A (censored for your safety) Letter from the Looney Bin…

Hey Folks!  18 Nov. 2012  6:40 AM

***UPDATED 11-22-2012 Thursday, 8:40pm ***

I am sure you have heard I am currently under the watchful eye of the mental health community.

They are *slowly* increasing my meds and perhaps beginning to grasp just what I have been saying all along.
There is a *very* serious problem in our society..

Not with me, per se, but rather with the way those with intractable pain
Are routinely treated ( or NOT treated, as the case may be…)
In this community, this state, this country.

We “broken” souls are facing an all-to-real Holocaust.

You think that is too strong a word?
Really?
Thousands die *monthly* due to their inability to access proper pain care.
It isn’t the cost of the treatment(s) or our inability to pay…
Or the logistics.
It isn’t that treatment options aren’t available, either.

Nope.

It is this unholy back-door War by the DEA on Pain Doctors,
and through them,
the medicines they use and the patients they treat.

An ongoing slaughter of our very own mothers and fathers,
Brothers, and sisters, grandparents, and children!
Each of them labeled as “junkies” and “dope-heads.”
Called “drug seekers” and “abusers”,
Merely for seeking to find some kind of surcease for their pain.

The most horrible part?
Even more horrible than the endless days and nights
Of unstoppable agony?

These bureaucrats… accountants,… paper pushers…

Don’t even bother to sully their own hands with the carnage they create!
Instead, they relentlessly torture their victims until these poor souls
Break and take their *own* lives…
Spill their own precious blood…
Silence their *own* pitiable cries.

All done to improve these glorified accountants’ “bottom lines”.
They then use those *very same deaths* to try and garner support for
This unholy war on the souls of their fellow citizens!

Priceless human lives reduced to some plus or minus sign in a ledger somewhere…
Just another Check mark in the “win” column.

How “Evil” is that?  O.o

This “War on Pain Medicines” has *Real* casualties.
I know.
I am one.
As close to dead as one can be
While still drawing jagged breath …

I write this with a pencil,
From my “safe room” in the county nut farm.
The crazy house.
The place you are sent when you are to be examined…
“Treated”…
Made “safe” to be in society.

Not seven feet away sits my “Shadow”,
My “One to One” supervisor/protector.
The ‘guardian’ placed over me
To assure society that their policies do not lead to my demise;
At least said demise by my own hand.

This post will be read through before it is allowed to be copied and/or posted on-line.
Examined for sanity.
Scrutinized carefully for public and personal safety.

Apparently it is insane to be overwhelmingly distraught over
Yet another in a series of endless nights
Filled with nothing but agonizing torture and pain.

Somehow it is considered ‘sane’ to scream and cry
Until one’s voice is hoarse
And there are no more tears to cry,

But ‘insane’ to try and do anything
To put an end to it.
To make that psyche-subjugating Cruelty
Finally cease.

*facepalm*

I *suppose* I should feel…grateful…
Right?
Somehow thankful that at least *someone* is
Showing my medical needs a little attention?
Nope.

I feel very little at all.
Period.

I am now treated like all the others with “psychological problems” are treated…
Like it is somehow *my* fault I find myself in this predicament.
Like my perception or analysis is somehow flawed.
Like I am not in touch with “reality”.

Nothing could be further from the truth!
As I have said before,
I may be mentally ill, but I am *completely* sane.
A reasonable man caught between only two terrible choices.

To wait any longer is to a lingering death of agony.
To act means risking my very life.
What part of “THEY WILL NOT HELP ME!”
Does everyone not understand?

I have DONE all the “right” things..
Taken all the tests.
Gone through the “appropriate” channels.
An NO ONE will treat my pain!

All I get when I tell them of my *Verified* pain,
When I show them I cannot keep even water down most days because of it,
When they see the records showing I have lost 80 pounds in the last 60 days,
All they show is a plastic smile and tell me
How “Great!” it is I am losing weight…. >.<

I now get to view that fake plastic smile hourly. 
You know the one…
The one worn by bored checkout clerks,
Or government workers at the DMV..

The one pasted on below those dead, bored eyes.
Taht body language that says they don't believe a word you say.
That knowing "pat on the head" like you are some recalcitrant child
by the nurses and doctors that are paid poorly to deal with you.

You are and become nothing but a marker. 
A perpetual child. 
Dismissed at will.
Forced to beg for the simplest things:

A pencil.
Paper.
A shower, or soap.
Access to music.
A cup of coffee.
An aspirin.

Over the last 3 days, I have hurt so badly I have actually
Bruised and cracked my own bones
Before they would consent to give me even the *barest* amount
of medication to treat my pain.
*Just* enough to make my screams coherent, but not a bit more.

If I was in an auto accident, or some kind of catastrohpy,
And was brought into the ER with mangled limbs,
Suffering with *less* pain than I live with on a daily basis,
I would be comforted and given prompt attention and pain relief.

But because I am *not* bleeding,
Nor have a visible wound,
I, like so many of us,
Is treated like a slacker.
A faker. A “pill-seeker”.
Or even worse, merely Insane or mentally ill.
Leaving the echoes of our screams
To bounce off those pristine white walls…

I see and hear that same dismissive tone
Even from some of my own family.
The “poor crazy man” tone.
That sugary-sweet tone reserved for the mentally ill,
Or the retarded,
Or small children.

They say things like:
“Yes Dear“…
“You poor thing“…
“I understand“…

All the while one can tell by the look in their eyes
And the tone of their voice,
That they do *NOT* care, nor even *believe* you.

Online “Friends” scurry to distance themselves,
Because, (even though they won’t say it), they too *know* how someone is treated
by society once they have entered a place like this.
How they are dismissed.
Laughed at.
Mocked.
For EVER.

They choose to hide from their friends and family the ugly truth.
We are getting *killed* out here.
Absolutely destroyed.
Driven insane in our pain and suffering.

The scariest part?
Sooner or later it will be their turn.

Fun stuff.  Not.

This was a mistake.
Coming here in this way.
Without some kind of outward indicator
Of my internal suffering…

I knew it coming in.
Knew what they would do.
What they would say.
Where it would lead…

Said so, in fact.
Repeatedly.

But what do I know?

I’m now just a “nut-job.”
A “crank.”
Just another ‘crazy’, ‘disturbed’ NOBODY.

It was bad enough when they ignored my pain when they *knew* it was real…
Now no living person will ever believe
Another word I say.

Or write.

Ever.

I have actually allowed these bastridges to fully dismiss me.
Ridicule me. Ignore me.

Now not only has their lack of compassionate or ethical treatment made my life a living hell,
Now no other living soul will *EVER* not doubt a single word I say.

So I should probably just stop talking altogether.

Wouldn’t want us “Crazies” to offend the “Normal Folks”!

This was a mistake.

One I will pay for every second I survive…

However long or short that may be.

Too much “drama”?
Too “extreme”?

Perhaps if you haven’t *lived* this kind of torture…
This agonizing, soul mutilating anguish…
This *level* of agony…

Still “worried what others will think?”
Still concerned this stuff is “too raw?”

Yep.
You’re right. It *is*….
Reality is often that way, unfortunately.

But what do I know, right?
I’m just another “crazy”….

~ by daveprime on November 21, 2012.