I received the following letter about 6 months ago.
Dear Larry,
The last time I was in a hospital I overheard the staff talking about me. The said I was a “frequent flyer”. One guy said they were wasting their time with me and seemed real angry at how many “frequent flyers” they dealt with. He didnt understand why I didnt seem to really want help. He thought I would be back soon. The one thing he really didnt understand was me. And he was wrong. That was 2 years ago. I havent been back.
That was my 16th “flight” in a three year period. I had been diagnosed as so many things I had lost track of what I was now. The problems were real. I had made 6 suicide attempts. The last one was close. Whoever had cared was long since gone. I was impossible to live with. Finally I had decided it was impossible for me to live.
At the start I actually looked forward to each new diagnosis or each new medication as perhaps the beginning of an answer. But I was even a failure as a patient. I dont know who the medication helped, but it never really seemed to help me. The list where they talk about side effects that you might expect. That list was me.
One time I didnt make it a week before they put me back in the hospital. Handcuffed in the back of a cop car– the only thing I knew I was guilty of was being alive. Everything was a let-down. Everything was a lie. The biggest letdown was me. Every diagnosis was confirmation of what a mess I was. Nothing was ever about what I could hope for, or expect to do or have happen. Life was robbery. I was the victim.
My life changed with two people. I met a guy who had survived being me. If anything he had been worse off. But he was happy. He knew about joy and hope. Not only did he have people who loved him. He found people who he loved. He was miracle. A miracle. He was in a support group I hadnt wanted to go to. And through him I found out that others had survived being me and I through myself into finding out what they knew I didnt. Days got better. They keep getting better. I am finding out the biggest expert on me is me.
I also met a therapist who didnt care what I was called. We never even talked about it. He just cared about who I was and what had happened and believed something better could happen.
I read a post you had written about anosognosia- being blind to your problems. You said there was no evidence of it. You were wrong. I had anosognosia to my problems for a long time. It took me a long time that a system that defined me as a label and totally lacking in hope or future was screwing up my life. Not what Dr. Torrey means I know.
Some days are hard, very hard. But I remember another thing I read that you wrote. Something about there being a difference between knowing times are hard and believing that hard times are the only kind of times there are.
Feel free to share this letter when you like. Life can be better. I have done better than survive me. I have finally become me.
I received the following letter about 6 months ago.
Dear Larry,
The last time I was in a hospital I overheard the staff talking about me. The said I was a “frequent flyer”. One guy said they were wasting their time with me and seemed real angry at how many “frequent flyers” they dealt with. He didnt understand why I didnt seem to really want help. He thought I would be back soon. The one thing he really didnt understand was me. And he was wrong. That was 2 years ago. I havent been back.
That was my 16th “flight” in a three year period. I had been diagnosed as so many things I had lost track of what I was now. The problems were real. I had made 6 suicide attempts. The last one was close. Whoever had cared was long since gone. I was impossible to live with. Finally I had decided it was impossible for me to live.
At the start I actually looked forward to each new diagnosis or each new medication as perhaps the beginning of an answer. But I was even a failure as a patient. I dont know who the medication helped, but it never really seemed to help me. The list where they talk about side effects that you might expect. That list was me.
One time I didnt make it a week before they put me back in the hospital. Handcuffed in the back of a cop car– the only thing I knew I was guilty of was being alive. Everything was a let-down. Everything was a lie. The biggest letdown was me. Every diagnosis was confirmation of what a mess I was. Nothing was ever about what I could hope for, or expect to do or have happen. Life was robbery. I was the victim.
My life changed with two people. I met a guy who had survived being me. If anything he had been worse off. But he was happy. He knew about joy and hope. Not only did he have people who loved him. He found people who he loved. He was miracle. A miracle. He was in a support group I hadnt wanted to go to. And through him I found out that others had survived being me and I through myself into finding out what they knew I didnt. Days got better. They keep getting better. I am finding out the biggest expert on me is me.
I also met a therapist who didnt care what I was called. We never even talked about it. He just cared about who I was and what had happened and believed something better could happen.
I read a post you had written about anosognosia- being blind to your problems. You said there was no evidence of it. You were wrong. I had anosognosia to my problems for a long time. It took me a long time that a system that defined me as a label and totally lacking in hope or future was screwing up my life. Not what Dr. Torrey means I know.
Some days are hard, very hard. But I remember another thing I read that you wrote. Something about there being a difference between knowing times are hard and believing that hard times are the only kind of times there are.
Feel free to share this letter when you like. Life can be better. I have done better than survive me. I have finally become me.
Thanks for the ear.
A frequent flyer