We are waking up to the abuses of our environment,
We have been told we are bad and crazy,
and we are obedient.
We have acted bad and crazy.
We have screamed to get our voices heard
and we are labelled manic.
We have been disbelieved,
and we are labelled distrusting.
We have learned from infancy that safety is arbitrary,
and we are called paranoid.
We have anticipated punishment and deferred to pretenses,
and we have been punished for being manipulative.
We must fragment ourselves to integrate multiple realities,
and this process is called psychosis.
What do labels mean to you?
A post-ictal emotional debriefing with myself.
Since I live alone, I have to find ways to navigate the electric time-space warp they call a “seizure” by myself. It’s similar to guiding yourself through a short acid trip (I would imagine… 😛 )
The seizure itself may have been a secondarily generealized tonic-clonic, Although my level of ictal consciousness indicates it may have been a complex focal with clonic movements instead. It lasted maybe 5 minutes with another 10-15 minutes of laying on the ground saying, “come on, legs! let’s go, legs!” This is the phenomenon known as “Todd’s paralysis,” or post-ictal weakness. If you can, when someone has a seizure, let them be for a good 15-20 minutes because they’re not just tired – they’re actually paralyzed.
I managed to crawl up the stairs and get my camera going about 20 mins later. In this video I talk a little bit about my coping strategies for living alone with epilepsy. Besides counting from 0-60 and back, I start grounding exercises as soon as I feel the electricity dying down. “The dog is white. The cars are parked. The sea is gray. There are two birds.” Etc. It helps me remember where I am and why I’m laying on the ground feeling like a rag doll.
I sure was rolling around in the ol’ yard. I just noticed that piece of grass on my head, haha!
Art by Marian Goodman http://www.mariangoodman.com/
The way my thoughts tumble and and jostle keep my words spinning in mixtures of complete and incomplete urges, thoughts, sentences. Usually words help me tie down my emotions, bleed them out through pen ink on paper. But now words flap around inside me and my body urges me to keep moving, to fly away from this. Words are not my lifeline today. Focus is not my friend.
“Vico presents as anxious, confused, and disorganized. When in crisis, Vico likely experiences episodes of impaired judgement and deterioration in reality testing, This may include unusual perceptual experiences, magical thinking, or delusional beliefs.”
“Pour myself a cup of coffee full of sober nights; ‘cuz nicotine and caffeine are my friends in this fight” – Ida Maria