Archive for the ‘mental health’ Tag

Quality vs. Intensity   Leave a comment

I have not written here in a long time. Quality thoughts have been lacking. Intense emotion has not. Manic episodes, depressive states, homicidal reactions, suicidal ideation, mental clutter; I’ve been a mess. But I miss you, my quiet little blog. And I want to come home.

I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Covenant   Leave a comment

Not everything that breaks the skin
Is an affront to my senses
Some things are just more worth waiting for
While others are better left alone

From the jump
I lost my footing
And found myself spinning
Out of control and going under
There is always a rhythm
That escapes my knowing
And I flail as I fail

But I get up
And I try, try again

You’re like my “watched pot”
That I can’t seem to ever catch boiling
I feel like no matter how I trick time
It’s me that gets covered in
Lost anthems of relationships
And wasted moments of inner conflicts

Night terrors and static and the reincarnation of everything
I thought I laid to rest
Here again
Pressing me up hard against the glass
To be examined by the doctors of my failures
And the professors of my testaments
Battle weary Argonauts
And the wreckage left of sunken ships

Everything repeats
Only now I’m tired
And I’m less inclined to seek the Holy Grail
Now seeking out a new covenant

This is my gospel
According to me

Jen

Train   Leave a comment

Rivers follow down to this little stream in me
That cross divides
The beggar and the believer
Even though neither has felt sunlight
For as long as sunlight has been a thing

The ache in my head grows deep
And finds its way into my ears
The sound of everything
Comes passed a hissing and a rattle
And the doctors say it’s just another
Infection or irritation but I can’t help but wonder
Just what has crawled inside of me
And died
This time

I wanted to bury things that bothered me
I wanted to let go of the ones that have lived and died
I wished on stars and burned the images of a god
That never answered back
And here I am
Surrounded by voices and shadows and the crippled lover
Who promises she’ll never leave me
Unless that’s what I want from her

I can’t be the only one to see the sick side of humor
I can’t be the only one left understanding the joke
My life has become
Or was diagramed to be from the jump

But no one really comes and sits beside me and says
Hey girl I get it
And I won’t judge you if you cut and run
I’ve seen what you’re juggling and this shit is serious
And you need to go get yourself a bottle of pills, a razor, a gun

All I get is some talk about how shit gets easier
And how there are loved ones who need me
And then there is all this promise that somehow tomorrow is going to be
Something better than today and all the yesterdays combined
Like life is a fucked up version of a word problem from some 4th grade math class

Well, I never did follow along with those
I was too busy wondering which mother I was going home to or
Which father was going to pick me up that weekend or
What it might be like if the wrong neighborhood boy
Caught me in the cornfield
I’m sorry
I just never felt the need to daydream
So far in advance as to wonder about
That eastbound train heading out of Chicago
At 80mph
But maybe that would’ve been a better thing to focus on
All along
Because all this worrying
This shit hasn’t gotten me anywhere either
And I’m ready
I’m ready
To take that ride.

Jen

NOTHING   2 comments

 

I haven’t written anything in months.  Nothing, not a poem or a blog post or even a well thought out shopping list; my mind has been worthless and unintelligent.  I have felt amazingly creative and have turned the music up, sat down and prepared to spill out and then…NOTHING.  Simple.  NOTHING.  Bold letters, etched or burned or maybe growing from the inside and finally finding themselves poking out through my bones, breaking free and out of my skin to read NOTHING;

This has never really happened to me before.

I have taken less medication in the last few months and I thought, if anything, that that might actually help me write more.  Maybe it would be some kind of scribble at first as the crazy thoughts come spinning out of my mouth and my fingers try to keep track.  But somehow, after a little practice, I would be fresh and able.  I would be the old me again.  Alive and awake and ready to tackle the bigger issues at hand that have made me the kind of person that other people talk about.  But no, nothing is what comes out of me.  Until this very second and I’m not really sure this is anything I should care to share or feel any sort of way about.  I mean, they are words and that is better than nothing, I suppose.  I am not dead.  This proves that, right?  I don’t know for sure.

I have no audience.  I have no point, no application, no promise, and no art left to tug or pull or settle the storm in me.  I am aimless, shiftless, crooked and spineless and unsatisfied being me.

For the very first time in my life I am not depressed or angry, I am void of purpose and full of misguided apprehension.  I want to die.  I want to stop being here and start nothing else by my leaving.  I am not looking for an escape, I am not hoping for heaven or a reward or some relief.  I simply don’t give a fuck anymore.  I am not broken.  I am not empty.  I am not lost.

I am just not in the mood to give of myself any longer.

To any cause, for any purpose.  I am done.  I am finished here.  And I feel no reason to continue.

Jen

Karen’s Got Pneumonia And I’ve Got the Blues   1 comment

 

I keep making things up.  I suppose I could just settle for some definition of what I’m doing that leaves me sounding creative and daring, but really I think that I’m just bored and a slight touch demented.  I come up with some other person I’d rather be; a name, a personality, a complete background and family tree and just live out a few days or even a whole lifetime as this new creation.  If I could be organized enough, motivated enough to write it all out and do something with it then I could say that I was an artist of some great means, but really it’s all just for my own entertainment.  It keeps me from hurting myself and lashing out at others and I know that there is some great benefit there.  I mean, any day that I wake up and know for a fact that there are no victims from the day before I can open my eyes and feel victorious.  But I am starting to worry more and more about all of this wasted time.  And I don’t just mean wasted as in “where is my life going” or “what am I amounting to with me doing nothing but daydreaming?”  I am referring to the actual loss of time that has been occurring.  I mentioned it to the psychiatrist and he made notes about it in my file.  It concerned him enough to discuss it with me again the following visit but of course I am now done with my time at Kennedy so all of the progress I have made with him is now dust in the wind which is always the case.  I never seem to get anywhere with anyone in therapy.  Just as we start down an interesting road I stop seeing that particular person and never because it is what I want.  This time it is because my 12 weeks of Intensive Outpatient is completed.  I have to start going to Catholic Charities now.  I don’t much like the idea of it, but what can I do?  With the limit Medicaid that I receive currently it was that or Drenk and Drenk had a 3 month waiting list.  I am a bit mistrusting and paranoid actually and not sure I believe Drenk.  I preferred going back to them for my individual therapy and medication monitoring, but I truthfully believe that my old therapist is still there.  She was supposed to be leaving their employment in late August, but when I called her extension it was still set up with her information.  I don’t think she wants to continue with me and I don’t think they feel I am stable enough to walk into that building, see her in person and not freak out and accept another therapist.  I admit, I got way too attached to her and I understand their concerns.  But truthfully, for as much hassle as going to a new place will cause me I would much rather go back to Drenk and see another therapist and just leave things be.  But they don’t know this and are probably just being evasive to keep things calm over there.  So they are saying they can’t take me back and now Catholic Charities is my only option.  From how it’s been explained to me, I will probably do a weekly therapy, see a nurse practitioner for medication and maybe have to attend a group.  I’m not sure how often the group will be, maybe weekly or bi-weekly.  I hope not much more than that.  They are located about 10 minutes further than Drenk and my old car has had enough of all these trips.  But regardless, it will be closer than Kennedy which was roughly 45 minutes and 28 miles away for me.  I must admit, the groups that I attended at Kennedy did help me.  They let me feel comfortable joining in discussions and being a part of the entire process of sharing and opening up.  So I am must more inclined now, I think to take part in my own therapy, both group and individual.  I don’t think therapy is something you are just born understanding out to utilize.  And that’s a shame because when you really need help you go for so long and it’s wasted just having you go and sit there and be afraid and closed off.  But now I know I will walk into any therapist office or any group setting and barring any bizarre scene I will do my part to get the most out of the help offered.  It makes me really full of hope and possibility.  I also know now that even though a lot of why I start going to therapy is because of anger and such what I really need help with is my PTSD.  My anxiety and fear is what leads me to my anger, but if you need to know where it all begins and what really stops me in my tracks from leading a healthy, happy life it’s the overwhelming fear and nervousness that I live with on a daily basis.  Out of the 24 hours of each day, second by second, I am spending so many of my hours consumed with doubt, paranoia, dread and an agony of disappointing people and being alarmed by the simplest of things.  I am at a constant level of stress and anxiety that I have just grown to expect it, but it corrupts everything about me, about my life and about my reactions.  And now I’m at a point where I am so tired and overwhelmed that my ability to manage it and hide it has fallen apart and what the world is seeing is anger and this violent, agitated, near demonic side of me that was always just below the surface and aimed at myself but now, more often than not, pouring over the brim and effecting them.  I don’t know this wasn’t a story or typical blog post.  My girlfriend is in the hospital with pneumonia and my head is frazzled because I’m alone and feeling too much freedom and way too emotional.  I know I haven’t posted in a while and I just wanted to say something and this is what came bumbling, stumbling out of my head.  I feel like there is a chance I could accidentally hurt myself while she’s gone.  That is such a strange thing to say, to admit to.  She drives me nuts and I spend a lot of time taking care of her when she’s home, but she still manages to keep me safe.  With her in the hospital I am alone and unattended and I feel like I want to do something risky.  Like I could cut myself or take a lot of pills just to do something dangerous.  I don’t know why I have these urges.  I just do.  When my old girlfriend would spend time in the hospital she always knew that as soon as I made sure she was ok I would go out and spend all of our money on drugs and just get totally fucked up.  It was like our routine.  I don’t do that anymore.  But in the absence of that plan I still want to do something risky.  I just am older now and tired and not feeling well.  But those demons still want to play.  They are still digging their claws into my brain and taunting me.  Who knows how I will shut them up?  I’ll have to figure something out.  I think I have 3 more days till she comes home.  And it is officially the first day of FALL which thrills me to no end.  Maybe when I wake up I’ll go get some hot coffee and spend the day out and about.  Anything to keep me from sitting in this house alone with sharp objects and pill bottles that sounds like a good idea doesn’t it?

Fuck it.

Wish me luck and shit.

Jen

Something Transitional   Leave a comment

 

My head is really cloudy and I’m not sure where I’m going to wind up.  I’ve spoken with a good friend and I’ve explained a little bit to my girlfriend, but I don’t think I’ve said nearly enough to anyone.  The main reason is because I don’t believe I have much of a clue as to what is going on with me.

There is quite possibly a chance that I am actually doing really well and about to bust out with something amazing; some remarkable period of growth and enlightenment.  Or that could just be the budding development of a manic episode about to take me down a very dark road.  I don’t know.  I guess we will just have to watch and see.

What I am aiming to report here is this:  I know that I have been holding on to this, this life and this concept of existence for far too long.  So whether it is death in a final sense or death as a means of rebirth and growth or something transitional or what have you, something needs to change.  I am not depressed and hoping to leave, but I am not going to lie about my eagerness, my desperate need to move on from this state of being.  If I can’t find a way to make something happen then I will have little choice, so I am going to try with all my heart, all of my creativity, all my tattered faith, all of my hope, all of my childlike wonder, all of my love, all my sense of responsibility, all of my lust for joy and thirst for knowledge and anything and everything that can propel me and move me further and beyond to make something of this life.  I am not trying for success or fortune or fame, but for some sense of purpose.  Art and integrity and a personal value that is currently lacking, I need to believe in myself again.

Right now, with all of the pretty faces that shine on me with such love and devotion, while they find me and bring me warmth it is like the sun baring down on a dead body.  I need to be jolted with the spirit of life again.

To continue like this is exactly the same thing as being dead.  And I will not allow myself to lumber around the planet, a giant and wasteful, draining the joy out of those that love me, corpse that can furnish no purpose and offer no further hope.

So while I hope this letter is the end of this despair and the beginning of me kick starting my way back or some fresh start, if nothing changes then take it as the beginning of a goodbye that will not drag on and on.  I don’t have time to waste.  I’m tired of wasting.

I still love.  And that’s why I know it’s about time I start this process.

Jen Czahur

Good Vibes   1 comment

I have written things that were honest and necessary.  I wrote them because they were forcing themselves out of my ratty fingertips and I was afraid that if I didn’t they would find some other means of escape.  Perhaps something even more ugly than tampering with your ideas.  It’s true, I have suffered and I have failed at managing my pain.  I have failed so tragically.

I write to placate my demons.  And sometimes, my demons use my very words to torture me further still.

But I am hoping to turn a fresh page and to start sharing what is good and what is kind and gentle and handing from my mind to yours what is beautiful and treasured.  Please, bear with me.  I am not a pro at being whimsical and all together happy.  I get bogged down often and writing is still my go to coping skill.

And sharing my writing is the only way I know of finding any true sense of validation.  So perhaps, I will still come here and plant demon seeds.  I am sorry, but I know no other way.

Maybe you can teach me.  Or maybe I can start to journey again around this world and meet and marvel and dream with my eyes open and take in what it is to be alive.

I think I just planted my first seeds of joy.

Good vibes.  I will water and tend these, my lovely things.

Walk with me.

 

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