Like McDonald’s and Walmart, the business of psychiatry will boom during this time of economic crisis. Suicide rates rise. Incomes vanish. We turn to Zoloft instead of God.
Manic and psychotic episodes will erupt within the minds of those genetically engineered for such meltdowns as times turn to hopelessness. Severe mental illnesses are triggered by a combination of biological and environmental factors.
We are not born with a destiny for madness. However, when left unaddressed and untreated, either by modern medicine or spiritual remedies, minds lost in the sea of worry shut down. Many, when first exposed to the fire of spiritual emergence simply kill themselves. Like a tortoise withdrawing inside its shell, our psyches, with fight or flight instincts, turn to a phase similar to the dream when all hope is gone.
The seed of madness is planted within all. Some kernels fall by the wayside and are trampled by drug addition or alcoholism. Others on the path to enlightenment fail to sprout roots in the soils of raging imagination and become lost in fear, often diagnosed as major depression. Yet for a chosen few, the flame of enlightenment is ignited during times of madness, and we find ourselves there– crazy, nuts, and out of control– yet somehow gain something from the experience. The break, although incredibly painful, turns to delight for those fortunate enough to walk through the fire and come out as gold.
I look at the crash of capitalism as a sign of hope and am glad that the world economy has fallen to ruin. I know that if life is ever to advance to the state of pure bliss that I once experienced, that we will all have to experience the fires of madness before waking to realize that the secret path to salvation leads within.
I remember my trip into the realms of the psychotic state vividly now. I am not in the least bit ashamed to tell others that I was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 2002. I am angered though, because psychiatry changed my diagnosis from schizophrenia to bi polar disorder moments after I was released from psychiatric incarceration–
“You can’t be schizophrenic,” a psychiatrist informed me at Saint Vincent’s two weeks after I was released from Trinitas Hospital in Elizabeth, NJ. “What you experienced was a manic episode. That’s all. I have no idea why the physician in New Jersey gave you this diagnosis. I cannot read the writing in the chart they faxed to us. I’m going to recommend Lithium.”
I didn’t attempt to explain to my new shrink that I was on the path to sainthood. Never again would I confess to knowing the future before someone with the ability to write my demise, nor would I again speak in tongues before non-believers.
Let them burn in hell.
Trying to warn others of the fact that the end of the world was near was not worth the effort six years ago. I realize that now. The world around me seemed normal again. People were going on about their normal business– walking with purses and briefcases to their jobs, ignorant to realities of imprisonment all around us. They could not see or sense what I knew at the time. Fuck them, I thought. If they don’t care, nor do I. I’ll play this little game of Zionism and pretend that the Holy Spirit is not at work in all of us. At the time, it was a relief to simply be manic and not psychotic.
If I had not lost my job six years ago, I may never have found God. If fate had not dealt me such a shrewd hand in the game of economic poker, I may never have lost my mind. The pressure of life was so great at the time. I was losing everything– a job, my lover, my cat Bette, my grandfather, just like so many others are now.
The seed of madness in me sprouted. I wanted nothing but salvation, like many others will. Many minds will slip into uncontrolled worry and intrusive thoughts. Some will imagine that demons have possessed them.
Six weeks in the ward, coming down from that ultimate high on anti-psychotic medications was like crucifixion. I asked God for death. The medical authorities nearly fulfilled that wish. Nurse Susan Bear witnessed me conducting yoga in the hallways of the ward and all hell broke loose–
“Charles, what are you doing?”
“Seeking God. Something you will ever find, bitch!”
She was angry because many of the patients were watching me– some had even been lured by my stork-like poses and reached to grab one leg while standing on another to pose perfectly erect, almost godly, in the highly secure ward. My energy soothed them despite the medications they were on. A black girl with delusions of being pregnant again with a child she had lost due to miscarriage burst into uncontrollable laughter during my seance like dance.
The nurse with the nameplate ‘Bear’ ordered me to stop. I wouldn’t. She instructed the male nurses and guards to take down. I punched several men and white, while kicking others, just like Trinity in the Matrix. I drew blood from the arm of one who was foolish enough to try and pin me down. Nurse Bear knew better to participate in attempting to restrain me, for I would have forgiven her, but only after twisting off a tit or two. When they tossed me on a bed, my head split the wall, yet, not even a bump formed upon my noggin.
If only there were a desert around for me to have retreated in, I would have gone– like Jesus– I would have run away from all of you– the lost– those still stuck in the rut of control and slavery. So needy. So lost and dependent on mind altering medications. So draining just to be around those who have not tasted death.
There was nowhere to go when my mind was reeling from the bliss of enlightenment. That is why I ended up in Trinitas Hospital. I was like so many others will be now when they wake up to find God, only to realize that in reality, He is merely a delusion that lives within the written word and our hearts. There will be no place for any of us to lay our heads after the housing market drives our dreams to waking nightmares, diagnosed by wealthy pharmaceutical corporations and their slaves, as mere figments of our imaginations.
My advice for one who wakes during this new age of anti-depression is this:-
Never admit to being God to a psychiatric examiner. Just tell the men and women in white that you forgive them for casting you from paradise.