Friday, May 10, 2013


In third or fourth grade I had a chorus teacher that my mom affectionately dubbed the fire breathing dragon lady. She was tall and slender and kind of resembled Skeletor. She had bright red hair cut in a style only acceptable for the late eighties and early nineties. She had this insanely gross habit of talking to class while dipping her contacts in her coffee, placing them in her mouth, sucking on them, and then putting them back on her eye balls. She was strict and quiet frankly mean. I have no idea why she is so firmly ingrained in my mind, except that later that year I was placed in a mental hospital. I don't remember her after that year, though I am sure she was still teacher there. I may have some things in that year blocked out still. I am not really sure because repressed memories are well, repressed. I was not abused but apparently the trauma of the being ripped away from my parents and institutionalized can cause damage to your psyche. Especially, if you do not need to be hospitalized and your doctor is a fraud and terrifying and lying to your parents so he can use their love for you to get insurance money. May he burn in hell.
I have a fragmented mind. I have missing memories. It irritates me because as someone with OCD I can recall memories from before the age of two, but I can not remember things when I was around ten. I didn't even realize that I hadn't told my husband of almost twelve years that I had been in the mental hospital until I wrote a post on it a few months back. I also had not told my friends. In fact I never talked about it. Never. I never even discussed it with my mother, whom I tell everything.
So what I am left with is odd fragmented visions of that time. I remember now the hospital and all that happened there, but almost nothing about when I got out. It is frustrating when I have always prided myself on remembering my childhood in a detailed degree. Almost the whole year is gone. Why can't I remember? Why?
It speaks to me that not only was I born with a genetic mental illness but I was then punished by this doctor for having one. Then he caused more damage to my already fragile mind by removing me from the people that supported and loved me.
Sometimes we are born with the illness and sometimes it is inflicted upon us. A whole year gone so he could live in a nicer house and drive a fancy car.
The repercussions of what he did to me is catastrophic. I can not go to a place with locking doors that slam and lock behind you. My palms get sweaty and I start to have trouble catching my breath. When I was admitted to the hospital twice this year for surgery I freaked. It was the all confining I can't leave feeling. I had panic attacks, which I never have. Now before surgery I also have them, because I can't get up and leave. I can't take the feeling of being not allowed to leave.
I can not do routines of doing something I am supposed to over and over again. It  is like when we had to do their schedule. Basically I was in a lightly decorated prison. We were inmates but with nicer rooms. I have no idea if the medication they gave all of us has caused any health issues. We were never told what we were taking. They never even told my parents that I was taking medication.
What does that mean for me today?
It means that I no longer allow myself to be confined in a stigma that I do not own. [tweet this]. I have mental illness but I am not a fault and I refused to be punished for it again. I refuse to be taken advantage of again. If someone is uncomfortable with the fact I have issues than they don't have to be around me. I am not going to apologize for being sick. No one apologizes for having the flu, why should I because my brain is sick. Maybe just maybe, had that doctor not been so damned worried abut a paycheck and deceiving others, I could have gotten the help I needed at that time. Instead of making me feel guilty because I had OCD maybe he could have actually given me therapy or sent me to someone who actually treated OCD. Now, I have become the voice for those that were unfairly committed for insurance money. I have decided that my illness is part of my life and I refuse to be shamed. I refuse to be put down. I refuse to be confined. I will not accept being treated like I am not a worthy individual. I lost one year of my life because of one unfit doctor and his goonies. The only memory of that year is the chorus teacher that I didn't even like? It is not fair and it is not right. I will not give anymore of my life to those who are manipulative or negative because of my illness. You either take me as I am or leave me be. Your choice, my decision. I no longer am accepting applications for fair weather friends.

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