Sunday, 29 March 2015

An Angry One

Recent news stories have me seriously contemplating my planet of origin.
With the opinions that I have and in all the ways that I think...I find it hard to believe I’m from Earth.

I keep hearing news reports of people “jumping off the deep end.” 

Killing themselves.
Killing others.
Hurting themselves.
Hurting others.

And all nestled up, all cozy like in the news reports... are the facts. 
The facts being: that these deep end jumpers are all on heavy duty medications. As I’ve said before, standing alone in your own thoughts and opinions can sometimes be the scariest experience. And being an ANTI anti depressant kinda gal, living in a pill poppers paradise has definitely got me thinking: 

“Ok Scotty...beam me up. These peeps are all whacked.”

News broadcasts are repeating the same things over and over again.

“The man suffered from mental illness”

“The women was was severely depressed”

“The teenage male had a history of emotional instability”

“The child had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder”

The answer is staring me in the face. 
I can see it. 
Why can’t anyone else?

People are sad. People are in pain. People have gone through shit.
You can’t cure that with a pill. Or a concoction of pills. Or the right concoction of pills. That’s just patch work. There’s a root to their issues, and they need help squashing it. 

I was able to fill prescriptions the same day I received them.
But I was on a two year waiting list for a government funded psychologist. 

How does that work? 

A wide array of free certified drug dealers... but a drought in costless one on one counselling?

People don’t need pills.
People need people.
People to talk to. 
People to support them. 
People to believe in them.
People to remind them that they’re strong enough to get through “this.”

It’s a world full of Rockys... with no Mickey.


But easier said than done right? It’s easier to manufacture tiny little capsules jammed with all the temporary fixins, then it is to manufacture people who actually give a shit. Enough to help another human being defeat whatever ails ya. 

Speaking from experience, my recovery skyrocketed once I was able to start talking about what I needed to start talking about. The nitty gritty. But that fact was always dismissed because it wasn’t something I was picking up from a  doctor or pharmacy. I hate to sound cliche but... the system’s broken man. And so are the people. Fix one and that will fix the other. Fuck!

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