A revolving door policy best describes our psychiatric system. I should know, I’m in & out of the poxy psych ward like a yo-yo!
My shrink says I have the most frequent admissions of all of his patients. Clearly, I drive him bonkers & am very pleased to do so! What a schmuck! As smug & smarmy as they come, always quick to flash a freaking snooty smile & possibly chortle a cheerful chuckle when I relate to him of a personal misfortune. Then, if & when I’m finding the funny in my madness & misadventures, he puts my flippancy down to mania & keeps me locked up longer. Baaaah! Baaaastard!
I have rinsed my latest so called manic episode right out of my hair & there will be no repeat!
It was a bright & sunny August weekend. I was frrrreaking frrrresh out of 6 weeks involuntary incarceration in Spain, followed closely by another 3 weeks in Dublin & I was on the rrrrip! Making up for lost time & lack of craic, missing in action from my place of residence….on the tear again at last & there was no stopping me. Until I rrrrolled home Tuesday morning to find a pair of cursed community nurses awaiting my return.
The staaaate of me! I was ready for an afternoon of rest & recovery in my lovely leaba, followed by an evening of detox in the yoga studio. ‘Twas not to be. The Gardai were called to quickly & quietly return me to my home away from home, the shitty shabby psych ward.
There I was to spend 11 long weeks for my sins. My journal clearly showing that I was mad out of it for 2 days & then came back to Earth with a bang as I slowly but surely sobered up. No one equated the state of my inebriation, which showed up inevitably in the results of my bloodtest, to my seeming mania. Instead, I was instantly subjected to involuntary status when I was found guilty of the consumption of cocaine, cannabis & alcohol. Duh!
Don’t we all experience manic tendencies when we’re ripped to the tits on drink & drugs?
The bright days of Summer rolled into Autumn. I was locked up without leave for 4 weeks before I earned the privilege of unaccompanied leave to the garden. Prior to that, my shrink didn’t trust that I might take flight, one of my famous & fabulous flights into mania, if I was granted any freedom. So sick of my surroundings was I! I’m never going back, never! Ever!
My shrink can go stick his damning diagnosis up his shitty shitty arsehole if he thinks I haven’t kicked the habit of rinsing & repeating my psychiatric shenanigans!
Faith In The Ripple Effect 