on my feet." I think everything you say is dumb when it comes to my "mental illness." I think most things you say are dumb anyway, but especially that. When I have these things happen, I know full well what's going on. What happens is, I get really really scared that I'm going back to the hospital. I would beg and plead with you, "please don't take me back to the hospital!" But I know that implies that I think I need to go! So I keep mum, and pretend everything is a-okay.

It really makes me question your intelligence, some of these funny beliefs you have. Another one that makes me question your intelligence is your assertion that meds help. There is absolutely no correlation between me taking meds and me not having funny issues. They happen on meds, they happen off meds. No correlation. I know how I'm doing. I know I do fine without things of a funny nature beings shoved up my nostrils, like cocaine.

I do well without cocaine. Let's not go off on a tangent here, though. I do well without my parents interfering with my funny things. I do way better. I need things like music, and fresh air. Not dumb hospital narcotics. I don't need that. That's why, when I am having a funny day, I'm not going to say, hey, I'm not doing well, I need help. I would rather shoot myself in the foot. I'm not going to ask for a med change either, or anything else. You are dumb. I hate you, parents. Very much. But I don't say that to your face. I say that to myself when no one else is around.

That's why your words have no weight. It all started when you sent me to Innercept. No, that's not when it started. That's just when it got a lot worse. It started when you slapped me with a guardianship.

What does the future hold? Help for my parents? Help for their anxiety and funny thoughts? Not really. Lots and lots of happiness for Rachel.

That's what the future holds.

Update on the Ways of my Everyday Life

So, life is good right now. I am not happy. I will be happy very shortly.

Working on getting in shape, for one. It's going well, lost some weight. But no one cares. No one cares about that.

I am working on my book. It is coming along fantastic! What you need to know about this is, it's a memoir series. I am almost done with book number three. Number three is where it's at. I feel confident than when I get to it, number four will be even better!

I was so scared, before I started writing. What if I don't remember what happened? But my guides were right there by my side, reassuring me, we will help you, Rachel. So I work with my guides to remind me of the events that unfolded.

These books are wonderful. But I can't tell you anything about them.

I am also working on a super secret book project. This is a side book, an off shoot topic of something that happens in the third book. This is a channeled book. I sit down and write, channeling, not knowing what I'm saying... And bam, it's fantastic! Funny, brilliant, useful. And I think, man, if I were not psychic, and I'm not a medium... then how did I write such a fantastic book without thinking about it? Must be pretty gifted, I am.

So I write, but not enough, it seems. I always want to write more. I write a little bit at a time, and then my guides tell me, that is all, we will work later, we have some work to do on it before we continue. So I have to go off and play, do something else, while I wait.

I am getting ready to move. I am moving out with my friend from Innercept, Sarah Guzy. She is a wonderful roommate for me, we get along great, and she is moving to Portland from the bay area! I will be supporting myself in a few months, and I am excited. Time to apply for food stamps! Or else I won't be able to eat! I am worried, a little bit. But I think it will be fine.

I am recovering from longterm Adderall abuse. It is a long and harrowing journey, but I have made it this far, I'm not going to turn back now. I am waiting for the neurotransmitters to start up again. Sometimes I have those dreams, you know. Where I am on it, or trying to get it, or I have some and I am thinking, I will take one now, another later. And I hate those dreams, ever so much.

I practiced mediumship for one of my friends. Excellent reading. It is hard starting out, but easy once I get into the zone.

That's it.

Who is Rachel Zuhl?

Without one, there is none.

Who is Rachel Zuhl?

We need to remember the question first. Who is Rachel Zuhl? Is she a spiritual being? Or a random everyday person?

I know her personally, and I can say, we love her. That's what they all say. They don't know her, but they love her. Who is she?

She is a wonderful woman of great intelligence and wisdom. She lives in a house with her parents on the end of a damn road. When she gets to go to the store, she says, whoopee! Out of the house! Because no one ever tells her how wonderful she is.

When they do, it's because they like her. Except, she loves people who do not talk to her, because the people she loves do not talk to her usually. When they do, it is few and far between. When she loves people, she loves. Loves! When she likes people, she does not hate. When she friends people on Facebook, she likes their pictures. When people like her pictures, she does not think they are perverts. Just nice men needing help with their acne.

When Rachel goes to the store, she buys water bottle. When she goes to the house, she buys Facebook page. When she goes to the hospital, she buys food. When she goes to the house again, she withers in ecstasy, not knowing who this foreign lover is.

Wither! They tell her! Wither! You will never make it in the world without us, Rachel! When you get home tonight, breathe deeply and remember. We are your parents. You owe everything to us.

Well, that's not it. When Rachel is old enough to pray alone, she will pray for herself to leave the house and live on her own. For now, it's prayer for meals and holiday parties.

Mother of Mine: Cherished By Me

I love my mother. She is so wonderful. When I went delusional, she was right by my side, loving me for who I was, a delusional minfuck wildebeest. You know, friendly friendly. What happened next? Medication! Rachel needs to be drugged for the rest of her life!

Why is she such a bitch? Does she use the right kind of pencil? No, she enjoys happy items in the drawer of friendship with other worldy creatures, but she's not a bitch. She's a loving, caring person of massive wonder.

Why do I care so about her? Does it mean death to the prospect of health and wellness on my part? Not really, just lost respect. Because she is a wonderful woman, and I am a wondrous woman myself. Together, we clash and make madness ensue in the kitchen on a nightly basis.

Wither! Wither! Wither mother figure, wither! Make way! She is a gem, of course. But she likes to eat friendship parties and remain anonymous until she loves nobody except her child. Well, do you? Do you like having parties without fun? Wither! Wither! Alcohol syndrome! Dopamine deficiency!

Let's drug her, that Rachel. She is good. But she good be better! She needs more dopamine! This drug increases dopamine! What is that girl thinking, little boy person? You need less dopamine? Let's give her two drugs, one that increases dopamine, and one the decreases dopamine! This creates a chain reaction of chemical that do exactly what the doctor ordered! No mania, more concentration! Right dopamine! More! Less! More! Less! More! Less! More! Less! More! Less!

Whenever the dopamine is deficient, Rachel does not eat food, but prepares for battle. Time to remain one with the ways of the alcohol, she tells herself. Happy and carefree! Wither, dopamine deficient mother! You need less serotonin, but you don't see me telling your doctor about your worry wart attitudes! I should! I am with you all the time, not in spirit, in body. So tell your doctor, please reduce my dose of ssri, so I can eat less fuel and prepare for a good warning from the militant agnostic stupid motherhood counselor who remains futile in attempts to sway you on the remarks you make about Rachel's death sentence for drugs! She is right! Rachel is on the road to recovery from a prescription pill problem! Rejoice! She is delivered from sin! She will remain with the angels for now, until a good little boy named estelle prepares her for battle of wits with doctors and lawyers and councilors of a legal sort.

Who is that? Rachel Zuhl? Let's take her picture! No way! She waved! What a girl! Prepare for a battle of wits, people of character! Dot Dot Swish Swish! Dot Swish Dot Swish! Electrolyte imbalance is eminent! Eat watered down substances until bodily functions remain pretentious for seven days and live happy with mind of happy girl needing bible to read in daytime cuz her mind is friendly with fun things like pepper spray for that man who keeps texting and she needs worry to wither in the person of life who does eat pepper marks worry sophie hugh marker peanut sonny cooper doper

The Cocaine Brain: A Scary Place

When you turn 21, some people enjoy dancing and drinking. Others enjoy the act of stressing out constantly over every little thing they've done in their life. When I turned 19, I became a man of wonder. When I got taken off my Adderall, I became a woman of feeling. When I became one with the art of Lamictal, I enjoyed the act of agony.

So where does that take us now? Do we enjoy the same things? We do, not anymore. I used to enjoy things like caterwauling and pretentious folk tunes, but not the rhythm and blues of arrogant militant prescription pill antics. Why Adderall? Your concentration is bad. It's not that bad, but it could be a little better. No, it's habit forming. But that won't happen, because it never happens.

Except to Rachel. And when Rachel takes the drug of choice that ends up being one of her best buds, they decide it was all her fault. They don't blame themselves for putting her on the drug of choice, they blame Rachel for liking the drug of choice. So, they get mad at Rachel. Damn you, brethren! If only you could take it for medicinal purposes and not recreational purposes! We like the pretentious attitude towards fellow man you have acquired, it is helpful for those needing help with their funny feeling center of the brain, like with your delusional experiences.

Then, something terrific happened. They agreed! Rachel needs drugs! Everyone agreed! It was fun! And then, something happened. Rachel did not agree anymore, and was taken off the medication for delusional episodes.

Why, look. She is a pretentious fuck. She enjoys the banter of mental illness, but not the symptoms! Why? Why can't she understand that she is a good person too? I understand little of this pretentious attitude towards medication, but please, endure the hardship of cocaine brain!

I'll tell you about the hardship of cocaine brain. It involves constant embarrassment, humiliation, water world esque style. It is a horrific uphill battle as each incident one ups the other with horrendous humiliation. Things you wrote appear trite, not trite, embarrassing. Embarrassingly trite. People speak behind your back about your angsty ways and blame it on the caffeine consumption, when really, it is the Adderall, the drug they adore too, because it made you an excellent student.