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Born wired excerpts.pdf
(The Memoirs of an Interesting and Unusual Girl)
We've all heard how men and women are created equal; their journeys, however, are not. Occasionally there comes a life that spans the human condition. A life comedic, tragic, and compelling. A life spent in migration, character forged in pain, innocence dashed on misplaced trust.
Hers is a life which she now views with humor, poignancy and meaning. Those who truly overcome often become the benchmark against which we can measure our own lives.
Especially those of us who have been Born Wired.
To qualify as an 'interesting and unusual' girl I had to do many 'interesting and unusual' things with many 'interesting and unusual' people. Few, however, will rival what happened to me shortly after my release from yet another mental hospital.
I went into a deep depression that persisted for several months. My spirits sank to such depths that I had begun to lose all sense of reality, and I was still being heavily medicated on Thorazine. During this time, I had also begun going to outpatient therapy. Every day, five days a week, I was warehoused and baby sat for eight hours in the company of other outpatients whose mental and emotional states were similar to mine. I don't know what the doctors thought this would accomplish, but I can say with complete certainty that it didn't help my condition. What it ultimately did was lead to a severe worsening of my sanity and overall mental health. Spending so much time with these 'kindred spirits' thoroughly convinced me that there was no hope of my ever recovering.
With that as my perceived future, I began thinking some very self-destructive thoughts. Moreover, I still hadn't lost the weight I had gained, and it was driving me into a maniacal obsession. One morning I decided to sit down and eat 'The Last Doughnut', which I enjoyed immensely.
The reason I enjoyed it so much is because I knew I'd never have to 'wear' it. Why? Because after devouring it I then devoured approximately one hundred-and-fifty Thorazine and Stelazine. My mother called me a short while later and, not being quite under the complete influence of the drugs I was able to pick up the phone. Upon hearing me slurring and screaming about how my stomach was on fire from all the pills I took, she called an ambulance and they rushed me to the hospital. Once they discovered what I had taken it convinced her and everyone else around me that I still wasn't 'all better' yet.
Now on the second leg of my 'Magical Mental Health Tour', I would not only spend the next fifteen months of my life there, I'd also lose the fifty pounds I had gained.
But there was a long-term problem that came with this, and it would be a years before I'd discover that. I had been put on the medication Vivactil. It lifted me right out of my depression, and seemed to have made everything 'all better'. Ten years later, however, I was diagnosed as being bi-polar (manic depressive) and not suffering from simple depression. It was also discovered this had been how I'd been thrown into the mania from which I suffered, along with my numerous trips to all those psyche wards. Twenty years beyond that - through the advances in medical research and technology - they were able to give me the proper medication for my bi-polar condition.
Unfortunately, the Institute also was the place where I learned how to shoot heroin, and got raped twice after being released. The first time was outside my apartment building in suburban Hartford. I came home and discovered a burglar - wearing a mask - prowling the hallway looking for an apartment to enter. Upon seeing me, he was surprised and chased after me when I ran outside. He caught up with me and put a knife to my throat from behind. After that he dragged me into the shadows at the side of the building and forced me to perform oral sex on him. Having feared non-consensual intercourse, this actually surprised me. It wasn't until later that I'd learn most rapists cannot reach climax. Oral sex just happened to be his particular preference. When he had finished, he stood behind me and instructed me to kneel down and begin counting to fifty. So I began counting, convinced that he was going to kill me. By the time I got to thirty, I began wondering what was taking him so long to get it over with. I couldn't resist taking one last look at him to see what he was doing. It was then that I discovered the asshole had run off and left me kneeling there in the alley, all alone like a dope. Huh?
Never did see him again. And with my growing propensity for .44 magnums, it was probably best for us both. No B.S. about that.
After that experience I begged the hospital to take me back. This place specialized in addiction and multiple psychiatric disorders. The anti-depressant they gave me (Vivactil) got rid of my depression and enabled me to stop eating compulsively. I had already lost all the excess weight I had gained and got back to being my old self again. (I know, I know. You're probably saying, "Surely, this is another Jill Burwick Success Moment.") But alas, it wasn't. I say this because my problem had been disguised, but not treated. By going back to my old self I had returned to the alcoholic, drug addicted person I had always been. This time, however, I did it without actually taking any drugs.
Near the end of a three year drug and alcohol run - with me still living at the motel - a group of extremely pretty women took up residence there. In my impaired state I naturally assumed they were.prostitutes, despite them claiming they were in town to sell magazines. Right. Deep inside, I knew better. This being my mindset, I walked up to one of them and asked if I could join them. They were open to it, so off we went.
By now I was twenty years old and very attractive, which I always had been. Still convinced they were hookers in disguise, and that I would soon be turning tricks, I was strangely excited. Who knows where that idea came from? I certainly hadn't been raised to think like that, and it was never something I had aspired to do. But it seemed like a good idea - and a naughty one - so I now became part of a band of traveling wild hookers.
Even when we were standing in the parking lot trying to sell magazines, I'd seductively ask every man who approached, "So, what are you into? Camping? How about fishing? Boating do anything for you?" Though the words I spoke referred to normal male publications, the tone and the manner in which I said them sounded more like I was really asking, "Feel like pulling an all-nighter? How about a weekend in Vegas with an ounce of blow, and some 'ludes? You know, get a little freaky?"
Even when we got picked up by police for soliciting magazines without a permit I was still convinced I was on the precipice of entering the world of big time prostitution. As I said, I was a very interesting and unusual girl. I was also very delusional.
I was smitten by your father. Although it turned out we never had what I hoped the relationship would become, I was serious when I asked him during that first wonderfully ecstatic experience - during which you were conceived - if he would marry me if that happened.
As would happen many times in my life, this was one more promise - a big one - which was denied me.
I am so sorry for us both. I would have loved you so much, my child. I can see you right now, you pretty little thing. Your arms outstretched to hold me and to be held. I want to pick you up and give you a big hug, and to tell you I love you. So I am telling you now.
I love you, and it seems I just wasn't strong enough to demand that he fulfill his promise. I guess it wasn't our time. In any case, I know that God forgives, and for me this is of extreme importance.
I love you Dorothy, and will always hold you in my heart.
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