The music inside my head

In recent times, as my body got adjusted to some new medication, I strained the limits of my nervous system through sheer mental exhaustion and exasperation of my living situation. I stormed the halls, yelling profanities. It is around this time that the music really set in. I have always had music in my mind, since early times, but now it seemed to have reached a new height. A new mental obsession.

I was remembering the Seinfeld episode where Jerry explains to George that (I believe it was) Schuman got a note stuck in his head and it "drove him mad". It's a silly thing to think about during this kind of struggle but it popped into my head. I felt I was being driven mad from not being able to escape "mental music".

But the more I think about it, I come to two realizations. 1) It's pretty normal to not be able to get songs out of your head at times and 2) I have always had some sort of music in my head.

Struggling with what I struggle with now, this music, I need to remember to ground myself and know that I am not "going insane". Growing up on Seinfeld, remembering that kind of warped my experience into thinking I was going mad. Fuck you Jerry Seinfeld.

Prisoner

 I am a prisoner in body and mind. I was never allowed to be my own self, and my family, as toxic as they are, always prevented me from stretching my wings and learning how to navigate life on my own.

Now, I am on two anti-psychotics and two mood-stabilizers (including Lithium) and my body is twisted and torn. Bloated. My mind is trapped and all I hear is music when I'm doing nothing. I'm 41.

This should not have happened to me. I trace it back to 2023 when, after having battled to release myself from the control of psychiatric medication, my sister and mother decided to issue a form 2 on me, legally allowing the cops to bring me in and hold me at a psychiatric hospital.

Of course, I was brought to a psychiatric hospital when I was 23. Since then, I have not been able to work, be healthy, or have a normal life. I have the strictest most horrible parents (and sister) in the world.

Now, my father struggles to maintain a "relationship" (as he calls it) with me. He calls me frequently, as he does my sister by his admission, leaves messages two days in a row, and emails. In the words of my mother, before her death, as parents, they want "emotional support" (from their kids). I view this as extreme abuse. It is also absurd that I am 41 and going through these rebellious issues. But my father being the scary, dangerous psychopath that he is, this is the first time in my life that I have the means and ability to do what I want.

A sad story, a tragedy even, is my life. I don't want it to end in suicide. But the brutal pain of this olanzapine and the constant musical hallucinations, at all times (including in my dreams) put me in an unbearable situation. I will try my best. For now, keeping my father blocked is the first step. He can keep the family's money and not pass it on to me, that is fine.

Introvert/extrovert

 There are times in life where extroversion is the best way to go. However, if you find yourself, like me, in a situation where you are surrounded by subhuman wastes of flesh, it could be advisable to shift into introversion. Perhaps being an introvert is the best course of action, but as soon as you shift your focus away from people, they can come gnawing at your door.

I generally like to be part of a community where one knows their place in the food chain, and everything balances out. I feel at a loss within this group, because I am truly and genuinely out of place and unhappy. I can't make sense of the minds of the people around me, and this area is known for "crazy people". In my old neighbourhood, there were people with addictions but not as many mentally ill people. I was placed in "mental health" housing and I cannot make sense of the group or community here.

This may be one of those times where introversion makes sense. I am just worried I'll get accosted or stabbed by these knucklehead degenerates. I have witnessed some of the behaviours of the people around me and they are truly nonsensical and overwhelmingly without cause or reason.

Of course, I ended up in this bad situation through bad decisions, if free will is such a thing. If it is not, then I just got extremely unlucky at one or several points throughout my life. Or, perhaps even more accurate, I am just not that smart and could not navigate the tough patches. I can pinpoint one or two points where I got the raw end of the deal, which caused trajectories of negative outcomes.

Not being liked - the destructiveness of a "mental health" clique

 I live in mental health housing, and the fact that the people living here are nutjobs, doesn't preclude me having a need to be on cordial terms with them. A few of them go out of their way to snub me, and for whatever reason, have never liked me or attempted to get along with me. We are talking about older people (perhaps in their late 60's) but they act juvenile in this regard.

The clique of Barb, Ken, and Juliana with Deborah trailing along has been plaguing me since I moved in, since I had made a concerted effort to get along with all of my neighbours. But they don't like me.

Psychologically, how does one react to people not liking them? Avoidance, if it is possible in a broader sense. But in my case, they live just a few feet from me and in their activity pass by me constantly. I have confined to my "unit" most of the time, but it is a real shame there is not a friendlier atmosphere.

The duo, Barb and Ken, have formed a clique that has really gone out of its way to exclude me. Not the clique, but the two of them. Snubbing, ignoring, the works. I consider it passive aggression, obviously, but I have now settled on the idea that they just don't like me.

"Stop worrying," "don't be a baby," you might think, but years of being on the outside of what could be a positive, supportive atmosphere have embittered me and made me think there is no hope.

As children, in a classroom setting, if we deal with people who don't like us, a responsible teacher would mediate or step in, but as adults (even if they act like children), there is no framework to facilitate people being cordial or social with one another. The natural thing to ask if people do not like you is, "is there something wrong me me?". That is the toxic and destructive part of the situation. Because, as evidenced by my having had friends my whole life and being a relatively effective person, there is nothing wrong with me. But the effect of being ostracized from a community really makes you start to wonder. And therein lies the madness of the situation.

I have no choice but to take each day as it comes and endure as best as possible. In the end, it could be a  lesson, could be a gateway to making me a stronger, indefatigable person. But of course, I don't want that as a first priority. I don't need to "grow". I want peace. Moving is impossible, however.

How I feel

 At this stage, I feel like I just want death. An end to this suffering. There is music pounding in my brain at all times. How did I get like this? My mother form 2'd me and then died herself from alcoholism. In her supreme arrogance and ignorance, she always thought that doctors could cure however I was feeling. My father, an abusive drunk, was important to her. Since we got in a physical fight in 2007, that was also her justification for calling me "insane" or "crazy". I guess my life is a tragedy. I don't see how I can go on like this.

Robbed

 Now that I'm living alone and am self sufficient, I reflect on the past. It's probably my own fault, but I feel like my life was robbed. At the age of 23, I was on a track for success. Maybe I wasn't the best employee or student, but I had a career mapped out at a great company in a good city. It turns out that my parents are far stricter than I could ever imagine, and when I ran back to them, in 2007, they came down hard on me. I was free, I was independent and living my life.

Now I'm 41, and the last 20 years of my life have disappeared. My health doesn't seem to be that good, and I feel I am too old to start any kind of meaningful career. Maybe I just don't want to.

But in terms of people, I have very few of them in my life. I have my friend, but she is not as devoted to me as I previously thought. She doesn't return my messages or calls all the time. I don't like to feel that I'm needy, but it would be nice to not feel so alone. It seems like most people do have family or friends. I have wound up in a house that is mental health, by myself. My cat is okay.

2023

 2023 was a formative year for me. I shall recount the events that took place during this time.

Shortly after moving into my current place, I went to the pharmacy to request that they retrieve my medications. It turned out they were out of a key medication that I had been on for over a decade. It was around this time that my alcoholic father bullied me. I was at my parents' place, hanging out with him and waiting for my mother who was out. I wasn't there for five minutes before the verbal attacks started. I got out of there.

I resolved that I would not renew my medication and begin to come off it. I was angry at my parents. Most of my will to take medication was based on the fact that they wanted me to. At that point, I had always hated them. The doctors at the hospital were also trying to ween me off them, as I had convinced them that the side effects were too overwhelming.

Coming off medication, I underwent a series of adventures that would shape me. I became an uber driver. I cruised around on a scooter doing deliveries. It was as happy time.

Eventually I obtained an iMac and spent a lot of time going to chatrooms, connecting with people online. There were several trips to the emergency ward when I would freak out. I met Sharyl, who was in my life for a few months. We spent a few nights together.

During this time, I was obsessed with contacting the police. Unfortunately, I did it a bit too much. I don't recall why. I started going to Al and Ryan's convenience store often. I would go there a few times per week, usually dropping by during the night shift when Ryan was working. I would also frequent the clubhouse. I remember my sleep lowering, and stuff. There was another woman who I met at the clubhouse who I spent a night or two with. Over the next several months I would have even more adventures.

I met Kailey, who was troubled but a decent person. Perhaps troubled is an understatement. We spent a full month together, doing everything together. This was also a pretty happy time, although somewhat wild. I bought a ring.

During this time, I was paranoid and cautious of my father. We had split on poor terms and I was now disconnected from my mother and sister too. Not speaking to them at all was a marked change from the daily and weekly visits of the past decade. I bought a one-way ticket to Tel Aviv, Israel, and traveled there. Upon arriving, they confiscated my passport and sent me home on a flight that they paid for.

Being as all this was 2 years ago, my memory is a little foggy. I remember staying in a homeless shelter in (I think) Niagara Falls. I remember gambling at the casino, playing poker. I remember hanging out with Mack, and old acquaintance. I remember hating where I was staying. To this day, the people whom I live around don't go out of their way to be nice or friendly.

I obtained a Fender guitar and started relentlessly appreciating and playing it. I performed at several venues around the city.

These 8 months were exhilarating but in retrospect worrying. It was during this time that I regained a lot of my energy and ability to think. I overcame certain cognitive problems and fog and became more self-reliant and confident in my ability to fend for myself. I also wound up in jail, twice (for minor charges).

I miss the excitement and the happiness, for it felt so great to be free from all these medications. Eventually my mother and sister thought it would be a good idea to get together and talk to the Justice of the Peace, issuing a Form 2, empowering the police to come and get me and detain me for 72 hours in a psychiatric facility.

Oddly, after this, they continued to ignore me. It's as if they were at war with me and have been since I was 23. Having suffered a Form 2, I would never do this to anyone. The long-term consequences of getting a Form 2 on someone is worse than the effects of being in jail. It murders the life they were going for.

I have more to relate about this time in 2023, but for now, I am distracted and will come back to this subject later. 

My History

 When I was 23, I had a bit of an existential crisis. Having been a relatively strong, independent adult for some time, I thought it would be good to "return home", to the nest., to rely on my parents emotionally and what would turn out, financially.

I back-tracked. Low and behold, guess who was violent to me? My father. I was scared to make it on my own, to continue treading the way forward in my life. I had just been rejected by my high school ex-girlfriend for the second time, and the pressure was too much. I couldn't face doing my last semester of university, so I retreated.

I retreated to (what I thought was) a safe space, and the next two decades, my entire youth and best years, flew by in hospitalizations, moves, and fights with family.

I am now finally 41, and free from family restrictions (and toxicity). I have used up my 20's and 30's, and am now too old to do a lot (or so I have been conditioned to think), but at least I am not a child any more. I think I permanently damaged my sense of inner autonomy, but, here I am. I am medicated. I am powerless (physically at least). I look around and dream about my peers who have all gone on to live fruitful, happier lives with families. There doesn't seem to be too much for me in my future, given the cocktail of medications that I'm on.

I need these medications to cope. My only hope is to be a regular at the clubhouse, where they are compassionate, and go on like that. I have my computer, too.

Growing old

 As I was lying in my bed this morning, I was reflecting how I want to grow old. I want to have wrinkly skin and move slowly, I want to eat less, and I want the wisdom of my years to show itself through my demeanor.

I do not fear age. And even if I get to a certain age, and I have this music in my head, it will be normal because old people often have a bit of messed up circuitry upstairs anyways.

If you can find someone to grow old with, that is great. But for me, I just want to live day to day until I get old.

Happiness

 I think happiness is peace, and in some instances this is the result of medication. I went through a transition over the past several years, resisting the process of being medicated and thinking medication was bad (I don't know why), to coming to accept that the peace and stability it provides is beneficial.

I have bad headaches now, am obese and impotent (side effects), but I can take each day as a relative blessing and enjoy things a bit better. I will continue to achieve stability and work with my doctor to optimize whatever pills I do have to take.

I am finally at a point where I want to do physical exercise, and get into a fitness or health program where I'm eating good food and moving around. It took a while, but lately I've been getting out every day. Each day seems to provide a new special challenge or event that gets me moving. I get excited for the things I have to do. In sum, this is all possible on medication.

I am rediscovering this, and it's been a long journey. I plan to spend the rest of my life healing. Healing my body, my brain, and my spirit (elusive, I know). Getting past the traumas of childhood and enjoying each day, while taking medication, will provide some semblance of peace and stability, I am hoping.

Mental illness in families

 I truly understand that mental illness is hereditary. Unfortunately, the genes are passed down that contain various mental disorders and poor mental health. We like to think that we are in charge of our own mental health destinies but is obvious, from what I've seen, that severe mental health problems run in families.

I spent the evening with my father, and it seemed that he was quite "off". After having spent very little time with him over the past years, it is more clear now, especially since I've gotten my own medication under control, that he too is mentally unwell (and self-medicates with alcohol).

I suppose I am lucky that I have a diagnosis and that I am receiving treatment. It sucks that I've had some never-ending music in my head now that came about after starting my lastest anti-psychotic, but overall, it's probably good for my body that I do receive treatment. I just wish I had a psychiatrist to help me along.

Psychiatrists are hard to come by around here. I gather that you really have to pay private fees to get good access to a psychiatrist.