Go Ask Alice

As many of you already know, I currently reside in a community residence for people with mental illnesses. I have a co-occurring disorder: addiction along with major depressive disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), anxiety disorder with panic disorder, and trichotillomania (trik-o-til-o-MAY-nee-uh) (a disorder that involves recurrent, irresistible urges to pull out hair from your scalp, eyebrows or other areas of your body, despite trying to stop). That last one took a long time to admit, but it's not the end of the world. Fortunately, I don't have any diagnoses that involve psychotic features. But one of my best friends does.

To protect her anonymity as much as I possibly can, I'm going to call her "Alice." She was diagnosed with schizophrenia in her second year of college. She's now 38 years old. We've known each other for three years, and lived together for two. Of all the people I'm friends with (and I have a lot of acquaintances, but not many who I count as friends), she's the most generous, thoughtful, funny, enthusiastic and supportive. I can always count on Alice to chill with me when I'm feeling blue, binge watch entire seasons of our favorite television shows (currently "Salem," we're on Season 2), co-sign my bullshit when I say that cake I bake myself has only 100 calories per (very large) slice, and tell me when my ass looks fat in a particular pair of jeans. She's a gem of a person. I've watched her struggle, and she was getting there. She was working and preparing to move to the next level of housing in this agency (the apartment program, where 3 women share a house, each with their own room, and no staff on site except for a few times a week). We've supported each other along the way, and she's just as happy about me moving to my new place (SPA housing, which is a little bit less intensive than the apartment program but not entirely on my own) as I am. 

But here's the thing with schizophrenia, and many other mental illnesses: you just never know when the shit is going to hit the fan. 

A few weeks back, Alice's medication regimen was changed. She'd been super, super sick and in the hospital for a few months (this was last year). While she was there, they put her on a completely new lineup of meds. When she got home, she was still a mess, but then, one day, out of the blue, the "Old Alice" emerged, and it was a joy to behold. She was absolutely fine. So why the doctor decided to ditch one of the meds that had gotten her back, I do not understand. That happens a lot when people with these illnesses manage their own meds - we think we're better, so we think we don't need the meds, when meanwhile, the meds are the reason we're better - but for a doctor to do it just baffles me. 

In the weeks following the change, I told staff repeatedly that I thought Alice was acting "off." She was just not herself, and it was clear that something was not right. I know that I'm not a psychiatrist or any kind of mental health professional, but I've been her roommate long enough to know when something is going on. Alice, of course, said she was fine. She always says she's fine. But she wasn't.

For the past 3 days, the girl has been gradually declining to the point where she now has almost no grasp on reality. She's talking to herself, in gibberish, she's singing to the paint, she's not sleeping. She had to quit her job. All of the staff here NOW agrees that something is wrong. Everybody thinks she needs to be hospitalized, except for the doctor, who says no. The same doctor that took away the medication that had made her stable in the first place.

Here's my thing. If we live in a house where there is staff in place to keep us safe, then shouldn't it ultimately be the decision of the staff whether or not Alice goes to the hospital? Or, at the very least, to the psychiatric emergency room, where she can be evaluated in person by a physician? Because her current psychiatrist has made this call based entirely on one telephone conversation, and not even a conversation with Alice, but a conversation with a staff member.  I mean, the girl hasn't slept in three whole days. I feel like, at the very least, they should bring her to the ER, sedate her, and force some rest on her poor, tired body.

The auditory hallucinations are probably the scariest thing, and they're the most common symptom in schizophrenia. The goal is to not only reduce the occurrence of "the voices," but to also teach coping mechanisms and reinforce that the person doesn't have to obey, or even acknowledge, the hallucinations. But I can't talk to Alice right now, because Alice isn't there.

It saddens me that her own doctor is so very adamant that she remain outside the hospital. I know why he's doing it - this particular doctor doesn't like to have any of his patients hospitalized, because it will reflect poorly on his choice to change the medication regimen that was working in the first place. Also, Alice is one of his "stars," because she was doing so well. But at what cost?

Whether you realize it or not, you know someone with a mental illness. We all do. Every last person in this country is affected in some way by mental illness, and we need to educate ourselves. Alice needs a voice right now, since her doctor doesn't seem to want to use his on her behalf. I am grateful that the staff at this house sees the need, and will probably just take her to the hospital by the end of the day. But how many are out there right now, alone, singing to the paint and not being heard? We all need to stand up and use our voices so that they can be heard.

For more information, please visit The National Institute of Mental Health's page on schizophrenia.  And for ways you can help to end the stigma and help give all mentally ill people a voice, please visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness and see how you can get involved. If you won't do it for me, do it for Alice. Or for the Alice that you may not even know you know - and love.

Update Time!

I know, I know, I promised to update this blog every couple of days, but what can I say? When given the choice between writing a blog post or sitting in the air-conditioned living room with my roommate, a bowl of buttered popcorn and Season 2 of "Salem" on DVD, I'm going for Option B. Every time. Because I'm lazy.

So, in between daily workouts at the gym (go Planet Fitness), trying to write erotica to order, living in a house with nine other adults (all with some form of mental illness), going to AA meetings, going to therapy, and other fun stuff, I have actually gotten the GoddessVox, Inc., website online. You can find it by clicking here. We're currently published by GoDaddy on a free trial, and I'm desperately trying to raise funds to pay for the first year (it's only $189, but I'm totally tapped right now, because I'm doing this by myself). I did the site myself, and I'm pretty proud of the way it looks. Please go check it out when you get a minute; any feedback or suggestions would be appreciated.

I'm also doing a fundraiser (and if anyone has any better ideas than GoFundMe, I'd love to hear them). My goal is $2,500, just enough to pay for the website publishing and the costs of filing the government paperwork. I want to make GoddessVox a 501(c)(3) non-profit, so we can hire women in recovery and put them to work, while training them and giving them marketable skills to move forward from GoddessVox. This will allow them to secure a job in the outside, brick and mortar world, that will pay enough for them to be able to support themselves without relying on anyone else. I believe that everyone has the ability to take the reins and get it done for themselves; many women in recovery simply don't have the marketable skills to get themselves out of the situations that they're in, which keeps them bound to unhealthy relationships and puts them at a greater risk of relapse. GoddessVox is here to help change that. I know it's a big dream. But dreams are supposed to be big, right? Go big or go home.

GoddessVox also now has its own Facebook page, under the name Persephone deHades. You can find it here: GoddessVox Facebook Page

Finally, I am also looking for some full time work in the private sector, as an executive assistant or something along those lines. I just can't finance all of this other stuff without a steady income, and, since I'm looking to move out of this house and into SPA (Single Point of Access) housing in October, which charges 1/3 of your income for rent (and I don't get any assistance from Social Security Disability or Supplemental Security Income), I'm going to be needing a lot more than the penny a word I've been getting off and on from the freelancing. I'm kind of hoping that if I get something soon, I can just get rid of the fundraiser, but my free trial with GoDaddy is only a week, so it's going to be a bit of a crunch to come up with $189 between now and next Friday. But I'll make it happen. 

On that note, off I go to write a post that has something to do with witchcraft. Stay tuned. And thank you for reading.

If you liked this post, please like and share it. And please consider donating to the fundraiser. You can find the widget on the right sidebar. All donations are tax deductible.

"Are you a Good Witch, or a Bad Witch?" "I'm a Sand Witch. Eat Me."

I've been watching season 1 of Salem, and I gotta tell you, I love it. I'm kind of over zombies. But I'm a little pissed off about some of the inaccuracies about the Craft, and my biggest bitch is the whole Satan thing.

Here's a quote that sums it up:

The major misconception about Witchcraft today is that Witches worship Satan, which is just not so. We do not believe in Satan. That is a Christian creation. We don’t worship evil. Indeed, to give evil a name is not a real intelligent thing to do, because then you give it power.
~ Silver Ravenwolf ~

The term "Satanic Witch" is a pernicious epithet used by those who wish to demonize practitioner of the Craft. Satanic worshippers are not witches; Traditional Witches do not worship Satan as this is a Christian concept not recognized in traditional pagan beliefs. Accordingly, the labels "white witch" and "black witch" (popularly meaning a "good witch" as one who practices "white magic" and a "wicked witch" as one who practices "black magic"), are also misnomers, as Traditonal Witches practice a "natural magic," drawing on the forces of Nature, and they refrain from attempting to manifest any form of black magic and the drawing down of negative or demonic energies.

So the whole going off into the woods and deeding your very soul to the Dark Lord is hilarious to me on one level, but on another level it pisses me off. The Salem witch hysteria was just that - hysteria. Many of the men and women hanged or burned (yeah, we burned witches here, it was a shameful time in a country founded on the desire to be free from the religious oppression of the Old Country, about as shameful a time as the one we find ourselves in today) weren't even witches at all; the large majority of the women were merely midwives or women with some kind of voice, a rarity in those days and thus viewed as some kind of an allegiance with the devil. There were also little girls playing games with forces they did not understand, and that invariably leads to trouble (Ouija board, anyone?), but that doesn't mean they were in league with the Christian devil, or Satan, or whatever you want to call that Christian invention. Mercy Lewis was probably half crazy due to her father's treatment and abuse of her mind, soul and body, and her little friends were undoubtedly just hysterical.

I will post more in other articles about various types of witches and their traditions (including a piece about Wicca, which is a new age amalgam of a religion and has nothing to do with the Craft), but for now, please know that I don't worship Satan, and neither do any of the true witches that I know (I don't know about Wiccans - they're not witches). Because we don't believe in Satan.

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Bye, Felicia

Or, as I should say, "Bye, Suboxone." 

I've been down to 1/2 mg of that nasty shit for a week now. I still have a few weeks' supply left, but I've decided that this morning's dose will be my last.

I've made some drastic changes in my life and my health since June 1. I started eating healthy foods, low in fat and added sugars, and I've been going to the gym every day. I do yoga daily. And I drink water like it's going out of style. I've been meditating and praying to my Higher Powers every day as well. And I feel wonderful.

Except for this lousy buprenorphine flowing through my system. It's done its job. I'm off opiates, and my plan is to stay off of them forever. And the bupe does not fit in with my new life choices. It's not healthy. It can't be good for my teeth or my mouth in general to be melting a strip of bupe and naloxone under my tongue every morning. And the bottom line is, due to my daily cardio workouts, I don't feel like I need it anymore.

When I dropped from 8 mg to 4 mg, I felt like I wanted to drop dead. It was a drastic decrease, and I felt terrible. But then I started changing my health habits. Eating better. Getting even just a little bit of exercise every day. Utilizing my other meds to ease the withdrawal symptoms.

And it worked.

Now that I'm down to 1/2 mg, I'm at the point where I feel like, really, what's the point in dragging it out? Yeah, my bowels are very enthusiastic right now. Yes, my legs are a little twitchy, and yes, I have screaming anxiety almost all the time. But I hurt my pectoral muscle a few days ago, and the doc at the emergency room gave me a five day script for 5 mg. Valium. So, since the pec feels better, I'm going to be using the remaining Valium to get me off the subs. I have 4 left. That's enough for 4 days, because I only take them when I feel like I'm gonna go out and punch a kitten.

I know, I know. I'm not supposed to be taking benzos, either. But every reliable study I've read has said that short-term use of a light benzo like Valium is key in getting you through the hideous anxiety that comes from bupe withdrawal. I can't use the kava because it gave me that disgusting shedding rash. But bupe has a crazy-long half life (37 hours). So it will take like two days to get the last of it out of my system, and then I will be totally, absolutely drug-free. No opiates or opioids, no benzos, nothing.

I'm making LIFE CHANGES. I don't want to be one of those people that has given up on life. I have gone through a lot of loss in the past couple of years. My daughter, my mother, my father, and my soulmate. And I thought I needed some kind of buffer to cope. But all the buffers did was keep me stuck in a state of non-feeling, and I haven't dealt with any of those losses. Hell, I haven't even dealt with my miscarriage from 10 years ago. That's a lot of shit. But I think maybe going to a bereavement group is a little healthier than sitting on the couch shooting dope and snorting bars, don't you?

So, here we are at the end. Thanks to everyone who has supported me on this journey. This blog will not be all about drugs anymore. I'd like to add a little more humor, since that's how I write, and maybe some sex, if I can get me some. We'll see.

In the meantime, I'll see you at the gym. Or a meeting.

Namaste, bitches.