Career Shameer

It’s 10:44 in the morning. I got off of work two hours ago. I am sleep deprived from the last few days, and quite irritable. That’s the perfect time to belch out a post. Agreed?

I’m not sure about the rest of you, but my best cognitive realizations and abilities are birthed from pure, elegant exhaustion. I did much better in Calculus at eight thirty in the morning after four hours of sleep than I did in an afternoon class after a solid seven and a half hours of sleep the night before. My brain is backwards and I appreciate that.

However, I am at a rather jarring crossroads in my life right now. After the last three years of being in and out of psychiatric hospitals, on and off psychiatric medications, jumping around from (ignorant) diagnosis to diagnosis, gaining weight, losing weight, gaining weight again, in and out of a four year relationship, it’s left my education in shambles.

Most of you know I currently work as a Peer Support worker at a Peer Respite house and if you didn’t know, now you know. Somewhere on this blog I still have the post I put up about my first day of work there. I’ve been there for 2.5 years by this point, the longest job I’ve ever held. I started when I was 20 years old, a month or two away from my 21st birthday that I don’t remember. In my interview I told them I was a Pre-Med student eager for a career in psychiatry to fight the system.

I am now 23, four months away from my 24th birthday.

I’m not quite sure what happened. I was fully invested in my psychology degree and unscathed by the physics and math required for Med-school. I was a little perturbed about chemistry. I can’t balance an equation to save my fucking life. Another fun fact: put a Calculus equation in front of me, or teach me Linear Algebra and I”ll eat it alive. Put a pre-algebra word problem in front of me and I crumble, I disintegrate. As a writer, you think I’d understand what word problems are asking of me. As someone pretty decent at math, you’d think I’d understand how to calculate what’s being asked of me. Both of your assumptions would be horribly, horribly misled. I’m sure you can, then, deduce how well physics went.

My point in all this rambling is I can’t figure out what I want to study in college anymore. My psychology degree is almost complete and I don’t much care for it anymore. Every psychology class I take I no longer take interest in. Perhaps it’s from 1) living the experience of mental health issues and realizing textbook explanations are pale in comparison, 2) understanding the corruption that lies in the mental health industry/business, and 3) from working in the exact opposite environment that I would be working in were I to pursue my original career choice.

Perhaps it’s my stubbornness. I don’t want to answer to Insurance companies. I don’t want to be solicited or bribed by pharmaceutical salesmen offering me money to push certain drugs. I don’t want to have to deny someone my services because their insurance won’t pay for me because they don’t want medication. I don’t want to make that choice for them, it’s not my business. I don’t want to go into private practice and have to charge 300 dollars an hour and limit myself to an elitist group when we’re all very much aware that the people who need the most help are often struggling with housing, substance use, financial issues, as well as their mental health.

I don’t want to work for a county that would allow me to see that population but underpay me significantly and overload me with cases. I don’t want to only be allowed to see those people for 15 minutes when they need so much more time than that. I don’t want to be considered a doctor that only hands out medication. I don’t do well with rules that are illogical and all of the aforementioned happens to be just that.

And yet I feel that to not pursue this would be abandoning my own people. I feel the difference I wish to make can only begin with legitimizing myself, and unfortunately that requires a college degree in this day and age. But if the passion for the classes isn’t there anymore–where does that leave me? I still have a fiery passion for exposing pharmaceutical companies for what they are, for guiding people through their own mental health journey, for offering other opportunities and healing besides medication and hospitalization, but I just can’t handle sitting through these fucking brainwashing classes and pretend to care about what they’re saying.

So do I start over? Do I accept the psychology degree and switch to a different discipline? Do I follow my original plan, which would require a hard science degree? Do I have the confidence for that? Or will word problems best me? Will I make the same mistake, get the degree, and then not want to pursue the discipline? Will I even be able to get the degree? Or do I say fuck school all together and live the rest of my life check to check, roommate to roommate?

I’ve been off all meds for a couple months now. No antipsychotics, no mood stabilizers, no antidepressants, no sleep medication. I’ve 360’d my diet, and now exercise five days a week for an hour and a half. I’m making a lot of changes and it feels like it’s only natural that my career path do the same.

The real problem is i’d love to have a career in physics and a career in peer support. That just doesn’t seem realistic though. Research during the day, peer during the night? Sounds exhaustive.

What’s helped you choose your career path? Are you still searching for something? Are you at a crossroads too?

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.

10 Questions For Cannibals

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Don’t you love the power of irony?

Just this last week I was wondering where all my dreams had gone.

Stop thinking so melodramatically, I’m talking about my literal dreams. Those moving pictures behind your eyelids when you fall into (on an average scale) 8 hours of necessary unconsciousness.

Tonight they’ve flooded every crevice and crease in my brain to the point unconsciousness becomes rather unbearable.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed if you read my posts, I display several parts of myself on this website, my sarcastic and at times harshly opinionated dominant self which is, probably, the one my brain most frequents for the purpose of keeping up a personable persona. It’s the sarcastic humor that gets people.

I switch back and forth frequently depending on the situations, as I’m sure all of us do. How else could we as humans function as humans in the system we’ve created?

Tonight I’m not feeling as sarcastic or opinionated. 

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I awoke yesterday afternoon at 2pm after sleeping at 7am, went to eat with my boyfriend at 6:30 p.m, came home around 8:30 p.m and started falling asleep shortly after.

Every second I closed my eyes and fell into a sudden slumber, moving pictures appeared at lightening speeds. I only remember one: a spiral of white string descending into a black hole. It jerked me from my sleep.

Multiply that by twenty five and that’s how often I’ve woken up between the last five hours.

The dreams are unending. This has only happened a few times in my life and as much as I love dreaming, I despise it. They’re vivid and loud and convoluted, short lived and obnoxious. I’m one to always remember my dreams and the messages they carry, but when they fly unhinged from an assembly line, I can’t latch onto them or control them and, much like my thoughts, they clog up the breathing spaces in my brain and each time I awake with less hope of a peaceful sleep.

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To deal with this situation, I call upon a part of myself seldom seen outside of my academic world. This is the part of me which swallows experiences and knowledge like a neglected dog does True Blue. They scarf down the food so quickly vets give it to them in small increments so they don’t harm their starved digestive system. That’s how I must receive education. If not, my brain will explode.

That’s a fact.

As I’ve said before, I’m a very intense person. Everything I do must be done to perfection (which is obviously unobtainable) and therefore I’m constantly striving to perfect what I’ve already perfected. It comes in handy in academia because I’m not bored easily. There’s always something I can fix, something I can learn, something I can use. Sometimes I push too hard and do too many things at once which only overwhelms my brain. Much like those dreams.

This is what I get for trying to get to sleep early. Unending torment.

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Not really torment.

Just insomnia. 

Although . . .

eh, it might as well be considered torment.

Then comes the hunger. The need for fresh human blood, warm and soothing down the back of my throat, the want for soft, stringy flesh stuck between my teeth, melting from the acidity of my saliva alone on the tip of my tongue . . .

I mean food. 

I get really hungry at night. I know it’s not good to eat at night or before you go to bed (or is that a myth?) but sometimes I can’t help it.

Had a bowl of ice cream and a cookie.

I could have at least ate healthy.

I have a frozen arm in the freezer I was saving for later.

They’re fun to gnaw on like a turkey leg.

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Do you think serial killers or cannibals have anonymous, carefree blogs like us? You think if they could bounce their IP address around the world like a seasoned hacker they could freely express their desires and actions without the threat of police intervention? Would it have the same therapeutic effect for them as it has for many of us? Or would it give them an excuse to test the system, test the people, and test themselves? See how grotesque they could get to impress their followers like the majority of other humans?

Think of the invaluable insight we’d have on the way they think. It’s all fine and dandy to classify the ones you catch into similar categories.

But what about the ones you don’t? What if they’re reading this blog right now?

10 Questions for Cannibals :

  1. What do humans taste like?
  2. Do you really crave flesh or is it about complete and utter domination?
  3. Which is better: cooked arm or raw arm? Have any seasoning tips for me? Do you use A1 steak sauce or Worcestershire sauce?
  4. Could you eat someone you care about? Or do they have to be completely irrelevant?
  5. Would you kill yourself if you had to become a Vegan?
  6. Would you eat a Vegan?
  7. Do you find cannibal jokes offensive or are you the one laughing the hardest because you understand it better than anyone else?

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    This Is A Bad Joke
  8. Do you have other fantasies that don’t involve devouring flesh?
  9. Do you recommend everyone try human flesh at least once in their life? Is it “Bucket List” worthy or “forgotten to-do list” worthy?
  10. How long have you known you were destined to eat human flesh over antibiotic infused cows? I mean really, eating a human with all the things we get injected in our bodies? Cannibalism in 2016 makes eating a cow fed chicken liver instead of grass healthier compared to what we pile in our bodies.

Those are honest questions. Assuming I don’t get a sensitive cannibal, they shouldn’t be that offensive.

10 Questions for Serial Killers: 

  1. Have you ever provided a cannibal a body in exchange for payment? Seems like a legit business opportunity.2072047_business-handshake-general-hire-appointment-700x450
  2. How did you like elementary school? Is that where your fantasies of killing developed? All the little snot-nosed rug-rats making fun of you for your big ears or pointed nose?
  3. What first raced through your veins after your first kill?
  4. Do you pick your victims by a physical characteristic or do you just place marks on those who get in your way?
  5. How would you define happiness? Sadness?
  6.  If you’ve ever dismembered a body, why? Were you curious? Is it because you never got a chance to study medicine or is it because you got a chance to study medicine?
  7. How intelligent do you consider yourself? How intelligent do you consider other people? What is intelligence? data-for-business-intelligence-1024x959
  8. Do you prefer to get to know a person before you steal their life for a greater satisfaction or do you prefer to ignore their existence and see them only as a physical thing created solely for your mental release?
  9. Why have you never been caught?
  10. What makes you laugh?

Those are also honest questions. I have a lot more but considering the fact that there probably aren’t a lot of cannibals or serial killers reading this, I decided to cut it off at 10.

If you knew someone was a cannibal or a killer, but you also knew what made them laugh and what makes their brain tick, could you be their friend if they never ate or killed you? If you weren’t their “type”?

Personally, I’m interested in everyone and anyone. As long as I don’t get a knife in my chest and my fingers in a frying pan as a garnish for a Caesar Salad.

This post took an interesting turn. This is why I love my brain and this part of me. We always have the most interesting conversations.

It’s 4:30 a.m.