Ruffling Feathers

I know I may end up ruffling some feathers with this one, so, be forewarned. 

Seems I ruffled a few feathers in my previous post about making plans on what to do in the end of a mental crisis/break down on my part and me NOT wanting my husband to call the cops.  You know, no.  I’m not sugaring a damn thing.

Me flat out telling my husband, under NO circumstances, to call the cops if I’m in a mental crisis because I’m absolutely terrified that there is a damn good chance I could wind up dead from that encounter alone. 

Am I saying that the police would specifically show up to kill me?  No.  What I am saying is that they have zero training, and therefore ZERO REASON to show up on psych calls.  Period.  Because, as police show us time and time again, they have no clue how to properly deescalate a situation in a manner that keeps everyone safe.  They are quite of the shoot first, shoot often, and don’t ask any questions mentality right now.

Am I saying there are no good cops?  No, I’m not saying that at all.  But, those tend to be few and far in between.  And honestly?  I’m not willing to put my life on the line on the off chance that I MAY get a good cop. 

A commenter pointed out that in her time as a psych nurse, that the psych patients, even in the middle of a mental crisis/break down, are aware of their actions and don’t care about the consequences.  Well, that is partially true.  Even in my darkest and craziest times, when I’ve had hallucinations (which, thankfully, have been very few) or in the middle of a serious manic episode, yes.  I am aware that my hallucinations or my manic beliefs are not “real” in the traditional sense.  But it doesn’t mean they have any less impact on ME.  Yes, I know the chances of someone grabbing me out on the street is very low, but in the middle of a manic high, with anxiety blasting at a full 10, I am still paranoid beyond belief and utterly TERRIFIED that this will happen to me.  And to make matters worse…I KNOW that I’m being irrational.  I know that the voice(s) aren’t real, that they are lying or making shit up, or that the things I’m seeing are REAL.  But it feels like I’m being held hostage inside my own head and am being forced to go along on this damn joy ride that I have zero control over.

As for the consequences?  Yeah, I have to deal with the fall out once I return to my rational state of mind.  I can’t call my credit card company and say “Oops, I was manic there for a week, can you just forgive that $10,000 of charges I put on my card during that time?”  Yeah, they would laugh me off the damn phone.  No, instead, I have to pay off all of that debt.  I have to deal with the speeding tickets I’ve gotten.  I have to deal with any and all shit I’ve said and done and put my loved ones through during my irrational times.  And some?  Some have had enough and have walked away.  And you know what?  I don’t blame them one bit.  Hell, if I could walk away from this mind of mine, I would have done it ages ago.

So I’m supposed to what?  Feel sorry for the people who have to deal with us crazies?  The ones who CHOSE to be psych nurses, and psych doctors, and EMTs, and police officers, because we crazies can be so mean to them?  Fuck, try living in MY HEAD for one fucking month and come back and tell me how bad THEY have it.  They at least CHOSE to work with us.  They can CHOOSE to do something else.  I can’t CHOOSE not to be crazy.  I can’t CHOOSE not to have depression or suicidal idealization, or manic episodes, or my time to time hallucinations or my urges for non-suicidal self-injury.  Trust me, if it was a CHOICE, I sure as shit wouldn’t have selected this option because this option SUCKS.

Even with medication, I’m still struggling.  I’ve been playing medication roulette for decades now.  I’ve found ones that make me a complete zombie.  I’ve found ones that make me full blown manic.  I’ve found ones that I’m allergic to.  I’ve found ones that amplified my hallucinations.  I’ve found ones that basically gave me ADHD.  I’ve found ones that have made me SEVERELY depressed.  Not to mention that this shit all costs me thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars.  I don’t even want to know what this would have cost me if I didn’t have insurance. 

And that pisses me off as well.  People bitch and complain about how us crazies don’t comply with our medication or our therapy, but never stop to ask us WHY.  Most of the time, it’s because WE CAN’T FUCKING AFFORD IT.  If I didn’t have health insurance, there is NO WAY I could afford my medication.  And I’m on GENERIC meds.  Not even fancy, name-brand stuff.  But just one of my meds – a one month supply is like $370.  I don’t remember what the other one would cost me without insurance.  And then there’s my thyroid medication and the migraine medications I take as well.  So yeah, how would I be able to afford to comply with my medications, plus do therapy plus pay for a place to live and food and living expenses and all of that as well.  That shit adds up very quickly.  Is it any surprise so many of us with mental issues wind up on the streets and/or self-medicating with drugs or alcohol?  And I haven’t even added in therapy or psychiatrists to the equation yet.  ::shakes her head::