Mental Health Report Card. NDIS and more blogs

Mental Health Report Card, the NDIS,

It is time to look at the issue of my capacity to think and deal with life puzzles. It has been a common factor in recent years. I have had waning and waxing ability to cope with real life complexities.

The author on a camping trip in the 1970’s

At times I have been unable to remember faces of people or to identify them. When things were really bad my mother was forced to take me shopping so I didn’t get lost or forget what I was doing and spend the money on other things. She had to keep me with her when she parked the car so I would not wander off and had to notify me as she was closing after walking away because I could not identify her in a crowd.

At no point during the times I fought to re-establish my mental acuity did a mental health professional give me support or recognize the plight I was in. There was a couple of good psychiatrists and neurologist who were too far away for me to access regularly enough to get some benefit. With the exception of a few professionals like that I call the overwhelming body of mental health professionals “witchdoctors”. Many of them indulge in collective culture war by pretending their discipline has the understanding of human thought and activity to make sentence reports for courts. Thousands of young men, in particular, have been jailed for activities they engaged in while confused and damaged. There was often no attempt to help them understand what happened and many took their own lives or made decisions they could not undo. Indeed many were treated as some sort of enemy combatant who had to be removed from the community instead of healed. My contempt for some of the phonies who claim professional stature runs deep.

My own mental report card includes the fact I can play computer games and solve puzzles at an increasing level. For a long time the best I was able to do was to turn all the levels way down and play simple games. For years I did not understand how the inabilities to deal with levels of complexity in games was a sign of brain injury, heart damage, and my body being overwhelmed by grief and pain. There was nobody who could help me had the understanding been available anyway. I will write about that failure of the system later. It was another of the abuses I mean to cover in the repurposed journals in other places.

In the present I seem to be handling the games and puzzles with some skill. It is a part of a long battle and this stage is a big improvement. I even managed to go back and restart the diabetes blood glucose measuring machine tonight. I still spend most of my time alone, have no friends I socialize with and fear the need for complex associations. I am using the new NDIS worker to help me overcome that but it has been difficult despite her lovely nature and willing disposition.

Working the blood glucose monitor should not have been a problem. The fact I could not get to the point of adding the use of a glucose measuring machine because I could not stretch my intellectual handling capacity to do it should been a call to the people helping me. Instead they all decided I ignored the machine and its testing regime as some kind of rakish rebellion. Many of them were angered or contemptuous of me over that small thing. I certainly do not agree for the need to walk about with my fingers covered in Band-Aids from constant sticking but regular testing helps decide what to eat and how often. I have been guessing by the way my pee froths and looking at the amazed expression on my doctor’s face when I tell him. I couldn’t even find the machine nor could I work out how the lances were loaded so I forgot it for years.

 The intellectual ability and the terrible low energy of chronic fatigue caused by the heart failure finally dissipated enough to let me take on more.

 I feel better. Normally by this time of year the brutal cold would be acting on my heart and the chronic fatigue would be increasing to where I am looking at life through a fog. Everything would be like having my shoulders strapped to a palette of bricks. I pretend. I would cling to consciousness and keep talking until my voice echoes around in my head and I cannot string together ideas. I would beg people not to place me in a position where I have to deal with more than one speaker because they sap my strength and confuse me very quickly. Nobody understands how furiously I have to fight to do very normal things and how often this has beaten me.  They think I am rude and maybe insensitive and certainly lazy and morose. It is why I often insist on conversation over emails rather than face to face. On a bad day face to face conversations involve me struggling to understand the concepts and I often drop what I call “fact bombs” just to offset my confusion and delay making bad decisions. Sometimes I have had to nod and hope they were saying something I wanted to be included in.

My brain still worked. Sometimes I was working on really complex things like internet codes. I could start out knowing enough to get some system working but would fail as my energy flagged and all the little side issues would be left undone. The guys at the hosting company thought I was a lazy and stupid website designer although they are very professional and always help me when I get buried in detail and something I have left as being too complex bites me. I made electrical circuits and designed radio antenna during a good time but since have not even had the strength of intellect to deal with the normal complexity of getting the radios running. It has added to the depth of isolation which is deep now. I feel so alone in this.

 When it was truly bad and my memory gone and my status as a human lost in a fog many mental health professionals treated me like some sort of enemy and refused to assist. A lot here on the Central Coast of NSW have been privileged criminals by the way they treat people they see as lesser. Underprivileged and badly educated people are treated horribly. When you have brain damage such as I had you often appear to be stupid and retarded. I have seen the monsters that take their pay while abusing those poor souls. I have been their target of contempt and derision.

Now I am a journalist and even through the fog I will find some of the memories and publish them. I am angry about it.

For now the improvement is as good as any I have had and there is some more strength and vitality and I am running back through the old journals finding where I was too ill to get them properly built, and fixing them. It feels good. Having badly made sites online grates on your sub-conscious sense of well-being. The idea of being able to finally pull them into shape feels good. There is a lot to do but a lot has been done.

I will tell those stories and the new stories of trauma and abuse that shook free when the psychologist started opening me to possibilities. The constant insistence by the psychologist I could not have had the life I described stung me particularly as I was dumbing it down from where I saw her struggling to look me in the eye as I referred to traumas and abuses. People with a wide range of life experience should be aware many mental health professionals have the life experience of a log and yet act as judgmental culture warriors. They are dangerous and their inclusion in so many court sentencing activities are an indication of how little courts care about reality when they deal with the sub-cultures and working class

I know what it seems to be. It is one of those unfortunate works where the alternative possibility didnt appear until after much work. The intention is to show a skull with a candle unlit. It is about the potential of the mind and mystical things to provide light when lit by an open mind and study

 The chronic complex PTSD has me sitting up alone all night in the freezing cold reliving the trauma and telling myself the story again and again. I hope the journals will assist me to free myself of a little of this parade.

It is 1am and I have spoken copiously about the report card. Tomorrow the report will continue with a little about the new carer, the butane heater and the renewed and reborn blogs. I am about to start a writing course to try and improve this mess. I will try and find some images. I will not sleep again tonight although I will try. I have been walking and my feet are bruised and the joints bruised and the diabetes burns for some reason.

The NDIS plan is starting to pull together very well. I have a good feeling about it. The providers have given me a single carer for all my appointments and needs. We speak of the plan for the next week each time. I had my doubts I could furnish enough hours to make her efforts worthwhile but I have been without well-planned services for a couple of years and all sorts of things need improving. There is also the fact I have dropped out of the human race because of the isolation and no one to help me adopt a plan to overcome the lack of exercise and a lot of other things related to art and photography and production of creative content. She will need a lot of patience. I am far from understanding how to pull this together. It is a wonderful thing to have the opportunity even while the losses caused by the hillbilly property managers may have cost me the last chance to be a recognizable artist. I will keep working and the new carer is highly intelligent and keen so I am not alone.

NDIS has returned some money to my account after expenses and I am very relieved about it. It gives me the funds to make the initial buy of a padded chair to help me cope with pain in the hips and legs and back while I draw.

The butane heater failed completely and kept simply “puttering” out. BCF at Tuggerah took it back so I bought a sleeping bag to go with the new downy cover. The duvet turned out not to be capable of keeping me warm at zero and just below zero on its own. The staff at BCF has been excellent every time we went in there and I suffer from envy when I see all the fishing gear and camping gear through the store. I miss it dreadfully!

As stated earlier the old journals gathering dust among the servers are being repurposed. The Lakeside journal will be renamed and used to review cafes and things I visit. Hopefully I can get to a few events like the car show “Chromefest” and so on. There are some amazing images to be taken there.

The Court Diaries contain stories I was using to try and stop the abuses of Wyong Court, property managers and lawyers during the horrendous period after I was assaulted and charged at Budgewoi. I was terrified nobody would see what was happening and I would be murdered or incarcerated so I created the journal. It had to be written with as little of my own information as possible to keep them from benefiting from it but the time is passed and it will be extended to tell more of that long painful marathon of abuse and treachery.

The Community Outrage Journal will also be repurposed. Much of the stories presently on there are about the tribunal case and the attempt by contractors to drive me out after I stood up to them. The tribunal case can go to the Court Diaries under a new category. I had been tempted to publish the videos of contractors verbaling me but my belief is one where the important thing is ending the behavior rather than making someone embarrassed or punishing them after we have all moved on. Peace!

New categories in the “outrage” journal will be created to describe some memories over the period I was at school. There were to be two primary kinds of things covered. If I can find them again it seems like a good idea to record the memories of head trauma. When I started trying to get assistance for frontal lobe trauma it became obvious a number of very severe injuries had preceded large changes in my life and personality. Some of those changes were made against a background of fog or near total intellectual failure. At those times there was little or no foundation of memory to lock ideas into place and for short periods it has been very obvious losing inhibitions and moral foundations for periods left people around me and me confused. I lost many friends and loved ones during these times. Long after the event studying the symptoms of frontal lobe damage and looking to see if it went back as far as the motorbike crash in 1980 I discovered they went back much further. My life was brutal and often as teenager I recovered from a violent beating or accident alone despite the love and concern extended by people in my life.

My memory may be too bad to get much of it done.

During the visits to the psychiatrist memories of abuses and bullying from years back surfaced. The memories are patchy and very painful but putting them in categories in Community Outrage might be healing. That just leaves the crashing unpleasantness over the years from 1996 to 1998 and beyond. That will have another category so if anyone cares enough to read them the stories can be lined up and make sense.

I start a writing course in a few days to try and improve the style and content of the journals and then a more advanced course in a few months.

With that in hand the main journal can go back to day to art and life. Many of the people I have met and engaged in during those times will not be included. It is not an expose. It is about the failure of systems supposed to protect and enhance our interactions and which are bound by rules and expectations failing and being abused. The danger of journals is the way information which seems quite benign comes to haunt people who did not expect to be a part of anything. Let me avoid such things with a wide berth around most individuals and daily situations.

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