Home The Crackwalker's Signature Poem A narrow crack split's life's short trip, claims tortured souls, their spirits' slip. On one side lies true peace and sanity, t'other side creates life's c'lamity. With cautious step she walks the crack, 'tween reason's sane and reason's lack. Grotesque shapes dance large and fierce, her fragile mind their shrieks do pierce. An upward glance shows coloumns high, below the shadows therein sigh. They told her truths she thought were dreams, the horrors old, the pain, the screams. The wretched thoughts abound, delight take flight and fancy throughout the night. The mornings sun chases ghosts to bed, they don't go far, they're in her head. Now heavy heart and shattered mind, naught but hurts and things unkind. On bended knee she reviews the deep, A craves the peace of death's long sleep. Awakened by a stark white force, she finds she's still in life's cruel course. The goddess in her maddly laughs, "I am the Crackwalker. My future's cast." Author: Trish Poce The Crackwalker © 1996 Hi. I'd like to invite you to: Crackwalker.ca 420 Discussions My Life of Mental Illness and How Marijuana Helps Me I go by the name of Crackwalker and I was caught up in my mental illness for over 40 years. Looking back I can say it took hold just around puberty and it increased in severity with the passing years. The first symptom I remember was feelings of abandonment, depression, aloneness and I felt I didn't fit in anywhere. Not at home - not at school. I was an outcast. This made me very sad and I began making my fortresses. You remember the song - "I am a Rock" by Simon and garfunkell? Well, that was my signature song for many, many years. As a lot of teens will do, I began experimenting with drugs. Soon after I found that some of the drugs I had been taking had added benefits. Pot made me feel better emotionally and physically. It had no known risks, it was fairly cheap and it lasted for a few hours. I found that the other drugs no longer interested me. I began using pot on a fairly regular basis as my funds and the supply allowed. I felt good. There are many peer pressures when you are a young lady trying to find your way. My way was lost and I relied on my so called friends to guide me. My upbringing hadn't prepared me for the real world. I was pretty bad at making friends and dating. I usually tried to make people happy so they would like me. I also picked up men that liked to hurt me. About that time I started self-medicating with alcohol. Alcohol filled the empty void in my soul. I was fast becoming a hermit. Abusive relationships had ripped me away from family and friends. My boyfriends were destroying what was left of my self-esteem. Alcohol provided a refuge from the intense pain I was feeling. I was literally drowning in misery. I had no love as a child and now I had no love as a wife. I left pot for beer and whiskey and started down a long, long road into the pits of hell. Eventually, after my first real suicde attempt, I was cast into the mental health system. I was admitted against my will into the local psych hosptial because I had become a danger to myself. My doctors told me I was Bipolar, then they changed it Borderline Personality Disorder. Over the last 15 yrs my diagnosis has changed again and again. I am not too sure what my diagnosis is anymore. Whatever I have is life long. All I can do is try to treat the symptoms, learn how to cope with the bad days try not to fall into dispair over life's little circumstances. During my trip in the "system" I have been bounced around from one doctor to another. I have had multiple stays in the hospital for attempted suicides. I suffer from intense depression, I have socialphobia, anxiety is always present to some degree and unfinished projects really aggitate me. I hate myself and assume everyone thinks I'm stupid. The mental anguish these symptoms cause me are unbearable without medications. Once I was diagnosed, I found that doctors set out to treat my symptoms. Usually with very potent medications - with varying degrees of success. No one treated my brain. I was mixed up I didn't know what I was doing. Just trying to live another day. Trying to live up to my families and societies standards. I couldn't do it. I viewed myself as I thought others did - a big fat loser! Never during my recovery, until the end, did anyone mention I needed psychotherapy. After many years of non-direction I was finally given a psychologist and I have been receiving intensive therapy now for the last 4 years. Every Friday at 1 p.m. it has really helped me see things I didn't know were there. My doctors kept encouraging me to quit drinking and slowly over a 4 year period i managed to do that. But I needed something in it's place. The medications the doctors were giving me had some benefits but they sometimes would take 2-3 months before I could feel any difference. That is a bloody long time to wait when you are feeling suicidal. So in my need for releif I was reintroduced to marijuana. It worked. It raised my spirits so I wasn't so suicidally depressed. It relieved my anxiety so I could start coping at home again. It reduced my aggitation to a managable level and it made me feel good again. I knew I had the secret key to the rest of my recovery. Intensive therapy, no more psych meds and a little pot. As I came off my psych meds I could feel a great transformation. My head was no longer clogged with clouds. I could think again. I didn't realize how fogged up my thinking and my emotions had become. I began to feel again. When things became a little rocky I took a hit off my trusty pipe. Sounds wonderful doesn't it? Well, it has its disadvantages. For one, it's illegal. for two, doctors won't prescribe it unless you are dying. When you first meet with doctors, psychiatrists and therapists you don't mention you smoke up. They frown and say you must quit because you are putting your recovery in jeopardy. At first I was honest with my doctors. I told them I smoked pot and they went along with it, but kept insisting I try to go without. To please them and prove to myself it was helping, I stopped. Within a day or two I started again. Those two days were awful. I sat on the couch curled up not being able to do a thing. Just sit there. So I didn't tell my doctors I was smoking again. They didn't need to know. Not right then.