Today I woke up and did a short meditation with “Seth Speaks” – an entity quite a little bit bleaker than Esther and Abraham.
My method of meditating – I meditate to answer questions, I meditate to seek guidance about how to go about my day and what work to focus on, I meditate before I shop, I meditate for creative energy. Abraham and Esther have really helped me heal – and recently that has drawn my attention to Seth —- my method of meditating is not “quieting” the mind. If there has been any kind of evolution of meditation, for me, quieting the mind is … nice … but not worth meditating for. Years ago I explained to someone that I think about twenty five thoughts a second – and then I think twenty five thoughts per each of those thoughts. Conversation with me actually is never all that consistent, because of that.
The entity collectives that called themselves “Seth” and “Theo” helped Esther to realise her abilities – as I understand it I am destined to be one of Esther’s prodigies… Essentially amongst my many life purposes is to help people understand truth and help them to navigate to the seventh dimension of being. I actually have no clue what that even means – which is perhaps what makes it so difficult for myself to believe.. let alone others.
I know of another “friend” (we aren’t really friends, at all… I’m livid with you and you can count on me being so for a very, very long time) of mine supposedly has the capacity to channel twenty five entities and is on Esther’s personal list of “prodigies”. (He can thank me… for forcing him to listen to Abraham Hicks for several months.)
I personally channel Lucifer and Lucifer’s Twin flame – H&H. who people understand to be the Christian God and the creator of this Planet. Think of a blind male-energy mother with an over-active imagination and a female-energy scientist son with a very proactive sensibility for DNA experiment and misbehaviour and that is the closest you can get at this point in time to understanding how the Planet “happened”.
The thing about Twin Flames – is that your Twin Flame is your most elevated point of growth. Not necessarily the sexy, dreamboat partner that I understand the Angel Gabriel to be.
If you are fortunate enough to have met your TwinFlame – being able to be in love with your Twin Flame is often painful for most people because of what Abraham Hicks describes as contrast. For example, my uncle is a passionate and outspoken communist … his Twin Flame is a capitalist’s dream… a glamour-obsessed big-spender with a habit for clubbing and casinos. I sort of asked him to elaborate what his issues were with her – he wasn’t attracted to her because there was a clash in their personal ideologies. If your being is built on a personal ideology – then your greatest point of growth is a person who opposes that and yet you’re also inclined to love.
People find a lot of harmony in being with a person that they imagine doesn’t challenge them – you know – a person with the characteristics (physical and behavioural) of their choosing. For example – I used to say “I’d like to date a really intelligent/good looking person”… I ended up with someone everyone else found really, really ridiculously good looking (I wasn’t so inclined to agree) and also I believed him to be a complete retard. But… he was clever enough to steal everything from me, get away with cheating on me with my friends …and probably a load of other stuff I was too high to notice.
Lucifer, as we can understand from most depictions – is growth and freedom oriented. Lucifer knows the rules but encourages the individual to disobey them. Do the thing you’re not supposed to do – misbehave – and things might go wrong – the individual might disobey the rule but in disobeying the rule the individual catalyses the growth of the conscious collective – the only positive may even be that the individual learns why the rule exists. And then you wonder WHY a “God” would bother putting the individual in a position where they could experience consequence to that degree. Either God doesn’t know everything or God was a psychopath brought up by a blind mother that wasn’t interested in control.
Knowing this much about my guides – it’s not that I don’t want to listen to them, it’s that that is an intense story to connect with – told from two very opposing perspectives.
If I could sit in a room and see both visually I’d probably get really angry, on the behalf of this Planet. Of which, apparently, the entire Multiverse is intimately connected. (That shelf full of bacteria that you just wiped? Well – some place you might’ve destroyed a nation of beings.) Really.
So at this phase of my story – I’m healing, acknowledging and utilising my talents while I don’t have any people in my life who can undermine them or – legit, worse – compete with me (people don’t like collaborating if I’m the boss and I don’t like collaborating unless I’m the boss) and trying to find my voice so that I can continue into a place where I formally introduce myself to a Planet and also kind of ultra-punish-shame-destroy the United Kingdom for it’s abuses towards humanity.
I have important stuff to do. So.. I’m amused – because where my meditations with Esther take me into a place of positivity, my meditations with Seth kind of guide me through considering my more sinister experiences – and I’m in a place of realisation – that I have to find a way of articulating what I’ve gone through so that other people aren’t tortured like I was. Not being honest about absolutely everything I went through in a very public way… is wrong.
It’s not about me – it’s about the responsibility that comes with knowing the truth. Telling it – even if there is a price for doing so. Very Luciferian karma, isn’t it.
Even if I’m ridiculed by people, even if people try to get me to shut up for some self-serving reason such as jealousy or fear.
When I was little I remember my mother showing me a wine bottle in my father’s cupboard that were made by the Illuminati – I remember desperately wanting a one dollar note because I knew it had the Illuminati symbol on it.
When I was little and I was faced with a question I didn’t know the answer to – sometimes… I had a quiet urge to close my eyes to think about the answer. And often I would deliver that answer and… very often I wasn’t listened to and yet was proven right.
That treatment from others – when I expressed what I saw in my minds eye taught me to think I was wrong – that is why I’ve been delayed in being able to relay the truth.
When I did a bit too much ketamine I had a drug trip where I left my body and learned that I’m supposed to be the eye that sits on the top of that pyramid. Faster than anything I flew up, bodyless, above and beyond layers and layers of bricks that stacked so high that I certainly couldn’t see the ground – bricks that built a very vast pyramid, surrounded by cameras – eventually I got to the top and realised I was an eye surrounded by white light.
I kept repeating “this is all there is… this is all there is…” I flipped through a book I had previously heard of but much later understood to be the Akashic records – it was so upsetting to me to experience reality in such a stark metaphor that was void of any beauty.
The truth of that dimension I explored non physically was so painful (emotionally, not physically) that a girl had to stick her hand into my “drug trip” and drag me back to my body. I was actually grateful – at the time I understood that she had “saved” me… Now I look back and I think I should’ve been alone, forced to accept that reality and perhaps learn how to change it.
Hilariously, contrasting this mornings meditation with Seth – telling me that I absolutely needed to find a way – completely void of emotion, but entirely full of truth – of describing and articulating the painful things I went through… If you are void of emotion, you can trust that your audience certainly isn’t. Speaking the truth creates energy, you feel truth even if it takes time to “sink in”.
But yes… contrasting that meditation… Seth also said something about “flowers and cake”. I’m sure that will make sense later but I’m kind of inviting a new hobby into my life on top of all my other nonsense. I don’t know that I have time for flowers and cake Seth!!!!
As I understand it… my revenge is teaching people about Power and Money.
I’m long overdue appearing in Forbes – I should’ve been a multi billionaire by now – but the reality is that people don’t want me to have money.
My own family don’t really want me to have money. The reason I need money is I need to teach people how to use it. The reason I need power is because I need to teach people how to use it. Money and Power are my life path. I’d have preferred “love”, but “love” makes people stupid.. it’s a distraction. And it’s a very hard aspiration when you have money and/or power. Taking whats mine.. you should know better.
I am constantly on thought journeys. Whether I am scripting a story in my head or thinking of dialogues with people I’ve found funny in my life… I laugh sometimes or my face responds to certain thoughts and I guess it can be unusual to experience for others.
So – today I had a chat with my mother about my mediumship, about my very strange journey and experience with a town (farnham) of people that from any account of events – you could suggest and comfortably conclude – wanted me dead. And the NHS and the police were in on it too.
I understand that it’s the first stage of what will be a Planet-changing dialogue. It’s not that I’m guiding you through dimensions of being into evolution – I am dragging the universal you. It’s going to be full of embarrassment (yours), pain (yours) and probably some laughter because… how else will you cope with the more awful aspects of yourselves?
For me it’s important to write – because when you converse… people like to interrupt. I’ve been told that sometimes the things I write send a particular kind of chill down their spine that is not unlike doing LSD.
I might have a talent for connecting events and creating a narrative from that – but perhaps my habit of noticing what connects sequences of events wouldn’t sit well for most people. So I really have to create a list of everything that happened to me and make a case of it against the NHS and the british police force. At this point of lucidity and after talking with my uncle I finally feel strong enough to confront basic truths of what I experienced – beginning with the torture psychiatrists comfortably allowed me to experience by taking medication I really didn’t need to be on (sure, medicate me – but if that medication makes me shake uncontrollably for months why not try another?) the thousands of pounds worth of jewellery that was stolen from me by the NHS and the fact that when I was violently raped in a psychiatric ward by a nurse that flirted with me – it’s possible I wasn’t raped, but flirting with patients is already illegal – and when I called the police they were not only expecting the call, but laughed down the phone.
For anyone experiencing things they don’t believe to be ordinary – learn to stay calm and control your emotions. Even when you’re being sexually molested by policemen. Stay calm.
And when I tried contacting news outlets they ignored my emails but wrote articles loosely discussing what I’d described.
I’m no stranger to being ganged up on… I’ma do what I do best and teach people that their actions have consequences.
It’s important – this one
I wrote this today, for my big brother’s doctors…
To Omar’s medical team,
My name is Anna Karina, I’m Omar Manuel’s little sister. We call him Omi.
I’m writing to discuss some considerations towards better helping my brother, and people like my brother. It is a long letter but I would appreciate that it was fully and carefully read – by as many professionals as possible.
I’ve discussed the possibility of coming in, to be present for one of my brother’s ward round meetings with both my family and my brother. He initially agreed but for some reason he hasn’t followed through with the decision. I am the only member of our family that my brother genuinely trusts – so it’s unfortunate that I feel compelled to create this dialogue – as I feel it to be a breach of that trust, and while I feel it’s important to set people an example – sometimes thats not enough – you also have to use a person as an example.
My family understand that I am the most capable of all of us to offer suggestions that could help you to help my brother: and I have informed them of my decision to write this letter.
I’ve expressed to Omar that it might not be to his best advantages to disregard the support I can afford him – but I believe he needs to feel his decisions about his own health are respected. This is an example I wish I had a better means of teaching you.
In order to help a person you have to be humble enough to listen to them, ensuring that a person feels heard is fundamental in teaching them to express themselves.
I understand my brother is deemed as having communication issues – you might do well to consider that your observation of his difficulties in communicating could be indicative of your own communication issues. If in the period of time that he has been victim to your services – you have not helped him to communicate with greater efficiency, that is because you don’t know how to do so yourselves.
However difficult it might be to accept – there is always a possibility that the care you believe a person requires isn’t the care they require at all. This is a prevalent truth in the history of Mental Health services. A history more obvious, perhaps, in a period where “hysterical” women were institutionalised, but still a truth none the less. I can verbalise this – as a person who was treated as being strange for donning a headband with cat ears on it.
I would suggest that Mental Health professionals learn to employ a means of encouraging their patients to communicate how they feel they can be helped. And further more – that your professionals learn to listen to that – however unusual the exchange in communication might be. The last thing a mentally ill person experiencing some frightening alter-reality needs is a thought-gestapo observing them and scuttling off into some box room to perch infront of a computer and annotate notes about how ‘strange’ they’re acting. Even ‘strange’ people are deserving of your empathy, and if you’re being paid to look after them – striking up an interesting, sincere and heartfelt conversation is a decent thing to do,
Later in this letter – I have enclosed suggestions for the initial stages of creating this kind of dialogue, which is fundamental to human relationships on any level and would, I think, be quite useful to a person who is essentially being paid to babysit, as psychiatric nurses are.
People often have a better idea of the help that they need, and while your education and perhaps even your experience might cause you to be inclined to disagree – that is a truth that your patient has to arrive at of their own accord. Telling a person who is trying to heal from a damage greater than a “mental illness” what is “wrong” with them, as Mental Health Professionals seem to do – is not only a bizarre method of helping them – it’s rude. I’m aware to an extent that this is exactly the purpose of this letter – but unfortunately it’s a necessary rudeness.
For example – I believe that Omar’s choice not to request my presence at his ward rounds, suggest he’s not ready for me to engage with his health plan. It’s possible he’s being protective. He is like that.
I dread to imagine though – that any professionals have in any way influenced that decision – and therefore upon the assumption that it is in keeping with his true wishes that I’m not involved – that is a decision I am inclined to respect.
I won’t go to his ward rounds.
I won’t push him to do something I feel he doesn’t want to do, because I think it is abundantly clear that he has had enough of that kind of abusive treatment.
I think that the abuse it is to make a person do anything that they do not want to do – is how he ended up in a hospital for so long – and as a person he trusts who knows him better than his mother and his sister – I request that you endeavour to follow suit. I know that is not the structure of a hospital. My dad says “It’s not a hotel!! He’s not there to have fun!” to that I say… “why not?”
I know it’ll take time to sink in – truth often does. I’m familiar with the stages of accepting truth too – I’m sure that you have already directed some kind of humour at this letter. That’s okay. You do whatever you need to, that doesn’t change the fact that you are reading something absolutely true.
Additionally – I also think that at some point he will have to seek financial compensation from the NHS for the years of his life lost due to your incompetency and incapability to provide him the help he deserves.
And I think that in reading this letter … you will be drawn to agree.
So while he is still in a state of recovery, while he is still under the influence of mind altering medications – I am taking initiative to create this dialogue and list the grievances towards him and probably many other unfortunate individuals who it must be quite easy to forget – are desperately trying to recover from something far greater than auditory hallucinations or the fact that you think it’s weird that they like to talk to themselves – in an environment that is not built to cultivate any kind of recovery at all.
When you are being paid to engage with an environment that provides you with power over vulnerable individuals – especially individuals whose communications with the “real world” are deeply restricted, observed and scrutinised, leaving room for your abuses to go unnoticed – realistically – any academic observation of human behaviour as has been documented in numerous behavioural journals would suggest – that while it’s very noble for you to seek work taking care of others – there is ample scope for self deception and mistreatment.
You are no longer capable of observing the situation with neutrality and accuracy.
You are benefiting from giving patients medications – you are paid to do so.
Your feelings as professionals – about your work, your place of work, your treatment of patients who really aren’t able to process and communicate their true thoughts and feelings (Well, thats why they’re in there, ha) cannot be any kind of accurate indicator of what is occurring.
Your thoughts and feelings as professionals will fit whatever truth is comfortable with you – and I implore you to walk around and really ask yourself if the people around you sitting, staring, perhaps shaking, like zombies, would really be like that if they weren’t under your care. And if you’ve been led to believe it’s a system you aren’t capable of changing, you’re wrong. When you are dealing with human beings – a brief exchange of sincere communication can change not only the environment of a psychiatric ward, but actually – the World.
Here I am – an ex patient of numerous psychiatric wards that not only failed me – that I believe whole heartedly should be closed down, with staff I believe should be imprisoned – if only to teach them empathy, not even as punishment for abusing me.
I’m informally – yet so formally – telling the Universal you of psychiatrists, psychologists and psychiatric nurses that you really could’ve made a very positive difference in my life if you’d of done things differently. I’m going to show you the honesty you never showed me.
If I’m going to bring my family and my brother down – and I am – I’ll bring myself down first.
The stuff I’ve said already is a bit extreme – calling nurses ‘abusive’ and implicating that they were ‘dishonest’ – so I’ll describe some of my experiences.
Firstly – I was flirted with by a male member of staff, I feel bad identifying him because he’s black and… well, I owe a lot of my personal strength to black people – who have often been better family to me than my own.
I was given sedatives and had a “dream” so vivid about that member of staff dragging me somewhere to rape me (I can still, sometimes, hear myself scream “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS” and if I hadn’t of experienced that kind of trauma a few times in my life – that would’ve been quite disturbing – but thankfully I’d already been deeply traumatised by other experiences in that bracket of pure fear – not fear for your life – but fear for like. I don’t know. Being robbed of autonomy is scary. You should know that.).
I woke up in physical pain and I was so traumatised by a very real experience that I can’t prove, and that I will never be able to prove. The following day, perhaps the time frame is warped but he did flirt with me again. I think I said “no” and walked off. When you are in the “care” of people like that, you sort of have to be nice – they’re the ones writing reports about you. Do you remember school? Could you imagine your strictest, most widely disliked teacher writing a ‘business model’ for the structure of how a school should be? Well – that is a nice way of describing psychiatric wards. Places for fascinating people to be conditioned by profoundly boring people and sort of destroyed a bit.
I transferred the emotions of that rape-trauma onto two women trying to give me a sedative I knew to be called phenergan, using another name for it.
Those two genius women were abrupt with me – unable to put two and two together – to work out or, I don’t know – ASK – why I was compelled to call the police – because being given sedatives triggered some kind of fear in me.
When I dialled 999 and asked to speak to the police, I was put through to a male voice that mocked me for doing so and there was no follow up. The two nurses didn’t seem to pay attention to that detail either. I do hope that they made a note of that interaction, that stupidity and lack of concern on their part. That inability to calm a person who was clearly terrified of something and encourage them to verbalise it, and perhaps say “you’re in a safe place”. Actually communications with those nurses, and with all the nurses, was similar to the game you play with people you need to like you to meet some end.
I’d like to take a moment to say something about my brother – he doesn’t play that game. And you’d do well to learn from him. He doesn’t play a game or put on an act to make you like him. He does not need you to like him. And if you really think that changing a person’s true nature is going to make them better – that kind of thinking is what has robbed both he and myself of years of our lives. I played that game – I did whatever I had to, to – excuse my language – get the fuck out of that place.
Do you have any idea of the level of responsibility you have, by freely being able to walk into a person’s room?
a woman aggressively pressing on my stomach to “check if I had a lighter” (that really isn’t fun for a person who doesn’t like being touched, or a person who is uncomfortable with their physical appearance, or a person who has had a few miscarriages and is sensitive about that part of their body)
As far as I can understand – it has been a long time since my brother has been shown any kind of respect.
So with respect for my brother’s decision in mind, I ask you to consider this letter as an opportunity for me to verbalise my collective experiences with your services, through recalling his past discussions with me. I will give him a copy of this letter to pass on to his legal team, as I know that the medication he is taking affect his memory and capacity to think clearly.
I feel that authoring this letter is of great ethical importance – Omar has been in and out of psychiatric hospitals since he was sixteen years old.
Your system has failed him, and many others like him. I speak from experience based on his accounts, my own accounts and also through observing the accounts of acquaintances who have also had the great misfortune of being filtered through the NHS mental health system.
To be concise – my intention is to try to help you create very necessary changes that will benefit anyone who is as unfortunate as myself and my brother, to have been filtered through a system that does not work and which gathers professionals who are trained to believe that their patients will return. That the “mentally ill” are the lost causes of a society that damaged them in the first place.
Through various interactions with Omar – which have shamefully, on my part – been very few over time – I have come to the conclusion that staff engage with him with a very specific intent of trying to encourage him to respond negatively. Your staff have done things and said things to my brother that – said to a person in the streets would have probably led to a confrontation.
Upon hearing of various accounts of altercations with NHS staff, I’ve found their behaviour to be indicative of potentially unspoken ulterior motives.
Omar is a man who is trying to come to terms with a youth lost – when your staff engage with him please try to keep that in mind. I imagine that artists must be a bizarre breed of individual to a mental health professional – but my brother is an artist. That might be difficult to see, because psychiatric medication erodes creativity. Imagine convincing a person that you are helping them by diminishing a talent through force-feeding them medication that clearly doesn’t work. The thought that my brother – forever a teenager in my memories with whom I would perch in front of a synthesiser and decks – the last kind of person you want making music is the kind of zombie that psychiatric hospitals deem ‘healthy’ and then churn out. I was that zombie, living amongst zombies and being treated by zombies – I’m speaking very literally from experience.
When you look at my brother, Omar, urge yourself to look at a deeply intelligent, creative, hilarious man – a child genius, seriously – who loved to misbehave, have a lot of fun and not only think ‘outside’ of the box but literally think the ‘box’ into non-existence. Can you boast of anyone who would have something like that to say about you?
If you prefer tragedy – when you look at my brother, look at the son of a woman who was indoctrinated by the church into thinking it was acceptable to beat him repeatedly as an infant – with a belt. Who had to cover welts on his legs with his school uniform. So you’re stuck with a guy that has a history of being violent – well, his mother messed him up, his dad was little more than a gene and money donor and someone he trusts has to teach him better than to express himself with violence.
Clearly getting him to fill out questionnaires or sit in groups with people that don’t have 1% of his thinking capacity (trust me) isn’t working. Or whatever it is that you do – it’s not working. He’s tried your way and it’s not working. Accept – once and for all – it’s not working.
When you look at my brother, look at a mostly fatherless boy who, in Dubai, became a master of misbehaving in secret – running off to illegal parties with a massive and vibrant group of friends that believe it or not – were desperate to be like him. You know that ‘cool’ guy that everyone in their teens wants to be? That was my brother. That might not be what you see when you observe a guy who has no idea of how people dress anymore, no idea of the sorry state of art and music are – because he’s been stuck in a place that only lets him out for an hour or two a week accompanied by a person who has absolutely no capacity for interesting conversation – if he’s lucky.
He used to collect stray animals off the desert sand and bring them home to be taken care of. He once stopped a taxi to pick up a little turtle that was close to the edge of the road – he knew I desperately wanted a pet because I didn’t really have any friends and I was too young to hang out with him.
When you look at my brother – look at a guy who, flawed as he might be, and with whom I share some pretty awkward memories (as I’m sure all brothers and sisters do) – was a better father to me than mine ever was. Everything that I like about myself was through my brother’s influence, an appreciation of film and art and writing.
When you look at my brother, believe it or not – you are looking at a person who comes from a family who ought to be Israeli Royalty.
I’m sure that working in a hospital can sometimes afford you a habit of removing your patients of their identity, of engaging with them as you might a true friend – of employing a desensitivity that perhaps makes it easier to cope with whatever pain and suffering you’re seeing these people going through, day to day – that’s fine – do that if it helps you do your job.
You may have on record a list of his various flaws, strange behaviours of his that you project your own morality onto – but I know that if you had been fed drugs that pacified you into a state of sharing your deepest secrets, thoughts and flaws and life mistakes – you would be just as worthy of being put in a psychiatric hospital and of judgement.
Incidents – not worth describing in detail – that in any environment outside of a hospital I would say are acts of provocation. That is – staff choosing to put my brother in situations that will cause him to react unfavourably.
I am inclined to ask why on Earth people working in a hospital environment would mistreat a patient like that – perhaps out of boredom, perhaps conducting some test – perhaps some other nefarious motivation that people don’t want to expect of professionals being charged with the care over the autonomy of vulnerable individuals.
But worse than the mistreatment of my brother – I feel strongly that these nurses are either lacking in basic empathy, or are determined to trigger some kind of negative behaviour in him. I
I understand he’s been moved to a new ward, so perhaps you are trying to determine his personality in a risk assessment of some kind. If provoking people and then berating them for reacting is your methodology for carrying out assessments you need to re-evaluate.
However – I prefer to keep my judgement on the situation very simple.
I am not a trained medical professional. I have extensive experience with varying levels of the services you’re offering however, so I do believe my criticism to be constructive.
Universal truth is best observed through simplicity.
I can make all sorts of excuses for your staff’s behaviour – and So I can only offer suggestions founded in appropriate social constructs. I think it is difficult to debate and a unanimous truth that poor manners are completely unjustifiable and unacceptable.
The reality is that your staff lack manners and believe it’s acceptable to do so.
I’d suggest that good manners are the first, foremost and most basic phase of opting to employ anyone, be it a cleaner, a banker or a government official.
people to look after people who are vulnerable, ill and in a state of recovery.
Before anything, all people deserve to feel respected. Especially if they have been failed by society – as the mentally ill undoubtedly have.
In every adult criminal you will find an abused and hurting child, an individual whose inner growth has been deeply stunted.
The truth of all beings on any stage of learning is that we experience some kind of suffering – so through working in a hospital you should be acutely aware of that truth and therefore it is your duty to begin acknowledging the deeper, underlying damage to every individual’s condition – when their paths cross yours.
Respect is the most basic kind of manners that we can afford all individuals on any walk of life, and our opinions or thoughts of their life choices are irrelevant. Their response to our choice to use manners through communicating is irrelevant.
Even if we engage with people through a profession or line of work that convinces us that we don’t owe it to others to show them respect, before you are a professional of any kind – you are a human being.
The time my brother and I have spent in hospital is time lost from our lives that we can’t get back. Please try to remember this when you keep people in your services – you are taking time from people’s lives.
I’ve engaged with “mentally ill” people and I’ve engaged with both doctors and nurses – outside of the “professional” dynamic, both in the UK and abroad. Which gave me the opportunity to discuss your services and practices informally – which provided an opportunity for honesty and informality. And in doing so I reached the important conclusion regarding your services – and without meaning to cause or imply offence – I find everything about your profession poor.
I haven’t met individuals I believed should be working in this industry, I haven’t met people who held the appropriate intentions that qualified them to be engaging with people who have been
And more than anything, I’ve experienced that this is a professional structure that cultivates dishonesty and the staff are so unaware of the emotional atmosphere they are creating that they are completely comfortable deceiving their patients because they don’t even realise that they are deceiving themselves.
You are engaging with people who have engaged with dishonesty for their entire lives – the heightened intuition of “mentally ill” people (when you are functioning on a ‘survival mode’, often triggered by the traumatic process of removing a person from their home or surroundings – your intuition and ability to read a situation is heightened)
Over time I have managed to exit and remove myself from my traumatic experiences, so please be assured I am writing with clarity and motivations rooted in both a quiet rage and a moral obligation.
And having engaged with a psychiatrist (Dr Bench – Acton) I am confirmed to be lucid too – particularly no longer under the influence of the medications you give to people to ‘fix’ them. That is – to state clearly – I’m no longer believed to be unwell and although I’ve been told my doctor is prepared to comfortably cease our appointments – I’ve chosen to continue seeing him periodically thus far because I am concerned about how the NHS treats mentally ill people and I believe my doctor wants to help people.
(Being ill was not as terrible an experience as being filtered through your services.
People with mental health problems are, in my opinion, historically the victims of the greatest undiscussed and unimaginable social injustices and abuse – and that is in no small part due to the poor practices of those who have charge over them and the medications they are given – by people who have no capacity for empathy over the effects and affects of the structure they’re implementing and affects and effects of the medications they’re administering – on their patients minds, bodies and capacity for judgement.
In truth I have a lot of complaints regarding the systems employed by the mental health services founded in the belief that the structures you implement towards helping patients isn’t creating long term solutions. It is no secret that nurses are taught that people with mental health problems are expected to return to psychiatric wards – that they are treated with the expectation that the treatment doesn’t really help for very long.
If you have not yourself have not experienced the kind of mental illness you are trying to treat people for, if you yourself have not taken a medication that has such a serious impact on the human body and mind that it often leaves the person taking it in a worse state than they were going into hospital (and you unacceptably convince yourselves that because a person is calm and quiet that they’re “better” – before “treating” someone you have to work out what made them ill and how can you really do that by administering a medication that makes it difficult to recollect a conversation that they had only moments ago) – you should not on your conscience be administering it to people in exchange for the prospect and reward of their being able to leave a psychiatric ward.
If you are giving people medication solely with the intent to pacify them, you are perpetuating abuse that they have most likely experienced throughout their lives, and you are not necessarily minimising their suffering – which should be your primary objective. If it isn’t – you need to reconsider the truth of your choice of profession.
I have personal experience with the NHS mental health services, I’ve been filtered through the Psychiatric health system on various occasions, and having finally been given the go ahead to stop taking my medication, having finally come to a place where I am capable of ruminating on my experiences – I’d like to discuss them.
My brother has been in and out of psychiatric wards since he was a young teenager. I do not believe that he is the problem – I believe the problem is the system and – possibly the terrifying lack of both wisdom and empathy that I’ve noticed in the people that are charged with his care. Certainly this was true of my own experience. I’m sure some honest part of you must, if you have managed to read thus far – would agree.
First of all, if my brother is telling the truth – something he does to the extent that I’m sure you’ve often found yourself wanting to punch him – your means of bedside manner is inappropriate and unacceptable.
Mental Health Patients are as “unwell “ as patients recovering from surgery – the difference being that their wounds and ailments are invisible.
Mental illness is not unlike Physical illness.
Your patients do not need to engage with a system that affords nurses an illusion of control over other human beings, that is not a nurses job. To convince yourself that nurses can acceptably remove a person of their autonomy is a disservice and discredit to a profession that I believe people engage with for the wrong reasons.
A successful nurse or doctor should not need to physically restrain people, should not need to touch people, should not have the right to administer medication or make decisions for their patients. It is not your job to teach these vulnerable individuals routine or daily structure – it’s not your job to be these individual’s family, it’s not your job to interfere – it’s your job to help.
And I would suggest that you do this by asking your patients how you can be of help and service to them.
You create a hierarchy that gives doctors and nurses authority over patients – and this robs patients of the autonomy over themselves that they absolutely need in order to become healthy – if you deceive yourself into the belief that your process of enforcing habits,
and this creates a resistance between patients and nurses – you cannot help someone that doesn’t want to dialogue with you, you cannot help someone who feels that they aren’t being helped.
The NHS system does not teach people they employ to create a genuine trust between professionals and patients, which isn’t acceptable. If a person can’t create a genuine trust between themselves and another person from a sincere place of love for humankind – and a desire to be of service to others – they absolutely shouldn’t be working with vulnerable people.
I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that a lot of mental health issues come from a history of unresolved childhood cycles – in which individuals have been taught not to trust and therefore if a vulnerable person can’t trust you – you can’t help them.
You cannot help a person if you treat them in the same way that they’ve been treated by a society that didn’t serve them in the first place.
If you are wondering what brought me to this discussion – I think it’s important to state – I learned that on his birthday he was reprimanded – for asking for a cigarette from a stranger – after having had a brain scan for epilepsy.
Have you had years of your life stolen from you, only to learn that the medication you’ve been given has given you a new illness?
He hasn’t been given the chance to google the possible side effects of those drugs – all he’s got is a pamphlet that I’m sure it suits whoever-is-financing-the-drugs-he’s-being-given that he literally doesn’t have the concentration to read, just fine.
And even if he did, what choice does he have? What remaining freedoms does he have that you can steal from him?
Lets be honest. Lets learn a little bit of empathy.
First of all – of course he was desperate for a cigarette. All he knows is what is wrong with him. On top of a shitty life he has to have a brain scan for some new thing thats ‘wrong’ with him. A brain scan is a pretty terrifying experience in and of itself.
And then he is told that he’s not allowed to have a lunch
with his family
on his birthday.
Because he asked someone for a cigarette
after a traumatic experience
What I find amusing is that when he learned about how angry I was over what you did to him, for some strange reason he was protective of the staff running the hospital – he really, really did not want me to telephone you and discuss my thoughts over that decision.
Never ever do something to somebody that you would not want done to you.
Needless to say – what you did was wrong, thoughtless, unsympathetic and… stupid.
To my brothers nurses –
My brother, and really – anyone who is suffering with any kind of mental illness, deserves much better than someone stupid, thoughtless and unsympathetic – like you or my mother, father and sister – making decisions over their welfare. Not one of them could tell you anything of substance about him. I’m sure not one of you could tell me anything about any of your patients beyond perhaps their eating and showering habits, or perhaps their bowel movements.
When my brother was in a psychiatric ward in Ibiza – he described experiencing what he found to be a fantastic level of care. I don’t know that I personally would’ve liked being treated like that – but that brings me to an initial point – please ask him and any future patients how you can help him and them – and endeavour to do exactly what they ask.
Like most government efforts to waste money from tax payers, I’d imagine that you feel tax payers really don’t need to know they’re paying “psychiatric nurses” to be glorified adult-baby sitters – although they should.
It is unsurprising for example that you don’t allow patients to bring in cameras or recording devices – that you are afraid of the truth of the torture establishment you are running coming out. Do you record your patients? If so – they should be able to record you – for their own protection.
Can you imagine that my brother – a tech obsessive who has to flip through Argos magazines to observe the evolution of technology – has never even used a laptop? Every time you engage with an object that isn’t permitted in that ward, think of my brother and the people that surround him.
I know your job description better than you do, by some “coincidence” I was in a relationship with a psychiatric nursing student for several months – who may or may not have been monitoring me – in any case I learned this (and the notes he made based on my experiences and observations) – I could do your job much better than you can. (Actually if we were sitting at a party, depending on how drunk I was I might try to quietly illustrate to you that your motivations for working was that you’re actually a control freak. There are better jobs for control freaks, especially ones that think Freud was onto something. Do you know how much money dominatrixes make???)
Was it always your dream to do what you’re doing? If so – a good indication of that would be a drive to consistently – literally constantly – research new and alternative methods of helping mentally ill people – in the long run. Not just to be of service to them, but because you are genuinely completely fascinated by the beauty of the inexplicable human mind.
Have you ever heard about the altercation between Freud and Jung? Freud’s haunted bookshelf. Google it. There is a reality unknown to you – and if it is known to you – you should be helping mentally ill people cope with that and be empowering them.
A good indication of your suitability to that job would be considering whether you are the kind of person who spends all day dialoguing with each and every patient for hours – trying to make them laugh – talking to them with such intensity and genuine interest that you couldn’t possibly make a note of the conversation – and not only because they deserve better than being annotated, but because you enjoy talking to people that perceive reality in a different way to you. And if you’re not talking to them all day – you’re thinking about them from the moment you go to sleep to the moment that you wake up. You treat every patient like they are a member of your family. And not just the nice ones that suck up to you and make you feel like you’re really making a difference – I don’t want to bruise your ego but the reality is you’re probably not making a difference and the patients that are really nice, that make you feel really special, like your job is worth the while – well they’ve learned to manipulate people in authority. I could make you feel like that, I really could – but my brother taught me that being genuine was much more important than being liked.
Of course I had to learn to engage in a way that made the professionals helping me feel like they had authority over me – the truth is that the medication I was being given never helped. A nurse advised me to take the medication, and that if it worked it meant I had been ill. If it didn’t – I never was. It didn’t work.
On one occasion, while I held a little stone with a foetus on it (I had a very strange miscarriage – and that foetus had an umbilical cord. And stranger yet was that I was lied to by the NHS – I was told that I “wasn’t pregnant” … how a human being can look someone carrying a stone with a foetus lying on it, with an intricate umbilical cord protruding from the stone – in the eye – and lie like that, I have no idea. But that is what was done. So – what helped, believe it or not, and please understand that I am writing this in the hopes of conveying the utmost irony – was being abused so badly by NHS staff that I became completely numb to abuse.
The NHS invited the family that had abused me throughout my childhood to discuss me, I was asked to leave the room while that family (that I had not lived with for five years, and had spoken to for about five minutes, perhaps at most once or twice a month throughout that five years) – discussed me with that doctor.
My “family” including my sister, who hadn’t ever even had a conversation with me while I was growing up – apart from to complain about not being given something she wanted, to make fun of me or ask me for money – was asked to discuss me.
Aside from the fact that she suggested I had a split personality, something she still has not apologised for – and probably something she should be diagnosed for – the Psychiatrist with whom she was discussing me – had not had a conversation with me. How two people who had never had a proper conversation with me could diagnose me is baffling.
By the way, I know when someone is eye-flirting with my sister – and quite frankly that is inappropriate behaviour from a person being paid to treat people they haven’t properly diagnosed with tax-payer money. He said she was wrong about me having a split personality (perhaps made through observing me with hidden cameras – otherwise I literally have absolutely no idea how he came to this conclusion.)
I didnt laugh for about three years – the period in which I was being treated. The medication I was given in addition to being abused by literally everyone I’ve ever known – also made me numb. Can you imagine accepting you might never laugh again?
My parents had never really heard me laugh, or made me laugh – so when I moved home and started laughing – they thought I was mentally ill. The only person who can make a misery-chick like me laugh is a person like my brother.
The capacity and ability to challenge and question authority is probably one you could do to learn – if your point of authority/superior has made you think that the life your patients are living is acceptable.
Don’t make my brother lie, or pretend to be a person he’s not – just so he can get out of your torture chamber. Look at how you treat these people objectively, and you will agree that in many years to come these wards will be regarded as exactly that.
If you engaged with my brother as if he were a friend, and not a patient or a statistic, you’d probably see him get well so fast that you’d be upset you didn’t get to know him better.
Do you really believe you were born to selflessly, and free of personal opinion – make decisions for other people’s welfare – on their behalf? Could you sit in a court room and – faced with a judge say that you did everything in your power to help the people whose lives had been signed over to you? In any way you could? That every penny of tax-payers money going towards your salary, going towards paying the electricity bills of the psychiatric ward, was spent on your absolute dedication to being of service to the vulnerable people who had been taken out of their homes?
When you sit in the ward at night, scrolling through your phone – using the ward wifi that your patients aren’t allowed to use – are you researching? Are you looking up fun activities for patients? Are you asking patients about how the ward can be improved? Are you constantly taking notes about the kind of improvements you know are necessary? Are you fighting for their right to party???????
You don’t need an epic sound system to have a fun party, just a good iPod speaker. I’m sure one of you can afford one, on the higher tier pay that you’re entitled to. Ask my brother to recommend you one.
Or are you the kind of person to sit in a lunch room, observing people eating their food, like some kind of henge with a clipboard? Oh – I know my brother isn’t eating much – he’s probably conscious of his weight – the shit meds you’ve given him have probably slowed his metabolism, and the food you serve probably isn’t very nice, and the food that makes him happy probably doesn’t help either.
When my brother was in bed, too tired to get up and take his medication –
remember, you’re being paid to wake up and work – he’s living in a Ground Hog day hell surrounded by mentally ill people (Oh, and mental illness is contagious – you might do a great job of pretending to be healthy but I know you’re not) – and I know you’re being paid to be around those people – he’s not.
Remember that when you get upset that he’d prefer to be alone.
Out of interest – did you knock on his door, wait for him to say “come in”, and say “Good Morning Omar! How are you feeling today?” to which he could’ve said “To be honest I’m fucking tired” (that’s how he speaks, to anyone, really) and perhaps you could’ve said in response…
Let me just go get you your meds –
cos having diabetes,
which affects your energy levels –
a condition thats been induced by the medication we’ve given you –
which also affects your energy levels…
Were you having fun in dream land?!
Did I interrupt a spectacular dream???”
Did you perhaps walk in after knocking politely, of course, and ask if you could come in, if you could put some music on his iPod (I’m sure you know he has a speaker – unless perhaps it’s mysteriously broken) – cos I’ve put a few great meditation tracks on there, a few tracks to make him laugh, a few sound tracks with a frequency that raises energy levels also. And that would be great for him to listen to in the morning, especially if he’s having some kind of fucked up psych-med-induced-hang-over.
If not – why not?
Did you ever ask him to talk about the epic parties he went to when he was younger? Or about his friends as a teenager? About his best memories? Because that’s probably what he’s chasing when he runs off. Those memories.
Did you ask him about his family? I don’t mean my manipulative, victim of a sister. (Who has also been a victim of horrific abuse – but make no mistake – not without dealing her own brand of horrific abuse)
I mean the family on my mother’s side. My mother likes to pretend that they don’t know about whats happened to Omar.
On one occasion, in her early infancy – my aunt said to my pregnant grandmother – “jesus is coming to take your baby” – that evening my grandmother had a miscarriage and both she and the child she was carrying died. She came back to life. My aunt is a psychic and a medium. Like – it’s a proven fact. Its not disputable. My uncle could (and it has been an embarrassing thing to witness) repeat what you were thinking – he’s a telepath. My mother has had visitations from her dead relatives and has seen and conversed with angels.
What you believe to be mental illness can also be extra-sensory abilities which are passed on genetically.
On one occasion, when I was in a ward, talking to a psychiatrist pretending to be a patient (he did a great job acting – A*) – I said to him “someone is about to die” – moments later a patient had strangled herself with a telephone wire. My brother is psychic – and the ability manifests in a way that really isn’t like the movies. You don’t have to believe it and it’s not his job to prove it to you. And if he senses that intention in you, like me, he will close off to you. If you really want to know about people with weird abilities – encourage them to discuss them. Don’t try and test them – in the end you’ll be the one that looks stupid. That is my advice for helping people who appear to be mentally ill but actually aren’t, at all. (Please listen to Abraham Hicks. Please)
Apparently Omar got in trouble for sitting near some kids in a playground (This is also something discussed in an Abraham Hicks video) – he’s probably on pedophile watch because he divulged some incestuous childhood experiences. When I was younger I discussed that I’d been sexually abused by my brother. That is how a child recollects and makes sense of things, when they reflect on a sexual childhood experience they’d preferred not to have had – but that is also a victim mentality. If my adult self could visit my child self I’d tell her to bluntly say “I gave my brother a blowjob when I was five.” – I’d also say “That moment – is going to embarrass you for the rest of your life.”
The memory goes unspoken between us – and I’m sure will be forever mortifying for both of us – but it’s uh… more common than you think. It’s also absolutely none of your business – how did you convince yourselves that it was your business? How did you justify telling my mother? I’d already told her, but really – how did you justify doing that to a brother and sister? He was FIFTEEN and I WAS FIVE. HE WAS STILL A KID. I hung out with my twenty one year old cousin this week – and I was shocked at how little you are at twenty one. Genuinely shocked. Have you spoken to any fifteen year olds lately? Or perhaps you wouldn’t because you think that talking to kids makes you a pedophile. That kind of thinking is actually why most kids are so fucking retarded, because the only adults they speak to are their parents, teachers and their friends parents.
Do you know – I went to Denmark for a bit this year and a girl, her brother and I saw two brothers kissing and I said “That’s weird.” her response was “oh no, we do that over here”. That was disconcerting – as someone who rather fancied her older brother. But I thought “well, who am I to judge?” Who are you to judge a fifteen year old? It wasn’t violent – it was hella awkward and I’ve mostly blocked it out but it happened and as varying experiences in my life would teach me – it really wasn’t the worst damage I could experience.
(Actually THE worst damage inflicted upon me has been by doctors and – in hospitals. By people who had convinced themselves that they were trying to help me?!) (It’s okay – her brother turned out to be a date rapist and after the incident with an NHS nurse, the realisation of the fact that a person the NHS would deem to be mentally healthy and “really nice” – turning out to be a date-rapist was mostly irritating – more than anything.)
Do you know that people children are taught to idolise are date rapists? Do you know how many women are warned against reporting being date raped by famous footballers? I know one. She was given a drink with a pill in it, gang raped and woke up in a hotel room in between two men and a bunch of condoms. I won’t name names, but I told my dad about it and he tutted. We try not to hold anything against him, he’s stupid. We know he’s stupid. He’s emotionally stunted.
But if my brother had found out about it, at his healthiest, all of those men would probably be dead.
You pay a price – to have the kind of brother that would stick up for you. It’s okay – there are other ways of getting revenge and that is something it’s important to teach people who have been abused, and as a result suffer with rage.
But of the playground incident – how do you know that he has never gotten some girl pregnant? How do you know whether or not my once-upon-a-time slutty slut brother that you’ve fattened up and had his self esteem shat all over (I know how you do – and whoever taught you that doing that to people – people are not horses or dogs or animals – and you definitely shouldn’t do that shit to animals either) hasn’t got a million fatherless little brats running around? With the amount of drugs he was doing to escape his shitty childhood, he probably doesn’t even know.
How do you know that when he was sitting on this playground watching parents play with their kids that he wasn’t thinking “Wow, at my age I should have a family of my own and I’m stuck in this shithole.” Perhaps that train of thought makes my super-tough-terrified-of-confronting-feelings brother feel so fucking vulnerable that he’d prefer that you thought that he was a pedophile – than show any kind of feeling towards his never really having had a family.
And I am curious to know how he was spotted sitting on a bench by a playground – was he being followed? That’s very strange.
Or did he beat up someone accompanying him, especially so he could run and sit on a bench? Was he having a public masterbatory session in front of some infants?
If you really insisted that – I’d say you were a liar. My brother dated beautiful – and often OLDER girls when he was a teenager. He was on drugs when I gave him a blow job. A LOT of drugs.
So lets just say that I sexually abused him. Don’t create excuses to stop him from trying to explore dreams of a better life – you fucktards.
Rage though – I’m sure you would have rage too if you had been abused physically growing up by a mother with unresolved daddy-issues, who believed or trusted any nonsense from a well-put-together man with a clown-school degree (like the person or people reading this, I’m sure), even if it was the kind of bullshit like – that God really wanted people to physically abuse their children with a ‘rod’ or (in my case) have their child stand facing a corner for hours with their arms in the air.
For me – having a mother that you spent the ages of first memory to late twenties mostly being afraid of – who lost her temper and was occupied by a terrifying spectrum of moods (cancerian, if you’re into your starsigns) meant that you imagined that your father’s role was protecting you. And I learned early on that my father was a coward who had absolutely no ability to do that. The only person who ever stuck up for me was my brother.
My brother once, at fifteen, picked up a boy by the ears, after he had bullied me. Thats not very nice, on paper – I’m sure. But do you know how great it is to be a little girl that people enjoyed being mean to – and be able to say to boy-bullies “If you’re mean to me my brother will beat you up” and mean it?
And worse than all of this, I learned that my mother was the kind of woman who would use threats like “wait til your father hears about this” – that never worked on me because I always found my father to be a pretty pitiful specimen of a man. The only thing he really had to give me was money and he never really gave me much of that – not in comparison to what he gave my sister. You’d think I was jealous of her but actually, not even a bit. My brother, being assraped at four and having one memory of being cuddled by my mother as a kid taught me to be tough. (It’s a fun story – I was reading to my mother and I read the word ‘duvet’ as ‘doo-vet’ – and when she corrected me, I kept pretending not to be able to pronounce it because I found it all quite amusing. Pretending to be stupid is a fabulous talent of mine and I got a lot of practice talking to psychiatric “professionals” who I personally found to be profoundly stupid.)
(Also – wearing your sisters unwanted clothes, while also knowing that your father gave your sister £600 pocket money from time to time and was sending her to a very expensive boarding school and you and your mother were living on £40-£50 a week – also sort of taught me to be tough.)
That kind of strength is probably how I survived being bullied throughout my life, by more people than I can care to remember the names of.
My brother was a victim of bullying too – bullying hat made him so tough that my mother’s weird BDSM’Y punishments weren’t enough to repress his wild behaviours. She couldn’t cope with him. I guess beating a misbehaving little boy – because a priest or vicar or whatever told you to – and turning him into the kind of little rascal monster that doesn’t care if he gets beaten up because his mothers already done the worst – creates an unbearable monster that has no fear of consequences. Really, what is a life sentence in a prison (a lovely word for a psychiatric ward, isn’t it) to a boy thats been abused in infancy by his borderline-personality-disorder afflicted mother?? Who literally can’t remember doing it???
My mother used to threaten to “smack” me for being rude, at about ten I told her that people who smack other people are sexually molesting them – that they sexually enjoy hurting other people. I lied and said I’d been taught that by a teacher. BIG lie. Psychic children are a lot of fun and sadly you will never know that, through your mistreatment of the mentally ill.
But yeah – he was sent to a military boarding school. On one occasion he and two other boys were in a hallway with some older boys and BB guns. The older boys said to the younger boys that they had ten seconds to run down the hallway and then they were going to get shot with the guns. Haha. That kind of abuse also makes a person lose the capacity to care about consequences. But do you know whats great? When he tells the story.. he laughs.
And I know you know he was sexually abused. Don’t worry – I gave him a meditation to help him through thoughts of the experience. (Abraham Hicks – youtube that shit – cos that meditation will do more for your patients than you ever have and you’ll be worth the waste of tax payer money that you and I both know you are.).. being sexually abused as an infant. Don’t you think rage is really pent up feelings about that?
So – my brother didn’t sexually abuse me. I retract that 100%. Basically I transferred my feelings about an incident that took place when I was, I think four years old –
context: when I hadn’t taken a shit in weeks because my brother and sister used to think it was funny to open the bathroom door and take a photo of me – because when you struggle to take a shit, you make a funny face (we all have one) and they’d take a photo of me on the toilet. They thought it was funny. My sister would deny that to her death but she’s a compulsive liar so, whatever. You do you, sis.
I was taken to a doctor … who, with the assistance of four nurses, pulled my pants down, put me face down on a hospital bed and shoved something up my ass that my mother still insists was just a suppository. (Enema).
I still remember the scream and also I remember telling my parents not to tell anyone. My parents never knew how to create trust. When I got home, my brother – fourteen at the time – laughed in my face about it. Being assraped at four is not that much fun, and liqui-shitting your insides out is not that much fun, being laughed at immediately after – by a brother you hero-worshipped in place of a muslim dad (who… when I think about it really shouldn’t of let a male doctor stick something up his four year old daughters ass but no one’s bothering giving either of my parents an I.Q test any time soon) is not that much fun. Being quizzed about the experience, by your retarded older cousins was not that much fun either. (soon after that – one of those cousins spun me around on an office chair, and I cracked my chin open on an office desk and had to go back to – probably the same doctor – to have my chin stitched up.) Being called grumpy and taken the piss of non-stop after an experience like that, by your cousins and siblings and aunties and uncles was not that much fun. Being called stupid because you went “mute” wasn’t that much fun. Actually I wouldn’t say I was mute – I’d say no one was worth speaking to. I’d also say that looking back – that moment of abuse – of my brother laughing at me after that rape – probably made me so tough that I survived being abused time and time again – by retards.
I’ve never celebrated Fathers day but if I did I’d probably get my shitty brother one of those tacky hallmark cards and try to compose some kind of terrible, euphemistic, freudian joke for the weird incident that I think we both remember for a moment every time we see each other. Life is it’s own punishment – so really – a hospital shouldn’t be.
And I’d say that rage runs in the family… because abuse runs in the family.
All those repressed feelings – like the ones you might be administering medications for – are going to come out sooner or later. Thats probably – in a large part what keeps the industry pumping out those medications. You are working for an industry that abuses people who have been abused. Have you ever considered that truth?
Sure my brother and I got a bit violent at points in our life, but can you honestly blame us?
Have you apologised for not being able to help my brother? And robbing him of what he thought would be the best years of his life??
My brother was so notorious as a teenager that my family had to leave a country because the secret police were after him.
Remove yourself from your job for a moment – how awesome a story is that? That a country’s secret police might know of and be threatened by a rockstar teenager. A naughty fifteen year old that liked to pop an E pill and smoke a bit of weed with his friends, and liked to sniff a bit of ‘gas’.
I think of my brother as the kind of unique guy that films get made about. I see his face on every awesome super anti-hero, on my favourite rockstar, on any guy that has the capacity to make me laugh (I’m a tough cookie that probably wouldn’t even bother talking to you if we were hanging out at a party… I’m the kind of person that looks for people that know how to have fun. I’m the kind of person that can scare people off by looking at them. I’m the kind of person people love to hate. Even her own family, actually. Haven’t met a person who couldn’t hate me.)
Ironically that is the kind of person that you want around mentally ill people. People like my brother – that know how to have fun, people that know how to make other people happy.
Seriously though – have you treated my brother and the people sharing a ward with him the way you would like to have been treated if you had been abused throughout your life and you were hurting so deeply that you manifested a mental illness (rage, for example) to help you cope with reality?
My advice is to quit your job and pursue your dreams, and stop ruining mine and my brother’s shitty life.
I don’t want him in there anymore – he’s the only person on this Planet worth spending time with.
(Omar’s little sister)
P.S – No, I don’t have a crush on my brother. If I did… I’d say so. If you think that abusing people that have been abused is the only way to help them – you are deluding yourself and probably quietly living some kind of strange, seedy fantasy. Life is in no way a game – I know that my family are going to be fine. I pity the people who have mistreated us though… or forced us to verbalise our experiences. *stares pointedly*
If you haven’t experienced what we have, you can’t help us. You’re just nosey and we’re just passing through your life experience.
“curiosity killed the cat.”
I can tell you now, the only apology my brother and I will accept for what has been stolen from us takes the form of cash and never seeing your faces again.