Braingunk

My name is Anna and my favorite color is blue. 

"I will be a good boy and never tell you the bad things I think about, the dirty little things. I keep them to myself." 


We all live in public, to a certain degree. Social networking sites allow us to expose our most interesting, inappropriate, and immodest intrigues to anyone bored/voyueristic enough review them. Most people skew the data in their favor by posting pictures of themselves with impossibly attractive people, highlighting their professional triumphs, or uploading a hundred pictures of their most recent vacation to Disneyland or some such shit.

Debbie Downer sez: "We all know said photo was taken in a booze-fueled haze in which will result in regret (and probably vomiting) the next morning, professional triumphs are exciting until you slump back into the drudgery that is your day job, and the omitted Disneyland photos most certainly picture one (or several) family members throwing tittybaby temper tantrums because they were too short to ride on space mountain."

Hopefully, I am not the first person to tell you, dear reader, that the world is not filled with too-tanned women contorting their cherry-red lips into the dreaded duckface pose in an attempt to look sexy. These people exist only on Friday and Saturday nights...when Monday morning rolls around, it's back to the dead eyes and smile-less lips.

The human experience is a never-ending roller coaster of ups and downs. Of course we want to present our best face to the world, but I find that to be dishonest. We all have flaws, both physical and emotional. And yet many of us feel uncomfortable when we witness a family member, friend, or acquaintance publicly discussing something painful, even if we have been through something similar or experienced something profoundly painful.

There will always be a faction that takes secret pleasure in such things - "I'm glad that isn't my life." While those people are assholes, I can't blame them. There is nothing wrong with appreciating the good things in your life, but it's more than a little fucked up to only be able to be thankful for your good fortune while watching someone else suffer.

There is another faction who wishes for public meltdowns. My heart breaks for these people. How empty your life must be to wish sadness and pain on others! My plea to the world: Gossips - please think twice before you revel in someone else's pain.

***

About two years ago, my life fell apart and I am still sifting through the rubble. At first, I was literally terrified to tell anyone about my experiences or true feelings for fear of being judged. Even if a well-meaning person asked how I was doing, I would turn red, clam up, and mutter "of course I am fine." I have since decided that continuing down this past is the most dishonest way for me to live. Not to mention that keeping everything bottled up almost caused me to implode. 

Yes, I am depressed. I have anxiety problems and PTSD. Oh, and let's not forget about the terrible insomnia. 

These things do not control me, though. Sometimes, I have bad days and go through "rough patches" Other days, I can function at the same level as the "norms." For what it's worth, every single experience, good or bad, has helped shaped me into the woman I am today. Even considering all of my faults (which I will willingly admit to), I like the person I have become. And I am not at all ashamed to talk about my faults, fears, painful experiences if I feel like it will help someone who is in a dark place. 

Moral of the Story: Be true to yourself. Don't be ashamed of anything you think or feel, especially the "ugly" stuff. Don't be afraid to ask for help. And do not allow yourself to be controlled by negativity or pain. Even though it can be difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel, it is there and you can reach it. But do not ever be ashamed to ask for help. 

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Next

"Don't sass me bro - I will 302 you!"

When I was a child, I had a tooth removed by an oral surgeon who's performance was less than stellar. I walked out of that office in severe pain, crying hysterically and covered in blood. That day, I vowed to never go to the dentist again because I was so damn traumatized. Since I still have my teeth (and they are in relatively ok shape) it is obvious that I broke that vow to myself. However, when I was ready to give dental medicine another shot, I selected was a wonderful, friendly, patient, and gentle woman who has never made me cry. She also gives out fancy dental floss after every cleaning (screw that waxed string nonsense that snags and gets stuck in your teeth). 

Moral: One should not allow one miserable, isolated experience set the tone for similar future experiences. Don't pass final judgement until you have tried something at least twice.

*****

As a basis for comparison, I would like to provide a snapshot of my stay in the *Mental Institution ™ before I describe my treatment at Allegheny General. 

Those of you who have met me IRL know that I have never stayed overnight in a hospital prior to my admission to the Mental Institution ™. Due to some Issues I was having, some friends suggested (as far as a 302 can be considered a suggestion) that I take some time off for intensive inpatient treatment. As such, I stayed in a facility for 5 days beginning April 8, 2013. 

When I walked into the psych facility for the first time, I was convinced that I fell through a rabbit hole and Alice would show up at any moment offering me a cup of tea. That may have been the psychosis talking, but even a "normal", well-adjusted  person would agree that this place was weird as shit. A quick survey of the main room showed a gentleman standing in a corner banging his head over and over and over and over again. From a room down the hall, a woman was screaming as loud as a human can scream regarding whores, the devil, and a cousin who wronged her 27 years ago. 

The overarching thought in my mind was, "Damn! My friends must reeeeeeallllllly think I am crazy to send me here!" 

Luckily, I arrived shortly before the 10:00 pm "lights out" mandate. A good night's sleep would refresh me enough to be able to mingle in the morning. Unfortunately for me, my roommate enjoyed standing directly above my bed, asking me random questions (have you ever put mustard in corn?) until I explain that sleep is important and I needed a lot of it. 

We were provided the luxury of meeting with the doctor each morning. This was the first thing I did on the first morning I was there. Before I say what I am going to say, here is a disclaimer: I have the utmost respect for anyone in the medical field. They have to retain so much knowledge, handle difficult patients (like me), and clean up bodily fluids that I don't even want to believe exist. The psychiatrist who was handling my case in the psych ward, however, was an absolute idiot. I will leave it at that because that could be a whole separate blog. (Maybe look for a spinoff someday?)

In a psych facility, you cannot expect much privacy because someone checks on you every 15 minutes to ensure that you haven't made a shank out of a plastic spoon. Ironically, this actually happened while I was institutionalized. Perhaps they could have watched the individuals with a history of violence a bit more closely, rather than walking in on me while I was pooping. Just a thought. 

Due to my optimistic nature, I always try to find some good in any situation. While the staff was unprofessional, the food inedible, and the environment was frightening at times, the other patients were some of the loveliest people I have ever met. My private conversations with the other patients were far more helpful than any conversation with the doctor or group therapy session. I met many bright, kind, insightful people who were simply going through hard times in their lives. These conversations alone were worth five days of my life. 

*****

When the emergency room doctor told me that I had to be admitted to the hospital for my pulmonary embolism, I definitely groaned in my mind and probably with my mouth, too. Since the psych hospital was the only other experience I could compare it to, my heart was so sad and I began to pity myself. Any second, they were going to take away my shoelaces, strip search me to look for "marks", and confiscate anything on my person that could provide even the slightest bit of amusement. 

Imagine my amazement when I was wheeled to my room, offered a turkey sandwich, and instructed on how to use the television! On a semi-lecherous note, the male nurse was like a tall glass of water on a hot August day. 

At that moment, I knew that I was really going to like it at AGH....

*The name of the mental facility has been redacted as there is a pending PA Department of Health investigation into some of their practices. I wonder who would initiate such a thing?!