Thursday, October 06, 2005

free to waste away

What is freedom, really? I live in a country with so many freedoms, or at least, so many alleged freedoms, so much freedom to do and be and protest and a whole bunch of big, important legal documents, in fact an entire legal system, that supposedly is there to protect our freedom(s). We also have 2 millions people locked up in jails and prisons. We have an untold number of people locked inside a crumbling, half-assed mental health system, that allows people to lose years of their lives while their freedom to live as they wish to live is taken away, often with the sole purpose of this being to protect their ability to be alive, and have freedom. It's a bit twisted and illogical.

Freedom is a bit more than having nothing left to lose.

I have lost so much freedom over governing my own existence now, that I am starting to wonder what it really matters to have that elusive freedom available in the first place.

I am living in a group home now, locked inside a mammoth mental health system in which many people lose years of their lifetimes, lose themselves, lose so much more than one can imagine under that simplistic umbrella word "freedom".

I can perfectly understand, since I often feel this way myself, why people would rather be dead than to be "helped" in this manner.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

alive, but not really; depressed, but for good reason

hey folks ~

Well I haven't written much here lately. I've been kind of down in the dumps about things in general. Basically, I'm sort of forced into moving into this group home for six months of my life, and I feel it will be a very difficult and wasted six months, so I'm not happy about that.

I got to see my brother's new house and my sister recently, and go to an anti-war protest which were all good and positive things. A friend who I haven't spoken with in about a year but had talked to with through email called. He had something to do with my forced hospitalization and the reason I'm not dead right now, so for a while I wouldn't want to talk to him as I was upset about that, but it was nice to hear from an old friend. He has had a child with someone.

Another friend from the hospital visited yesterday; she has cut off her hair and shaved her head, got a bit manic, and wanted to help me with an idea I've had for months about starting a support group for people with Schizoaffective disorder and Schizophrenia, so it was good as well as difficult to talk with her. She mentioned that maybe I should move to the Washington area again, and I wish that I could.

The guy I met here who I have gotten along with well, and who I have some romantic feelings toward moved into an apartment a few weeks ago, and I managed to see him once, when I was out on a pass, but that was with my mother present and it was a bit odd.

I suppose all of the above summarizes some of the depression's causes, because I wish so much to have just a regular life, to have a decent, or even a good relationship with someone, to get a permanent place of my own to live, and maybe have children. I doubt any of this is feasible in my entire lifetime, honestly.

And I don't really know what else to say about that.

I spend most of my time in the treatment center in bed, staring at a wall, thinking but doing nothing other than listening to my cd walkman - to music which keeps me from screaming or crying I guess, and blocks out the sounds all around men. It's funny they think I'm getting better when I am spending 80% of my time this way. Doing nothing. The doctor is not there to see that or to see, of course, the thoughts in my head about guns and hanging and death and getting it all over with.

I'm so tired of this nonsense. These medications don't do enough, or maybe cannot do enough because I myself am failing to fix myself enough, and perhaps will never be able to. (please read all the other posts here before you recommend something that I should try, I have tried it all).

Sorry this post is so full of misery, and I don't mean to sound that way; and I don't mean to be that way. It's just that I cannot take this pointless life. I cannot really see any way to go on like this indefinately, and I cannot figure a way out other than pretense, fake smiles, and keeping it all to myself for the benefit of everyone around me, and for the benefit of myself too, so that I am not confined much more than I already am.

I recommend the poem "Dolor" by Theodore Roethke. It describes melancholy well.