So, one time, when I was a kid, I was going home from a treatment center that was full of shit. My parents didn't tell me that we had another flight.
They didn't tell me we had another flight.
I was told, Rachel, this is for your own good.
After awhile, I was forced to take medications that gave me correctable brain damage. After awhile, I was forced to take medication that made me a walking zombie. After awhile, I was put in a lifestyle that forced me more intensely into suicidal depression.
So what happens is, this is psychotropic paradise. When the Scientologist enters the picture, we flip. But then what? What do we do after we flip the fuck out, parents? Can you do anything about it? Can you dumb me down with Depakote and force me to accept that brain damage happens when you refuse to accept you have a mental illness?
After awhile, the guides enter the picture. And with the guides.... The guides are good. The guides are great. The guides would never do anything to wrong me. But with this situation comes a certain really fucking intense sense of apathy, like, I would follow anyone, follow anyone, agree to anything from that person, get raped day in and day out by that person, in and out, in and out, in and in and in and out, as long as it didn't mean submitting to brain damage medication.
And then I hear a word from them, like, Rachel. It wasn't Geodon! It was the drugs you took on the street! It's like, right. I know. Do you think I am fucking stupid? Do you think I am so out of touch with myself I don't know how I appear to the outside world? I remember the steady decline that came from me taking Geodon. I remember, how every time the I told my doctor to take me fucking off the stuff, he gave me a stern look and told me this was the best we could do. Right. Like a medication that actually causes mood swings, that causes me to sit around the house and laugh to myself for hours on end, is the best we can do. What was the underlying condition again? How bad was I before I was on meds? Sure, I wasn't doing anything. Lost in a constant stream of thoughts. Big life events require careful scrutiny. And the thing I notice is, you told me once that YOU understood the initial episode better than me because you saw it from a balanced perspective. Right! Like you understand anything at all about it. It was life changing. You tell me, forget about it and take your fucking pills.
After awhile, you start to realize, anyone that doesn't force brain damage causing medication down my throat, who doesn't threaten to inject me with it if I refuse, is my friend. And that could be, the drug addict on the street, the Scientologist in Coeur d'Alene, the spirit guides on the other side.
It's a relationship of tough love with the spirits. But then again, the parental situation makes me feel numb in the head. Sure, they love me. But do they know how? Do they know how to love? I think, without fail... The worst my guides can do is the best my parents can do.
So without fail, we stretch our mental muscle and encompass the universe in apathy. It's like, whatever?
