Theoretical Racism and Suicide

I find a word that pops into my brain from past experience, I set up an agenda. My getting to that point is filled with lies and truths and misdirection and slight of hand. It’s how things work. My blog today is about suicide the act of killing oneself due to depression or mental illness. Not for that silly notion of virgins in heaven or some stupid shit.  I do know there are rules for people in a society a culture to behave in front of others when confronted with a person with such initiative. First it is self blame. Of course this is natural. They don’t want to help a strange or worse a loved one. The first thing in sask is, if you are fortunate enough to have employment with saskatchewan medical culture, it is a no-no and must be take serious or else your life style will be affected a little bit. You will be disciplined somehow with pay. They nurses at triage aka emergency room deal with a tough job. Very stressful but it’s a choice made before and therefore no sympathy, should have become a administrated hiding in a gated office. So they emphasize the word “room” in emergency room. SO going to an ER in saskatoon you go to a room and sit. Then for some reason the emergency part get noticed and they send you to a smaller room.  This has serious consequences and implications to a society based on this form of policies. IT first states indifference and apathy. This is all and good if you are native; we really can’t care about natives it is not policy. I am assuming from what I see. So pretending to care is a must. Say “oh my god…”

I should have a personal story about an exemption. I was given a cheque for living as I lived in the crazy house. I walked to the BMO and got the cheque cashed and was hungry for a burger. The cashier noticed my hospital wrist band. I told her I was in the Dube Centre for crazy people. The Dube’s are circle people that give money to have their name on a building in order to look like they care. Objective view of caring is much better. A money value given to help someone is much better when you have the means. Most people are poor and have their own problems. Unlike this cashier, she suggested I got to a pita shop. Of course, she saw all my personal information I had given to the corporate banking system so they can charge me for using my little bit of money. I got back to the hospital with a pop, snuff and receipts for library charges. I got some books that I could try to read. I remember my flirting with this cashier and then she showed up at the hospital. She walks in and ask for her best friend. I was amazed and turned on and thought of various sexual positions. Hey I am not dead yet. We got to know each other for about four hours and she laughed and told me she is moving to toronto. I did get her email today so I remember to write about it and say good position, woman. the position of caring enough to take a few hours a day to see a total stranger.

I was thinking secondly about this suicide. The pain is really great and this is one reason people do it and to make others suffer. I’ll hurt you by killing myself. This is hard to negotiate with. So you must force this person by force. Hence, the word force. You have to decide for them since their brain is not working rationally or too rationally. The options were weighed. It is better to be dead than alive. You see just one other person can easily help another, simple just be there and you can keep the receipts for the coffee for tax purposes. Money is not a big issue for suicidal people or people of mental illness and hence they have mental illness. You must not listen to people’s suggestions. It would be easier if someone else took care of your money then the whole thing of them caring will be troublesome to them. The Nash equilibrium point is one caring moment a day with coffee. The suicidal person has nothing to give and we all know this. We all say life is sacred as long as we get money from the life. You see…thansk CA.

Ok now for the person who attempted suicide. He attempted and he took too much pills. The motive is to die or to say look at me and what I am capable of. So listen to me. Maybe that is not true. I took my overdose to die. My organs were too strong and body rejected the meds somehow. My brain was the messed up part, I feel too much of crap. It is important to keep moving and creating things and ideas. I woke up after three days and tina was in the palliative care room crying like a crying person. I felt bad for her.

I forgot about the alcohol. It is ok to drink when you are with other people. To hide pain alone is not so good. So alcohol is not good for anything. People truly want to say and do crazy things so they blame alcohol. You see my front brain is damaged due to ECT so I really don’t need it to say something stupid or brilliant. I blame the ECT. or sometimes I blame my guy thing for boinking that hot nurse in the storage room. Or the pretty work at the rehab centres.  The typical, all, human is having trouble with life otherwise they would not be working in there trying to feel better helping people perhaps in less formidable position than her. Besides she looked like seven of nine from star trek: voyager. I had no choice. Thanks Vicky for dressing up to be at a rehab centre, we all knew your reason. I was told this by all the drunks. I especially enjoyed the frilly outfit on my last day. I should not tell this story but it feels good for my ego in this state of something. I feel like I just wanna sleep. I am restless and reckless and thrill seeking. The other story before vicky in the rehab was in the detox in regina before they made it look like a jail. I was in there and had my music player so I heard nothing. I had to stay in there for ten days i think it was. The first days are kind of rough. the shakes and sweats and anxiety. Fun things. They watch you carefully and you try to sleep and think about drinking again to make it stop. Then the third day if you make it is ok. Brain is fed with food and orange juice. I was sitting writing crap in a book and the only book I had in those days was a little math book. Torn and little.10 am is usually packed with people needing an AA meeting. We are given chores. Then a little girl shows up. I am told it was her 15th birthday(a Jerry Mcquire quote, “You had me at “she’s 15″” or something creepy). I didn’t see her as she might have been sleeping that night. I didn’t pay much attention until I was told later. At the AA meeting I was in the corner since the breakfast. Then a blonde girl sits next to me as it was probably the last seat. The next couple of days was alright. She was always taking to me about things. I told her about drunkeness. I told her about my life. Then suddenly a french guy confronts me and says things. I was shocked at the jealousy of hte old fat woman saying I was trying to boink her or something. I told worker about this and they said don’t mind them, This girl is actually talking to someone.  I said also to her that keep your distance. That was it. I was kind of stupid to help someone else. Now she is a mommy. You see a mommy at 22 is something. Im guessing 22 cus i didn’t do the math. No mine. I avoided her like the AIDS.

So suicide again. I was at the hospital and sleeping soundly as the drugs I am given at the time was very sleepy. I talked to Anita before heading to bed otherwise they would have to carry me. I was awaken in the night by “code blue”. Anita had attempted to end herself. I have not heard from her since that next day. She left after a few days. She was in the padded room. She really enjoyed talking about the implications of string theory. The maths was not to interesting to her, just like a physicist.

I thought this was good to share with my lone reader. K-theory and Maddie-ness.

She as like A house character and she showed up for visits and text messages for a long time. I do hope she gets her job back.

Also the Polish math prof got into the Dube and we talked about crazy maths all over the whiteboards like a mentally ill guy and a mentally ill prof.

He did tell me I didn’t have a problem with alcohol. it probably helped me more than the ECT. I never talked as much shit about beer than ECT. Sure a little memory loss and laughing. Oh well. That is done for other people wanting me to be sad and lying in bed and having no reason for anything. he did keep me going with the maths by giving me books and he said more books and help with my paper.

Well APTN( the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network) is getting harassment from government as they are reporting from aboriginal side…its right in the name of the station who they are for. In case, You haven’t noticed. I watch a lot of reruns downloaded from the network of pornography.