The Opiate Crisis: An Ethical Dilemma

How dare they. How fucking DARE they. Prepare for the rant of a lifetime.

I know. I know what you’re thinking.

“Didn’t you just post something saying you weren’t going to post on this website anymore?”

And in fact, you would be correct. But this, folks, THIS requires publication on a site that is relevant towards mental health because those of us who are apart of this marginalized community are being targeted once again. And quite ruthlessly. And have been since the beginning of this pathetic scapegoat of a problem called the “Opiate Crisis.”

Let me clarify: the crisis is indeed real. It is authentic and it is terrifying. People are dying. Children are dying. Mothers are dying. Fathers, sons, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins, are dying. Fentanyl is being mixed with Heroin. Doctors are standing on the roof tops of their clinics tossing bottles of 60 Oxycodone pills to whoever cares to play catcher.

Why do I call the opiate crisis a pathetic scapegoat? For one reason and one reason only: it’s distracting us from the true perpetrators of the crisis in the first place. Those of you who have followed this website for the past four years, and specifically the last two years, know where this is fucking going.

*Knock knock* Big Pharma? Big Pharma! Hey, it’s me, open up. We have to talk.*Cocks shotgun*

I just finished watching a clip of The Daily Show with Trevor Noah (who I think is such a brilliant replacement for Stephan Colbert, who I also loved) where Trevor mentions Trump’s claims that Mexico is to blame for all the drugs and crime coming into America. I didn’t care about Trump’s words, I’m used to him saying unfounded statements. What I cared about was what came next.

Trevor describes a doctor, one Barry Shultz I believe his name was, who managed to dispense 800,000 opiate tablets over a period of 16 months to his patients from the pharmacy in his clinic, some of which were prescribed with 60 Oxycodone a day. He justified this by stating “Sixty a day is a large number, I admit. But, if it’s taken properly–”

The reporter asks how to take 60 Oxycodone a day properly. The doctor replied, “some people need that dose”.

No. Some people don’t need that dose. What YOU need is that check you receive from the pharmaceutical companies for pushing their product.

Then, came the claims I was waiting for. Then, came the pharmaceutical companies which were caught falsifying information and bribing doctors; if these five specific doctors chose to push a specific Fentanyl spray they, combined, were awarded over 800,00 dollars, treated to lavish dinners, and granted access to specialized strip clubs. That was Insys theraputics. Purdue Pharmaceutical was sued by their state under the grounds that they were personally responsible for launching the opiate crisis. I don’t know how truthful that claim can be, but the company did admit (in 2007) that they had purposefully misled doctors and consumers on the truth of their opiate’s addictive properties.

The company chose to create a strategy to get the feds off their back. In an email from 2001, chairman Richard Sackler, stated quaintly: “We have to hammer on the abusers in every way possible. They are the culprits and the problem. They are reckless criminals.”

Well. Look who’s calling the fucking kettle black. “Reckless criminals.” And what the fuck are you, mister former Purdue Pharmaceutical chairman? A saint? A fucking angel? What a sack of shit.

This is a game people, a game of chess, and innocent human lives are the betting agent.

This doesn’t just happen with opiates, it happens with psychiatric medication too–lying about efficacy, pushing doctors to diagnoses specific conditions to prescribe certain medications, insurance companies refusing to pay for therapy unless a client is diagnosed and medicated. I mean, the history of Johnson and Johnson C.E.O Alex Gorsky says it all. I will forever fucking bash his name.

People seem to forget the history of what is slowly becoming the least dangerous of all opiates: heroin. People seem to forget that morphine, derived from an opiate substance, was also once killing people (and still is) on an astronautical level due to its addictive properties. People seem to forget that a chemist then synthesized heroin, a very pure heroin, and a pharmaceutical company pounced on it. That synthesized pure heroin was advertised as an alternative to morphine that was not addictive.

Little did they know, right?

Cocaine in the united state was processed in a similar fashion. Most street drugs that don’t include a plethora of battery acid and other ridiculous chemicals, street drugs that are derived in some form from a plant, were often first in the hand of pharmaceutical giants. That’s how the public got their hands on it. Why do you think the idea of legalized marijuana is terrifying? I’m not sure how someone could fuck up marijuana, but leave it to people like Alex Gorsky and Richard Sackler and I’m sure they’ll find a way.

My point is that the opiate crisis is not the addicts fault. It’s not the drug’s fault. It’s not even the doctor’s who relinquish their will and fall ill to the temptation of strippers and hundreds of thousands of dollars. It’s the company which lies, which manipulates, and which dictates these disgusting actions.

This isn’t an opiate crisis. It’s an ethical crisis. It’s a philosophical, moral crisis.

Change my mind.

Writer’s Block

Do you all remember a time when I would bust out posts every day, sometimes twice a day, sometimes thrice a day? That time ended many months ago, and this writer’s block has continued something fierce. Every once in a while I come on and see how everyone is doing, what’s going on their life and where they are heading and I wonder why I just can’t kick my ass in gear and write.

I’m a writer for God’s sake, that’s what I do.

So, as I sit in class right now, it got me thinking about my writer’s block, others writer’s block, and how people just push through it. So that’s what I’m trying to do, for the sake of the cathartic process, and for the sake of my writing future.

Because I am such a broken human being unique individual with a variation of experiences, I decided to do something for myself and attend an outpatient group. This group meets three days a week, for three hours each day, and I’m on the evening schedule. We learn a lot about coping skills, about forming and maintaining healthy relationships, as well as being open and honest about what’s going on in our head. Some people have substance use issues partnered with their mental health, others don’t.

I’m not sure what I’m learning from it. I know that it gets me out of the house and prevents me from isolating, which is good for me, and I know it’s good for me because I absolutely hate doing it. And I seem to hate doing anything that’s good for me. Ever get that feeling?

Meanwhile, the outside world is falling apart and we’re all sitting around twiddling our thumbs like:

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When we should be doing something like this:

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Kanye West is trapped in a perpetual state of “mania”, or at least he’s addicted to the “manic” behavior, Trump is still president, sexual assault victims are coming forward and getting pushed back down, people are putting guns to their heads, overdosing, throwing themselves off bridges and the ages are getting younger and younger, there’s rarely anything positive on the news (in America), everyone kind of flipped the bird to school shootings, cops are still shouting “break yourself fool!”, cocking their gun sideways, and blowing seven holes in innocent people like they work for the crips, and meanwhile I’m sitting here on this computer documenting it all, processing it, and thinking back to similar times.

I think maybe, just maybe, we’re all stuck in a pretty serious delusion about our lives: That we can continue moving forward with all of this baggage on our back. Nothing is being discussed, and when a discussion does arise, it turns into nothing more than the internet being divided on the subject for a couple days. Racism is a hot topic, until a school shooting happens. We’re all crying for the students until a cop shoots another unarmed white, black, yellow, blue, brown, rainbow man/woman. As we writhe from the shock, Trump says something outlandish and/or stupid (mostly stupid), and all cameras point to him. They’re so busy photographing his orange face and blonde toupee that they miss the guy standing on the bridge behind them, tears streaming down his face.

There’s no soft way to put things: we’re living in a society in which things are swept under the rug.

I guess it’s nice that you and your friend on Facebook have these deep philosophical conversations over messenger that ultimately ends with one of you quoting words you don’t understand by some unnamed author, hoping that the way you’ve carried yourself and your political stance will help you sound like an intellectual.

And it doesn’t help that when something serious on social media is trending, it doesn’t get taken serious and its fifteen minutes of fame go by in five. This is my argument against May Mental Health Awareness month. There’s nothing impressive about a month of people saying nice things to each other and being supportive when that mindset falls apart in June.

At this point, I’m ranting, because if there’s one thing we all understand about writer’s block, is that you can’t pull the right fucking words out of your head even if your life depended on it. Something has them stopped up like hair in a drain, and I don’t have a long enough whatcha-ma-call-em to dig the mess out. The only solution is to pour corrosive bleach down the hole and let it set. So, I’m pouring bleach on my brain and waiting for the magic to happen.

What will happen to this blog? I’m not entirely sure. I don’t want to get rid of it, I want to help it blossom into what it once was. I want to communicate to real people about real topics and still promote mental wellness. I want to commit to writing at least once a day to gain back old followers and shake hands with new ones. I want to be part of the solution, not the problem, in my own life and in relation to the rest of the world. I want a lot of things, as you can see, and I’m not quite sure what that means.

And that’s today’s Mental Truth.

 

Reaching Contentment

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Where are you in your journey?

I feel like I spent a lot of time confused. If any of you are reading from the past, you’ll remember all the posts I made while I was in classes, about annoying girls flipping their hair right in my face and Calculus tests and writing workshops. You might even remember that I started dropping classes like flies. Now I’m trying to work on getting back into my classes so I can finish this puny fucking degree.

I’ve always liked school, and I’ve always been rather smart. There were some things I had to work at harder than others, but a lot of that was chalked up to my anxiety and inability to raise my hand and ask for clarification when I needed it–everyone needs clarification sometimes, I don’t care how smart you are. And if you are unable to get that small little aide, you start falling behind. And that’s exactly what I did. That’s exactly what I’m still doing.

Where am I in my journey–I’m not quite sure. I still feel a little lost and a little confused, but I feel like the directions are becoming clearer. I feel like I’m not longer standing at a fifty pronged fork in the road, I feel like I’ve narrowed it down to about 4 prongs.

I will be attending some classes again this semester, but I feel more ready for them, more so than I have in the last couple years. It’s going to feel a little strange being back in the classroom and as I watch my cat jump atop the fridge to get atop the kitchen cabinets, I realize that I have to do the same thing she does: calculate how far I can really leap, and what my limits are. I can’t just be jumping aimlessly. I need to jump with a purpose. That’s the only way to keep what little motivation I have left steady.

Life is such a great learning experience, I’ve learned to appreciate so much over the last three years. I’ve learned to appreciate myself most of all, and the shit I’ve put up with.

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I think what has made this experience one of the best experiences is that I’ve really learned how to feel my feelings. I was talking the other day with someone about how content I was, and how that feeling has been harder to learn to accept than the negative emotions. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m content. I don’t have to fight with my brain, I don’t have to practice breathing because I’m not anxious, I’m not hearing voices or seeing demons, I’m not suicidal, I’m just kind of sitting in my house content with where I am in the moment. And that’s a new feeling. As with all new feelings, they take some time getting used to.

My intention was to pinpoint ways to become content like this, but I’m not sure if I can put it into steps or even words. I’m still expanding my support force, both with peers and in the professional world, and I’ve dropped a lot of pride. I’m still morally against taking psychiatric medication, but I came to the realization that as a temporary tool they can be useful. I’ve decided to give it a year or two, see how much progress I can make, see what skills I can learn to curb my experiences, and re-evaluate at that point. It felt like a defeat. It will always feel like a defeat.

My cat is scratching to the beat of Chop Suey by System of a Down. THAT was hilarious.

I think I introduced my cat to everyone 2 years ago when I got her, and I said I’d named her Andromeda. That was a lie. I have since named her Jazz. She likes Jazz music and is wild like Jazz can be, and smooth and calm like Jazz can be. Therefore, her name is Jazz and it will forever be Jazz. Here is Jazz now:

 

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She’s gotten much bigger

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This was her 2 years ago

Now she lays on her back and watches Television. ‘MERICAN Cat.

My posts are going to be haphazard like this until I get back into my writing groove. There is a groove, believe it or not, that writers get into. Some people are content with spewing the first thought from their head, and that is their groove. I do most of my deep thinking when I’m writing, so a lot of these thoughts are carefully calculated in my head as I type. Nothing is too spontaneous. I edit and edit and edit and take what I say very seriously, even when I’m joking about Ben Carson lying about his times at Yale. Carson could never be a good manipulator of the masses, he lies too blatantly. You have to lie subtly, with the intent to make the lie sound real. Nothing he said sounded real. I think he needs to operate on his own brain.

I will forever rip him, Trump, and Alex Gorskey a new one at any chance I get. One day I hope at least one of them will read some of the things I’ve said about them. I will be content on my death bed if that is the case.

Throwing Shade.

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Master Of Puppets, I’m Pulling Your Strings

Last night I walked into the house (I.e, work), and saw the printed paper I’ve been waiting to see: the “Fuck ICE” paper.

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It didn’t actually say that, but that’s how I like to think of it. ICE, if you didn’t know, and if you couldn’t tell from the picture above, are the Immigration officers here in the United States. There’s a man who works for them who lives in my apartment complex. My mostly hispanic apartment complex. Hmm.

Anyway, the point of the paper was to remind us all of confidentiality rules. That is, if ICE officers bang on the door and want to search the house, we immediately need to ask for a warrant. Repeatedly, if needed. If the warrant is signed by a judge, and once we’ve read the criteria, we let them in. If they don’t have a warrant, or the warrant isn’t signed by a judge, we stand our ground at the door. If they call looking for specific people, we say “I’m not your puppet, Master.”

You probably shouldn’t say that, but that’s what I’d say. And then I’d hang up.

No, fuck it, that’s what you should say. Fuck it.

Like I said in my conversation this morning before I left the house: I expected Trump to get assassinated on Inauguration day. I’m still convinced the CIA is planning his assassination, too. Or aliens are going to abduct him and put him on display in an alien zoo to showcase what Earth (pronounced Ee-Arr-th) has to offer. And that’s when we all die. I bet Nostradamus predicted it.

What hasn’t Nostradamus predicted, I mean, Come on.

I’ve written an article prompting the deportation of Mike Pence here. Have a read. It’s short. And #DeportMikePence. #I’mNotYourPuppet.

I’m sick of people calling people who feel like they’re being watched, judged, and spied on by the government “paranoid”. That’s not fucking illogical paranoia, wake up! Look who’s in office! There was a huge raid just a few nights ago in my town. One was right across the street from my apartment, the other was downtown near my boyfriend’s house. ICE and homeland security and the local police department. “Gangs” they claimed, but not really. I’m sure all the people they arrested won’t be coming home any time soon, and it won’t be because of prison time.

And we’re the “progressive” town. We’re in California. I hope we secede from the union. The “union”. The fucking broken gram cracker of countries, fucking burnt ass popcorn of countries, fucking rotten-fruit-of-the-loom of countries, that’s what America should be called.

I haven’t been sleeping again, can you tell? I think all that medication is completely out of my system. I’m supposed to see that psychiatrist on the 20th, but I’m not going. I’m tired, but I’m funny again. So, you know, pick and choose your battles people, that’s a good life lesson. R Kelly taught me that.

Not really. He’s nasty.

I sleep maybe four hours a night. I go to bed around 3 or 4, wake up around 7 or 7:30. Without fail. Either at my apartment or at the house. I’m tired and distracted and pretty sure I’ve been contacted by Aliens the last few nights, but it’s all good because I’m also more evolved than the average human being, or so they said. Maybe that’s my inner arrogance coming out.

I’m tired.

Fight the Power.

Election Aftermath

Remember, Remember, the 8th of November.

That’s the steady line that has been coursing through my veins for the last 24 hours. Yesterday’s election marked a stain on the history of the United States. But look at it this way: this one itty, bitty amount of blood splatter that was the 2016 election will be indubitably buried beneath the hundreds of thousands of other unresolved bloodstains in the history of this country.

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A lot is being said right now. A lot of people are blaming those who voted third party for giving Trump the extra chance to close in. A lot of people are blaming the rampant stupidity and uneducated nature of the Trump voters. A lot of people are saying Rest In Peace, America and didn’t vote. Some are holding tight to their “I’m moving to Canada” motto.

Everyone today has expected me to be furious, probably because I have a reputation of being furious over stupid things. However, I am not furious. I’m not hurt. I’m not even disturbed. My psychologist today asked, with caution, how I felt about the election and I just laughed. Then she laughed.

The majority of people are screaming at Trump for being an “idiot”. Clinton had the popular vote in the bag, but we all know that doesn’t matter. The last I heard from NPR, some anti-Trump riots have broken out. So here’s what I have to say about Trump.

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Firstly, I will never acknowledge him as a President. Although I don’t have an ounce of respect for the majority of the American government, I do hold a belief that someone who is supposed to sit in a seat of a politician should have some political background.

Secondly, people keep calling him stupid and I feel they’re missing the mark a bit. Granted, the things Trump says to the majority of us, our eyes pop out of our heads, we grow weary, infuriated, and we blast him on a social media platform and breathe because we’ve apparently done our part. Then we gossip about him on the streets. Then we make jokes and say we’re going to move to Canada.

Trump says some ignorant things. He’s a liar, he’s a manipulator, and he quickly came up with his “Make America Great Again” slogan to draw in the whitest, least educated, most die-hard Republicans he could. He did this because he’s highly aware that the whitest, least educated, most die-hard Republicans are not that smart. Or, at least, someone on his team is aware of that.

I believe there are smart republicans. I believe there are smart white people. I believe there are smart people without education. I also believe there is a large portion of the United States stuck on this ideal that America was created for “American’s” with a strong independent will, absolute freedom, no socialist-like programs, and light skinned individuals. I also believe Trump and his team were highly aware of that.

0105_ego_485x340His family is wealthy, yes. And with money comes an arrogance. The arrogance soon grows into this feeling of invincibility and invincibility quickly grows into the ability to manipulate. You have to have a certain level of intelligence to manipulate. This is coming from a seasoned manipulator. The more he believes he’s invincible and projects that belief onto easily manipulated people, the more invincible he comes. That’s why he can say what he wants and people don’t seem to see through it.

For those followers I have who are new, who weren’t with me in September, October, and November of 2015, you won’t remember the post I made comparing Ben Carson and Donald Trump. Carson was a special kind of idiot. He attempted what Trump’s succeeded at. The problem with Carson is that he didn’t plan it out enough. His lies held no foundation because he had no support force. He lied before he manipulated enough people: rookie mistake.

I also said in that post that if Carson dropped out of the race, his stupidity would no longer be there to cancel out Trump’s, and Trump would pull ahead. And that’s exactly what happened.

I feel strongly for this country at this moment. I feel strongly that we’ve reverted back to the truth: we have no closure from our history. We have no unity as a people. We have nothing. If Native Americans were underrepresented before, well . . . they might as well not exist as of now. That’s one message I feel with someone like Trump elected.

In fact, other ethnicities in general might as well not exist.

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He’s not going to build a wall. He’s not going to deport anyone.There are a lot of things people are getting hyped up about that he said he would do, that he’s never going to be able to do. So all that needs to quit.

What we can all do right now in the face of this adversity is build stronger communities. We are a country of 324,118,787. It’s unrealistic to think all of us could stick together, but it’s not unrealistic to think all us within each community, each county, could help support each other. Unification is the best defense against a manipulator; if he can separate us, he can toy with us as he pleases. And we’re already extremely separated.

My point? Involve yourself. Know what goes on around you. If that’s hard for you, find a way. You have more power than you believe, and I think that’s what a lot of us forget.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: I could have given two shits about this election. I don’t care that Trump won and that Hillary lost. I don’t care because it’s all a joke, and it’s always been a joke: the government, the position of president, and the idea of America as a country in general. This country was founded on manipulation: why do people expect anything different these days?

I’m not cynical, I’m realistic. It’s really not all that surprising Trump was elected. This is a country of unhealed wounds, wounds first opened the moment other countries stepped foot on this land’s soil and committed acts of genocide that still aren’t discussed in our school’s history textbooks.

Yes, acts like that were committed everywhere to all kinds of people. It’s still going on in places in South America. But “America” is a very “new” “country”. It hasn’t learned how to heal or give even an ounce respect yet.5c6544d7e738b61ab196170a6da44e08

I know many people were probably expecting me to rant. I know people were probably expecting me to make jokes about Trump or slam the people who voted for him, but I can’t do either. I can’t do either because this isn’t a time for jokes, it’s a time to get real. Wake up. Create support around yourself, don’t wait for it to come to you.

People are struggling on welfare and with homelessness, with mental health, with physical health, with domestic issues, with immigration, with gangs, with unimaginable pain. And keeping the “American” individualistic attitude of “well, we’re not socialists, get a job” or “well, get over it and man up”, are the reasons Trump got elected.

Respect the people around you, and you’ll get respect back. We haven’t been respecting the people around us, not when Native Americans have to fight to stop construction on a land their ancestors have tread on for centuries, not when we shout at people to go back to their home country just because they’re sharing their customs and trying to make a better life for themselves, not when we hide behind the belief that we can own a piece of land, not when we think all homeless people are drug addicts worth nothing, not when we care so much about ourselves that we overlook our neighbor. 

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Disrespect the people around you and the people elect Trump.

If anything, this election has fueled a fire within me. Not one of anger or hatred, but of a stronger love for the people around me. I’ve been waving to my neighbors and asking them how their day has been. I’ve been smiling. I’ve been paranoid as hell, and tired as hell, but I’m sick of focusing so much on myself that I forget about others. That’s also how people elect Trump.

Nothing is stronger than Community. Not even a president. 

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 “For the Reverberations of Injustice Are Not So Easily Confined.”

 

In The Name Of Remembrance

Often I don’t speak about serious topics on here that are unrelated to mental health, but this topic, this topic is a disgusting exception.

As every good story starts, I was browsing Facebook this morning and came across an NPR article on the current Pope visiting Auschwitz concentration camp memorial museum. The article is here if you would also like to read it: click.

I have always been aware that the former concentration camps like Dachau and Auschwitz were open to tours. I went on Google Earth to creepily ride past in my virtual google car to see buses upon buses upon buses of school children and regular people walking into the Auschwitz entrance. It looked as if the whole of the Polish education system was there.

Across the street were some Restaurants and a Hotel. Cool bro.

After reading about the way both former concentration camps choose to educate those who come to mourn, to remember, and to learn, I came to the understanding that “tour” wasn’t really an appropriate word. It’s a memorial experience. It’s a “path of remembrance” (that’s the name of a specific route you can walk through at Dachau).

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They Have Historical Information Signs Along The Path, Hence The Name.

I respect these people for that. They take what has happened in their past and to make sure it will never happen again, they teach people about it. They have survivors share their story, and it’s part of their children’s education–extensively. A lot of Germany and Poland has healed as a result, they have been for the last 50 years. Say what you will about Germans, they’re not so ashamed of their own history that they hide it under the rug or play it down.

Reading all of this got me thinking about the United States. I wondered how many of the old slavery plantations are still resurrected today, and if we have any similar programs. There was a portion of my heart that hoped, with naivete, that America would have the scant amount of decency needed to partake in something as healing as the aforementioned. The other portion of my heart knew better.

The other portion of my heart knew with the amount of race-related turmoil going on in the United States today, there was no way in hell any amount of healing from the trauma of the south has happened.

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August 12, 1959

VS

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February 19, 2016 Source

The first plantation that popped up in my search was Pebble Hill. I’ve heard of it, but don’t know much about the history of the slaves. According to research, the land for Pebble hill was bought from the Creek Indians. Fraud and scandal was used later to steal the rest of the land and leave many Creek homeless.

I read this information on a Southern University website, particularly this one: click here. I admire them for adding the Indians into their history, many people do not. However, I critique their title of “African-American’s at pebble hill”. I critique their explanation that “African American’s helped build pebble hill”.

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Pebble Hill As It Stands Today

Those were slaves. Not “African-Americans”. Say what it is. Not what you wish it was.

That website also contains a list of families who lived there and took over the plantation, if you’re interested.

Continuing my search, I came across a website with an article where you could “Tour the South’s Best Historic Homes”. Pebble Hill was listed.

In fact, under the “Inspiring Ideas” category, it described the house as: “This classic plantation [with] breezy, colorful interiors with chic chinoiserie elements that feel au courant.”

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Now.

Let’s think about this for a moment.

Plantations did not kill as many as Hitler’s and Stalin’s concentration camps. Unless you include the generations to come after that. Particularly if you include the Native Americans . . . in which case, we’re at about the same level of indecency and murder as both Hitler and Stalin. So I suppose the only difference is ours was systematic and generational, and their was all at once.

To describe an area where people’s lives were shattered, where people served and got whipped and hanged and had to pick cotton and run your fucking house for you because you were too lazy of a piece of shit to do your own house work and take care of your own kids or pick your own cotton, as “breezy, [with] colorful interiors . . . that feel au courant” is a disgrace. Whoever has done this needs to feel the shame they deserve.

My anger fueled me to go onto their website. That’s where I learned weddings are held there.

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“I’d love to get married in a concentration camp one day” said no one ever. Why? Because that would be fucking DISRESPECTFUL, that’s why.

“I’d love to get married on your mother’s grave” said no one ever.

Would you do this shit at a concentration camp?

(#ConcentrationCampSelfie)

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No, Because You’re Not An Insensitive Prick.

Than don’t do it at a plantation.

Their “history” section on their plantation webpage talks only about the owners, and never the slaves.

Google reviews reiterated that the house was beautiful. A few commented on how they never mention any history of the slaves or give any types of remembrance for them. One individual who wished to at least see the grave sites had to ASK DIRECTIONS to find them, because it’s not included in the tour.

Texan textbooks described the slave trade as people bringing “millions of workers”.

The publishing company offered to send stickers to cover up the word “workers” in the printed books while they worked on more accurately depicting the slave trade.

The author of the article I read said it perfectly: “It will take more than that to fix the way slavery is taught in Texas textbooks”. You can read more about that here: click. It’s worth the read, I promise.

raf220x200075ffafafaca443f4786It’s not about political correctness. I’m not being PC principal here. It’s not even about bashing the South. I just want the truth. Don’t cover up the truth with a slightly, less severe way of telling it because then it becomes a lie. And if you want your country to be built on lies, than don’t act surprised or disgusted when citizens start rising up against you.

We need to give these people remembrance so their spirits can rest and ours can be healed. Stop beating around the bush, stopping putting stickers over the things you don’t want to read: we all know what happened, we might as well talk about it.

The goal isn’t to forget. It’s to remember. 

final-quote

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Don’t Ask Stupid Questions

Politics. Politics, politics, politics.

The word leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. I think it leaves a bitter taste on most people’s tongue, especially if you’re in the U.S.

You might say you don’t care about politics, you might even avoid watching specific news channels because of it, but if you’re in the U.S, there’s a problem with that: we’re supposed to be a democracy. Now, if you’ve taken a moment to observe even the slightest bit of our government you’d see we’re more of a Corporate Capitalist society, with some um . . . disgraceful attempts at socialism.

But, because we still insist on calling ourselves democratic, ignoring politics means you’re not getting a say in a government that is supposed to be run by you. After all, “One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors” as mah boy Plato says. It’s no wonder they get away with so much bullshit; hardly anyone opposes them. The only people investing time into politics are the people who are either extremely left or extremely right. There are some obscure middle ground people and third party people, but let’s be honest, how much influence do they have?

Too much money involved in campaigns (not as if people are going to get together and oppose it) and too many corrupt bastards sipping coffee and jerking each other off in congress (not that people are going to get together and oppose it).

As I’ve said before, we’re a very individualistic society. Sociology does a pretty good job of explaining why that world view is so primitive and selfish. You can tell little Bobby he can be whatever he wants and he can, but I’ll tell you there’s going to be a big difference if little Bobby is white and grew up in a house in the suburbs versus if little Bobby was black and grew up in the inner city. We don’t talk about the fact that red lining black neighborhoods in the thirties, forties, and fifties and having real estate representatives sneaking up to white people’s houses and telling them “come live in the suburbs, there’s less crime because it’s less . . . ethnic” still has an influence on how races are perceived and how far someone of color can go in today’s society in the United States. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Suburbs were created as a white haven.

So what do politics have to do with mental illness?

Don’t ever ask me that question, that’s a dumb question. Teachers tell you there are no such thing as dumb questions but let’s be real here; if I’m holding an apple in my hand and you walk up to me and you see it’s an apple and you still ask me “what’s in your hand?” I’m going to smack you. That’s a dumb question.

Politics have everything to do with mental illness. The elite created the term mental illness. They called you ill, and they still do.

So, as we cower in the dark corner over here, cold, trapped, alone, wondering whether or not sanity it exists, whether or not we’ve lost it, and for some of us, whether or not we even exist (I’m a frequent visitor of that line of questioning), they’re telling us who we are, what we should take, how we should live, and most importantly, how intense our symptoms must be to even quality as “ill”. Yep, that’s right, there’s an application process to being labeled. It’s not about whether or not your symptoms cause you distress, it’s about whether or not you fit into a category that warrants medication use–and therefore, profit.

But beyond the corruption within the system that you all know I could spend days upon days talking shit about, there’s another major problem. We’ve become a scapegoat. All of us, not just the mentally disturbed people participating in all these mass shootings.

Now, I wasn’t going to do a post on this shit because honestly I get sick of saying things that should be so obvious.

If I shot up my community college (which I would never do; sure I can’t stand school, but that’s not everyone else’s problem), what’s the first thing out of my mouth while I’m in the interrogation unit? “The voices told me to”.

I mean, it’s an easy out. If you can fake it in front of a psychiatrist, if you’ve been acting strange around your friends, family, or better yet if you had no friends and family, you might just be able to pull it off.

On the other hand, maybe the voices did tell you to do it. In which case you’d just be a murderer, not a murderer and a liar. So, I guess that’s a plus for you.

To commit that level of atrocity, you’d have to be a little disturbed, I’ll be the first one to admit that. Does that make it right to start blaming every person with schizophrenia who may or may not have been violent, or every person with Bipolar disorder who may or may not be violent, or every person with Asperger’s/Autism who may or may not be violent, or every Borderline Personality who may or may not be violent, for this kind of shit?

I agree with Liza Long’s opinion. I don’t see mass shootings as a gun control problem or a background check problem, or any of that bullshit, I see it as the result of a “society that has failed to help our most vulnerable”. She’s absolutely right that these tragic incidents are “the price of our silence”. As much as I love keeping my mouth shut and observing, there are sometimes big consequences for doing so.

If these politicians and such love statistics so fucking much, why don’t they read their own studies and realize that people with mental disorders are much more likely to be a victim of a crime than to commit one. Take that check to your fat pig bank and cash it. 

If anything, this kind of media coverage pinning mental disturbance as the reason for a mass shooting only fuels an ongoing ignorance that, in turn, fuels stigma. We’re the scapegoat, I’m telling you. Instead of pushing treatment for those suffering from severe mental disorders or for those suffering at all, instead of funding projects to help with early intervention, instead of helping teach society the truth behind living with a mental health disorder, they decide to keep on pumping up our military industrial complex and stress the importance of background checks. Because you see, it’s not societies problem that your son just went off the rails–you should have gotten him help (because it’s so easy to get help these days), he should have gotten himself help. It’s not societies problem the gun shop dude didn’t do a thorough enough background check, that’s his problem. Nothing is ever societies problem, it’s always the individual’s problem.

And that, my friends, is what makes the idea of the American Dream, the idea of Corporate Capitalism, the idea of half-assed Socialism that isn’t even social enough to be considered Socialism, the idea of Individualism as the golden trait of humanity, so dangerous.

There is a huge difference between individualism and being an individual.

I agree with C. Wright Mills: Our private issues need to be public. How do we expect to grow as a society when everyone is trampling over each other? In kindergarten we were taught that “sharing is caring”. So . . . what the fuck happened with that?

It’s not pathetic to need help. It is pathetic that we, as a society, see no need to put effort into helping those that need help. It’s pathetic that we as a society can’t see that we’ve helped certain people, races even, be privileged, and let the others hang out to dry. Every single coward in congress is pathetic.

I’ve stated it once and I’ll state it again: I never regret a word of what I write.

It’s obvious these dumbasses just want schools to keep getting shot up. Yeah, let the people run up in the elementary school and kill some kids. Give an address to the public. Have a representative from the government express grievance to the families. Go home, take a bath in your hundreds, and kiss your wife goodnight. Hope she doesn’t sit in a theater tomorrow and get shot in the back of the head. Wake up the next morning, help your kids get breakfast and send them off to their nice white private school where they’re safe from any violent schizophrenics wandering around. Sit in your seat in congress, jack off your neighbor, and go home.

Don’t take a moment to think about all the families whose children aren’t going to join them at the dinner table anymore. Don’t take a moment to think about all the families whose mentally disturbed children are branded for life as murderers, who are slandered in the media, who are stuck behind bars, in institutions, for the remainder of their life because that agency you stole funding from to put an extra couple million towards our dormant nuclear war heads couldn’t hold their foundation any longer and turned away several struggling, mentally “ill” people and their families. Don’t take a moment to think one of the citizens to be turned away shot up little Bobby’s school yesterday.

Anti-Social people can really be full of themselves, very narcissistic. They need control to thrive and the government is no different. There’s only one way to put out a fire: take away the oxygen; there’s only one way to stop an Anti-Social personality on a rampage: take away their control. I’m not advocating violent revolution, but I am advocating revolution of thought. Don’t be lazy. It’s not their government, it’s our government. It’s not their country, it’s our country. It’s not their mental health policies, it’s our mentally “ill” families, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, and selves getting dicked around.

I say we slip a few Risperdal in some official’s coffee. Maybe it’ll help squander their psychotic thoughts. It’ll for sure help with their addiction to whacking it.

Some of them might need something stronger. I’ll have the Haldol and Thorazine on hold for them. Don’t worry, I’m almost a doctor, they’ll be fine.

My point? Politics and Mental Health go hand in hand. Get educated. It’ll help in the long term much more than a protest. You can’t get arrested for learning. At least, not anymore.