SHUT UP AND GET IN MY POCKETS.

Gaaaaaah. That bird is too heavy for its little head! But I want the bird to stay perched on it because look at them! Raindrops on roses and baby birds on kittens! Makes me all melty and warm inside. Ahhhhh.

Sex + Schizophrenia = ...

It was recently brought to my attention that when I talk about experiences at work I usually talk about male residents. I apologize for that and I really have no idea why other than there are more male residents here than female and the men tend to be more vocal and memorable, I guess. Anyway, I started to think about the conversations I have with my female residents and I realized there is a recurring theme: sex.

One of my residents came to my office recently and she told me, while visibly fighting tears, that she is having severe abdominal pain and she feels like there is a penis in her ass. Psychosomatic delusions occur when someone is fixated on a certain idea to the point that they actually feel pain or pleasure because of it. This resident is always delusional about her father. She thinks he is constantly trying to find her and hurt her or poison her even though she hasn’t seen or heard from him in over 20 years. What I’ve gathered from our conversations is that her father is a terrible human and he raped and beat her starting at a very young age. Obviously, I hate this man and I want to strangle him every time she comes to my office because he did such a good job ruining her life. I can’t do that, unfortunately, so I promise her over and over that he can’t hurt her anymore and that he will never be allowed in this building. She lives in constant fear of the opposite sex and when I walk past her room she is almost always laying in her bed in the fetal position like such a typical crazy person but she’s not just a crazy person. She is a woman and she has a story. Now you know part of her story. She’s trapped inside a mind that isn’t hers, she didn’t make it that way. Yes, a lot of people go through awful shit when they’re young and still lead seemingly normal lives but not everyone can do that and that’s what needs to be understood about mental illness. There’s no exact diagnosis, no real cure, no real cause. It just gets ahold of some people and doesn’t let go. Sometimes, it's initially a defense mechanism but as time goes on it gets harder and harder for these people to remember who they were before they had to retreat into the depths of their brain pieces to hide from their world. The mind is not something to fuck with because it always fucks back.

Other women that I talk to regularly struggle with an ongoing sense of extreme guilt for having abortions or for being promiscuous in the past. Guess how these women were raised? Catholic. I’m sorry and I don’t want to bash religion right now but it sparks my curiosity when I find a common denominator such as fucking Catholicism. Anyway, I’m always telling women that if they made a decision no matter how many years ago it was, they made it for a reason. There was a reason they couldn’t have that baby right then and it does not make them bad people. Our society is so hard on women when it comes to baby making. I mean, no one WANTS to have an abortion. It’s not cool or anything. I’ve often thought about what I would do if I got pregnant right now and I have no idea because it would depend on so many things. I don't ever want to have an abortion. But what if I did? Would I keep it a secret? How would I afford it? Would I be able to live with myself? What would be the deciding factor? I just wish that people didn’t pass judgement about things like that. It’s not your body, it’s not your baby, and it’s absolutely none of your business. But, day after day, these women beat themselves up because they feel like they betrayed God and all that stuff.

Then, I have the women who are nuts because they’ve had sex with too many people. I cannot understand, and it will piss me off until the day I die, why anyone gives a shit about how many sexual partners anyone has. First of all, as long as people are using protection, fuck as many people as you want! I sure as hell don’t care about how many people you sleep with and I don’t think it says anything about anyone’s character besides they have a sex drive. Some people are just more sexual than others. Notice, I said “people”. Not men or women specifically; people. If it feels good and it’s what you want then go for it. These poor women think they’re going to burn eternally because they’ve had too many partners and it makes me sick. We shouldn’t punish ourselves for doing something that is completely natural. We crave it. It’s not a sin. We need it. End of story. One of my residents had a sign hanging over her bed for a few years that was a tally of how long she’d gone without sex because she thinks she had too much sex when she was younger. What? I want to understand why sex has so much power over us. Some people can have sex with hundreds of people and never once feel regret but other people have sex with 5 people and feel filthy. Is it because some of us are raised with the whole bullshit about how sex is only to be between one man and one woman and not until they’re married? (Can we just take a second to laugh at that? hahaha, BAH hahahaha.) I am pretty open-minded about sex and I think it’s a beautiful, wonderful thing but I was raised in an environment that enforced what I just said. I was always told to wait until marriage, yada yada, but of course when I didn’t wait my mom was there with books and lectures to educate me about what I was doing because she’s awesome and not clueless.

We all do shit that we probably shouldn’t and we’re all going to regret certain things but as long as we’re constantly learning and not judging ourselves then who cares? Be yourself. Be free. I’m not saying you should have sex with everything that moves. I understand that sex can be scary these days and it’s important to be educated/know how to protect yourself. All I care about is that we all do what makes us happy. If you’d rather spend an afternoon having awesome sex with a “friend” than go shopping with all the girls then do it. If it feels good, do it. If it used to feel good and it doesn’t anymore, don’t do it! If you only want to have sex with one man or woman your entire life then that’s awesome and go you! If you want to be celibate for whatever reason then may no one get in your pants! My point is that why can’t we all be raised or at least come to realize that life is too short to punish ourselves for “guilty pleasures”? As long as no one is getting hurt...there is nothing to feel guilty about. Be honest with yourself. Don’t end up like one of my residents and never be able to accept the fact that at one point you were young and you had the most fun you possibly could.

jarbles

I am a new person? I like me more? I have no idea. I feel so good these days, though. I’m sick! But I still feel good. I’m at work! And I still feel good. I have a dozen roses and an old MP3 player and a book and a keyboard and I'm doing things with all of them and it’s the best day I’ve had in this lifetime. No it's not. Right now, I love this. I don’t want it to change but I know it has to. Maybe it doesn’t? But I know I’ll leave eventually. Start over somewhere else. Lose weight. Gain weight. Lose it again. Love. Hurt. Love more. Stay somewhere. Hold someone. Sleep. Start. Stop. In. Out. Up. Down. Gain. Lose. Prosper. Suffer. It’s all good as long as there are people around to share it with. Love it with. I love all of my friends a whole lot and I always will but seriously...the way I feel about the people that I’m surrounded with now, even at work, is SO GOOD. I feel free and it’s amazing because I don’t explain myself to anyone ever. We all just get each other and that’s the end of it. As fucked up as it all can get sometimes it’s cool because there is actual love within all of us for all of us. It’s effortless. I trust it. Happy day to me and to you.

tributosaurus: hey dad

these days are going to keep moving

and they’re going to keep caring about things that don't matter

and eventually someone will figure it out

dissect all of these thoughts until they find me

ah, but I’m not in there, you know this by now

I’m nowhere to be found, that’s the answer

you can’t bring me back from anywhere that I'm not
take my things or I'll give them to you

consider me a flight risk but I’ve been flying for years

no one can see what I see

did you forget that I think about him every day?

you said you would give your life for me

and it upset you that you could do so just once

but you’ve been dead a while now

was I supposed to appreciate this?

I think I’d rather feel your arms around me now

than pick my brain trying to remember the sound of your voice
I promise to think about you always and with love

you wrote me a poem once so here’s something for you

I know you’d be proud of most of my life but there’s no comfort there

please let your soul be alive and rest itself in mine

I’m okay if you just visit from time to time

my heart is still strong for staying alive

and if I live for decades to come, I’ll be sure to tell your story to the ones I love

and to the ones who would have loved you

this will never do you justice, but you know I’ll do my best

I’ll do my best to love and be loved because of you

because you couldn't and I know you wanted to

all for you, I’ll do my best

This decade was stupid. Bring it on 2010...I have learned things.

2000: I firmly believe that I'm the only woman that started her period two minutes before the ball dropped us into this year. There were boys there, okay? It was humiliating. Too much info? Don't read my blog then. 

Also the year I entered high school. Bad hair and bras that were too big (denial). Puberty is the worst, especially when you're the oldest child with no douchey, uncool older siblings to learn what not to do from. 

Cheers to you, 2000.

2001: I don't remember much about this year besides getting my driver's license and starting to date my first boyfriend, Mike. I had an '89 Bonneville/sex machine and was convinced that I'd be married with children by the age of 23. 

Awkward, pubescent cheers to you, 2001.

2002: Let's see. I would've entered my junior year of high school now. I was huge into choir and more into chamber choir because we danced. Um, I quit the basketball team in order to begin my waitressing career at Bob fucking Evan's. This is also the year I started going to weird "rock" concerts with my friends that haunt me to this day. (Nickelback)

Indifferent cheers to you, 2002.

2003: The beginning of senior year. Oooo doggy! I really don't remember much of 2003. I do remember that my dad died in April of this year and that it straight fucked me up for a solid three years after. I'm okay now, though. I love and miss him every day. RIP Papa.

Get fucked, 2003.

2004: This year began my 1,460 day drinking binge. Undergrad at OU. Hey, I had fun, I graduated, whatever. I also met a lot of fantastic people that are now all getting married and stuff. This is also the year that I heard The Shins' song "Caring is Creepy"which led me to seek out other new bands that led me to fall in love with a new boy who helped me realize that I wasn't dealing with certain issues appropriately which led me to become the strong-ish lady that I am today. 

This year I also discovered my affinity for shoulder bopping and just how many friends/lovers this single dance move can get a woman.

Appreciative cheers to you, 2004.

*It's at this time in my life I should've thanked my Mom, Grandma, Poppy, Brother, and Sister for putting up with my bullshit and loving me through it all. I am still a loser but a much more appreciative loser because of you all. All my love to the moon and back forever. XO.

2005: Drunk. Study. Exam. Work. Drunk. Home for holidays. Drunk. Study. Exam. 

Just cheers.

2006: Drunk. Study. Exam. Work. Drunk. Home for holidays. Drunk. Study. Exam.

Just cheers.

2007: Drunk. Study. Exam. Work. Drunk. Home for holidays. Drunk. Study. Exam.

Just cheers.

2008: Huzzah! Piece of paper stating my very expensive education actually happened retrieved. Move to Chicago accomplished. Reunited with best friend from high school in small garden apartment. More new friends. Many jobs. Very poor. Baby kitten, The Future, retrieved! Drunk. 

Feverish cheers to you, 2008.

2009: This year has been incredibly wonky. Up, down, bop around, twist, turn, scream, laugh, love. Lots of love, yes. New, improved living situation. Actual job as friend to insane people but still very poor. ROTHBURY. Uncle teabags, so many of them. San Francisco. Love. Laughs, hard ones. More new friends = super family love action party pants explosion. 

Wide-eyed, very absorbent cheers to you, 2009.

2010: Seriously, bring it. I've learned some stuff.

Q: How did the past decade feel? 

A: Pretty much like I was trying to hump a bear: see above.

avoiding paperwork

You know. I've been working with mentally ill people for almost a year now and I still can't decide whether they are more free or more trapped than the rest of the population.

The facility that I work in is by no means a "lock down" or anything close. Our residents, the ones that are mentally and physically capable of doing so safely, are free (and encouraged) to go out into the community as they please. Some of them go out for walks along the lake, some go pan handle at the Jewel Osco until they make enough money to buy a King Cobra, some frequent local coffee shops and do odd jobs like take trash out in order to earn a free cup 'o joe. So, aside from financial limitations and a curfew rule most of the residents here have total freedom.

Now I ask myself, "Okay, but how free can you be when your thoughts are clouded with voices?" 

It's not freedom in the sense that most people think of it but these people are the only people I've ever met who are 100% themselves all of the time and no one judges them for it. And if people do judge them as soon as they find out that they're schizophrenic or bipolar their actions are usually excused. They aren't putting on fronts for anybody because they can't. Symptoms of mental illness can certainly come and go but when I come to work and the first thing I see is a fifty year old man doing the dance that he has to do before getting on the elevator which often causes him to miss it when it comes, I always think to myself, "Holy shit, that is serious honesty." Imagine not being able to be anything other than what you are. 

I'm not saying that being mentally ill is super cool and us freedom seekers should strive to get diagnosed but I am saying that I love these people and admire their gusto. Not all have gusto, but just like the rest of the population the ones that do are pretty memorable. Already today I've gotten three high fives from different residents. Good, strong high fives, too.

Sidenote: There's currently a pretty big debate going on in the state of Illinois that directly affects the people that I work with. Some big-whig douche bags think it'd be great to make more money by closing residential facilities like the one I work in down and placing the people that live in them into group homes spread throughout Chicagoland where they would have little to no structured care. The bottom line is that these people are living here for a reason. They need a nursing staff to dispense their meds, they need their meals prepared for them, they need continuous support from social workers. So, if you feel that this is ridiculous and have a chance to vote or stand up for a lot of people who have trouble standing up for themselves then please be my guest.

You have permission to do me.

Is there anything about this picture that isn't the sexiest thing you've ever seen? 

The answer is no.

But also, I had sex with this man's man in my dreams last night and it was "The Notebook's" sex scene multiplied by more awesome. Holy crap. I would've been content never opening my eyes again after that. In my dream he told me that, "I don't have anyone sensual in my life. I need you to be that for me." Um, yes. Anything you want me to be, Mr. Gosling.

But also, this man's lips actually kissed my face a couple months back. Yea. It was cool. I am so pathetic. But he is so hot. And even more so in person. 

Okay, I'm going back to sleep where I will attempt to lucid dream him back into my bed.