Mind is Under Construction, Sexy Asian Neurologist and Oxcarbazepine (Trileptal)

May 11, 2012

Sorry for not filling these pages for a while faithful and infidelic readers. My mind and body have been under major construction and most of my creative focus has been drained on the artistic outlets that I make money on and the rest of my energy is kind of lost. I’ve been lost yet searching while waiting for my mental, physical and spiritual portals to show me some light and it’s been found. Perhaps the following will explain a little so be patient or skip to the good parts.

As always- thanks for reading.

Oxcarbazepine (Trileptal)

I recklessly take new medications with out reading the label and the big slip describing all of the side effects. I take the pill then either the pill works, doesn’t work I feel the side effects or I don’t. Then I read the side effects if something feels wrong.

I finally went to see a neurologist after 5 years of being diagnosed with Trigeminal Neuralgia, a facial nerve disorder is how I describe I to most people but it’s much deeper than that or it wouldn’t be nick-named as the “suicide disease”.

 

It took 5 or 6 months of waiting for this appointment because having Medicaid as my insurance I am on a lower priority rank at the office. Medicaid even provides me with rides to and from my house which can be nerve racking and a God send at different times depending who the driver is.

I met with a beautiful Asian Dr named Dr Tracey Wang. I was expecting an old unattractive woman for some reason. I don’t even know why this was an issue-I guess it was more of a passing observation. She did a lot of standard physical tests like reflexes on my legs, knees, arms, legs and even my face. I was in pain when I got there and purposely didn’t take any of my pain meds so she could see my pain if possible. The cold medal of her small reflex tool did cause pain on my face.

When she was finished checking my pain she moved on to tell me what steps I need to take next. She wrote a referral for an MRI and another brain scan of the face that I can’t remember what it’s called, a referral to pain management who may be able to write prescriptions for pain medications because this doctor my new family doctor do not like to prescribe pain medicine. Hopefully I won’t need pain medication with the new anti-seizure medication.

I filled my prescription for the new medication Oxcarbazepine (Trileptal) on my way to stay at my mother’s. I stay there every Friday night in case my uncle needs me to help him with work on Saturdays doing minor office cleaning a few blocks from my mom’s house. I was planning to stay at mom’s until the following Tuesday in case my sick aunt needed watching over if my uncle had to go anywhere like his Doctor appointments because my mom had preplanned a vacation. I watched some television and did a little writing and went t bed at a decent hour because I was called into work for 8 am Saturday morning. I took the Oxcarbazepine (Trileptal) for the first time that night.

I woke up late with little time to get ready and have coffee the next morning and I couldn’t get off the couch I normally sleep on. My face was half numb and half hurting. My arms were numb and semi seizuring. My eyes were blurred and swollen. I made some quick instant coffee and could barely hold the cup. I took all of my morning medications and debated skipping the new one but took one anyway assuming this was all just a side effect that will pass. I sat on the porch and tried to steady myself for a morning smoke and coffee with shaking hands and face. I called one of the other workers to let him know that I was running late. He made a sarcastic remark about me hurrying up that I took serious and sent my anxiety through the roof. I eventually settled a bit and got my ass off to work. My co-workers looked at me like I looked the way I felt. I felt like I had the worst hangover ever. I haven’t had a drink in a while either. I went to work slowly but found myself feeling better once the pain medications kicked in. I made it through work and then a visit to see my uncle and aunt. Great aunt and her “man” of almost 20 years. That’s another story. I eventually made it back to my mom’s and was in and out of it for the next 4 or 5 days.

Every day I’d wake up at different times with various symptoms and deal with it the best I could. I watched a lot of television and barely did any drawing, writing or reading. My mind and body went through changes each day. I did manage to check the side effects each day to make sure most of them were normal ones and I didn’t need to go to the hospital or stop taking the new medication. Since I had to stay at my mom’s anyway I stayed “on call” until Thursday when I had a group therapy thing that night with rides set up through medical insurance . .bla blah.. If you’re still with me folks keep reading. I might actually have a point to these 3 pages of 16 point type.

What I thought was going to be a mini-vacation at my mom’s house for 4 days turned into a 5-day rehabilitation and medication adjustment. The seizures and numbness lessened and now I am just numb in the tongue for some reason. The pain lessened the 2nd day and my dizziness and sleepiness continued but that’s understandable because I take several pills with the same side effect.

This is the first time that I am giving new medications for my Trigeminal Neuralgia and my bipolar a chance for more than a few days in a while. Usually, if I don’t like the side effects I stop. Also, having jobs and many commitments I had to stop taking come meds or I’d lose my job and relationships. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have the freedom and time to give medications the proper time to work through my system and adjust to them and see if they will work. It’s also the first time I feel hope and faith through the temporary side effects to feel better. If it means a few weeks or a few months to find out so be it.

I might end up stop taking some of them and trying it again and that’s ok also because I’ve learned that treating rare neuralgic disorders and mental illness is not an exact science. Sometimes faith and hope is the most important ingredient to the recipe of mental, emotional, physical and spiritual wellness.

Oh yeah -Doctors, lawyers, psychiatrists therapists, group therapy and 12-step meetings are also part of the mix to my personal recovery. If I keep it all balances and don’t let myself get overwhelmed then I might even grow up and out of whatever it is I am now and was before


Dreams of Stains, Refrains and Delorians on Film

May 4, 2012

Yeah. I haven’t had writer’s block per say. I’ve been busy having my 19th nervous breakdown and drawing to pay rent. I love drawing but I miss writing as much as I normally do.

So, here’s a well something I wrote based on a few dreamses.

It was group therapy. It was forced therapy. It was a family reunion of the family that never was but perhaps should be. Grammar school orgy. Grammer school orgy. It was a film making table reading in a locked room. Forced filmmaking. Script reading. It was confusion. Both of my, well 3 of my (2 are brothers) friends who made make write score create direct films -William Hellfire and the Martin Brothers-Andy and Jim Martin were there as counselors or doctors or caretakers or leaders or patients taking charge. They had their latest cast or character actors who belonged here with me along with Kat Dennings with the personality of her character Max in the non-hit TV show 2 Broke Girls, another friend Cherie, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Andy’s friends Rick and Pat and Hellfire’s latest young hot sultry actresses ready to do anything. Anything. Non of the other girls mattered. I liked Kat. I was really into her this time and not the average young skinny wild ready for anything models (although she was young and not fat-she was older than and heavier than most girls I dream about and the ones in the room).

 

The reading was tedious. Repetition and such. Words. Just words. I kept thinking. The padded walls became more apparent. Was it part of the set or part of the prison? The cell. The reading? The words. There was a window in the corner left right over the top wall. I was padded and bars decorated the outside. I think it a was plastic window. No glass for the loons. This loon.

 

We could hear the heavy storm a coming. Rolling round the bend. A hurricane. An avalanche? The doors were bolted shut and we hung out in the lobby of the built in movie theater we found though a secret compartment and sneaked in and ate popcorn and drank coffee and soda. Mr Hellfire always had a stash of liquor with him to share and some took some and some turned it down. This was our scared straight therapy I proposed in my mind. The party was just beginning and I felt like I just begun as well. I never began. I never stopped or started. No one understood why we were there and most of us didn’t care or cared too much. We fluctuated back and forth. An orgy. An evening of days spread across the calendar of my subconscious or maybe I was part of someone else’s dreams.

The storm subsided eventually and I dreamed my way onward onto a floatation vehicle. A car. A Delorian. A delirium. Ruins of the storm maintain the balance somehow and the roads –Who needs roads?- I see foreign flying vehicles. Ed Woodian saucers like whipped by me on the way to Gary’s house. Flight attendants offer my navigational gal Friday pills for the ride and I steer along seamlessly despite the nausea.

 

“Go ahead and vomit” I tell Gary but Gary never gets sick.

 

We arrive in his underground tavern. Cavern to find his equipment ready to go. We park. Hang out forgetting the therapy of filmmaking and ballet dancing. When he’s ready for me to leave the BitchCave Gary confidently hands me a package. I knew what to do as I climb into a new flight device. Airplane maybe?

Flight of the dead. Dead musicians, friends, loves and my own life obliterated into one pile of ashes from the exhaust flames of a flying saucer. I’m still high from the flames and the guilt.


Time Travel is Not My Primary Concern Chief – THE POEM

February 21, 2012

Sickness of my psyche

Rapes my body furiously

Like a grape devouring a sunset

Exhausting my entire vessel

I am vacant and wearied

 

I run in slow motion to

The food truck of love

Careful to avoid every crack along the way

To avoid herniating my dead mother’s discs

 

Hopscotching the bricks of the city with

Carmelita as she flirts and leads me on and over to

Successive numbered city blocks until she has

Vanished permanently from my sight

I move on lost in the darkly lit city

Lost in my contemplations

 

I find my filthy white car and

I try to drive it around as people cheer me on

I leave them behind and fall asleep at the wheel

 

I wake up in my motel room and I try to wake up

And pack a weeks worth of belongings into my

Two suitcases

Panic fills my essence

 

Relief arrives in the form of Carmelita the motel maid

In my room with the manager telling me to take me time

He lifts her skirt to reveal her big pantyhose covered ass

They tell me to help them and I can stay for free

Arousal versus my need to flee

 

The sickness of my psyche


Vanity or Sanity?

February 17, 2012

“I’ll trade your vanity for my sanity.” I said to Marcus in 1995.

We never made the trade.

I’ve had another blah day today. I had to do a “Stress test” at my Cardiologist early this morning. My mom likes to take me there to make sure I am ok etc. I slept at my mom’s last night.

I was instructed not to drink caffeine for 12 hours before and no smoking after midnight last night. Yes, I have a heart condition and I started smoking again. Not even close to half as much as I used to. I don’t drink that much coffee. But that’s not the point. It was rough waking up and staying up then going for a stress test. I was stressed from not having coffee and smoking.

I was there for over 3hours and or was mostly waiting around and 2 photo sessions after putting fluid in me for the machine. The only “test” I took was a 10-15 minute treadmill until my hear rate was up to 150 beats a minute. The Doctor was fun to look at except for her wedding ring. Well, it was a nice wedding ring. You get the idea.

I left there so groggy for some reason. Mom took me food shopping. She took me. I paid. Ha. Then we did lunch and I finally bought a coffee. A “French Toast Latte” actually, with 4 shots of espresso. I drank up and had a smoke finally. Ahh. I drank the whole thing and my ass was still dragging.

I came home with mom. I sleep here some Friday nights so I can help my uncle Saturday mornings. I helped my mom with a few things and cleaned out my broken down car in her driveway. I donated it to Purple Heart and they are picking it up on Monday.

It’s a sad loss. I loved that car but it needs too much work and I can’t afford it right now. I did score a bunch of coins from it. SO I took a walk to the bank to cash them in. TD bank charges 6% on the coin machine if you don’t have an account with them. I’ve and accounts with them for years even when they were Commerce Bank and they never charged. Now I don’t have an account and they charged me over a dollar and I ended up with just under 17 dollars. Oh well, it was still found money.

I took a walk into town to get some smokes and splurge on a Starbucks coffee (half decaf at this point) since I had some extra money. Chatted with the friendly kid at CVS I see every week about cigarettes mostly. My old friend from when I worked at Starbucks was working and we chatted it up a bit. One of the girls I used to see there almost every night a couple years back looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back. I used to think she was cute. She still is. I just don’t always think about these things all of the time. Just at my Doctor today.

“Are you the same guy..?” She asked then paused.

“That used to be her every night? Yes.” I answered.

“You lost a lot of weight. You look great.” She said.

I thanked her and almost told he she looked good too but wasn’t sure if that’s what I’m supposed to say or not anymore. I talked to her while she made my drink.

“You used to drive that big red car right?” She asked.

“Yeah. I’m not driving it now.” I said.

“What are you driving?”

“Nothing.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Fairview.”

“Where’s that?”

“ It’s on the edge of Camden near Collingswood. Where do you live?”

“Bellmawr.”

“Cool. Nice seeing you again.”

“Great to see you. Stop in more.”

I took my drink in a great mood. I gained a little of my weight back in the past month and have been a little self-conscious. I hadn’t shaved in a week and my hair was un-kept today so “looking good” was the last thing on my mind. It felt good to hear it. When I first lost the weight after a month or so recovering from my heart surgery months ago I was so confident. I was able to wear clothes I couldn’t fit into for over 4 years. That faded away fast with other priorities making me forget.

It occurred to me that I didn’t even feel bad about not having a car or even a job because “I looked good” to quote my friend John, even when I was at my worst.

I guess it was a good day. Because other people’s opinion’s of my looks makes me feel better than my accomplishments.

In reality I’d rather have created something like a piece of art, poetry or a novel than look good but I was nice to hear it.

I’ll keep my sanity (the little I have) and you can keep your vanity.


America’s Asshole

January 15, 2012

 

I woke up inside America’s asshole. The curves of the genitals bounce and I feel them. Cry. No cry. I lick the squirrel’s tail with the leopard skin and howl at the Sunlight ripping me apart and sunglasses don’t help except if I let them but I don’t let them. I just sit and cry. No cry. Juggernauts of fur fall from the clear blue ceiling painted for you before you left me for a better Country.

 

Constipated America has me trapped. Anxiety and Seroquelian dreams. I’ll take my rest and panic anywhere I can get it. Pills. No more pills please!! I wait patiently for an answer. A fart. A rumble. Something. You. Sorry, no visitors up here down there. I’m tender and cold. I light a match to America’s colon only to see more darkness. Oh I wish I had a Magic 8 Ball. Medium. Ghost hunter. A smoke. Candy.

 

Drip, drip oh dearest America. I hear what’s going on outside this infernal sphincter of yours and laugh and cry. No cry. I’ll just sit and wait.

 


Nightmares and Dreams Video Experiment

July 9, 2011

Home.

Bed

Dream.

Smile. Dream.

Nightmare.

Fear.

Sexual delight

Frustration

Proactive


I Am . . .

June 29, 2011

I’m fucking riled up and irritated. Anxiety is creeping into my blood stream exploding in my brain and heart. Imaginary convulsions. Public anxiety. Private anxiety. What’s the difference?

 

I feel safe for a while then it happens all over again. One bad apple spoils the fucking tree. Fuck that apple and the tree and the branches and the roots. Fuck you too.

 

Question my capabilities. You threaten my art. You are nothing. What have you done? Who are you?

 

I am Rich Hillen Jr. I am an American artist. I am a dream. I am a nightmare. I am sick. I forget that sometimes. Why does it seem that people bring out the disease? Make it worse.

 

“Snap out of it.” “Force yourself to do it” “ Get over it” “Move on.” “Just do it” “Do this” Do that”

 

Fuck you.

 

I do what I can when I can the best I can and that’s all there is to it. You don’t like it then leave me the fuck alone. Go. Now.

 

I can’t take people’s opinions, advice, recommendations, suggestions, demands, orders or anything you have to say that doesn’t support what I am doing.

 

Look, you don’t know what it’s like to to be me. To be infected with several diseases. Inflicted for life. Like it or not.

 

Even with my problems, even with what you view as me being lazy or rebellious or whatever, I have done more than you can dream of. I’ve been a rock star, an artist, made more money than you, fucked more than you, lived, truly lived more than you ever will.

 

Through my inferiority I see that I am superior to you. I’m not going to let you destroy me.


Digital Art by Rich Hillen Jr

February 18, 2011


“Dumb Bitches Who Eat Diarrhea Out of the Gutter “

December 23, 2010

Racism sucks. It’s stupid and even silly. I’ve had my moments of prejudice or judgment but I can’t hate a group for people based on their color or religion. I make a lot of jokes about races, religions etc. Stereotypes. I even make them to the people who fall into the categories. Years ago I worked with a black friend and we were always slinging racist words at each other. Mostly in front of people for shock value. Then we’d go get high after work and hang out. I joke with my Japanese friend. I dated an Indian girl not too long ago and I even made jokes with her. When I make a joke about race or religion I don’t mean it and I usually do it with people that understand that. I just think it’s funny. I don’t believe in it.

 

In June 2010 I posted a video tributing the beauty of Indian women that I happen to find attractive. I find all races attractive and love women for who they are. I used a classic Indian Pop song from 1965 from a movie called Gumnaam called  Jaan Pehechaan Ho by Mohammed Rafi. Great song by the way. Anyway I loved the song and the images and it was an immediate hit. Of course none of my original music or spoken word goes over this well. I had near 1,800 hits by July then my first comment.

 

It said:

“There are no hot women in india. They are all disgusting, stinky, ugly, dumb bitches who eat diarrhea out of the gutter because they have no money.”

 

I responded:

“This video has been up for almost a month and over 1,800 views and this is the only comment I get. Oh brother.”

 

A few months went by and I somehow missed the following comment from someone else.

 

It said:

“go and take a shower u fucken indian bitch !!! the smell of curry is coming out from my screen..”

 

Then 2 days ago I was happy that I got another comment. Then I read it.

 

It said:

“what else u expected when you uploated pics of south Indian witches”

 

I responded:

“31,149 views since June and counting. You helped the count. Thanks.”

 

It’s up to 31, 916 views as of right now. In 2 days over 800 views. Weird. I have this up since June 2010 and I have that many views and I get 3 comments and they are all racist. Geesh.

 

I’ll probably make more of all nationalities and piss off people by loving everyone. Does it make me a hater if I hate those who hate?

 


The Pains and Pleasuresof Moving On

September 17, 2010

It’s starting to hit me. The feelings and emotions associated with leaving the nest all over again except this time I am sober and a lot older. I’m talking about moving out from my adopted mother’s house. It’s been a great year and a half or so but an opportunity came up and I had to take it at the last minute. One months notice.

I moved in here in March 2009. It was mutual need at the time. I was having trouble with my rent and my adopted dad was sick and needed extra attention. I was a slight mess )total mess to be honest) and my mom needed the extra help with my dad. I moved in. It was goal to get closer to him while I was there and we accomplished this goal just in time for hs death in June 2009. To be honest, it’s taken a long time to recover from that. My mother seemed to recover faster.

My mother and I have had a great relationship and made great house mates. I help around the house but she asks little of me. It was discussed that I was going to have to leave within the next year or so. Then I lost my job. It’s been a blessing and a curse.

I hated the job and I had some money away and collected unemployment. This afforded me the time and energy into finishing and publishing my novel and 2 other books. After 2 months of just writing and working on my books, my mom was tired of me sitting around the house all day and wanted me to look for a job. The one I have my heart set on is an Alcohol and Drug counseling job that requires you to have 2 years sober. Because of my brief relapse in 2008 I am not eligible until October 9th. To be honest I’ve been kind of putting off looking for work because I want that job that I’m not guaranteed to even get.

Its been a rough month and my mom has been on me abut looking for a job. Luckily, my great aunt’s boyfriend put me to work very part time cleaning offices with his business. It was enough to keep my mom happy for a little bit. I had to apply for a couple more to make her happy. I really want to be a writer full time but that will take some more practice and writing and promoting. I also want the counseling job and I guess I’m putting all of my eggs in one basket but that’s what I do sometimes.

So I am set to move into a 2-bedroom house that my friend owns. On October 1st.  I’m moving in with a friend I’ve known for years. Meanwhile my mom is going on a 2 week cruise to Europe this Saturday and won’t be back until the day I move. Today is the last full day of us officially living together. Tomorrow she is leaving. We went out for dinner as sort of a goodbye and a celebration of our new lives the other night. It didn’t hit me until now that this is the last time I’ll see her as a resident of the house. Sad yet happy.

She wants me to move on but she’s worried about me not having a job yet. I’ll survive. I always do. I just need more people to buy my books, get a job and start anew business. I haven’t done that in a while and I usually do well when I do it.

It’s nice to know that I’m leaving on good terms this time instead of her throwing me out because I drank too much when I was younger. It’s a positive experience but I still have to go through the pains, sadness and anxiety that go along with it.


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