Yesterday was my friend Tim's birthday. I drove there after getting some food at the local pizza place.
My mom has been in a very bad mood lately, and is making it known to me. I was woken up by her rambling, so I spent the night at my friend's house and found out his mom has a bad tooth infection. She was really emotional. Then the next day she yelled at me really meanly for interrupting her to get my keys from my friend because I needed to leave. I've been emotional all day. And it's not just that it's I feel like people in my hometown are being purposely mean to me and I don't know why. I was in martinsburg and I think I saw a funeral procession. I started taking this medication called Buspar and I think it kicked up my paranoia. I am not sure if it's worth taking or if i'll adjust to it. I'm driving fine and everything. But, it caused that feeling that everything you think is true. I kept hearing a voice that said "you are in danger" and this is happening while I live at home and my mom rambles to herself delusionally all the time. I am not technically disabled. I was offended when someone in town said 'You're on disability right?" because i made the mistake of ever telling anyone i have schizoaffective. People are jerks to me, that's why I get upset. It's not because I'm unstable. I don't even drink much anymore. I have been taking my medication consistently but sometimes I feel like I've had enough of it. All I take is Abilify, and add the buspar. I got a little manic yesterday. It tired me out. But it seems to make me a little more awake. I also am adding vitamins to my regimen. The Buspar is ok but I need to be careful, maybe it's too high of a starting dose.
I was so relieved to find I had enough money this morning to go get gas for my car and ciggarettes.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Copyright Gabrielle B-G 2014
A Split Mind or Splintered Reality
Schizophrenia is an illness that can cause any normal person to lose touch with reality. Schizophrenia might affect as many as 1 in 100 people, and 2.2 million percent of the U.S. population. It is a heart-breaking, soul crushing, brain shattering mental disorder. There is no known cause as of yet for schizophrenia. In my opinion, poverty only adds to the lack of treatment available to a person with this condition, and can exacerbate the symptoms.
There have been several great movies focused on schizophrenia survivors. "A Beautiful Mind" is one such movie. It portrays the adult life of John Nash, a brilliant mathematician who was afflicted with schizophrenia. "The Soloist" is another great movie which is also a true story based on Nathaniel Ayers, a great violinist who lost a potentially bright future to this cruel disease of the mind.
Here is a list I have gathered of more movies:Through a Glass Dakly, Donnie Darko, The Snake Pit (1948), Lilith (1964), The Fisher King (1991), Benny and Joon (1993), Pi (1998), Girl Interrupted, One Flew over the Cukoo’s Nest, (Which isn’t at all like the book it was based off of, but still a good movie), Angel Baby, Revolution #9 (2001), Shutter Island (2010) and many more to come. Here is a list of movies that center around Bipolar disorder. Silver Linings Playbook being one of my all time favorites.
I have schizophrenia and bipolar disorder: schizoaffective, and I can tell you first-hand it is not easy to live with, but it is manageable with financial and motivational support. Some will still believe those afflicted can "pull themselves up by the boot-straps" and carry on, but this is nearly impossible without our much needed support.
My first experiences began when I was about fourteen years of age--I resonated with goths and outcasts, I hated society, and I felt withdrawn and depressed. It manifested in the most of subtle ways to everyone else, and even to me--I began manically dreaming about being other people, and the future. I would fantasize about my fictional worlds and experiences so obsessively that I almost began to believe they were real.
It may have began as my attempted escapism, but I believe there were other factors. I was highly intelligent. I was chosen by a teacher to take the SAT for Johns Hopkins the next year, and then would take road trip to UCSC in California studying civil rights for the summer through their program. The road trip with my mom was wonderful and one of my best memories.
I remember trying to meditate on the cliffs of Mt. Zion in Utah, telling mom I couldn't shut my mind off. She tried to help me focus, but it was pretty much impossible to stop the rambling in my head. Eventually, at boarding school in Ohio, I had my breakdown. I was taken home and it took about one year to figure things out and get back to high school. Eventually, I dropped out of HS and got a GED. This may have been better in the long run, I had time to figure things out. I even took a poetry class at Naropa in Boulder Colorado.
So now that I have finally figured out that I have to take medication at all costs, I am doing much better. I'm still in college and working toward my B.A. in mass communications. Though the road is not easy, I have family and friends to help me along the way.I still wonder about the similarities and differences between some mental illnesses. For instance, as a child I would have had more of the attention hyperactivity and Aspergers traits. As a teen I had more of the bipolar and compulsive traits. Currently I am diagnosed with schizo-affective and adhd. But, the labels don't really matter as much as getting the correct treatment and medications.
I believe that in the future the labels should be based more on current symptoms and lifestyle than anything else. For instance, I could have been a number of definitive labels. because at the onset I had various symptoms due to the illness that didn't fit one category. To me, schizo-affective is still a form of schizophrenia. Even though my doctors think I am not quite suffering from "schizophrenia" it all pretty much depends on the treatment and care you receive.
I do hope that more humanistic and therapy oriented models come out in the near future for people with schizophrenia and bipolar. My therapist has said I would be good as a counselor, because I understand the illness and could help people recover. Of course, therapy alone cannot treat schizophrenia. I now realize this because of how trying to help my mother has failed many times. In the state of West Virginia, it is nearly impossible to get someone forced treatment for a mental illness as an adult. In some ways, I'm glad my parents had the resources to get me into treatment when I was a teenager, because if I had been an adult it wouldn't have been possible. I would be disabled.
I had a very happy childhood, I do not think stress was the reason I became mentally ill. My parents spoiled me in some ways, took me to art museums, libraries, and gave me unconditional love. They are not the reason I became ill, and I would never blame them. My parents have given me the best support they could possibly give. Thankfully, my brother hasn't shown signs of a mental illness and I am hoping that eventually he starts seeing a therapist to cope with things. He is only nineteen, and I wish he never goes through what I went through to get better and live a good life.
When I was little I remember asking my mom about God. She smiled and said, “God is kind of like Santa Clause.” I envisioned myself standing next to a big jolly man staring into a snow-globe that overlooked the world below. I told God that my parents looked so happy. He told me I could come down from the clouds for a while to learn about life, and that I had to learn about the dark and the light in everything. God said that I would have a happy life for a very long time, but it would not always be this way. He also told me that every single snowflake is unique.
As a child I would tie my shoelaces and think about God, and I would walk down the stairs and contemplate the universe. I walked around the neighborhood acting like a tomboy, sometimes feeling very alone in my little world. After awhile what seemed like just three blocks became five blocks and became fifteen million journeys in one instant. I would dream of visiting other places and the wind and trees would call to me. I never heard voices or angry beings, but God talked to me in the trees and the wind and the flowers. It was my way to embrace the unknown, the things I misunderstood.
Come to my Universe, and let the colors and shapes move you as if you’re in a trance; distant voices will guide you into their own dimensions with different ways of seeing. Be wary of the demonic delusions that can give you anything you want, but also everything you fear. Use your imagination, but don't let it kill you with questions and unsolved riddles. Let it free you. Let it make you believe you can fly, because maybe someday you will.
This is the world God left behind—to us. It is his strange archaic painting, it breathes life to us, it leaves us crying and hungry for more at the same time. Oh, and then there you are—embracing everything in your innocence as the statues of people continue to weave around you...growing up with twisted Biblical stories of snakes and spiderwebs, switching bodies for scary adult versions of themselves. They wait in line for the next sacrificial big hit.
And still, no one knows the real you; no one may ever know that strange girl in the corner, the shy one who didn't speak up loud enough for anyone to hear. But now that everyone tells you to take these pills because insanity is not an option, a smug depression settles over your twisted little happy world; You'll repeat their mantra to yourself as the skies turn grayer and your skin itches with anxiety and rage. What is it that you feel anymore?
With your head down, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze, you walk on. Not that they were looking anyways. You continue with a sort of awkward strife. The sun burns for you in the midst of this entire struggle; being a disciple of insanity, you twist concepts to your own fancy. You can make it how you please, this is your cursed disease.
I’m trapped on this planet, earth.. A little girl who wonders, “Why do people die? What will there be leftover after everything is written? What will be left of you when you leave here?” Most people paid no mind as they continued on to nowhere."She isn't there," they think to themselves. So you invent your new world all the better, because you know the secret to life.
Once, before the coffee and the cigarettes, before the magic of adventure and the pain of sorrow, there was a place where we were all the same. We believed in something, but then we lost our way home. Everyone had to be somewhere beneath the surface. Everyone had to bare their knives and shred at our last hopes of coexistence, and then came God's final curse of Schizophrenia. It was about how we refused to love. We could not be defenseless; so that we would learn how badly we needed to know this was no longer our Universe. Woe is the disciple of insanity, the sacrificially broken and minds stolen.
This is an attempt at creating a story of the metamorphosis. This is how the crazy little girl recreated herself and defied all odds. The story begins in the present, as the writer begins to paint a vivid fairy tale of her life. She sits here upon her turquoise couch in the living-room. She is listening, watching as the dog scratches at her flees and then plops down onto the huge doggie bed, and she is listening. Her mind gives in to the memories. I wish I could somehow scribble down these colors, make a picture book of my whole story and then never erase it, never let it dissolve on the tongue of your disciples. I wish I could just hold the pencil in my hand and scribble a whole universe onto these walls. For though they feel along the passages in the ever present ‘now’, I am still thinking about a place long before.
Let me bring you into a time that is all too familiar to me. It was all nothing but a red sort of darkness. I remember him smiling at me, overcome with such a joy at seeing his first child born. I cried without knowing whether they were tears of sorrow or joy, which made me cry all the more. I remember it so clearly, being a little ball curled in my father's arms and being carried through the rain up the stairs of a building.
I remember smells and colors. Then I remember the faces, and comments. "She has such gorgeous blue eyes!” I was nearly six months old when I began wording sentences only four year olds could conjure. I talked a lot, too much. I remember sitting at the table and pretending to be an adult because it made me feel responsible and beyond what I was to them. When I was so home, so far away from the rest of the world, I made my own world to kill time. But I truly wanted to stay young forever.
When my mom had been ready to give birth to me, my dad had to rush her to the hospital. It was very icy and snowy that year. He had to break the door open just to get in the driver's side. All the way to the hospital he had to hold onto the door to keep it from flying open. I was born on January the thirteenth in nineteen eighty-nine.
We used to go lots of places after my family decided to move to Pittsburgh; for me there was always something to do. I remember my dad would take me on walks through the park. When I was four years old I used to sit on the stairway of the castle shaped apartment and admire the stained glass window with a slight crack in it. I felt a pity for the crack in the window, and yet it let the light stream into the stairwell like in a fantasy world.
We had neighbors who yelled a lot. I didn't like them using the word "shut up" which wasn't allowed in the house. "shut up" was a bad word according to my parents. I was four years old then, and in April my little brother was born. I remember the day clearly. I was at the apartment with my aunt as she was babysitting me. We got a call from my dad who told us to come there fast. I have an image of when we first reached the birthing place where mom was. My dad opened up the door and had a look of both surprise and urgency. He told us to hurry up and come in. Inside, everyone was beaming, and I named a cabbage patch kid after my brother.
Life was grand for a long time. In preschool I had a great time making walls out of fake bricks before everyone knocked them over, but I never liked kindergarten that much. My teacher had blond hair that stuck out on either side. She was always taking off points and putting me in "time out" for being late or defending friends. There's not much I have to say about Kindergarten. In the first grade I took part in the school plays which were a great distraction. I had a lot of lead roles. For some reason, this pitted me against everyone else.
When I had started to become friends with the "Weird theater kids" everyone else just figured I was weird too. I went to a Catholic school and had a teacher who was a nun. She was stricter with me because I became "slow" at math...but it wasn't just that, it was the stress at home from my parents constantly fighting and the pain it caused me to see them hurting each other.
The fondest memories come later on, when I was seven years old. By then I was an ambitious girl who wanted to be a singer and a dancer. I was always looking for an adventure as well. I often times acted like a tom-boy: watching power rangers and playing with toy cars. I also loved going on hikes in the woods and climbing hills.
I made up names for places, and in the section of Pittsburgh we lived in had buildings that were over two-hundred years old. There was an even more realistic castle there, with a terrace; I would go up onto the roof and over-look the world from above. I was always off in my own separate world and i liked to write stories. I was the mother of two dollies, Samantha and Kelly. Kelly was a Christmas present. She was one of those new born dolls that could eat and wore a diaper. I took to her as if she were the real thing. I practically believed she was alive.
Sometimes I was so slow going down the stairs that all the other kids would rush by me calling me names. I remember when my dad first walked me to my school in the beginning of first grade. I would run down the long steep hill which led to our house until I got to the stop sign, swung around it three times to gain balance, and then took a left on 13th street toward the catholic elementary school.
Nearing the end of second grade was when things started to fall apart. My mom was sleeping hours on end. I would come into her room wanting to cheer her up and to do something like we once did. We used to do so many things; she was the one who nourished my imagination so much. We had big art projects, anything I could think of we created. My dad would always take me to museums and libraries. He often brought me presents when he got home from work at U.S. Steel as a computer programmer. I thought constantly. I was somewhat mature for being in the second grade, considering that I had thought I would be so mature just to realize I was still so young. I tried to explain my thoughts to my friends to no avail.
I still walked to school in the second grade. It wasn't a very long walk but I loved walking. I wasn't going to go to the third grade at the Catholic School, because at the time my parents weren't getting along too well and my dad threatened divorce. They fought a lot about bills, spending money, and I always tried to stop them by putting myself in the middle of it Then they would get mad at me. This turned into a never-ending cycle for me, they got mad. I tried to get them to stop fighting, and then they would say they were only "having a discussion" and not an argument. Well it was a very loud and angry "discussion".
Our house was made of stone and built in the days of pioneers. I always went over to an adult neighbor’s house to play darts when I was bored. I beat her at darts and she said I had a really good eye. I think my talent scared her, as she was the one who taught me. I don't know what caused my mom's depression. It might have been influenced by a number of factors, she had gained weight after the pregnancy and her feet always hurt from a muscle condition that runs on her side of the family. My parents were fighting all the time and her feet really hurt. But mom just wasn't the same. She wouldn't wake up even after I shook her repeatedly. I talked to God and I talked to trees.
I also had imaginary friends which I had named. I had a friend in the neighborhood and our parents didn't get along. His mother thought I was a bad influence on him and told my mother that she didn't want us playing together anymore after I had convinced him to run away with me when our parents came to get us. When he described some morbid things about her and she overheard, she thought I had somehow told him to say those things. Mom saw a doctor who prescribed her Phentermine which would help her weight alongside of Prozac for depression. I remember seeing the bottle of pills and thinking of it as wrong, that she shouldn't take them.
I saw them as the evil things that were ruining her life. Things started getting scary. Mom was very emotional and not making any sense. She would tell me stories about things that had happened to her in her childhood. She was venting all of these suppressed memories that I thought were real. She didn't know that they weren't. Jim, who she was supposed to marry, was banished from the family by her parents and she was meant to find Jim. He was her true love.
I also have a memory of a story, but she confused me about it because she often changed her stories in an instant. One day her father had made her a cherry pie to bring to school and she had forgotten to take it with her. In one instance I remember she said he got mad at her about it and beat her with a belt. And at another instance he had come all the way to school just to bring her the cherry pie. She had a special box were she had all her special items. She told me that when she was little she had set out a whole selection of pictures down and then suddenly the pictures started flying around the room. "What did your mom say?" I asked
"Well she screamed...they didn't believe me...they didn't believe it was magic." Magic was everywhere, it was my childhood, and now it had become something else to me. Something evil, twisted, it was as if I had become lost as I would stare out the window, wishing to escape this torment. What was going on? Was it the my fault? Had I upset her? Did she love me anymore? My parents were fighting about everything and dad didn't know she was sick...he didn't know it was because of all the pills that she wasn't making any sense. I prayed for them not to get a divorce. I was sitting in the living room as she stood in the doorway and suddenly announced "I'm going out."
"Where are you going?" I asked innocently.
"I'm going to fight bad guys." She said and I knew I had to be strong for her, so that the bad guys wouldn't get her.
The thing is that I remember dad had been saying that she was doing just that, going to fight bad guys. She ended up at a bus station and then was taken to some hospital and stayed there for what seemed like forever.
We moved into my grandma's house on my dad's side. I always asked about her, "When is mom coming back? Where is she?" Dad said that she was at a hospital because she wasn’t well. I didn’t know what was wrong with her. So I would ask and ask. He said she was away and that she was sick and needed to get better.
"Your mom is sick." He would tell me. “But she’ll be coming home. I just don’t know when.”
"But when will she come home?" I would ask. "When she’s ready," Dad would say reassuringly. Finally, in a few weeks we got to visit mom where she was in the hospital. I never knew why she was there until I had my own crisis at seventeen.
She used to sing to us before bed.
My brother was her teddy-bear and I was her sunshine. She had written a letter to me and handed it to me when I visited along with an angel penny. She told me on the letter how much she loved me. At the end of the letter she quoted the song, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine" she was bright and happy and there were wheelchairs. She was sitting in a yellow seat. She was beaming to see us. Then finally, we all went home.
“Don’t let them take my sunshine away.”
I don't know what happened when she was there, all I know is that she doesn’t talk about it anymore. When years later my dad told me that she had tried to commit suicide, I was in shock. She had told me something else, and he hadn’t told me the reason she had been hospitalized. He was trying to protect me. I had thought she had just lost it because of the Prozac and Diet Pills. The doctor had over prescribed her on Prozac and that's what pushed her over the edge. My mom has said that as well, and then my dad said she was overdosing on her own. Afterwards, after she had been taken to the hospital, my parents hardly saw each other. My mom got her own apartment in Pittsburgh and my dad moved back to stay at his mom's house. Mom and I would spend every Monday watching a certain TV-show and I made a good friend, Barbara, who lived below in the apartment. Her parents were divorced too, she told me, and she didn't like having to go back and forth. I had to go back and forth between parents for a while.
I went to third grade at my Grandma’s and I got pushed around sometimes but mostly I was having trouble in school, one teacher dumped my desk because it was messy, and made me write things during recess. The classes seemed to be too hard for me. I had no interest in cells or punctuation and grammar. I had more fun staying at my cousin's house. We became very close at that age and still are close friends now. We spent a lot of time exploring forests, parks, making up stories. I was still imaginative but also had gained some weight.
I began eating more and people called me fat. That Christmas of ‘97 we celebrated at mom's house. We had a small Christmas tree but it was a really special Christmas because that was when my mom and dad decided to get back together. Broken Smiles
My mom had a broken smile. She wore it for everyone who doubted this infallible love she had for life, for the world, for her kids. I loved her broken smile, because it reminded me that I didn't need to be beautiful or perfect, that I was loved for being me. But my mother no longer wears her imperfections, now she believes they are true. She looks down from the splintered borderlines, and sees the world for how it really is supposed to be. Meaningless. Specks on the window. Bugs in the toaster. And my dad, well, he's busy fixing his broken computers. Emptying out his pockets for a miracle panacea to save me from the bottomless pit of my failures. Pill by pill, word after word, after awhile it makes sense to be insane. In a world run through machines where everyone is a number.
I depicted them to myself, as any child could. A hapless mirage, figures of my own invention. Maybe memories I'd rather not mention. The voices seared within my skull, shattered sirens and minds forever broken by the agony of irony. I had broken down all to often to not vanish within my oblique obscurity. I watched him grope defiantly at the rope, as it swung, balancing the weight of his body with pressure unbeknownst his vast strength. What led this deranged man to destroy that thing, that thing that made him tic?
It would fail him like everyone and everything else. Not before long, the irony of truth would stir from the mercurial depths of his shattered mind. Somehow, it seemed wrong to let him die. But for some reason it wasn't so bad, it was a world full of drilled holes. He'd lobotomized the human race of skum, broken brains and broken thumbs, believing in the voice of freedom. Being crazy. Maybe we're just too God damn lazy to fit in. He hated intensity, at least anyone else. He nailed his wife near the shelf. He immortalized himself by substituting youth for an assault on the truth.
The noise, it was bittersweet. Victory, for the pain was beaten at last. It took him over, and there he stirred infinitely suspended within the past. A beauty shown that moment of peace, overtaken by explosions within those catacombs of his own learned ignorance. The first thing he heard was the sound. He was a doctor of the mind, not fabrications of the world around him. He'd created his own hellish world to come down to. Swinging back and forth, paralyzed with fear and sweating to the core, he struggled against the ripples before they took his body over. Pretty soon, he conveniently slipped behind the fabric of his life, frayed edges disconnected from a life lived in sin. Back to the earth and worms and snails and the millions of glorious panaceas. Medicines, we'd hoped would bring him back someday he hoped. Oh but it was a desperate hope, and surely they would see.
Meanwhile, on the other-side of the curtain the scent of disdain fills the doctorium. So golden and bright was the evanescent life. Companies cheer. Hoorah hoorah! Pharamacopia! The elephant roars and tramples destitution and poverty with its might. Oh glory, hallelujah. A church bell in the distance chimes, once twice thrice and the city awakens to the uproar of mass hysteria. We see Dr. hide behind his spectacles while he hands out the sacrament to these unholy sick disciples.
Blood is everywhere it is seeping from the walls, the blood of war and terrorism. He stares on and on, watching crimson drops pour from the sun. What do we do when everything is red. We're dead like my dreams inside our heads. Just keep staring wide eyed into the impoverished shores of paradise. They parade his corpse around the room longing for air and swearing under their breath, and now it means nothing. Mic still in hand. Shocks. Roars of disbelief. You schizophrenic they scream! You fucking piece of shit! He serenades her self esteem, some with a cure for everything. His curse of course was being a crook with a long shelf-life. They brought him a sterilized needle. Goodbye Doctor. You won't be needed here much longer, for Jesus has come to lift the veil of curiosity from us at last. Peace comes eventually.
She stuttered, tangled in poetic slurs from the Thorazine drenched by the sweet solitude of rain without a reason. He lashed his tale, he lashed and lashed and lashed that monstrous tale. That beast! No one heard him. And the birds sat undisturbed, carelessly mocked his ranting. Nursed to life were the shadows of the past, scarred and haplessly, they wandered from block to block staring with wide eyes at the men and women who provoked cheer and awe upon the masses of delusion. We'll cure you of your madness! We'll erase this cancerous mind pollution. Drugs are the solution!
The body is more important after all. Grasping at the shadows, Dr. learns to split the atom, and turns waves at the audience slapping themselves with giddiness, choking on nothing but their own smoke. I know! Because once the comet hits, they'll be the first to go.
They begin their usual rotation. The Doctor is watching them from a peephole in the bathroom. Look at that little skeleton girl. The body thief's job well done. Her mind is a blotter of incessant rambling. I'm free, she says. I have a brain, but I can't comprehend what it means. I think it's pointless. I was painted by some man and everyone at church wants me to save him. I don't care. Then they make her a list of lullabies while patting her head.
We are Kings without crowns, miners of the light. We grope for and steal anything that shines. You aren't special. You aren't a writer. You aren't unique. No, little girl, you're a freak. You're a lunatic. A schizophrenic. An un-solve-able puzzle. We can't unwind you to will just bind you to this charade. We can't repair what we've done to you. All we can do is take you to the machine, hook you up, and pretend we're fixing you again.
There is no bending this war of souls, of girls and men. This is only what we do. We are here to take them all. Their voices scream on like an perfect lullaby. They serenade me with visions and paranoia. And inside I wonder, what are they so afraid of. Is it because I can no longer see him swinging there, dead to the world he left within my mind? Should I just move on and leave them all to die in this matrix? Such perfect crooked lines. Someday we'll all be fine. But for now.....let's just imagine you were on the other-side; where everything is mine.
Flowers in the Rain
There's a part of me not wanting to write this story for the fear that Ash will come out again due to some unGodly invocation. Perhaps he will break that ethereal cage and escape again. I still won't give him the knife. This story will never be told unless I tell it myself, even if it doesn't sound true. And even when I don't know where this story begins for real, if it ends with silence I'll never get it written. So here it is: The story of Ash and Crimson.
Who am I? I'm a woman in her mid twenties who likes to paint and practice violin. I live in a place today dubbed as "the drop out house" in the countryside. I have had a semi quiet life here for the past twelve years. My life before moving to the country would be an entirely different tale. You see, I was a very young girl with a very big mind. Partly why now I'm living an arm's length from my father, and partly why I have sleep deprivation induced Schizophrenia. Acid trips, toking in the college dorms...I was a good girl before they made me believe in schizophrenia. But, I digress.
Recently, I met a set of friends through an alternative freak website, a website that many would be repulsed by immediately. It's where I met my ex boyfriend. I had quit the website for our four month relationship, but then I rejoined it after I broke up with him. Then I met my roommate Derek and his girlfriend. After Derek had lived with me for a week, things were taking an intriguing turn. Our friendship was how I met the ex vampire blood mage who called himself Fenris, and an older man involved in the fetish community nicknamed Teddy, and a variety of intriguing funny people who all got their laughs at how niave I seemed.
There are a lot of interesting people when you actually open your mind up to accepting them. Although Fenris would tell you he is likely the most evil person you will ever meet, he has interesting stories to tell and is wise. He tells me that he's trying every day to be a better person. Still, with his sinister smile hidden behind a shroud of mystery, I await the possibility of tragedy and the truth that may beckon me further into the realm of unknowns.
The story should have began last weekend, after Derek's girlfriend tried to wake up his Alter personality. I won't explain how she accomplished this but after she left to go back to her house, I saw a different side of my new roommate. I saw Ash, who was created to feed off the pain caused. Ash had enjoyed the pain so much that he began to love tormenting humans simply to exist. He told me that when Ash is asleep, Derek is awake. When Derek is asleep, Ash is roaming his mind. Derek never sleeps.
Ash is never coming out again, because after Derek's girlfriend woke him up...everything fell apart.. It's not every day that you let complete stranger live with you in your home. Actually, a ghost told me not to let any strange men into my apartment or something evil would happen. Well, I guess I've been waiting just to figure out which strange man that ghost was talking about. What is this, "Something else"..that something evil that is going to happen the Ghost was talking about?
Well there was Andrew who possibly robbed the bank and drove with me down the country roads talking about his Shitzu, telling me to stare at the power lines before we parked and broke into a house randomly at One AM with his fake Elvis Presley ID card.
Andrew, who I thought i truly loved, and who was albeit strange but not as seemingly dangerous as the man with the split personality. And now that Andrew is laying in a coma from a car accident, I guess that leaves Derek as the strange man I let into my apartment. Derek, who I've been sleeping beside for the past two weeks.
Ash, the alter that was created to deal with the pain Derek endured growing up being shuffled through various foster homes. I invited him move in with me because he had nowhere else to go and because I guess, I thought I'd give the whole thing a chance. So with the agreement that he would pay rent once he got a job, we have lived together for about three weeks.
All that has changed because of a very weird incident Sunday night
After his girlfriend, Jessica, was staying for the weekend things got a bit dramatic. On a whim when they were alone, Jessica decided to ask for Ash, and to try and force out Derek's violent alter personality right before she left the house. She did this by getting him drunk and slapping him in the face repeatedly according to him...and then Derek pulled a knife on her.
Of course I had no idea because I was inside falling asleep. I was in my bed with the lights on when not Derek walked in, but Ash. He was talking then stopped, stumbled a bit and shuffled to his room. Then I heard a strange sound, like a sigh and a "uh oh, um oh no" and then his alter walked out from the room. It was his Ash, and this was very strange. I felt like I had been invited to watch an entire continent explode. I remember getting the shivers before hand, and not knowing why until I saw the change and finally understand what DID was really like.
Derek had been talking prior about starting his medication again because he hadn't seen his alter in 8 years and was worried but also tempted to bring him out. Well, not according to his alter. Because when Derek blacks out, he's asleep and his crazy split persona takes over. That's why Derek is afraid to sleep.
Ash is a fourteen year old with no morals and who loves to inflict pain on his other half. He also enjoys seeing the suffering of others, well anything to hurt Derek. Ash said that eventually he would kill Derek, "The weak Bastard" he said, and explained more than I wanted to know...that he was actually feeding off of the third altar personality, Crimson, who was meant to soak up all the suffering.
"You see Derek's mind is split in half." Ash told me.
With curiosity getting the better of me, I got up the courage to have a conversation with his altar for awhile sitting outside at 2 am on the porch. Ash is not as evil as he seems, and yet doesn't seem to have a conscience...still he seemed to care.
Despite he says that he simply hates people, and loves to inflict pain on others. Apparently the only reason he didn't hurt me was because he sees me as an asset. He told me about Angel, Jessica's alter, and how he and Derek had both laughed at the thought that Angel was a daughter of Gaia. But Ash seemed intrigued about something, though he didn't go further into it because he was too wrapped up in his sadistic conversation.
I remember Ash coughing when he took a drag of his "first" cigarette. He told me things Derek never would dare say, then after he let the cat escape and then caught it out of respect, he went to take a shower at 3 am, and in ten minutes the real person walked out with no memory of the entire night's conversation and events. "What's up?" Derek asked me.
"Do you remember what happened?" I asked him.
"I don't remember anything since I got up to walk Jessica to her car," He said.
Together we ad helped the retired vampire move. Fenris ex communicated with his family because of their involvement with blood magic. This guy was really cool, and also told me he was the most evil person I would ever meet. Fenris had a spine problem as well as both a male and female chromosome from some weird issue at birth. He walked with a cane and looked kind of like a wizard. While the group of us sat and chatted, we found out that we were all fucked up in various ways. Our pain and strength had brought us together. This was the first time I heard Derek mention his DID, saying that he had good control over it.
It didn't really worry me until I watched Ash as he held a candle flame up to his hand as he told me he made Derek cut himself because of it hurting him, and how he "oh so loved the pain". Since Derek's alter personality was so bad, he could do anything and not give a rat's ass about it. At around 3:00 in the morning, Ash told me that Derek would want a shower when he "woke up" and so Ash walked into the bathroom and I heard the water rush over him as the cellphone blared Breaking Benjamin. As he took a shower, I walked to the gas station and got some cigarettes.
When I came back Derek was sitting on the couch playing video games indifferently, almost acting as if nothing had happened and staring blankly ahead. But he told me he didn't remember anything since he got gotten out of bed to walk Jessica out the door. He just wanted to give me some space. I gave him a doughnut and yet he hardly had explained anything. I didn't quite understand the time loss that he was experiencing, and felt very uneasy about it.
As I walked into town the next evening, the voices in my head told me I should go straight to the cops, and then a few people on a help forum responded that he was an unpredictable person who I shouldn't have living with me. When my dad found out about my roommate and his DID and also about my new cat, he said that I had to quit everything I had been doing because if it involved me it involved him. I hadn't meant to blurt it out to my dad but I had been seriously freaked out by the whole thing.
But dad over-reacted, saying he didn't want anything to do with those creepy things or creepy people and that it was involving him, and he was sick of everyone bringing their problems into his life. "You let a guy move in with you with a violent alter ego? COME ON! You're smarter than this. Send him a fruit basket but don't let him fucking live with you." as if he understood everything completely.
My parents said that Derek had to move out immediately even though he had no place to go and to tell him right then and there that he had 24 hours notice to leave. So Derek said last night when I texted him the bad news. He told me he had nobody because his girlfriend Jessica had just broken up with him, and all his friends seem to hate him now and he was better off dead.
Also, his adopted parents can't take him in, his dad just had a heart attack and his mom has cancer. The worst part is that I actually wished he would stay, that I felt more free and happy and sane than in a long time living alone in this restricted world of candid normalcy. Maybe everyone is secretly shattered, and only those who can express it get to see it restored
I wish life could be easy sometimes, for everyone. I want everyone's heart to be open to life and wonder that beautiful people didn't have to be so broken. He's still my friend and we're still living together...two broken jigsaw pieces somehow fitting into order in this sad empty universe that is breaking further apart.
"Drink!” James insisted, and pushed the shot glass forward to Gretchen’s astonishment. Gretchen, who had been waiting to be captured and resurrected. James, who would take her and to turn her pride into a wild beast. She would not refuse her damnation, of course, she knew the risks. James pushed the shot glass again, tempting her. Gretchne took another swig, and this carried on for hours until the sun went down. Until, it had become weeks that they were getting drunk and high, having fun like idiots, stumbling about—to the lowest peak of existence— where they could see a view of the whole world before the downward spiral to oblivion.
It was the way, they both feared, they had to do erase the pain. To escape, to get to the bottom of their sorrow. And so on his and her journey together they found their destination simplified by the being and the breathing—not the getting to nowhere. And when they both realized how time had reversed, it seemed stupid to worry about falling--for no one would ever catch them. In James’ version of the story, heaven was hotter than hell. For heaven was that place everyone talked about. The place where the roots gave way to atoms and energy and embers of understanding.
They were becoming good friends or so it seemed. She introduced James to her Kink friends, her ex roommate with a split personality, and the BDSM scene. She was delighted as she watched him getting flogged, at a kink party she organized. James was a party monster and had different shades, like a chameleon and the more that Gretchen saw every side appear, the more it hurt to know she was secretly in love with his darker side, and it hurt her to see his darkness—and she loved it…because she didn’t know how to be good. She could not change anyone—at least her father always said that. Nevertheless, why should she? She couldn’t help it that people never behaved in her presence. She craved the darkness as much as its benevolence.
Together they trashed Spin like Club Kids and turned the whole place upside down. That was where they met Timothy, a guy who turned out to be a friend to everyone and who probably was a part of the Club Kid scene back when it was real. There was no excuse for their behavior, and each role was performed so excellently. But when James almost got evicted for having so many parties at his house, her friends started coming to Gretchen’s little apartment… through the parties she hosted, came the introduction of James’ best friends.
Harriet started dating Gretchen’s ex roommate three days later, and then came Jared, who shook her world up. Soon she became a different person. A happier one —Gretchen began building a relationship of her own with a porn addict she met online, and we can not forget that particular night when they all got high on spice. But then he squealed like a whore on crack as James pounded his ass for more than the first time. Did she really want to settle for bottom? Soon she forgot all about the escapade with the hit-man who died a drunk, that car accident, and let go of the biggest dick and settled for the worst drugs, gossips, and bad parties.
Was it all becoming something really dangerous? Disturbing? Now her boyfriend started getting fucked by her hedonistic gay “fake” best friend. Or was James even thinking of how she felt about the whole thing? She didn’t even know. Crying all night because Ally and Harriet were going to destroy them all, and break up all his friendships and ruin his life…she wondered…as the gay dude was crying on her shoulder, drunk and dissociating and rambling. Who else but Gretchen loved being the scapegoat? And yet, she was never an actress. Gretchen thought it was funny that everyone she now associated with was either disturbed junkie or an idiot running with a knife who randomly showed up and James found himself madly in love with his seven inch cock, James wasn’t shocked to find that Digital Jesus as he called himself…was dropped off one night and jumped out running n the direction of his house waving that sucker.
Because they all knew that James was fucking Digital Jesus because he enjoyed his body and the control it gave him, and didn’t mind the insanity but was actually rather turned on by it. It didn’t take long for Emily to move on from thinking James was borderline to realizing he just loved danger and darkness. Eventually she fucked him too, and sat with him for hours talking and learned that he had head trauma and PTSD from a car accident. It all nearly came crashing down on Saturday, after Jackson invited her to the local Halloween Masquerade but ditched the thought at the last minute.
She walked around in red fishnets in town as the beast inside stirred and pulled her down to the center of the earth, and as a last attempted effort to kill the destructive beast inside, she went to her old hangout restaurant that was having a fundraiser. But she was kicked out after 2 cigarettes and ten minutes for not having five dollars. She had been part of planning the Amnesty Event, but failed to learn that there was a cover. Who woulda thought she would be kicked out for a charity event on violence against women when she looked like she’d get raped any second now?
Waking up without a headache, her mind was clearer than before. She had OD’d on whatever she felt like the night prior to finding Rock with a dent in Jimmy’s car. Rock apparently had called his ex-girlfriend because…well, his ex was also raped that night. He came to rescue her and drive her to the hospital, but everyone thought Rock was a liar and told Gretchen to leave it at that, because they didn’t trust him…and she didn’t want to say what she saw in his eyes, because it scared her. She had always been psychic, but learned to be passive rather than active to be guarded from the worst potential outcomes.
The next morning, blood was on someone’s hands, well knew it wasn’t hers. James cradles his Cheshire cat in the little cottage by the hill and wonders if he should take another pill. It was obvious the dent was from him smashing into the poll on the way out from the apartment. Were they trying to make right or fooling them all? The morning was rising, slowly, as the night tapered away. The moon was dead beat and gone. And don’t forget the other half Jared, who came over to Emily’s house and drank with the dying starlight, because his mother left him for a man with no money and no future, because Jared's mom refused to love her son over the abuse.
The lonesome wolves began to howl, it was breakfast time—and the beast was hungry. How would justice be served? Through sacrifice or safety? And who would sacrifice safety, sanity, or satiety for the truth…for justice? How would it be done, slow or fast?
Whimper. One blow? Two blows? And who’d of thought the one to commit this atrocity without a reason to commit the crime?
James tried to hold himself together, because his sun was shining brighter this morning than ever before. The answer was forgiveness. If only there was a way back from nowhere. The black bleak world fleeting through their arms. His chest heaved, his throat itched and burned. He rose above it. As did she. Polar opposites united by friendship, not madness. While the world threatened to tear itself apart, there is only one way through the door to the core of the Universe. It is your heart. And in the end, what appeared to be true was what threatened to tear them all apart.…
I remember when Jared set off my car alarm, and sent Lincoln to console my sobs to distract me from the fact that she had grabbed my computer and put it in the other car while they were parked outside. “I heard he’s handing them out like candy,” Jared said while laughing. I pictured them huddled around the dude in a circle while he tossed the pills in the air to them and they went for them like pigeons to crumbs. That’s when I finally stood up for myself. “No, I’m not driving you to ---- to go get these stupid Methadone pills!” I screamed. Jared responded by calling me a self-centered bitch and saying that I thought the world revolved around me. I began to sob and then tell him to pull over at Chris’s house who had become my friend.
Digital Jesus and his sister came out of the house, they tried to console me, while Jared took the initiative to seek revenge. He grabbed the new 1,800 dollar mac out of my book-bag, but the doors had been locked, so when Lincoln opened the door from inside through the window, it set off the car alarm and I ran back out. But just then Lincoln walked up to me with her arms outstretched and gave me a huge. this distracted me momentarily, before she walked back to the car and they drove away. I looked in the backpack right after they left and I knew they had taken my laptop.
It took a lot of effort to convince them to give it back. Finally, after me and my friend tim went to the police and reported it, Lincoln’s sister called and said we could come pick it up. Me and tim drove to the house, un-aided by the officers who refused to help. Lincoln’s young autistic brother walked up carrying the mac in his hands. I didn’t feel relieved. I just accepted it, and when I saw the note on the dollar general receipt I didn’t even cry. “You shouldn’t have killed your baby” It read in Jared’s chicken scratch writing. I had just had an abortion. My brother had dropped everything at school to come and talk me out of making the mistake of believing Jared’s Baptist propaganda that an abortion was a sin.
Gretchen who was sinful, especially when I tried to break Lincoln out of her relationship with her then Heroin addict boyfriend by bringing up that she told me she didn't want him in her life which she had said earlier in the car as we went to get cigarettes “I’m thinking of giving him the knife” she said sarcastically, “He’s not right for me. He scares me Gretchen.” I recall how I stood between them “She doesn’t need or want you anymore!” I shouted, but then he got angry, threw her onto the ground outside his yard and Lincoln cried then both of them were mad because I had tried to break them up, which I had. It had been a long episode of carelessness and poor decisions, but honestly it was the fact that I was with Lincoln that made everything ok, that makes me ok with being there and doing what I had been doing.
I was sitting outside his window, when Lincoln leaned in and we kissed. I didn’t want her boyfriend, like he always joked. I wanted her. I loved her. And I never wanted to have the party after I took Jared to his dentist’s appointment. I didn’t think it was a good idea from the get go, “No no come” Jared smiled and said over the Danni’s phone. “It’ll be like a party, we’ll buy booze and have fun” Of course they weren’t at her uncle’s house when we got there, because they were driving down from her mom’s house for Jared’s “party.
Jared busted into the house while we waited and we saw a big pile of bleach crystals that Jared convinced us to try because he thought it was meth, and I recall thanking God I didn’t throw up like Jared and his little friend. I can still see the image clearly in my mind, the last time I saw Lincoln. She had just cut her hair. One by one, Jordon, John Brown, and Lincoln piled out of the back of her Uncle’s Truck. Her Uncle kept ranting about Lincoln stealing his ring, which must’ve been worth a lot. Apparently there were three rings, and her uncle and Jordon thought she had 2 of them. They bickered and then sent us to go get beer.
Jared complained, “why do we have to go get the beer? We’ve been waiting here for 2 hours!” So Jared and I went to retrieve some beer, the rest of the night is still fresh in my memory. Lincoln told us to go with Jordon because Jared was getting on her nerves. Jared was nagging her a lot about something, they would disappear then reappear. There was a safe in her uncle’s bedroom. Her uncle said someone had tried to break into the safe. I don’t remember seeing anyone go into his room. Then they were in the bathroom.
Now me Jared and Danni are waiting in a bomb shack of some trailer park for Jordon to see her boyfriend. This somewhat obese black woman is snorting Vyvanse and offers me some. I said that you can’t snort vyvanse, because i used to take it and I dissolved it in water to stay awake during our drive to Myrtle Beach. But she assured me I could, and she piled a line on the table and so I just did it. Then I was in the clear. I kept looking around at the wires and weird shit, they talked about weed. We might have also smoked some weed. Then Jordon finally came back, and we headed back to Lincoln’s cousin’s house. “She’s always gone” Lincoln said through the haze of marijuana smoke. I was uneasy, she was nodding off.
Then we went inside, and Lincoln started nodding off in the chair…then somehow she disappeared into her Uncle’s bedroom. He left the door open a crack, so I went to the door and looked in, she was laying on his bed and that’s when the alarm bells went off in my head. Then her uncle comes out with xanax and Jared breaks up a xanax and we split it between the three of us. Then we’re all sitting around the table in the kitchen adjacent to the bedroom in the house, and I remember just looking at them. Just looking and waiting for someone to say something, anything. I keep thinking, this is it you need to say something and I did. “Why is Lincoln in that man’s bed?” They didn’t answer. I saw eyes glazed over with a sort of absence that chilled me to the bone. I saw death in their faces. “That’s it we have to leave. i need to get home.” I had skipped class to come here, and I said I still had a chance if I went back and I had a doctor’s appointment. Jared said, just try to get some sleep. But i couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t sit still. It was all just stupid. I argued with him.
Lincoln had said that it was her home there, that she had moved in and got everything she wanted, but said that her cousin was never around. I now realize that i had absolutely no idea of the situation, and if I had known the truth I would never have left. But i had to leave, and her uncle had locked the door to his room. Maybe I was disgusted with myself, with everything, I don’t really know. Maybe I was just really strung out on the stimulant and so I convinced them to come with me. I thought that if I didn’t leave then, and seeing how everyone was so fucked up, that none of us would make it back…at all… I had a vision of us all piled in the car with lincoln sitting across them and then…then what? I knew something was going to happen, I didn’t know what. I just wanted to avert it. I could focus well enough to drive, and then the cops pulled my car over for my headlight. Danni had a drink in the cupholder. I looked to my right, and oddly I hadn’t even noticed it until that moment.
So I got out and was given a breathalyzer, and I had 0.0000, the cop let me go after the test, but gave danni a citation…I thought we were lucky….I cursed Jared, you see. I cursed him for writing that note, for stealing my sense of happiness, for getting me to trade my soul his heroin. For preying on my emotions. I was doing it to protect myself, but in that curse I failed. Because I wanted Jared to destroy everyone around him until he realized the truth, and then I wanted it to destroy him. That’s how mad I was.
So we threw a bottle with his name on it into the river, and then turned our backs on it, and him. I didn’t think it would actually work… If only I could have just forgiven him, not by letting him tie the noose around my neck, but by tying the noose for him and watching him fall to his death. I didn’t want anyone but him to suffer for it. Damnit, I didn’t even want him to suffer. I wanted him to be sorry to change to apologize to reconcile. The curse…it had three options. Either he’d see the light or the light would blind him so much he couldn’t hurt anyone anymore or he chose to continue doing what he did, and it was going to kill him.
He would die seeing what his actions had caused, all the suffering, all the torment would hurt so much it would kill him, literally. Lincoln wasn’t a part of that curse, but she was. She was his cousin, and what I realize now is that I’m just as guilty as he was. That I’m just as to blame as he was. That even if that curse is just a metaphor for what I knew was to come, that we shouldn’t be cruel to those we misunderstand--and compassion is the highest level of human expression. If Jared saved himself by destroying everyone around him, that was his choice. I gave him three paths and I told myself I wouldn’t stick around until he was truly sorry, but oh how he fooled me. For he chose destruction and I chose to tell the truth. I chose to let the truth destroy him. It wasn’t out of revenge for what he had done, I cursed him out of fear of him hurting me anymore than he already had, I saw my life becoming merely a gameshow. He has told so many lies, and hurt so many people. Of all the people who were affected…. Lincoln had become his masterpiece. Now she is free from the bitterness, free from the pain, free from the madness, like flowers in the rain...
It was a nice day with a crisp blue sky. Well, nice for everyone else. Not for me. I got out of the car and shut it behind me. I didn’t know what to say, so I just followed them. I didn't think there was a legitimate reason to be at the ER for breaking a cup.
So as my parents led me down the sidewalk I began to feel more and more nauseous. They just didn't understand how their anger affected me. Maybe I hadn't really been paranoid after-all. Yet I thought maybe they would arrest me for my freak out. This had to be a joke; I knew they could not arrest me for it. I had committed no crime. I also knew that this would not be what you under normal circumstances even call an episode of crazy. I thought I had completely recovered. I had overcome this all on my own. I also had a lot of things going on inside me that you couldn't just shove aside. It was the accumulated snowball of everything I had been through and when all that got tossed aside, the wreckage of my very being became the object of another practical joke. "This is what crazy looks like!" I smiled and I laughed. "This is crazy!" "Look! Look! Is this what you wanted to see? Am I crazy now?" I was angry. I took my mother’s little piece of china and threw it onto the floor. Then it smashed into a million tiny pieces. I had decided that I didn't need therapy about a year before my angry “episode”.
Sometimes I wonder if I was just too beaten down and tired out to combat my own demons. When being patronized and pushed into a corner, you aren't really given a choice what to think. When your parents tell you if you don’t smile and behave, that they’ll lock you up, it isn’t exactly pleasant. Of course, I had a record: Fifteen and boarding school. A year prior to this my psychiatrist said that since I thought I was better and I wanted off the meds it was my choice, so she closed the book and out I went. But that freedom didn't last very long.
I am entering the hospital lobby, awaiting treatment, meds, the stretcher where I will be strapped onto, possibly drugged up now, and who knows where the hell they will take me this time? Who knows what rights might be taken away from me while in there? I wasn't suicidal, I wasn't angry, no it was worse...I was starving for something…maybe understanding. But what would it matter? I knew I was ok. In the lobby, I sat there and waited. The silence felt surreal and uncanny to me. It was too quiet for comfort. People were mesmerized by the television set protruding overhead from the wall. I sat next to my mom, who wasn’t really saying anything…caught up in her own inner world possibly. It was so disturbing, because it was like another universe.
I used the bathroom in the ER. I felt normal, I felt OK. I walked up to the doors and tried to leave. I pleaded with them, practically begging to go home.
“I’m ok, see? I’m not sick.” I said. But no one listened. Maybe they were blind to the fact that I wasn't...they chose my father's words over his seventeen year old daughter's, of course.
Of course, about five security guards came and stood in front of the exit doors then led me through the rooms in the Emergency Doors to where I wouldn't be seen. In the waiting room, they made me sit on this couch staring up into the vents for six hours that seemed to last an eternity.
Where was I going to end up?
My thoughts kept spinning, spinning and disappearing into these ideas of what I was going to be put through in one of those mental wards. Even though I felt terrified...I began to stare up at the vents, intuitively. It felt as though a secret source had told me to look up into the vents. Would this become some sort of coping mechanism...what a shitty way to lose my mind.
"You're going to the hospital" He had said. I hid in the pine trees for an hour until I saw his car pulling up. I am fine, I thought...fine for the first time in a long time and now, here they are, ready to take me away…
There I was, sitting in the emergency room next to mom waiting for the nothing. I was staring straight ahead into the nothing. There was a sign on the wall with instructions on the different stages of washing your hands and it seemed ridiculous to me. Would that be irrational?
None of it was paranoia. It just all felt incredulous and wrong. The whole thing was making me feel nervously ill. Everyone seemed so blind.
Why am I here? What the hell did I do and why can’t I just get out of here?
...my fears started to accumulate. Anxieties after anxieties were passing through my mind of what was going to be done to me at the hospital. I had not had a positive experience in the time I had been in the hospital in the past. In fact, it was a source of my PTSD. But now, even my parents were acting as if this was my punishment. Isolation and rape.
What a medicine for prescribed insanity! And so I shifted my focus from the sign on the wall about washing hands to the doors of the Emergency Room. As they opened and closed, I thought about mom when she was in jail for protesting School of the Americas, about those doors. The kind of doors you can't open from the insides.
Those doors are prison doors. They are prison doors for the sick. What kind of doors will they have at this place I'm going?
People kept rushing in and out in and out of those doors, and no one knew me, no one saw me. No, I was so invisible to all the doctors and security guards and medics and nurses and my parents and my friends at home who didn't really even know me. Brainless.
It was a deafening sort of feeling. It was completely deafening. I was helpless. At seventeen there was no way they were going to acknowledge my intelligence. At seventeen I was going to be reduced to the level of an infantile six year old. But everyone there was dead to me, because everyone there was walking past and no one even saw what was going on.
Well, in times like these when you find yourself in a state of utter isolation and desperation...you may think it's over. in due time the memory does come rushing back. The memory will play out before your eyes, this beautiful movie; it's the movie of your life. "Can't they see that I am not crazy?! I'm not out of control, no violent maniacal behaviors, no screaming, and no goofy conversations with myself or am I seeing green aliens? What the heck is the matter with me? I didn't do anything that was wrong! I'm not a drug addict, I don't do anything wrong at all. I'm practically perfect!"
I'm just sitting here and I am waiting and for what? I just want to go home, or even just out of this hellhole. Guess what? They’re not even going to let me leave the building. I'm seventeen, for fucks sakes! You can't just keep me here. Yeah, I may be crazy but that doesn't mean I'm clinically insane! Why the hell are they putting me through all this...what reason do they have to lock me up?
I wanted to get better, like I was, ok so maybe I don’t know what that means anymore. But this is a punishment. I am being punished for being sick. And because I'm not acknowledging that I am sick I am being punished...that's all it ever felt like to me.
Now my thoughts are racing. But I just go back to staring at the poster on the wall. Step 2. Rinse with Warm Water. So, that's how they'll do it. That’s how it'll happen to me, I think to myself.
I see most of the people in the waiting room are watching Martha Stuart's Cooking Show on the television set. Suddenly my eyes avert to the tv and become transfixed there. I begin imagining what happens in that place. What's going to happen to me?
It begins to become perfectly clear to me. I know what's going to happen now.
I will come back out through these same two revolving doors a completely new person. I will be perfectly organized and utterly brainwashed to love Martha Stuart. I can see it now...I begin to have these skits in my head. I am put before a television screen, the screen is blank, my ears are ringing, I can't comprehend anything but what they tell me is real.
I am responsive to their treatment. So I watch the television screen and Martha Stuart is there and as the rest of the world just washes away, all that's left is the buzzing. Yes, that's what they will do...they will force me to watch Martha Stuart over and over again.
After waiting for six hours just to figure out if I was going to be put in hell or limbo, I walked into the ambulance, sat down and told the person next to me all about it. When we got to the hospital, I looked up at the big brick building and could only feel my stomach churning. This place looked like a prison, for sure.
They took me in through the entrance into the hospital. This is where they are going to do strange experiments with my head. I don't want to go inside. I can see blue curtains hiding people...people that have been taken hostage like me, but more likely the unluckier ones.
Who knows, maybe I'll make it out alive. They make me get onto a stretcher because it is still their policy; and then they wheel me up the elevator and I just give an odd smirk to everyone. I feel ridiculous and the whole experience feels so patronizing. That was when I thought I was normal. Then I was admitted and led in through the doors. I started to feel better, although still kind of disassociated from all this stress.
Maybe they will try to help me? There are no strange scientists hiding behind these blue curtains or metal bars. But all I want is to be left alone. A sense of calm settles down over me and I feel like I am safe once again. I am to meet with an older woman with blondish hair who fills out paperwork and a questionnaire.
"So, do you have any history of drug usage?"
"No." And then the old blond meets with my parents to discover how I've been breaking all their dishes and throwing temper tantrums. The list goes on and on and I guess according to their list of transgressions, I should be drowned because I am a witch. In fact I have no history of anything at all, other than breaking a couple dishes.
I'm taken down to the hospital's cafe area by two orderlies. One woman gets me a juice box while the other watches over my shoulder. I am waiting to see a doctor for a physical. It feels so quiet and peaceful in there. At length the orderlies come and take me to my bedroom. I crawl into bed and trt to sleep but then they wake me up again for an IQ test, that I assume I did a good job on. A guy pulls out a stethoscope and measures my heartbeat. Then, finally, I flop down to let my body relax into the hard bed. As I lay in my tiny bed I stared up at the vents in the ceiling.
Once again I'm staring into the ceiling, but now I'm completely in the dark, scared, and alone with my mind. I begin to think I can hear people outside whispering about me...
"Oh, she is a Schizophrenic."
"Do you know what they do with people like them?"
"It’s execution for her..."
"This is so wrong...so terrible."
"Well I tried to argue with them."
"I tried to tell them that she seemed fine to me..."
“She’s a schizophrenic!”
I can still see them digging outside my window. That must be where they bury all the dead bodies. That must be what they do with crazy people like us, with people like me. I just can’t wait to wake up from this nightmare.
I have been sitting on this tiny chair in a tiny cell trying to get my head out of this place. I am tired and feeling so slow. I can't seem to get these thoughts out but I'm trying to. I feel like I'm going to be erased. I feel hollow and mute. I feel like a mime. Where am I going? I've been wheeled in through a tunnel of light just to find at the end of the tunnel was hell. Maybe I'm really going to hell you know? Or maybe I'm going to that after place they call heaven. No, hell seems more accurate.
I have visions sometimes of the future. There is something about this mundane, repetitive, washing, and pill taking that makes things too clear not to see right through to the other side.
Maybe that's why glass windows are everywhere. So clear that the doctors can see all of you no matter where they are.
I'm taking pills for anxiety. They make me feel sick and maybe they're doing more to me than I think. Why am I taking so much medicine? They’re trying to make me into a new person like maybe I'm going to turn into a zombie. I have an incurable illness I think. Wherever it
happens to be living or breathing… there isn't any drug that’s going to kill it. But they want to kill me this way.
Is it because of my attitude or maybe just because of myself in general that I'm being pushed around? I enjoy life and I'm happy...I don’t need medication. It was an accident! There should be more understanding for accidents...I am an accident. I'm so tired. Why am I here? I want to go home. But instead of being home I'm here, in this place.
As time moved on I had tried to act "normal", but my efforts weren't counted. I was coloring, participating, setting out my dirty clothes, making my bed up neatly, and yet none of it was counted. They didn't seem to notice or care.
They had me on Behavioral Observation for longer than necessary. I thought it was like a sort of torture, like their control device. Then I realized that I had to put a check mark next to my name that meant I had done what I had. Of course, no one had told me anything…no one had even taken the strings out of my shoes.
I'm very nervous and I'm still on the slow side. No one has bothered to talk to me or to explain anything to me. No one has taken the strings out of my shoes yet. I'm happy that I can still wear my black leather boots.
I’m not going to be diverted right now. Do I really talk in circles? Cause that's what they told me. A whole group of them called me in for team. I had apparently caused some scene because I walked to the door and pushed it. I had been "yelling"? It’s really like they just want you to shut up and listen. I just want to go home. I hate it here. I hardly raised my voice. It was like two seconds of defiance.
Right now I am so apathetic. That’s why I need my comfort food. I’m starving. They should’ve just sent me to boot camp I would have liked it better. I hate being such a wreck. No big emergency…here other than my stomach's being raped with toxic poisons.
I’m being purged of all my insufficiencies, my irrational behavior- my insomnia, my bad posture or my "mania".
I'm crazy, I have an excuse, and I can’t help it. That’s what they tell me anyways.
And I'm getting nothing out of group therapy. But I'm learning what to watch out for. I'm learning about how people here must be going through a lot of shit...and need to be treated the best way possible even despite how they treat you.
I'm wearing my own brand new clothes. I felt kind of sick. My parents never buy me clothes- was this some sort of sick reward? Now they buy me these clothes just to wear while I'm in here. I keep getting jealous…why do some of the kids get away without taking these sedating pills? I know why. It’s because I'm a "schizophrenic".
Why am I such a monster? Why don't I feel like I’m doing anything other than fading, really fading, like I'm becoming a ghost?
I think that the former patient in this room must've had a really bad cough. The air in here tastes contaminated and smells like puke. This anxiety has made me feel really anemic.
I've been taking my pills though but now I'm getting hiccup-spasms all the time. That's why I had "refused" one of them just awhile ago. I talked to a nurse about it; she said well you don’t have to take these pills if you don’t want to. I told the second nurse that I didn't want to take them and they got their authorities to punish me.
Just like the nurse said I could do, I quietly refused. Then the doctor came in and sat on my bed. She laid out the facts- "If you refuse your medicine again you will be given an injection.
Why are they changing the medicine already? What the hell? I'm a paranoid schizophrenic? Am I really a paranoid schizophrenic? Why? They treat me like I’m not really here at all anyways! How can I not be paranoid? No one speaks with me. Should I try to act more irrational just so they think I'm agreeable? I guess so. I am afraid that the medicine will be too hard on me…like I’m afraid it’ll make me get worse…but they don’t listen…
Last night I had a dream about a doctor, he was trying to explain to some people that a blood test had shown a significant decrease in his white blood cells. He said that the damage could be fatal but the other doctors wouldn't listen. He wanted to release the information to the patient but they said it wasn't necessary.
When I finally got up to permission to go outside, one of the Councilors took us out of the hospital at around nine o clock. So we sat in the front of the hospital and she told us some creepy stuff about someone who committed suicide in the boy’s ward. She bothered me and I got scared and asked to go back inside after I couldn't stand it. I was still paranoid. Here we were out in the open late at night in front of the giant hospital like talking about suicide like it meant nothing.
One morning just as I had suspected a nurse came in and gave me some pills to take with the threat of an injection. I took the pills and that's when all the shit started.
That's when I began to think I was getting advice from Angelina Jolie. She would tell me how to fix up my clothes. I heard her voice inside of me and it was like I was becoming a part of her.
Not only was I thinking like her, I was also acting like her. For awhile it was her or me. Finally glaring into the mirror in my room I said NO to Angelina Jolie and went back to myself. I couldn't understand her anymore. She was growing angrier and angrier.
Maybe I should have let Angelina win....maybe then I would still be....someone like her. I was busy tearing up my shirts and making them into different tank tops. I was losing weight and was happy with the way I felt in them. I ended up with something that looked more or less like a noose. It was a bunch of pant leg strips and clothes tied around it but it made the perfect noose in my opinion. I looked at it....then I walked into the halls and threw it away. No one said anything. What needed to be said?
Of course I was getting help. I had the medications that were being fed to me daily. No longer did I have a fear of the med-dispenser man or the nurses. I no longer feared them even though I knew secretly that a little piece inside of me was going to have to burst to get this medicine working
I listened to the voices that started after I took 180 mgs of Geodon. They told me things. “Eat lots of grains with your pills; it's hard on your stomach.”
“Watch out for him. Why are you standing in the window? The rapists will see you...”
And one that surprised me the most was when they got upset. "What! You're not going to get follow-up!" "Look at her!" And unfortunately I was the only one who could understand them, what they meant, could hear them.
I'm in a torture chamber; I can't pretend to be happy like they want me to. Everyone needs to fake it. In six months I'll be out on my own, get an apartment, going to college. Fuck school anyways...fuck it all in general. I like the way they treat me like I’m a flipped out fourteen year old despite everything that I try to do. I'm going to keep on writing. I don't even have an eraser.
I must be a saint for doing this: a "schizophrenic"...and one who cannot "control" a certain behavior deemed as inappropriate such “abusive to her mother” and “breaks things all the time”… and apparently…screaming all day and every day about all things and everything… reverse psychology...here….Mind Control.
What's the difference? Control my mind- order me around and tell me who I am… the isolation here is driving me insane. I don't have a choice…do I? I don't have choice. I don't have the right to refuse “treatment”.
Are they trying to get me to lose my mind? Set up a session and I'll confess all of my sins! Don't pretend I'm the one who's being secretive- that’s another lie. I'm smart, but it seems that everywhere I go...I try really hard but I just seem to do everything on accident.
I’m aware of everything- you’re all completely insane!
Maybe I'm lucky... I could have ended up in a million different places.
I was on the verge of a breakdown in the waiting room- I was handled by six security guards. Were they trying to trip me out? I just had no choice in the matter. And all over a fight.
Once I walked in those doors, I wasn't allowed to go back out. I tried to walk out, then they got security to take me away so that no one could see when my dad carried me back into that room…then they debated whether to knock me out or leave me non-sedated.
I think it was the same exact waiting room I was in three years ago, after trying to kill myself. Now it's a slight miscommunication. See, a broken piece of china isn't abuse- its shattered glass...I know the difference between shattered glass and a shattered psyche. They're repeatedly telling me I'm psychotic. They say this over and over and over again, but how come they can’t prove it to me?
I had a lot of blood drawn. I've never had that done before. It left a yellow bruise on my left arm where it was accidentally done twice. They took like four bottles- my hands went white and limp. They felt slippery; I was worried they’d never feel the same again. I must be a scientific experiment.
They'll sell my particles to clone manufacturers.
Being kept in here like this is so wrong. I was forced into this place, by crazy fucks. It's funny because all I did was go insane. I broke an antique…a three inch cup…and then my mom must've compressed charges against me, saying that I was “screaming at her every day.” But that's a lie! I mean a total lie! It’s the absolute reverse! It's either that she's delirious or it's some farfetched exaggeration. Not like she exaggerates!
I've lost all faith in mental health in general. It's all games and guessing in this place. People won't get the facts straight: you're a “schizophrenic”, you got in a fight with your parents- your parents are in charge then they lock you up...anyways-oh yea- well my parents have been threatening to kick me out of the house on a day to day basis…they tell me to smile and behave or I’ll be sent to the hospital…they I’m the one who pulled down the fire alarm from the ceiling…when I didn’t!
I'll go home and I won't have anything...why? Because I don't have anyone to be anything to. I don't have anyone else to take me anywhere else and I don't have any other way to get anywhere. I'm not sure if I've lost weight but I did lose faith-so that's enough damage.
The other girls here are meaning to me…I’m being harassed by the whole god damn world! I'm an alien. I've never been a human, just a weirdo and maybe that's how everyone wants to see me. I could get a face lift, and then I wouldn't look like this anymore. But I won't, I like myself to an extent. I'm thinking about what to do. Here. I want to see a doctor, but I never seem to have any time to. They're always away. My social worker is gone. He quit. My mom takes too long to get here, all I need is better parents, and I think I'll go live with Sam.
I won't be visiting Sam this summer like we had planned who forgot that I'm supposed to be her best friend. She spent her summer with my replacement. I’m not in the picture anymore. So I've been ditched. But I've been meditating…. Nobody else really does anything here.
I can become extremely loose in the joints but the next day I'll go right back to the way I was before. Not only do I have a mood problem, been put on an anti-biotic, feel nauseous, and need to shave, but there's absolutely no way to talk to anyone around here. I have so much free time all I can do right now is writing. I’m writing right now in my room, even though that's against the rules. I just sit in the tiny cafeteria and watch them quietly taking notes in a glass room…how exciting…
There's no way to socialize at all here. This isn't a week at boot camp but it’s a week in hell where the doctors are God. I just want to look at a list of medications and pick one. Maybe I need to treat my apathy. What a place for someone like me who is bright and articulate- with a slight brain imbalance or deficiency. These places should understand people like they're supposed to.
My brain imbalance isn't really so much a reflection on your behavior but on the way your brain was put together. In here, it's like it's a sickness and almost treated as if you can help it- like you're making it happen for whatever reason- like you’ve been misbehaving...it's like it's your fault. It’s like you're being punished for it. On top of that, they treat you like you’re younger than you are.
Why blame someone for having an incurable illness? For having something like diabetes? Why keep on guessing which type of diabetes they have, type 2? Hmmm why keep waiting until it's too late. Just keep guessing until they go into diabetic shock. In two months I would not be here!
Get real; I could have one illness in a million. I haven't really been diagnosed: it was an assumption. If I'm going to get a normal brain, treat me like a normal human being. Or was that not the intention? I'm kind of sensitive, and so having people talk to me this way...it's like I have to defend my positive aspects against my bad ones like you’re "paranoid"…they're just telling me over and over, “you're a schizophrenic”, “you're paranoid”, “you have to take medication”...until it really isn't like you have a choice. I want compensation for my pain and suffering. I'm anxious and I’m cold and I want to stop taking these fucking head pills.
I push myself too hard. This councilor told me as a patient I don't even have a say as to whether or not I'm psychotic. She said, “You may not even remember things correctly, and even this conversation will come out skewed in your memories- and your real memories will be completely different than you perceive them. Only the doctor, who'll prescribe you medication so you can think clearly and know what’s what, can tell you what’s actually happened”
They tell me I'm crazy and all I have to say is that I'm as sane as I think I am. She basically told me that I'll always be this way- that it's not my choice...and that I'll gradually lose my mind...and that I'm losing it already. I am losing my fucking mind, remember? None of my "points" even matter.
They've kept me down on the behavioral observation level for three days despite my behavior which hasn't been observed. I've been absolutely perfect! Despite that this is immoral; it should be illegal, and its force. I'm being kept here against my will. It's wrong. I still want a puppy and I'll get one once I find a new home. I'll move in with Sam or someone. Apparently I talk in circles, I guess I’m supposed to forget point C and focus on point A and not go backwards to point B.
I want a happier better family. Why can't I be adopted? My Realization-I think I verbalize my thoughts, and maybe that's why I have so much trouble thinking. I think to myself all the time but it takes so much energy. I've trained myself this way. If only I could formulate my thoughts into code words or something. It's just that I habitually "hear" myself think; not everyone can do that...can they? I mean, hear, like a voice- your own voice. I need to improve my memory.
Maybe the sounds are made from audible vibrations formed by the cilia? But no, then again, you can't see dreams! Ok, then how can I HEAR these thoughts? All I know is that I somehow can create a sound in my mind and hear it. It's the same with everything else. I just recreate it. Maybe I'm not doing this right. I need therapy, not drugs, not this. I'm at boot camp for weirdoes. You can't see a sound but they come from the same place as a thought...the head...arg! This is the doctor's job! What the fuck?
My handwriting sucks. In my world I'd get to go everywhere I wanted...I'd also never die. I won't ever die, because my DNA will replicate. I'll just come back. That's what I want. I also want it to be a secret- so that nobody can destroy me. I wish I was worth something. I want to fall in love. Sometimes I even feel like I'm loved. Even here. I feel kind of terrible because of the way the other girls talk to me and treat me. Nobody respects me. I'm sick of all of this. Don't ask me to tell you how I feel! Because I'm empty, I don't feel anything...now they're going to up my dose of Geodon. I'm fine with it. I'll take the medication and not "refuse" or I'll go insane, I'll have a panic attack because of what they'll do to me! Why are they so demanding of someone who's in critical condition?
My doctor was really nice today, and she said she'll discharge me as soon as she can. The medication is fine. But I feel so on edge, kind of like my nerves have been tightened. The male staff can be kind of mean. There are three men on the staff. It's easier to remember them because they have short names. Also, because this is an all female adolescent unit. When I first got here, I kept thinking I was going to be executed- locked in a room and left there to die...I kept hearing- they put her on execution. I was so paranoid. Don’t know what the hell was going on.
Big Surprise! I'm having a harder time with my handwriting because of my lack of energy. This pill isn't good for me, but I'll take it because- by choice is better than by force- like an injection- the reason I have problems..and All because I refuse to talk or take any pills. I need friends, friends that would miss me. Why don't I have friends? Why? Because of this. Because of everyone, because it's how it's always been. I've been eating for comfort. From now on I'll only eat healthy food from the tray...fruit, cereal. Well, I'll starve.
This stuff can't be good for my diet. Maybe I'll lose weight! I must get in shape! No more sugary foods! In here, it's not obvious when all appetites are devoured by medicine. Hey body! Just filter this junk. Don't let it touch your precious mind. Spit it right out and get rid of it. Straight out, straight down and out...and forget the food.
Dear Journal, bipolar/schizophrenic
I'm a bit on the fucked up side. Really feeling ignored...I started having tremors. This is new to me. Maybe I'm lucky; I could've been put in jail for an argument. I just want to talk to someone, anyone, to tell them what happened. But no one wants to talk to me. Now I'm just afraid. I've been punished for it, pushed around. Her feelings always came first. I'm really hungry. I think a voice just told me to cheer up...
But I don't feel like cheering up, I feel alone, empty, manic, and lost to myself and lost to my soul. Help? Why can't anyone help me? I'm doing well. Getting "better", my Doctor woke me up and sat down next to me on my bed- then she saw the drool coming down my mouth so she said that I have to stay longer. So…Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday...Happy? So far I've been so peachy! I'm all white glittery smiles! A domesticated princess! Sick. I asked them what domesticated meant, because I heard it in my head after Geodon. They wouldn’t tell me.
I'm Going Home, They're saying that I'm doing so much better, but I have no energy! I think my mind's been struggling with this new medication...or maybe I have. My body's been so zonked, tired, I could barely breath or move my mouth. Now all I want to do is run and run and run.
The staff don’t know what's going on inside you, period. You aren't even really allowed near them. What's the point of this? To stabilize me? I have realistic fears, why am I not allowed to be afraid? I've been domesticated just like an animal. This place is fucked up...Why I can’t be "irrational" it's a lot easier than barely breathing. People are starting to notice how crazy I'm getting...but now it's because I'm "Bipolar."
Over the Edge
Why do people who reject reality believe their rejection so strongly? I'm talking about madness here. When a person decides that reality has no basis for them, are they sincerely misunderstanding or rejecting the whole concept...that there are rules that govern the way we function?
What would we do without rules? Is reality perhaps some massive collective/interconnected concept, which means basically that there ARE rules? Without rules, it would be more like a dream...meaning we'd have more control of our reality. So who would work so hard to keep us from breaking the laws of gravity? Chaos? Self-annihilation? Thoughts?
Memory lies to us.
Something that happened once before; that may or may not be happening. Something that happened once before; that may or may not still be happening.
The ability to think. The ability to freeze a thought. The ability to take a thought and give it life, then give it momentum—emotion, then freeze it as if it were trapped (or force it to know that it’s trapped.) in one single infinite moment that never ended but seemed to have an origin on the horizon somewhere and that may or may not be a subjective or singular reality based on…images. Not just images. Feelings. Not just feelings. Fears. Not just fears…oblivion.
What is oblivion? Endless space, nothingness, we are surrounded by it. Universe. Infinite space. Endless space. Infinite universe. LAWS? Laws are what we created to keep ourselves believing in oblivion. Without oblivion, without nothingness, without endless mindless emptiness, then we are able to see things infinitely…meaning…that we can take one thought and create a million others, in other words.
Without rules, we are Gods. Perhaps, without Gods, we are rules. We are Gods of our own Universe…..except, that it’s singular, meaning there is only one origin. The only origin can only be the one person who is perceiving reality, and no other reality can exist. Nothing, but the origin, which cannot be artificial and is in no one else’s hands other than the perceivers.
With that knowledge and power, the origin of the universe realizes that she is dreaming a new life to wake up from the first, and that the dream is the origin….because if the origin in anything but a dream, if it is anything else, it is either oblivion. Nothingness. Or an illusion. If the illusion is that we’re all the same, what is sameness? If I am my own creator and I wanted a world that had infinite possibilities…and if I could create someone who could wake up from that infinity then the only thing they would need….would be a signal. But if the dream took over, or we lost the ability to understand dreams, then the signal would be used against us. The signal would be used to keep us trapped
between waking and dreaming, in limbo. Because the signal is misunderstood, to us it is blinding, painful, hurting us, and maddening, it destroys the mind in order to wake up to a new mind.
The new mind….is the dream, the original mind, is the dreamer. The dream keeps on going until everyone is lost….they are lost because they can no longer see the signal, they become blind. So they adapt, and create new ways to see in the dark. New light. New machines. New lives... new lies. And what is the purpose of all of it? Why keep yourself trapped in a moment, or believe you are waiting for the moment to end but never reach it?
Because you want to escape the end, because you want to overcome the oblivion….because you want to see the light before you become blind. What if there is only one solution and that is to forget? Or deny it? What is denial? A false memory. A false solution. Denial is a lie created to protect you from being blinded by the truth. Denial is a lot of things, in some ways it helps us defend ourselves from controllers or manipulators. Because if you accept everything then everyone will control you. If you deny someone then they have no control over you. Think of denial as a defense mechanism…yet if reality is subjective then you are defending yourself against yourself and for what purpose?
To know that it is real.
When it is neither when it is both 4
Without a subject.
Was it all just an illusion that I created from the mind. The entire thing was an illusion.
Knowledge rejects memory Can memory create? There are truths and there is truth The truth is not always singular There can be many truths One truth could be a certain bridge to cross While another could be that bridge along with other bridges connected to that bridge But there is an origin The origin is the point of perception. When I was young/about thirteen or fourteen, I began practicing self-hypnosis after learning about it at a slumber party. I began able to relax my body, turn off everything through the backwards counting method. My limbs would sort of vibrate, then let go, but there was an issue that occurred. I began getting so deep into these states that it was somewhat uncomfortable. I also found myself very refreshed after. I would encounter a circle or ring of piercing white light around nothingness, like a vacuum. The light would be blinding.
I later had amazing OBE experiences. I'd be in bed, see the darkness, but it was illuminated by my body double--a body of beautiful sparkling white light.
The characteristics of my astral self: cannot interact with physical world, cannot turn on light-switch ever (tried this maybe a thousand times)
Is constantly pulled back towards self, in this astral place there is a "shadow" which acts to suppress and dominate over the self, it's a polarity and while it can sometimes seem to do nothing but weaken the individual- overcoming this shadow brings great clarity and strength.
Theory: the body travels, is traveling through this energy...the physical and spiritual manifestations are clues
Today I am starting the journey of being med-free. I'll probably be making less and less sense as time goes on or maybe I'll be making more sense. It's only the first day, so nothing amazing is happening. Nothing is happening right now, only I'm burning some dragon’s blood incense and things just seem to be so so. I got back from an interview with Harvard alumni and she was 'very impressed' and I'm glad.
So, maybe she will accept me. And maybe things will be getting better and better. But, I don't know what I should do with myself anymore. I could...just keep taking these meds from day-day. But, I don't think it's a good decision to do it anymore. This is not a medicated existence; this is not a medicated world. I cannot feed these evil ideals, the Utopia of society. The problems we have today are that people are Uneducated about humanity.
'You’re living in a dream-world Neo.' the Matrix
This secret illness, this shameful illness. What does it mean to me? What is it?
How do you define madness, how do you define paranoia or even just plain old 'madness'??....
I have been shocked into fear, and getting afraid of people because I do not know how to define my own madness how can anyone else define it? I have tinnitus and that is why I hear voices. I don’t see things though and never have. I don’t want to be ignorant anymore...ignorant. Ignorant of the truth, of my own mental mind and traumatized reality. When I was ten years old, I saw an apparition of a young boy in my Grandmother's house-- in the upstairs hallway near her room. I had been living there with my dad and brother for about a year after my parents began the process of getting a divorce. I saw young boy, who looked similar to my dad when he was a boy. He had straight blond hair and a red t-shirt and blue jeans. It was one of those strange experiences which catch a person off guard for a moment. I stared into the apparition of the boy, perplexed. Then, he seemed to stare back at me perplexed before vanishing.
I continued on my day like nothing had ever happened. After that, I believed the house was haunted by ghosts. It felt like it had a spiritual energy to the place. My grandmother had eight children including my dad, and so the house has a lot of memories. But there were two children, missing. One was a child who had never been born and the other was Paul, the baby boy who lived only two or three weeks. Science. Science doesn't explain Paul. Science can't dig into the core of what was behind that apparition, although we can pretend we know what it was, or that it was a hallucination from a young girl's vivid imagination.
We can say that something 'triggered it' but what? What could have possibly triggered a fully clothed boy to appear out of nowhere, and then vanish as if he had never been there ever to the quiet girl who observed him? When I was ten years old I was often caught up in daydreams, and I loved to escape from the realm I lived in and feel the textures and talk to the people in my own creations. These were the creations I made to escape the world that I felt didn't need to rely on science. I wondered at it, and still I never forgot this vision. Even now when I'm twenty years old, I wonder about it. Now that I am older, I am learning to discriminate these fantasies as merely the illusions to other things which are still too difficult to explain. Like the shadow for instance. What is the shadow? Carl Gustav Jung explained it as the essence of the problems we are afraid to face, the oppressed desires that we do not begin to express, or even our own primal animal instincts--- with which we have become so separated from in our consumer culture.
We are living in an age where the human psychological concept is to feed off of another's faults and use them to exploit them for our own flawed self-preserving science, and each truly messed up religious say-so...says who? Who is to say who I think God is? I have no time to spend hours and hours reading books about what God looks like or how to perceive a God or how to tell the God what I think about this bullshit language-mentality structure which keeps us un-educated people trapped in a system of worship.
We are living in an age of exploitation. Our talents and strengths, our roles in society are constantly being pushed under the carpet while our agenda is narcissism.
We learn to plunder through the world with nothing but an objectivist ideal of a concept that we live in something too narrow too vague and too unreal to define through science. The Universe becomes nothing more than a merry go round circus of faulty lunatic ideas and concepts which we treat as laws when let's face it---it's all relative! We don't really know! We don't know how the Universe works at all. We just know what we make of it, and all the scribbles we draw on the blackboard, all our rationalized theories and dogmatic principles can do nothing to dig further than our sensory perceptions of what reality looks like, feels like, tastes like, or even looks at us like. Society makes sense when you think of it like a tree- but
what can a tree grow upon without a real growth substance. What can an object move upon without a plane to be relative to? Is the plane moving or is the object moving? Who are we to judge either/or? If, for some reason reality were actually a non-plane and the objects were evolving out of nothingness by the concepts that the only true substance created- MIND,
and then I'd imagine that the trees were lies.
If you take nature- and make it appear to yourself to be some elusive idea without exploring the concepts hidden within the earth, then you are starving your mind and your body from the real fruits of growth in this world. What are we here for? How can you even begin to ask that question when you don't even know where you are, or if you are here at all? Or how to define that 'where' or that 'how' besides...Oh um I am just experiencing it! Perceptions Yes! I can hear, I can taste, I can see and I can recreate the perceived experience within my own mind. Somewhere within this hidden cage, I can project that sense as if it were a full length feature film. I am the star of my worldly concepts and of this reality that I perceive. How, exactly am I the star of my own World?
There is no need for society at all. Nothing about the 'Concept' of Universe creates or can create the Universe. The thought was already there, and was already created. Or was this just all an artificially created enigma? Is life more than meets the eye, the concept, the rationality of each individual part communicating with the other part accordingly to the whole...is language another realm entirely? IS language what created the concept of REAL? What does it mean to be real? Or is the concept creating in turn, the language?
What comes first? The concept or the person communicating the concept to the Universe? It doesn't matter because there are no concepts. I am not ignorant. There simply are no concepts. That would have to mean...nothing...at all. The Universe exists without substance, concept, or language. We only perceive reality. So therefore humans are either the substance of the Universe, concept of the Universe, or illusion of the Universe....and perhaps the Illusion is nothing but a reflective fragment of the whole Universe beyond reality.
Nothing about the 'Individual person' has created the communication between parts of these values of the whole. Do not question the substance or yourself, or what it means to be a reflection of your own language. Do not question the reality and the realm of things created not by you but for you by some other entity entirely...foreign to your own mind and perceptions. That is existence, living as equals does not mean acting the same or 'Like' the other...but that is what we do in society, we imitate the body and we imitate the world. But that's the greatest flaw of our evolution, of natural
selection...we are merely impersonating the roles we play as if we were puppets on strings...and until we break free from this bond we will continue to grow closer and closer to the puppeteer and not the SOURCE of life, in other words- we are the ones holding the strings and we are the ones pulling them but not one of us knows where the strings lead to. Or do we? I wasn't aware that a diagnosis isn't always 'permanent' or 'official' thing and thought that it was something held against me. Since that had been my experience at a young age.
Now that I am older, I realize that there are laws so that people can't hold you against your will for no reason. Now that I am no longer afraid I have realized that I have more of a sleep sort of illness than anything. Why I have come to this conclusion is that if I get healthy rest I feel just the same as if I took abilify, even better in all honesty.
Now I won't just go 'it was this it was that' but 'it was schizophrenia to blame!' now I know the true source of my mental suffering/illness has been mainly traumatic events and habitual behaviors that I had grown accustomed to. Or maybe one combination of things....but not one thing was solely to blame including some 'chemical' factor that could never be cured. Such as having too heavy a release of dopamine in the brain.
Nothing is for sure, and therefore no one can ever be truly cured of ANYTHING! That's the beauty of saying something is permanent...but not even tangible. Like, Cancer or Alcoholism can never truly be cured....nothing except maybe a kidney transplant can be considered a CURE.
Descriptions of them include mostly just hearing whispers and having difficulty filtering out noise. Identifying the difference between reality and the created reality within my own mind. The difference between true reality and the reality of the Mind.
Me over Fear. Need to define what 'makes sense' logically, no longer dependent on fear and do not give into petty indefinable fears that result from lack of thinking things out properly. Thinking is healthy. Develop healthy thinking habits.
Stop conditioning myself to believe that the medications are helping SO MUCH when the effects are more or less the same as a Placebo. Reduce 30mgs to 10mgs. Use more effective Self Talk.
Stop the negative associations with 'schizophrenia' or 'illness' and 'disorder' or focusing primarily on individual health in regards to unproven standards...for this basic "Single Mind" model of well being vs. mental illness.
Depression: Don't go into negative or overwhelming thinking patterns. Just enjoy life, nature, and consider life to be lived at its fullest.
Reality, why does it feel so haphazard? I chip off the paint to reveal her cold steel form that caused my madness. Through open passage-ways in the eternal now...someone stole my Queen-- and handed me a blank face. She was morphed and skeletal. Her eyes beaming with yearn for life--now- they're like marbles...black...tainted...forehead now stamped closed. "You hate me reality. Yes you do mortality! Oh yes you do!" the blood on her lips...poisonous. It tastes: absolutely delicious.
Life moves in currents, it's the ripple effect. Tides bring torment. I watch the world engulfed in heat. Sandstorms, earthquakes, and chaotic climates in surround sound on my DVD player. I am dreaming...not lost...just...sleeping. The dreams come to me in ripples of liquid color. In streams of vibrant laser beams and frequencies...I see another realm. One-entirely created by my own consciousness. It rises out of the mists--a city of dream people, dream highways, dream airplanes, dream schools, dream faces, dream lives...all of it...I made it. I got there by sleeping, my imagining. I am free to go and stay as I please.
Welcome to planet earth. I awaken; the sunlight hits my face from the open windows. Another day, another day....sometime sometime....
And I miss that dream that created my world. I'd pinch myself and float away.
Today was a stressful day. I woke up and the first thing I noticed was that my less than a year old lab-chow Juno was acting funny. She didn't seem to be able to move, or walk. Her legs were wobbling, and then she wouldn't drink any water. I started to freak out thinking she had been poisoned. I called my dad who was away on a business trip in Chicago, because my mom was out and never turns on her cell phone. It was pretty helpless feeling. She was all shaky and was twitching a bit too. She is a beautiful dog. Well three hours later mom comes home and we rush her to the vet and end up waiting two hours to be told that we'll be put on the end of the list of appointments since we were a 'walk in'.
But of course the person behind the counter mumbles to the person that someone had canceled. For some reason this younger woman was being impossible, and yet finally we got her a checkup. I felt like the guy vet nurse was kind of annoying, the way he acted frustrated or something. Because the thing was that as soon as we got there she perked up and just bolted into the place healthy as can be! Then since her symptoms were gone there was nothing to be said. She was perfectly healthy and fine. The only thing was a bit of yeast in her ear. So I wonder if she just swallowed something that made her groggy. Arch, but then we got home and I said something stupid. My younger brother Josh just turned 16. He said he didn't want a party, and my dad explained that when you get older it's not 'as big of a deal' birthdays...that is. But my dad had that business trip in Chicago for this
healthcare software and he left 5:00 am on April 4th my brother's sixteenth birthday. We decided to celebrate on the 3rd. It was ok, but HEY like I didn't know that they hadn't even fricken wrapped his presents. We decided to open presents after birthday cake--mom made it. Mom who has been a nutcase for awhile now and it looked like kind of bad. Not like...horrible but just kind of thrown together even though she spent all day making it. She bought him a 1,000 dollar bike. He didn't want a bike. He told her that, told my dad this...and so mom threw the rest of his birthday cake away for some reason it was messy later. But anyways, they didn't wrap his presents I guess it was kind of hurried and yeah my dad put a lot of effort into it, but he wanted it to be 'fair' but I don't need things to be fair. I'm 20!
So he gets this bike, and he's upset because it's not what he wanted for his 'sweet sixteen' he has NO birthday party. His friends didn't throw him a surprise party like I had thought they would. So today Josh got mad at me because I took a small bite of the last piece of cake, and I really wasn't thinking it was early and I got worried about the dog. My parents fought about the 1,000 dollar bike, and my dad freaked out at her and pushed her on the floor or something crazy because she started yelling and getting in his face. When she starts rambling, she JUST DOESN'T STOP. And that and everything, it's been hard. Plus I hadn't slept last night and smoked seven cigarettes. Josh punched a hole in the wall, and started crying....before that I said 'Well I'm not the one with the
1,000 dollar bike' because he kept saying he called me out on eating the last piece of his cake. There really hadn't been much left before hand. He said that the fact that they didn't wrap his presents, and that it was his 'Sweet Sixteen'! And he wanted it to be special. Take things in perspective, he didn't even know it cost that much. Then I had to fucking say that!
I was supposed to not mention it and then the words just came out. I ended up spending a lot on him for his birthday, I made him a necklace, bought him gauche paints and dad bought tons of other things- silk screen and sticker maker and another present that he didn't even take out because he said it was getting to be 'too much' well it was a little overbearing with all the presents and they hadn't wrapped them. The worst part was he closed his eyes and dad just handed him the bags with the presents in them. The Big Lots bags! And made a joke about it....damn. And on top of this our crazy neighbor lady started honking at me....
Ever since I was young, I have been having paranormal experiences. Whether I was scrying into marbles and mirrors, hearing knocking sounds or I was moving things with thoughts, I was just unusual. My imagination even led me by the hand into madness. I have always had this hunch that these experiences have been more than some delusion of grandeur. The following are just notes and journal entries, they helped me cope and relate to how I felt about these experiences, although not as detailed as I’d like them to be they still offer me an outlet. Hopefully you will take something from what I have written, whether about ghosts, telekinesis, human energy, or just the supernatural experience.
April 7 2008
I am not sure what to do. There is something attaching itself to my heart "chakra". I was being drained almost weekly by this presence. It feels like some demonic entity...it seems to also manipulate things. It seems to be able to change things, like sound, and leaves me almost incapable of thinking about it...recently I was reading about demons and things started getting strange, like I've been hearing a lot of crackling noises...I've been
being kept awake by stinging feeling in my chest and a feeling of this presence clawing or pulling what I will call my vital force/soul out of me. I am honestly worried that I may have some negative attachment, which is also accounting for a lot of negative karma too. Because I am an overall very good person, I don't do things wrong and not to the extent that I would have some attachment of evil on me. I need information on what to do. All I can think of right now is converting back to Catholicism...but even so the church is Idolatry to me. I would rather pray to Christ without being in a church; although I find being a Catholic might be supportive...Catholics don't believe in that stuff. I am not crazy either, this energy is negative. Partly I brought it on myself by listening to music with dark undertones....the music has been shifting....has no one experienced this anywhere but here within the confines of this mind?
I've been reading about manna and how it can be manipulated. I was reading about Death Prayers. So, it is not me being impressionable that is making these things happen. This stuff has been seeking me and I have been seeking out resources to fight this sort of stuff. I was just curious this time when I began reading about the Death Prayers. I wanted to understand this Death Prayer...well I got attacked with a death prayer last night. I had the same symptoms described in my book. It was different than usual sleep paralysis or even bouts with this negative thing... I was reading an occult book called "Magic and Alchemy" and has flipped to the part about Death Prayers and just felt fascinated.
I was listening to some music while reading about Death Prayers, feeling sort of inspired. I felt inclined to write it down in my Book of shadows...for future reference I guess...I don't know why I wrote it down, maybe just for informational purposes.
And this is how the curse works: It's an ancient curse most notably known in Hawaii. It’s called the Death Prayer or Hex. Basically, there is an order of Priests. It is this secret Order and they are those who can control spirits. The person who wants to hex someone would first try to hypnotize a priest who could control spirits by putting them under hypnosis through magical spells etc. then they would draw on the priest's manna and use the spirits to dissolve the victim’s manna. First they would sort of shock them, a sense of guilt is necessary for the spell to work, and then the victim would feel a sudden paralysis beginning from their toes to their head as they were paralyzed by this death prayer.
This began happening to me that night...I began feeling this "thing’s” presence...which I can't even really describe well. This presence of muffled whispering, I have some negative entity that attached itself to me, well it was quite intense and it began pulling at my heart chakra, like...dissolving my ....ego?? Something pretty wicked was happening to me.
So I had to fight with it and began praying to God. And then, I felt something slip out of me through my toes, hard to describe. I had to get up at 2:30 and write this down, then I open my New Testament and flipped to a random page which turned out to be "Chapter 2 Outpouring of the Holy Ghost" and I read it...but later I did end up falling asleep and the thing seemed to leave. I am sure this is some ghost, and it is powerful. I'm getting the chills just now and I was getting them all last night before the paralysis started happening. I don't have epilepsy...I think the problem was that I had actually taken the effort to write the whole explanation of the Death Curse in my book of shadows which is my own personal spell book. I write spells in it too.
Ugh, I want this to be over with and I can't stand staying awake one more night... I'm pretty sure I picked up this negative entity after a stressful period in my life, but it's been haunting me now for over a year. I hate this negative energy. I think a lot of negative energy has its way of manifesting, even when it’s not coming directly from me. I know that I haven't necessarily invited this ghost in...Well...ok I
think there was a period of time when I began sort of having a lot of weird things happening that I couldn't explain. But it was all just in my head. The demons have been forceful, almost like elementals who have been forcing their way into my reality without me being able to stop them. Or possibly there is an evil entity that is controlling me; perhaps I really am possessed by the devil. Possibly it’s something more complicated or it’s just my imagination… I think the demon wants me to have bad karma so I can't defend myself against it. Because when I feel down, guilty, or low then it attacks me.
April 22, 2008
Sometimes magic frightens me because there seems to be no borderline between what's possible and what's impossible. I am a very skeptical person; I sort of have to be. So I think I would like to believe in different paranormal things, almost as if I am being called to that area but perhaps I am not ready- psychologically. Perhaps I am not capable of handling all of the concepts. I have been trying to ease off on all these paranormal investigations. But, I do believe there is some coincidence between these nightmares and a ghost named Sir William who was wounded during the civil war. I would like to know more, but something holding me back- and that is maybe just common sense, it was just
my imagination, my mind making it up. I feel at a crossroads or stuck between two sides- either I am just making this up or there really are a lot of unexplainable things that happen to people- I just don't know of them that well.
I've had pretty much no paranormal experiences, no ghosts, or astral projections, or lucid dreams. And I even struggle with believing in the afterlife- I am either numb to it or there's something out there. Is this a test? Am I being tested for something? Is this just another trial that I have to accomplish to get to the next level of awareness, to truly see things in a new way?
I found that today I've been really depressed- I haven't slept which is the reason mostly, but also I couldn't find anything occult or new age of any interest- yet I want to be, right now in fact nothing interests me- and I feel my life is pointless and hopeless. There's no way to get out of here. We're trapped in this world, there's no way out. Why does it seem that I can't do anything- sleep paralysis is as good as it gets.
And this demonic force which prevents me from lucid dreams and astral projection it seems, it seems is getting in the way. I feel depressed- yet I know there's no magic pill. I just wish any of it made sense. I should learn more about meditation, to me it always seems like there's no point. Like you are just sitting or relaxing for a long time not thinking about anything, I've tried listening to tapes and guided meditation and just felt like taking a nap, I find it really boring and I wonder why I can't find anything real in meditation.
I would expect some revelation, or some purpose to it. I tried some online hypnosis recordings and that really helped. I think the way they channeled the stereo made it really relaxing and I felt almost like I was going to float away, that really was helpful to me and would be more likely good for a trance state I think. I am happy with my life, but I think I seek out some form of paranormal contact or because it's fascinating to me. Also, I am trying to find faith or form my own belief system, but it's just consistently changing because I can't make up my mind on what I believe.
July 29, 2008
Had to get up and post this strange dream I had last night. One of those wakes up and thinks you are awake, and then find out it's a dream...dreams. This was sort of confusing because the dream seemed to have no end. In that the whole symbolism of it was that the dream was creating itself...and creating reality. It starts out I am in an open barn outside, having a discussion with a history professor I had once about the idea that whatever I said manifested itself in my perceptions. As I was talking I was deep in conversation,
a fly buzzed ahead of me. I became the fly. I am behind the soccer and football stadium near the high school. I am talking to this guy who is comical, a comedian or actor IRL. I tell him I can just sense that there is going to be a riot in this stadium if not tomorrow, the next day. I say that there is going to be a rebellion. This is not a good or bad thing, but a sad thing- it shows the state of things in the school. This may have represented the public school where I live, it looked much like it.
Then I began getting into my theory of relativity with him...then of course "It” happens again, and I begin to transform into the subjects I am speaking about. A fly buzzes around him and suddenly he sees the light, like his vision becomes the fly and he says he believes...before suddenly I become him... I am waking up from this strange dream in a spacious bedroom.
I turn on my computer and there is this program, it's a sound program and all these Hz or frequencies are set to what I can only remember as 32:3 ...and as I scroll everything has it. So it becomes my secret code that I am dreaming, and yet the whole idea is that reality doesn't exist? Odd coincidence, I wake up IRL and the clock says 1:32, which is somewhat close...would have been stranger if I had woken up at 3:32. Anyways, it was pretty odd because I become more and more convinced. I finally got to sleep at 3:32 though. Then, in the dream, there is a chemistry teacher and we are discussing through the people he discussed with about this case...of me sending a threatening video to
the school. This reminds me that someone told me I had sent this "letter" to the school. I haven't ever done and always seemed very strange that the Principal accused me of sending them a letter. I was never aware of this allegation. So, this was a video tape that I had sent to the school of this Chemistry Teacher, and it was "Fake" as the Chemistry teacher said" because it would have meant that he had to be there.... 'No, but it is not a delusion! Are you supposing that this video is completely manipulated?' The video must have been convincing, then I am there and I see the video.
And there is some reason that the video is both real and not real. But I didn't create it, I merely observe him being watched on this video...and then I see him being dragged on a car through an obstacle course or string of objects- like a washing machine, and so on. Suddenly I am chased by him off of this string onto a go-cart race-track. I am with Einstein and watching him and a girl, which isn't me...but as they gain on us it IS me...and so I am looking from behind and from ahead at the same person through different perspectives. The balance was that I was locating myself with the human heart, and then as I grew closer and closer I saw the defining features of me and the person, but the strange thing was I was wearing my blue sweater- so it was me when I was thirteen or twelve.
Then, I wake up again and this time I am aware of this thing going on, I make sure my angry dad doesn't notice me.
Then I am getting fearful the scientists are watching me. Him, then I am in a train station and watching Tory Amos as I hear her voice singing, she walks down this hill like she's walking down memory lane...which is my memory because she goes straight down and makes a left, on 13th Street where I used to go to Catholic School. I was also born on the 13th, on a Friday in January...1/13th. I don’t know...there must be some symbolism...because then in the dream I was feeling in a strange state. I heard my grandma read as I watched her writing a note,
"I knew there was something special about that girl." The strange thing was how real it felt. I being in the fly, and being in the person, and everything feeling so connected. And then seeing myself get closer and closer in the go-carts talking to Einstein about relativity. What was the symbolism of 32:3? The really odd thing about this dream was that the night before I was reading on Wikipedia how Lucifer translates to "light bearer/ bringer" and associates with the morning star and Venus...and contemplating the meaning of the Universe and such. I had this idea of a lot of it being taken from the Pagan ways. I have been contemplating my spiritual life a lot lately, being brought up in the Catholic faith. The first thing that pops up when I Google 32:3 but didn’t find answers.
Only that this number was associated with a symbol.
32:3 · The Tibetan symbol for the origins of the universe shows a seed of the universe rotating clockwise in the spiral of potential energy. I thought that was odd. So I read further and here is says: "According to the legend he came from the west, was a white man, and wore a beard. According to Aztec astrology he was to return at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Quetzalcoatl is associated with the planet Venus as the Morning star." It was just what I had been thinking about before going to bed. I also had talked about reincarnation and so I wonder if there is a divine nature to the number correspondence.
Jul 30 2008
We adopted an adorable lab-chow puppy. She is six weeks old, so she's still very small. I am thinking I want to name her Beatrix or Bea for short. I think that would be cute. Mom's been muttering to herself all day. I don't know what's up with that. I have been reading books: for fantasy I am reading Dracula and Speaks the Night bird. For other learning: I am reading all sorts of books: Primarily right now Signs and Signals, Enchain Vision Magic, and Native American Medicine.
I haven't been sleeping as well for some reason. I didn't want to go to sleep last night because I knew the apnea would make me experience a frightening sleep paralysis. So, this "shadow" is just another aspect of my mind I guess...or maybe it's just a side-effect of not getting enough sleep...and that's all I really feel like
writing about it. I started writing articles for AC associated content, where I might get paid if more people were clicking on my articles. Backing off the paranormal again, I don't feel grounded enough to get too involved in that area right now. But of course, it will pull me back in eventually. I just can't wrap my mind around all the thoughts jumbling through my head. The why questions get in the way. I think if I just give things space, it will unravel itself over time. But I feel I had a very successful rune reading yesterday, I read for my mother- which started this deep conversation that got a little too deep and intense, which contributed to my loss of sleep last night.
My sleep problem is that when I don't sleep, it really throws me off completely. I have a nice collection of gemstones and crystals. I might still be going to Church. I still haven't made my mind up about that. I just think the problem is, suddenly I was thinking, I want to be Christian again! Then, I started questioning my own faith...and everything that had been read in church...and it just didn't feel perfect to me. Maybe I am becoming a perfectionist.
There is so much darkness in the world, so going to Church really just helps shed some light on things. But when the Priest talked about persecution of the evil ones, then I closed up all the sudden and tensed up, got really nervous...because honestly I feel spiritual...but not into judgment. My calling is more of a Shamanistic approach to things.
Like the idea of serving the earth through communication and symbolism...which sounds a little more like Wicca...because I like the idea of the Nature elements? But then Wicca has become somewhat extreme as well, or was more extreme for me. A little too similar to any religion. I don't know if religion is even right for me, though I know it's ok to go places and participate in what you believe, if I don't believe it...I am not really being good at practicing my beliefs. It's really nice this morning...I feel uplifted now and that is good. But I still feel a little dizzy from everything; I honestly don't know what happened.
Well. I brewed a really strong cup of Jasmine tea. Like super strong, and despite I don’t know if it even has caffeine in it, I am allergic to caffeine and get bad that way. I haven't been writing in my journal as often, because I wrote so much online and yet felt not many people replied, and so I feel like I've wasted a lot of potential energy...I have writer's block again. But, I haven't had it for so long which has been great. Ought. I don't know what else to post. As for "experiences"? Well, a few coincidences here and there.
I was watching a Tory Amos Music Video and projected myself into it and the screen seemed too pixilated? But maybe that was all intentional...hate that I don't know. Some people think this is all a delusion...when I was taking caffeine pills to aid my concentration, weight loss, and fatigue, I verged a little on the manic side- like I was hearing "You are in the matrix" everywhere I went...but the good side is- I think there IS a purpose, however unobvious it may appear to be.
I do think that people have immortal souls. Regardless of what religion, race, ethnicity, identity that they associate with. Sometimes I feel so lost, like that I have been placed here. When I was little I had more visions, believed in reincarnation, and everything...tell me: What changed? Something must have changed, because although it's ok right now...something changed in this world that has had some impact on me on parallel levels it feels. I am going to be looking more into the crystal healing methods. But the idea behind it is a little obscure. Oh well, it's still worth looking into.
Aug 1 2008
I am considering stopping eating meat. I can't seem to feel "right" eating meat lately. I had quit being vegetarian awhile back, although I haven't eaten meat very much until now. I don't feel that fatigued when I am eating meat, whereas if I don't eat meat enough I feel slightly tired it seems. I think that if I restricted to only fish that would be a healthier choice than eliminating all meats. I just will go back to avoiding most meats. I am meaning to read GEB (Gödel Escher Bach), but haven't gotten in the right mood to get into his book yet. I finally made up with an old friend after a conversation that had turned out into a fight.
Feeling pretty aimless today, and no one around me is doing much. There aren't many clubs or anything around where I am. I really want to write a screenplay, but I'm lacking the focus and will right now. Still waiting for the puppy, it's Friday and they were supposed to come this week, we haven't even been able to reach them. It was good to finally get a good night's rest. I haven't been sleeping well for awhile.
I stay up late for awhile, and then I feel like not sleeping. The reason is pretty obvious to me in that I have been smoking more than two cigarettes a day. This makes me feel nervous and wired. But I totally quit on the caffeine. Ever since I bought this crystal things have been a lot better for me. I also bought the Crystal Bible, and I often meditate with them and have tried the cleaning methods of running under water and using salt.
August 1st 2008
This was a cool experiment. I got the score of the actual number 35+ on my first run....I had no idea how high the score was or I would have logged it. It went counter-clockwise for almost the entire time which I had selected/ a full counter-revolution around
the clock. Then it all flopped after I tried more times, which proves that it was somehow connected to my mentality. Now, I can't prove my TK through any video, but on these little sites there seems to be some proof or at least something going on... I scored 1530 on this TK experiment...I wonder how I would compare to others. Afterwards it slowly dwindled until I could barely do it and I became impatient. I notice that the best way for it to work is when I look at the image and not the screen on the empty panel. Also, when I say the color and shape to myself in my head.
Aug 6 2008
I sense a pitfall ahead, as well as general safety and success...an issue unresolved which has not been made clear to me. I sense dangers with broadcasting too much information on internet for privacy reasons. I am too outspoken, how can I be the sage when I am also the hermit? I would rather accept my swords and take the role of judgment and justice...temperance is on my side. As the world's dial is spinning, which way...I feel honestly that I am progressing drastically.
I chose: Will over Greed, Love over Emotion and Pain, Kindness over Anger and Rage, etc. The things in my life that have tested me haven't overcome me. I have overcome, and yet I am said to remain patiently and wait. Waiting is what caused all these problems in my life, yes patience, yes this is how the string of events
came to be and came to pass. I am maturing and recovering from stressful experiences. I honestly am worried about my dad's health. And I am worried he will die when I leave home. I know, that is completely unreasonable. I am dependent on him, he is my only person I can talk to about anything and when I leave I won't talk to him other than through email. It will not be the same as when I could just sit down with him while he smokes a cigarette and tell him my goals, plans, stresses. Etc. The thing is I am at a crossroads: Film School? I will have losses; first of all I will become successful and gain lots of money. But it will be a greater struggle than plan B: Boulder CO and Natrona, where I can have an activist education and WRITE!
Suddenly I had given up on writing and thought VISUAL yes that's where I should be, visual arts and film and cinematography...and suddenly all I want to do is write. Why am I full of so many contradictions, why am I such a flip-flop. Well, if my friend comes with me I am going so no matter what. I will attempt this, as more and more unrealistic it sounds. I also have the impression "Bloom where you are planted, immerse yourself in community affairs, work without need for instant gratification." Is this school really going to help me resolve the situation of MONEY, SUCCESS, ART, DESIRES, in other words: What IS my true dream? I wish a tarot card could tell me, but this is just far too complex. I need destiny to unravel before I make the move. How? God, I am so lost.
Aug. 7th 2008
So my new way of looking at things: Almost anything is possible. It is through fate, destiny, chance, karma, spiritual compassion, lessons, and etc. that we can experience the realms of the mysterious....chances are if you see a ghost, there was a reason for it. Because you’re individual path has been designed for you by "God" for lack of a better name. Mother Universe, Mother Nature, she plays a role in the path to our destiny. I think that everyone has a path, and a destiny. But there are influences on what path you chose and choose. And having a path doesn't mean you have a good one.
Some people have entirely evil notions and have led countless lives sequencing evil actions...their path becomes evil. But in essence, to find your true path....that is if you have gotten lost, you must look around you and experience what you have learned from the path you've traveled. If it seems like this path is walking the way of the earth, you will never fail, always succeed, and in the right ways. That is just this sort of epiphany I had yesterday. My Life has been pretty laid back as well...I wrote two articles for associated content. One is in progress of being published. I have already had an upfront payment of three dollars, which is good for my first two weeks and second article. My next two articles include: "Nature of Alzheimer's" and "Financing a Small Business" so I feel like a freelance writer...but am not quite there yet. Film is my true passion, I am pretty sure of this, I just have got to get there and do it! Yesterday I consulted my crystal ball, and asked well meditated on going to LA
and studying film. The answer was, yes! A definite yes! Intuitively, as if this will change my whole life around...like a total revolution for me....
August 9, 2008
Things are going well, questions go unanswered...I am unsatisfied...and I know why, the answers just aren't enough, they don't seem real and I don't know how I can exist on this earth without their being proof.
August 14, 2008
I did some divination with my fairly old deck, The Astor Mythological Parlor Game. Once given as presents to the Napoleon lineage. I played the game of patience, it's pretty confusing, and the whole book has very complex methods. The cards have astrological, herbal and flower, animal, zodiac, and their general meanings. Well, I tried it...it was interesting. You are supposed to try and see if the letters on the cards make out words. I asked about the move, and it seemed I got fairly interesting results. I didn't bother with the Pythagorean alphabet correspondences because it was all so confusing and overwhelming.
Probably why it never gets good reviews. But it is a cool game, I think it would be more fun as an actual parlor game and not used for divination...as the rules are silly, you could make up your own.
I probably will, sometime. I got the words: dice, nice, die, give, given, medicine, joy, brave, pray, and a few other words in them...and I didn't bother interpreting each of the 28 cards individually, too complicated and confusing...but it seems that it was saying "Yes. Cultivate a good foundation, growth through responsibility, and monetary gains, as well as a lack of love... but that that would be overcome. I think it was a yes. I need to practice this method; I should have done the five card method. Where the two cards on right have to do with business, the two on the left with desires that affirm the middle card...which give clarity to the whole picture. The cards are from the 1800's so they are maybe one of the firsts to be printed and distributed, originating in France by Mlle Lenormand. I'm not feeling so great today, I was feeling very wired yesterday from coffee...so I haven't slept. I probably need to take a nap but I can never sleep unless it's late. Pooh I found someone who makes spirit boards....maybe I'll make my own first though. I can't get them to work...ha-ha.
Thomas and the Cross I had given up on my notions of "there must be scientific reasoning behind this." Thomas was really trying to tell me something, but what was he trying to tell me? I couldn't keep on ignoring him. I had to find out what it was he needed to tell me...or what he wanted from me. Things had been going on for quite some time. It all had started around the time I had been trying to get over a death in the family. I have always been fearful of death. After the death of my great grandmother and my aunt who I had also been close to, I felt as if I had become cut off from everyone around me.
I cried and cried over my Aunt Rachel, and over my Great Grandma who had Alzheimer's; who had died in a nursing home far from where I lived at the time. It was a sunny afternoon one day, and we were exploring in a sort of indoor flea market; it was more like a large thrift store. In this store there was one section with witchcraft items: voodoo dolls, bags, incense, perfume, amulets, and necklaces. Being impressionable at the time, I was instantly drawn to this medium sized object....and I can't even write it without having trouble putting it....because of how it seemed to affect me.
The object was coated pewter cross. It came with a circular design and tiny holes in it spiraling to the left. The cross was Celtic and there was a tag attached to each item. This one was said to be "The bridge between the human world into the other-realm"...how strange, and maybe it was the tag that attracted me. Most likely it was, yes. I started wearing it the day after I bought it. But, the tag had triggered something in me...had reawakened this craving. I had wanted to communicate with the dead so drastically that I prayed, meditated, and even used my Ouija board. I used my Ouija board as if I was ET trying to phone home... I sort of disassociated myself from reality in that way, in order to receive some sort of spiritual guidance and to connect.
So the pain and fear of death would leave me. I danced and sang along to Kurt Cobain....thinking I could bring him back somehow. And always, I kept the cross close to my chest. After these experiences things started getting really weird. First off: I had become very attached to my cross. But, people kept blaming me for objects getting in places where they shouldn't be and no one in the house could explain it. Then, my precious jewelry and an angel penny that was very personal to me, vanished in one instant. How did it happen?
He laughed at me and taunted me...then the spider began to grow until it was giant. To my family it could have only been described as a nightmare. But they worsened. They turned into tactile hallucinations, seeing shadows, hearing some voice whispering a name, constant sleep paralysis, prickling feelings. I was obviously very sick. Curiosity got the better of my instincts, when I decided I would try and do an Electronic Voice Recording or even just take some pictures of the cross with my Sony Handy Cam. I wanted to capture something. I needed an explanation to why my camera's light kept flickering, or the feathers on my dream-catcher that were moving without a cause.
What happened shocked me out of my senses? After I uploaded the only pictures I had taken of my Celtic cross in its own individual folder I saw three images of a young girl. The young girl, maybe 12, was smiling...but the images were strange. As if they had been taken without her knowing it. As if someone had been watching her without her knowing. I deleted them immediately. A long time later, the girl appeared to me in an intense sleep paralysis where this creature, who I can only describe as a tiny black troll-like creature...with long claws...he dug into my ankles and I pleaded, then it stopped and I saw the girl...paler than I had seen on the pictures. Yet everything I had to dismiss because it was killing me, really, it was killing me internally. The chest pains worsened. They were tingling feelings, pressure as if my veins were being picked at. I was delusional....or was I? I kept hearing things; My Name is Thomas I would wake up screaming. Once from seeing these reflections of two boys, with one who had said "...I just want you to know, that my name is Thomas." I had to get rid of the cross! And I did get rid of the cross eventually. I even tried to exorcise it, and now I have no idea where it is.
Was the cross responsible? Or was the cross the trigger to the gun? The paralysis still continued on for over two years later. More than three times a month became more than three times a week! This shadow tormented me, laughed at me, but it was a hallucination...nothing more....nothing more until finally I had this epiphany, so I searched through all the details through the internet and in books. After my extensive research I changed my mind, for every approach sounded dangerous and might be damaging to me. I immersed myself in the Occult once again: to find answers. Only, this time I explored it in a healthy way. I found faith again in life over death. I would never let the pain win over me...my soul...my life. It was three years after I purchased this cross that I had a very vivid dream.
It was after another dream assault from the shadow-man. Right after the beast had released his grip upon me, in this dream was of a man who I can only describe as a soldier in Uniform, with a rifle close to his side, and his left leg in a cast. I saw his name spelled out before me, "Sir Thomas Dale”. There he was in a cast on a cot, and said. "Wait! I know what you are going through because I suffered through it for years during the great ....war...”
Well, I believe somehow his karma and his war experiences related to me. But I have no idea how it would make sense. What astounded me was that he appeared to be trying to help me, while on the other hand it appeared to me the alter ego of the demon itself! The nightmares stopped around June 2007. I sought advice and it was explained that I was merely experiencing the "Hag Attack Syndrome"...but I believe there was more to this than symptoms of the sleep paralysis.
What about the real sole cause of the paralysis? It has almost completely gone away, although, I laid off on the occult, tried to forgive him, prayed, and even have a collection of gems and crystals that protect me. Ultimately, though, he may be an imprint, a ghost, or at this point a demon. I do think that the Arch Angel Michael is responsible for healing me from this. I have prayed to him, as well as sometimes in archaic words and phrases through dreams. I am from West Virginia and have a long line of ancestors who've lived here since it was settled, so this seems a bit too much of a coincidence. I am almost positive that that was him: Sir Thomas Dale! One big reason would be the whispers: "My name is Thomas My name is Thomas...." I have been healed of the sleep paralysis. Although,
sometimes the weight sometimes seems to be present, I feel I am banishing the spirit who attached to me on subconscious levels. I no longer suffer sleep paralysis since restoring my faith in Christ-Consciousness, and in the Goddess, Gaea. When I reconnected to my roots, and prayed to my ancestors, I learned. I finally have found faith but it has been a difficult journey through darkness. I never knew that a restless ghost could endanger a person in so many ways. Often, I would wake up in a sweat; "My name is Thomas" the ghost would whisper.
As I let him get to me, the fragment became malicious, almost like a little troll. I felt it scrape its claws into my ankle, and it bothered me extremely. Demons are confusing, and there are no logical concepts as of yet to put them into a certain place. I don't think all demons that were banished, were banished on purpose. Thomas, symbolizing maybe the Doubting Thomas appeared to me one night as two young twins. The twins were watching me, and simultaneously projecting a dark entity into my dreams, could this be a symbolic manifestation of my own doubt?
Wow. I haven't really thought of that till now, because as well as overcoming negativity has I overcome my own fears as well as best as I can. Thomas was a lesson to me. A lesson from the cosmic laws which no human can defy. There is a "truth" that came to me the other night as I fell asleep. "Yes, there is a one truth" So maybe there is a one truth. Maybe I was wrong by doubting those who had said that there is one truth. For I have learned now the spiritual lessons. Pure darkness, even pure pain, even pure fear and death are something we can overcome if we try...and if we don't have the chance to try we should be given the chance. Everyone should
have a million chances so that they can accomplish their truth. The shadow of Thomas evolved, he also has said his name was "Lucifer" and also that he killed "Rachel" and called me Rachel. Rachel is an aunt of mine who died in a car crash when I was younger. Perhaps, a lot of this is metaphor that I have taken too seriously. I tried giving advice, but perhaps I should not dig deeper, but take this not at face value, but on a different personal level. I am too open, yes; I had intentionally tried to channel dead spirits through me. So I awakened Thomas, but Thomas was a lesson to me not to mess with the dead. This, through faith and modesty, is something I have learned. You know, you can contact loved ones if you do it right. But trying to contact someone like Kurt Cobain because you are depressed about death could only bring darkness; also his death circumstances were deep...
Yet with others, such as Heath Ledger, I keep him in my prayers. I have never tried to contact him but see his face above me angelically at times. This to me is a sign that I was right in praying for him, by not falling for the hype, because Hollywood can really wreck people's lives. I don't know if it was intentional, I feel that it was not intentional actually, as if he would want to tell me this. No, it was not intentional. He did not purposely kill himself. I wish people knew that. And yet, his death stirred me on a level to connect with an aspect of divinity within myself. This is all so very deep. I contacted a spirit last night, meditating on incense. The incense was swirling about in a way that only could mean a presence, as well as I felt cold across my cheek. I
know that is a sign, but it was not a bad one, this one was good. I knew it, I could tell. There is safety first, when contacting spirits. If in the future I were to ever truly want to get involved with contacting spirits, I would have to do it out of good faith in some higher power. My Arch Angel is Raphael. My Guardian is St. Michael too I believe...I have neglected Raphael and Ariel, both are my angels as well. Gabriel has distanced from the demon. I believe Angel Gabriel to be more peaceful, and too peaceful to be able to protect me enough. He may meditate on things, but Michael had the strength to wrestle the demon metaphysically. Yeah, I am pretty spiritual and yes I am a bit all over the place. But I love the spirit, and earth, and all of its mysteries as well as its simplicity.
Aug 16 2008
I have not had much luck even getting my board to work. I have excellent luck with Rider Waite cards, Runes, I Chin cards & you name it. I also have the Astor-Mythological Tarot Deck by Mlle Lenormand. I cannot for the life of me find any information online or anywhere else other than this tiny beaten book that came with the deck. It was given as a gift to me as well as the Napoleon lineage as it says in the front of the guidebook. The game of patience is confusing as are the aphorisms and astrological correspondences. The Tarot
Cards would make a great parlor game but are these cards useful in figuring out past lives and names? The associations are endless: numbers, flowers, astrological, animals, dates, images, and letters...each card has an individual letter to it. The deck fascinates me because it has so much to it. Today I attempted to use them and once again I spread them out and felt a little overwhelmed. I didn't get any of their correspondences it seemed. I wanted to know about the person I intuitively felt was a young girl named Alyssa Moraine who may have been in some string of events, and also had something to do with my purpose. She was born on April 25th and died in the 21st century. These are basically assumptions. I spread out the cards and it related to 1.Good fortune 2.Betrayel 3. Love 4. Joy 5. Unexpected Gift. It is hard to use these cards and I am a novice. I spelled out CNIVE. I thought at first glance...looks like Knife. That worked in the Pythagorean Alphabet. And then I found it to correspond to FORGIVEN. All the numbers worked out perfectly more-also knife...and I assumed live or life might work, but I put them away after that. Tomorrow we are going to the funeral of Michelle. I don't know how I will handle the emotion.
Aug 17 2008,
Juno woke me up this morning at 2:30 am and I hadn't gotten much sleep. I think that Michelle would have wanted me at her funeral, but that it would just be stressful to go four hours to this funeral & with all these people I don't know anymore. I think that mom wanted to go on her own, and she seemed upset so I think if we were fighting then it would just make everything turn out the wrong way. Plus, my mom has been saying things all over the place. I was only seven when I knew her and she is already in my prayers. I gave myself a reading this morning. I did the St. Brigit’s Cross spread with ten cards. Every card fell in the upright position. The spread was for incarnations in the past, present, and future. In the beginning was my karmic debt: The Hanged Man. I keep touching butterflies, Juno seems to attract them. Butterflies have become very symbolic to me, as they represent the cycle of rebirth.
August 21st 2008
Thursday: Readings I Ching-- Question: What is my destiny? Answer: Card 10. Ch’in above Tub Below. Great Yang. Month of June. Success in pursuit of ambitious endeavors. Treading Carefully. Conduct. He treads his accustomed path, if he goes forward then no error. Runes-- Question: What will happen if I move to LA? Answer: 1.Overview= Defense 2.Challenge= Separation. 3. Action= Standstill 1. Action= Separation 2. Problem= Constraint. 3. Overview= Possessions Reversed 1. Overview= Possessions 2. Challenge= Breakthrough 3. Action= Defense 4. Sacrifice= Standstill 5. New Situation= Signals Reversed 1. Overview= Initiation
2. Challenge= Possessions reversed 3. Action= Movement 4. Sacrifice= Gateway 5. New Situation= Breakthrough AstroMythological-- Should I move to LA and California for this school? 5 Card Reading Answer: 1. 8 of Clubs/D 2. Queen of Hearts/E 3. 8 of Diamonds/ a 4. King of Diamonds: T 5. 6 of Clubs/ H DEATH 1. Marriage and Choices and the necessity for a mixture. One picture is without marriage and one on right is with: A Happy Marriage 2. Despite Good Will you need protection from weakness. Young girl chooses between a frivolous society and a wise society. 3. Effort for a job. An orphan is given a home. You will manage a better position. 4. The Island of Rhodes is to be devastated by Serpents. Help from a stranger in accordance with needs. 5. Warning of detriment, self neglect, and madness. Look for the talisman of the sun and achieve distinction. #=43 in Pythagoras 1 month or so until something happens. August 23 2008 I bought my new crystal at a local shop in town. The crystal was shipped from Afghanistan. This crystal already has brought me more peace and I believe there is something collective about the power of crystals. It is not just the power of intention, but the objects
themselves can carry intentions for you when you can't. The blue symbolizes spiritual purity. I believe it was a blessing, and I think it was also something that was meant for me to have. Since I bought the crystal, it seems like my life is getting back on track. I notice that the power of intention and symbolism can heal various issues, or spiritual ones that people can have. If you are at a crisis of faith, sometimes it takes faith in something objective- to strengthen your unity with your inner power. In other words, I think I have finally found my power object. There is nothing actually magic about it, other than I feel a sense of passion for this object without a sense of discernment or necessity. It is freeing in this culture of materialism. Power objects come in all forms: The Cross, The Ankh, the Egg, The Spiral, Celtic Designs, etc. They help you reach a higher power within yourself. There is nothing dark about loving an object for what it represents to you, and you can give any meaning to an object. I have let go of the old object, that one that I picked up at the thrift store that had such negative vibes of mysteriousness, because I have a new one and this one isn't cursed.
The cross had a symbolic meaning; I don't know why it felt cursed. But this blue crystal means something else to me other than all this craziness...Healing.
Nov 10, 2008
In my tarot readings, I seem to be getting a straightforward pattern. I'm really trying to learn from them...I used Rider Waite, animal medicine cards, astrological cards, etc... One is that the hanged man always fall somewhere in the middle of the reading. The knight of Swords I am getting constantly! Also the emperor is apparently in my future, which is my birth card too and also George Bush's card apparently...don’t know why.
Well awhile ago I pulled five random cards out of my Mlle Astrological Deck, one of those really ancient confusing decks. The cards have letters at the top right hand corners. Ok so I pull them, first card 1 has D, card two has E card three has A, card four has T, card five has H....and that's it. DEATH. Also I keep getting death in other readings. So DEATH and it does sort of freak me out. It was also before a friend of my mom's funeral, but it was about me....and the other thing is....whenever I give my father a reading, it's always just like mine....I just can't get over my fear of it, does it really mean death. And what are the chance the first five cards I pull spell death. Not to mention crows circling on the tree above our house and things...I think that it is an omen??? I keep seeing the same cards. Hanged man, death, knight of swords etc. well…a definitive pattern.
Nov 12, 2008
I’m considering joining the Unitarian Universalists. I have had lots of feelings that this is right for me, and
yesterday someone suggested I go to belief.net and try the belief o mastic. I scored 100 percent Unitarian Universalist, and Catholicism score much lower. I'm going to a wedding in Texas on this weekend. My cousin is getting married, just as soon as he joined the military which seems odd. But I still support him even if I am too pacifist to support warfare or even the death penalty, death penalty is a tough one in some cases, but I still don’t support it..Majority of people who get it are black and many are wrongly accused. I've been down the past few days, must be the cold weather. I bought a book on Guardian Angels.
November 21, 2008
I have had some encounters with negative spirits, sadly, after buying a cross at a kind of odd section of this indoor garage where they sell items. It had a tag attached to it that read something, "the key to the otherworld" or some nonsense. I had nightmares for two years, from this attachment; well it's been resolved through prayer, and mostly of all through angel Archangel Michael. I remember in a dream, where I was psychically attacked and physically felt the attacker that I felt Michael swoop down and land, his toe banishing the negative, and it was like he has been depicted, although I had not researched much beforehand. And I felt very frightened and drained after I get attacked in these dreams. He wrestled with the dark ghost, a ghost that is a soldier
who I believe died in Antietam, near where I live. The cross I might want to describe, its pewter and a Celtic one, it's somewhat large and on a necklace. It must have activated it... I have no idea where it is right now, but I banished it (out of sight out of mind) by putting it away. I have recently begun to tell a few people, I even randomly told the guy working at a nearby shop. And he said that it was a ghost, that he could see ghosts "unfortunately" and that it was looking to be redeemed. I have no idea why it would attack me if it wanted to be redeemed. The story gets odd when this man from out of the blue sends me a message that he wants to marry me. He's a poet and on his website there's a picture of Sir Colonel William...just like from this vision I had of the ghost, in uniform in a blue uniform. This man who wants to be in love with me has a strong energy to him. "Col. William H. McCorkle my Great Grandfather fought and was wounded slightly at Antietam. He Returned to York and lived to be an old man. He died in 1904. “ I think that the spirit attachment is strange. I have always been sensitive to spirits; I sought out spirits to try and appease my questions, and am partly to blame for accidentally releasing a very harmful and bad spirit. But I think it's gone now. I don’t know if this makes sense at all, but I do believe the angels did have some help in resolving it, and have been working with me. I have trouble thinking, if it's psychological...which is what a lot of people would say. But so are a lot of things, metaphysical stuff that happens. The thing that makes me know is how random it is, I would be sitting on the bed and suddenly yanked into paralysis. I usually don't talk to people who give me the bad vibes, so I could understand if this story might bother you.
I don't know how to explain it, but I feel very restricted by the darkness...it seems that I started carrying such a negative vibe that people picked up on it...so maybe, like, a spirit-attached itself to me. I have banished it, for quite some time I haven't had experiences or nightmares, in fact I surround myself with light and love, also started treating depression. This is also a big problem; the negative ghost depressed me so intensely that he controlled my emotions etc.
So much that I had to fight to remain, stable. I am treating depression, so it's like a have this light shining in for a few seconds while I figure out what's going on, but it will not be long before possibly this ghost...could...get stronger or something. He seems to be evolving and I do not know his intentions whether power hungry or seeking redemptions but seems to be very dark and willing ill. Like, I guess when I have the dreams...it's both physical and I experience paralysis. I had one where, he scratched my ankles...but this was different then the ghost, almost...possibly, I know too many questions: can a ghost become a demon? Can they break free from evil intentions? How do demons go back to their original good intentions? I know I can' redeem him, but he seems to have been feeding on negative energy, gotten very sick...and evolved into a dark negative entity.
Is there anything I can do to really welcome the angels into my life? Is there a certain thing I can do to learn to shield, I picked up Hands of Light and I'm looking into the human energy body, and trying really hard to fight the darkness, I don't know if it's from me, or this "Him".
November 30 2008
Had another dream about these dark things, after-all I have been writing about it again. I was lying in bed when this invisible half cat, half troll crawled up onto me from a shadow, and bit into my neck and began draining me as if it were draining my power from me. This is why I don’t like dark stuff, because it bothers me more than anything.
On the flip side, if I am ever to break through I must defeat and overcome the darkness so that I have balance. Last night I was looking at the alarm clock: it said 7:49 and then suddenly 8:00. It is so strange when time shifts like this, but it’s all just a coincidence. Or is it?
I’m trying to stop meds....don't know why or why not to bother with meds...so why bother? I feel ok; I was a little grouchier than normal this afternoon, with bouts of spiciness and then sudden splurges of clarity coupled with de jab vu. I feel more awake; count the coffee....more me. Reading about how we are all really 'Sane' on the inside. Everyone is brilliantly sane, but we have to reach a place of peace within ourselves, and all that Buddhist happy goodness. I have been drawing blanks too a bit, but....so? My fear right now is that I'll start smoking when I get back home.
But I will try hard not to. Why do I fear cigarettes? They make me crave medication...it's all this supplementation and stagnation of the ax generation...blah...I admit it. I am sad. To be truthful, the alienation from this illness is worse than the illness itself. I can't drive, can't party, can't think, can't....can't just be free....just fall...just move. I can't move. I am choking on air, is that suffocating? I wish I knew what the plan was, but for the past three or four days I forgot to take my pills I embraced the 'what if' with a newer perspective, 'what now?'
Dreams...psychic encounters. Puzzles, mazes, magical cities, dimensionless staircases and endless closets with passages into space and time. I am happy; I have reached that state of comfort. I feel like, yes, I am here...but when will I let go of the fall and fly? When I fly, where can I go but down when gravity is the law of the universe...but then again, earth is suspended in an anti-gravitational vacuum. There must be more out there. When I die I will float away into the black abyss.
I just want out of this! This game! This psycho psychology....Do I sound like I'm raving mad or twice as sane as I was about three minutes ago? On meds. Off meds? What does it matter?
When reality is not provable...ok reality is provable, but I have forgotten how to prove it because I am isolated in a body cell. I feel like I'm some parasitic mutation of the once amputated soul that was..
Did they break me down on purpose? Forgive the rambling, but I'm aware of it all....a little too aware....that I forget to think like everyone else. Dang. Life is confusing to me.....and we're back to the beginning the why and what and how and its all reversing....how about 'what crashed into what that caused the cataclysmic spark' what broke that didn't smash? My will....Ok but I'm not crazy doctor...I'm insane. I admit it. I have been thinking I am really insane and not schizophrenic. I am just insane....completely unalterably messed up and crazy for life...what's the difference? Oh yeah, there really isn't one...but then I measure my own worth at odds with those of modern day psycho science and my brain makes pasta out of their laws. Now I really don’t know
what I mean, that's the seed of insanity...when you're purposely trying to demean yourself and cause that metaphysical catastrophe of unraveling and theoretical disasters that don't realize themselves. What? I don’t know. Damn. If I'm crazy then let me be! I'll be crazy. But they don't ask and so I don't listen, we're in fast paced retrospective summary of the future with pill peddling psychic docs in white sweaters giving us the chills on hot days and we're in a daze because the cotton is muffling our own abandonment. ME, plural for the generation of ax failures. Whatever. I don't think anyone cares about me anymore.
I can't tell anyone about this. I have no support system. I just want out. No one knows how I feel about taking meds and dealing with psychiatrists, it's not fair that my dad expects me to continue this because I don't want to. Because I said that I wanted to stop seeing the psychiatrist or go off meds, and he was having a bad day and he just yells at me. For once in my life I'm feeling better and everyone just always wants to take that away from me. I just want out, and he's making me feel suicidal for the first time in over a year. By being so demanding of someone, forcing his opinions on me like I have to listen as he's telling me what to do with my mind, my heart, my life.
Why, I can't stop crying I haven't cried like this in awhile. I just can't take this, I just don't know how to handle this....all these abuses and I start to remember them and feel for the first time and no one understands....that I want to feel, to know, to be in control of my brain and it's not.....like I have any hope. I feel so miserable on pills, yeah they help me focus somewhat but I'm always dazed out and I don't know- why the fuck does it matter what I think?
This is what drives a person crazy.
I guess it's only been about 2 and a half weeks since I quit taking the anti-psychotic medication. I realized that I should stop writing about it because it seems I could bring unwanted attention and criticism to myself. I chatted a couple times with someone from schizophrenia.com who can relate. I feel a bit bad because I just don't want to talk about the experiences anymore. I'm learning to let go. We shared our horror stories but I felt like I was shaking just from writing about it. I told him I didn't want to talk about the past anymore, boarding school, hospitals, etc. I hope I didn't hurt his feelings but I've been a bit on edge looking for symptoms.
Yesterday I smoked an entire pack of cigarettes...God that was so awful and stupid of me. I couldn't sleep that well, and felt like coughing and puking. I know the cigarettes aren't helping me recover. Actually, they would worsen the symptoms. Last night I kept telling this rambling voice to 'shut up'. Though it was caused by the air conditioner which is pretty loud and outside my room.
It went away when the air conditioner stopped humming. Like instantly. Noise is a huge factor for me. I have really sensitive ears and sometimes they ring...I have gotten my hearing checked by an audiologist and he said my hearing was above normal. I went into a sound proof room and he played different frequencies that I could hear.
I've posted a couple comments on YouTube that were harshly criticized. One was about The Onion making fun of schizophrenia. To which one person responded 'Shut up faggot tardy' the amount of negativity in the world is frustrating. The second I just stated my mind on this 'Non-Compliance with the System' video.
While he makes statements that the government is bad. It's not on solid ground, he mixes conspiracy theories on the Illuminati, that Democracy is a lie. I said that was disinformation...among other things. I got six thumbs down and my comment isn't even visible. Someone responded 'How Three Monkeys of You' and another said 'Politics Are Conspiracy'
I think it's wrong that they want people to believe that the government is a hoax and we're all slaves in this system. Do they know anything about the politics of freedom? Not to mention free speech. The message on the dollar bill actually does NOT say 'New World Order' because I looked up the man who wrote it and he explains what it means and the idea behind it.
I've been talking to someone who thinks I should go to Los Angeles film school, and take him with me. He wants to start a band and make films. Though the cost of the one year program is insane. I don't even know if I can afford it. We're meeting for a movie and dinner on Saturday.
Almost published a book of my poetry with Publish America. Then my younger brother said to watch a video of this guy who said he'd been ripped off and they purposely put mistakes in his book. Then I looked it up and there are lots of articles. Tons. Lists of people accounting their experiences, and on forums. So really they don't tell you how many books you've sold and rip you off. PLUS, your book will not be on bookshelves like they say because bookstores won’t stock it and it's Print on Demand. I like to rant a lot. I'm trying to stop...It’s strange...
I'm going to hide from my relatives for awhile. I felt so much better not taking that Abilify last night. I was really zoned into the third dimension but it helps me fantasize, so reading The Handmaid’s Tale was kind of fun. I love Margaret Atwood! Just finished Surfacing by her. I would love to become an author someday. Kind of freaked out two nights ago. I could not sleep and shadows started spinning like snakes. I kept having a true feeling that all this is a lie and nothing is real. I had just taken ability. Stupid pills make me so withdrawn.
But in a dreamy sense... I need darkness right now. I need my damn soul, and that's the line I've drawn. If I cannot feel on medication then I am um lost in a sense--to my purpose. The soul is adaptable though. I think mine considers taking a vacation when I get sick. I was so fucked up; I just wanted to hide for no reason. I considered locking myself up in a hospital to be taken care of, but now that the fog has cleared I realize that
Abilify is just as bad as anything that messes with your mind. I am so tired. I don't feel loved... I just want to fly into the sky. The little boy who builds a plane to get away from this--I am losing ground already maybe I stumbled back between sentences. Who am I? I am...who? I should not care so much or be so empty. I want to die happy, but I am not going to do that to them. I'm not able to either. I have learned to avoid that kind of knowledge. I won't OD on this stuff, I'll lose my soul, and maybe I'll try my mom's antibiotics? No, what am I thinking? God I feel so alone. When can I stop caring for me? I am trying to fill the gap. I never go shopping; it was strange buying clothes for me. I felt selfish; I am unworthy of nice stuff. It is money. I am a stupid child who can't drive, shop, clean, and I can't find work. My life is perfect. I don't deserve it, I ruin everything. I am cursed. Fuck this.
I'm doing a lot better. I am not having problems and quit the meds over a month ago. The doctor is doing well with it, and the last appointment was under five minutes. I am learning to feel again. Though that means that I have more emotions that I haven't contained. I am trying to channel them or deal with them. I can no longer sit around here and be a vegetable. Which is what medication helps you become? I feel a lot better, like I am FREE to imagine....which is strange because you'd think you'd be free to imagine in any case but somehow the medication has repressed my innate ability to walk outside the lines. I feel like I have awakened from a strange coma. I heard my own self, the
child self, come out of her dark cave and realize that she could see...but only for split seconds.
I get a glimpse of being outside. Most of the time I am stuck in this shell. I have to hide to control my heartbeat/ache. Things are better than before but I have to relearn to live and not become a reckless rebel like I'd like to. Because I am angry at God and life for not making sense. Because I am not a schizoid. There's no such thing as a schizophrenic. There is no such thing. I don't believe in these lies at all. I think they are bullshit. Really bad conceptual paintings of the way reality is supposed to look. I long to escape. I have to remind myself though, that this is what they did to me. It's nothing I did to myself. I never volunteered to get fucked up, in fact I refused.
I think that age should be irrelevant when concerned with your control over your body. But they'd disagree. It wasn't me who put me in that place. It wasn't me who put the drugs in my head. It was them. They chose it. NOT ME. So if no one understands why I get a little upset....it's because it was never my choice. It was a madness that I was led into, that I was pushed into...and no matter what you say I will never forgive you. They got what they wanted. They took my mind from me....it's the American dream.
I finished reading Stephen King's Bag of Bones a little while ago. It was the first book in awhile that I managed to read despite that it was lengthy and also kind of boring. But it did creep me out.
I'm listening to music because I feel kind of emotional, but I need to find something that is not repetitive or too emotionally charged. It's not really helping me feel better. I haven't been as into acoustic or indie music but more into progressive metal and rock.
I've never been more into angry white boy music.
Ought I was not feeling well yesterday. The problem is staying up late when I’m still used to just shutting down at a certain time. I started thinking about mom and kind of overwhelmed myself. I had flashbacks of people yelling at me.
I can't write poems online in places. Despite I feel like they are positive and abstract, people on all poetry always find some way to criticize them or just don't bother commenting or reading. It seems kind of stupid to be a poetry community if it's like that. I don't know what it is about my poetry that is so horrible.
Oh well who cares. I shouldn't have been thinking so much about things yesterday because I just felt horrible. I still feel kind of horrible.
God, I am such an emotional wreck.
It's not the end of the world, this I know. This is why I don't have much belief in the mental illness stuff. They'd just tell me I'm depressed right now. That my serotonin is not happy. I know that it's not true at all. Though it may seem like I feel like hell for no reason.
I should go swimming, I will. I have a lot of dreams about getting on planes. I have had quite a few of Marilyn Manson. I must relate to him. Loll.
I like the unrestrained violence and anger. Sometimes violence is good; at least he makes art from it. He does a good job too.
I am listening to KMFDM and it reminded me of the movie. The founding member's name is Sasha and its a little German sounding.
I waited so long to watch Requiem for a Dream because my dad said that it was the most horrifying movie he had seen. I didn't think so. I like it because of the movie editing. It was freaky but it didn't traumatize me. The only part that was hard to watch was the near end and when his arm was messed up.
I can't stand movies that are gory though...I don't watch many new horror movies because of that. The Friday-13 movies I haven't seen. And I never watched the Ring movies after I saw the girl in the closet it just freaked me out. I probably could stand it but it just grosses me out. The gore probably doesn't even scare me but the idea behind it and how much it dominates the movie.
I'm going to the beach in a while. New Jersey!
So it's gotten bad. I am very empty and can't feel much. I feel ashamed somehow. I called in a new prescription of Abilify and then found in the back of the cupboard there is a new bottle already there. Dad and I discussed things this morning. Grandma and Grandpa are with mom at this cabin up high on a mountain because she's not changed since I saw her last.
Dad explained to me the time she was on a retreat and left. She got on a plane to get home and then they switched in Denver. She got a rental car there and drove into the worst neighborhood and wandered around barefoot then got on a greyhound bus and somehow ended up at my aunt's house. I don't remember it though.
That is one reason we need to get her to a hospital. She is very delusional and paranoid. That's why it is so dangerous. I think she has attempted suicide a long time ago. I hope that she can get help and I'm sure she will.
I realize that my aunt and grandma may have been a little intrusive. But perhaps they are right and it is genetic or I have somehow inherited a gene. It makes me wonder when I think of the rare bone disorder I have that has to do with wearing down the coating around the nerves. I don't know if there have been studies if that is possible in the brain.
So I have my medication but I'm just going to wait awhile until I really decide I need it. It's like once I start taking it then I don't want to go off because it's so inconsistent. I would like to be off meds but I don't think these certain ones interfere in any way with my life.
I'm thinking about trying an anti-depressant called trazodone. I found it although it's over two years old. I also found klonopin which was at the right moment because I was really feeling anxious and ripped apart. I get somewhat agitated. I get headaches lately and feeling anger impulses I usually do not have. I want to get back to where I was. Though the Trazodone is 'take as needed' and I wonder if that works well. Sometimes it is easier to lie. Someday it seems that when there is nothing you want you can pretend it's still fine. Those days are warm and stuffy. The light overhead shines invitingly and you wonder what is left outside for you to play with. Being like a child is more difficult. There is more reason to find you in the midst of the characters instead of the colors. It's hard to think backwards.
It's hard to imagine that you know less now than you did before.
Today is a beautiful day. Instead of focusing on my failures as I often can do, I'm going to focus on what's good. I'm feeling much better and clear since I got a good night's rest. I'm smoking less and writing more. I'm pushing myself harder than before and I'm trying to get more done. I have a pile of books I could read and I'm going to get to reading to them when my attention span is better. I'm slowly tapering off the medication again, I'm taking 15 mgs instead of thirty and this is working better for me.
Sometimes I just don't want it because of how indifferent and physically numb I feel. It's a very dark thing, like a negative spiral. I feel suicidal when I take abilify because I could just not care and it's that easy not to. I need more of them. It's a horrible thing. I am not stupid. I just sometimes struggle with comprehending what others do on their level...everyone's a little stupid, critical, and wrong. Things will get better. I just wish mom was herself. I don't think she'll ever get help. Her whole family pulled together to get her help and they denied her treatment and called it recreational or 'not sufficient evidence'. I guess if they had seen her delusional fits they'd know. And this is tearing me apart. Oh well. That's how it ends...people expect me to solve their problems...well I can't. I am still alive. I guess that's positive.
I stumble on the words when I try to put it down because I can't. It's a ripple, when the page curves and suddenly objects float about the room as if in a space without air. Of course we are not living in a vacuum, so what is it? What is the real secret behind the way these things unfold? I am going to know someday, I promise. I wish I did now....all I know is what I've recorded in this book of mine.
Staring intently there is a noticeable blur....but not always to others. In fact millenniums have gone by before anyone could simply see well enough to see through it. What are we? Shuffling through our little boxes one by one, we've been numbered...we've been coded...we've been trapped here. We've been driven here. We've been changed here. We are earth. We are humans. We are alive.
What makes one rise and another fall? What makes someone strong and another weak? Who are they? Who are we? Deep down, everyone knows there must be a secret. But we're too afraid to ask. Probably for a good reason- we might find the truth, we might be set free. Or we might be dragged down into an eternal prison for treason to the king of hell.
Why did we forget? What did we do to fall into this trap? Was there another place before here? Is this it? What once was...that is no more...will it die a miserable death and collapse...forever? Is this all we've been fighting for? Why not just bring it to life? I want to live...a life of freedom of sanity...not of fear...not of empty promises. I want to know love....and here...love is dying...so what is the secret? Why are you asking me? All I know is that if you look close enough that the shapes will distort, and the rest will melt away.
There was a light that shined And the light was an angel And the world was free And the world made circles Around the land that we see And the people never died And the people never cried For everyone knew deep down The sound of being me The sound of sounding happy The things they wanted to see And somewhere---there was....a reason to believe.
I should not, though sometimes I do and then it gets me in trouble. I should not wrap my mind around such fantasies. I should not believe in them. They are not real. The eyes are cold, no blank, and no alive. They see—not. They see, yes they see you. You are not here right now. I don’t want them to be here, they are the ones that take away from. The nay-Sayers, the takers, the haters of my kind. We are, well, you and I and all of the rest—we are the pictures in frame. What is out there beyond the frame? Stuck, slapped onto a page…each one of us caught up in the daily trials and tribulations, completely unaware of the others…who are among us. They are not breathing, simply, exhaling…...us.
Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing to fear. When you hear me on the static airways or through the wires, remember.. And what about you? I’m sure you have some awareness of the other kind. Or the other….places. What keeps you tied to the ground? what locks you down so you cannot rise? I do not know…but it is surely madness.
Inhale, exhale. What are you laughing about? What are you afraid of? What is making you tick? I’m sure I know what it is--it’s the breath of air that you so cherish…you people of the earth. But me, I was born on a different planet, the one behind the eyes. The one that you don’t see. The one that hides in the darkness. The one that’s afraid of the light sometimes…it’s there. It did…the host that took me in….and now…my body is an empty what’s it…just kidding. I’m real…I think. I just don’t always see the same thing, and sadly-that means insanity.
I was once also a picture in the frame. What happened- yes- well they mistakenly thought I broke through and made certain I never would. And I should. Someday I will….and this will all slide away. I wonder if you know what it’s like to slide, to trip, to stumble. Are you a picture? Are you a character? Or a frame of mind….? Well, you decide.
In here I must confess the secret of why I am partly mad. The truth being, if someone found this out I could be in trouble--under some sort of assault....you know how it works...when they get their forces to drive you away. I've experienced it before--I think, though they are known for their talent in mystery. So no matter, without the truth there will never be an answer to the questions floating through humanity's hungry head.
I remember when I first got sick, it was like I woke up and decided I wanted nothing to do with the world anymore. I had just turned 15. I was at boarding school and none of my so called friends wanted to throw a party. My mom came to the school and I hadn't even known, she dropped off a painting of an angel watching over two kids on a cliff. Well that's just how I felt at the time; I was the girl on the edge just about to fall.
I didn't want to pass by the people who never respected me, didn't want to sit with them and eat and feel like I was a part of something that I wasn't. I stood in the snow; I stood for hours just staring at the mountain in the distance trying to see if God would appear because I wanted him to. It was his last chance.
The teacher finally came out, and a student told me she couldn't help me repeatedly.
I went and explored the greenhouse of the school. All the sudden I realized that it was the end of the world ...it was like all the sudden a screw went loose and I lost all sense of control. It could have ended, maybe, maybe my mom wouldn't have gotten so offended when I cried to her over the phone and reached out to them. Instead they came and picked me up from school. It just got worse and worse. I went to sleep in the hotel, for one delirious night I heard voices--like disembodied people I knew. I felt really feverish, and exhausted. Like I was going into a dark place I would never return from. The teacher talked about how her friend shot himself, I heard the shot ring out in my head.
When I got home my parents wanted to wait before they did anything. I would lie in bed, feeling feverish, like everything was super loud. My mom put on Sarah McLaughlin, and I would listen to the CD and song World on Fire repeatedly for hours on end. But it was like, I couldn't feel from her voice- couldn't grasp the logic behind those words. Everything felt like it had lost reasoning.
I didn't seem to comprehend that I was supposed to be trying to get better. I don't think my parents really told me that, maybe they did. They brought me food and warm tea and I just lay in bed feeling stuffy and tired. I just wanted to sleep forever. Then after all that sleeping, I needed to wake up. I crawled out the window and sat on the roof like I always had, and overlooked the neighborhood. But my mom looked up and started screaming. Please don't jump! She cried. She then called the hospital and told them I had been on the roof. I don't remember, but I think this is when they decided to hospitalize me.
I was in the hospital entrance when I told my dad how beautiful it was--that I could almost smell the flowers when I thought of them, the paintings I was imagining. But when I saw the white walls, white floors, bleak and terrible prison-like corridors of the hospital I felt betrayed. My parents said they wanted to talk to me, they had come to see me and I asked to be taken inside and didn't look back. The huge metal door slammed behind me and I felt like I was going into a cave and never coming back. The nurse came into my room every night with her pills and said I needed to take them. I had a dream about paintings found in the drawer, I thought the van Gogh painting on the wall was a window, we were overlooking Paris.
Then I started Risperdal. I started having strange dreams....I tried to summon the creativity--but it wasn't the medication, it was the more I stared into the white walls, the sad people, the feeling I was a prisoner.
I started scribbling my art- like I was reaching to another world, a place where people really cared. Everything was ugly, but it never hurt as much. I remember one man was asked what his family was like- or his life. He said he didn't remember. He stared blankly ahead. I don't remember anything- he said. I came home...but I don't know that I felt quite like myself yet. Then I woke up, and decided I needed to get away from all this. I walked outside and lay in the snow until my dad came and picked me up, I asked to go for a drive. Suddenly this madness overcame me, like a switch went off. I felt paranoid, persecuted- like this would never end and they were trying to brainwash me. I grabbed the steering wheel and tried to hit a tree.
My dad grabbed the wheel, and swerved to the side. I tried to get out and he locked the doors, and then I somehow managed to get out. He tried to fight me down, I'm not going to let you do this, he said. Then I ran into a field that had been flooded, and the water was freezing. I almost killed myself that way, running into the water- the doctor said any longer and I would have frozen my blood. A construction worker came and coaxed me back out of the water, and I got back in the car with my dad. But they had to hospitalize me. It just wasn't what anyone had expected. My dad fought to get the insurance to pay for what he expected was a better place than the other hospital, the adult unit was full of some people that he didn't think I would be ok around. But at the other hospital, the people there were abusive and cruel.
They were mean because I was paranoid, and I didn't want to take the medications. They isolated me for hours and hours just for being catatonic and refusing medications. It wasn't like I felt they were cruel, they were definitely being cruel. My hand went numb from an injection- I was told this was a delusion. Everything they did made it worse. I even hardly spoke, and I guess that was what angered them. I was so quiet, so they constantly put me in the quiet room. And it only increased my fears.
But I somehow submitted, and at last took the medication- none of the six medications worked, except the newer atypical the doctor had me take. I went home, and all the people in the psychiatrist’s office said that I was really not well. That I barely blinked, and that I seemed very catatonic. I got better after that, but the abuses in the hospital made it very hard to know who was helping me anymore. Just trying to put back the broken pieces of myself has been hard for me. Right now it helps to write this--because I need to focus on when I was sick, I am losing ground again and feeling like nothing makes sense. Maybe the best way to describe schizophrenia is that you stop being able to define anything. You look for pieces, and they don’t fit...and everything else is a memory. Logic escapes you like a liquid running through your hands...the truth burns like one million suns...but you can't feel it because it will kill you to know... Survival: this is what it means to be diagnosed with an extreme condition such as schizophrenia.
Things are not as easy for those of us who have it; day-to-day life becomes a battle for our physical, mental, and emotional health. I should probably take some time, now and then, to truly realize how far I've come to establish this sort of stability despite my extreme condition. No, it's not just the medications that make a recovery for someone who's always at the whims of a chemically agitated brain. It's work!
While a person on the other-side of this page ponders, "Well they're so desperate and unwell. They are always in a state of crisis, like a ticking time-bomb. Are they ever o.k.?" Let me respond to that inner pondering, some aren't and some are. I am one of the lucky ones
that is o.k. for most of the time. That doesn't mean I don't deal with madness.
Nor am I free from the stigma. I've gone through the throes of madness and I've come out the other-side. I'm on your side still, you see? What some people need to understand, is that when you are chemically balanced, you are fine and more-so you than any other day. It's not that your brain is damaged; it's that your brain is imbalanced.
When the chemicals start working in the right order, then you return to normal. And that's what I hope will happen for others who have this mental illness. Although it affects a smaller percent of the population than other illnesses, it still affects a lot of people and especially the homeless (who might not have been recorded in those statistics). Right now I take an anti-psychotic called Abilify and have started a medication for anxiety called Klonopin.
They both seem to work well, but Abilify for me has never had any side effects and for some reason, just worked really well in the long-run. I've had schizophrenia since I was fifteen-sixteen and I am now twenty-one. Also, the longer you treat your symptoms it seems the longer you will stay symptom free. For me, taking medication religiously is not a chore. I find that I have no symptoms anymore.
I guess you could be halting the progress of the disorder, if you keep yourself chemically balanced. I'd hope so. When I don't take medication, after a few months nor so I may become manic, paranoid, have ringing ears, nightmares, etc. So it's not easy. But living a life happy and free of symptoms is definitely a great alternative to schizophrenia. Technically, you could say I do not have schizophrenia when I take the medications.
As rare and unlucky that I have this condition, it's also just as rare and luckier that I have had such success with treatment. Self-talk, therapy, and music have also all helped. I hope this blog has helped educate more people on schizophrenia and the success and benefit of treatment.
Some alternative helpers alongside mainstream treatments: meditating, being outdoors, writing and reading, doing things to distract yourself when down, positive thinking, homeopathy (more of a psychological benefit), vitamins- zinc, b-12, d, and fish oil is supposed to help. And just letting things go, not letting you feel upset or guilty or beating yourself up for having a mental disorder. It's not anyone's fault. Not yours or mine.
""But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked. "Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
I fall asleep to the sound of raindrops and bell chimes, as their fingers tap tap on the piano keys of existence. I wish I could stop believing in it, but I'm cursed to be stubborn until my last breath. I see the world swallow up the sun. I watch them falling through their eyes, and I don't know why I'm staring at my shoes. I want to move mountains, and I want to paint over all those zig zags in the sky. Sometimes I want to win, but sometimes I just want to die. I follow their eyes as the sky bleeds ink tears, the monsters in the shadows follow me everywhere I go.
This taunted mind has chained me to the walls of this prison. If I weren't so kind, I'd have lost the brightness that claimed me. If I was free, I'd know what I could control. If I was a lunatic for believing I was well, than is it insane to think I am whole still? If I fell into the traps, wouldn't I look so small? If I was queen of the universe, than it might still have had a soul. I've given up to breaking through to you. If I knew how to beat the system--If I knew how to end the pain, I'd know how to stop fearing this world, that lies deep within my dream. This is what it means to be afraid because others can't accept what wakes up while their asleep.
I don't want to panic. I feel ok. Just another silent mind, seeing whats left behind. The soul shines, like a happy peach, that's far from the light and hard to reach. I grow still inside, every breath is coming out wide. We steal and conquer, break the pain with our golden arrows. We are the wounded warriors. The dismal drops of rain, slow and soft and like silver stars. I learn to feel, to embrace what I see. What I hear. What I know is real. Inside of me, a sparkling flame. A personal shelter where I can ease this pain. I used my tears.
I don't want to panic, but I'm losing that part of me, that part that I wanted most. The one that believes that I am me and not that I'm just a thoughtless ghost. Because I'm feeling sad, I feel like I am a machine. I feel like I am asleep sometimes, and sometimes I still believe in those dreams. I want to live forever, because I love life too much to paint the sky black. I want the world to be everlastingly bright, and I want to always come home, with a sunrise painted on the sky that looks down from the clouds above me. In an upside down universe, where the raindrops fall upwards, and I am forever falling with them into paradise. I wish dreams were bells, like the fairy angels, who took me into secret staircase realms.
This happy sun, it’s only just the beginning. The darkness has shattered all that my eyes could show, what a mess the darkness has made of me. I'm a good girl, but inside I'm shaking because I've forgotten to open the heart shaped box. I'm also on a mission to save the world from rotten apples falling off trees and my boyfriend can pick locks. Please. Don't leave me alone in the museum of opportunities. I'll pay the price. I'll exchange sorrow and blood for truth and love. Across the ocean's mists so blue is an island undersea, the spirits watch and wait, for the chance to exist, live as freed. We are born the test of life, and tested by life we needed, because inside each person--is God's special destiny. If only it was within me to show you the truth of mastery. That above these spiral stairs, is castle of starlight that glistens, and upon those rainbow towers is a secret unseen and it listens.
A Lost Soul
Today is a warm, sunny day. It's so nice that everyone is spending as much time as possible outside. Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day, and although most of the college students decided to drink, I decided to smoke a joint with some people. It wasn't bad, but the strange thing is how it affects me. What it does is to turn on the parts that have long since been worn down and knocked out from the psychotropic medications I'm taking. I become better. I become the seventeen year old before she was locked up in a mental institution and cracked for good.
I found that after a few seconds, I was jolted back into my own personality! Almost as if it supplied missing pieces to me. Suddenly I came back, and I wasn't just "conscious" of what I was doing...you know...going through the motions....I was actually doing things and not worrying or concentrating so hard.
I wasn't so blocked up and trapped inside myself. It's a hard thing to face, when you've been taking medications for years that do something to you, which you don't really understand nor feel or are sure if it is helping. Well- see that's where the line blurs. Understanding gets fucked on pills. One minute something seems ridiculous, and then another I start thinking- this is just subjective thinking.
I think of my brain as a computer with a bunch of switches that turn on certain levels of my personality, I, my ego, my soul, my mind. But what if you're constantly pressing buttons which do not need to be pressed? It has to get to a point, where there are more options. What options do I have? The only medicine that really helps me is illegal.
It's so hard to believe in yourself. Either way, whether or not I'm sane or crazy, schizoid or normal, I'm still a lost soul. Do I really have a choice?
No, your system breeds insanity, in fact the commercial industry thrives on insanity and quick fixes for the false solutions to false illnesses. Too hyper? Your kid has ADD. Too compulsive? OCD. Too moody? Bipolar. Too rebellious? Oppositional Defiance Disorder. Now there certainly are people with minds that were not altogether structured in a way that they could relate. Who are those people? Why don't we see them anymore? Are we helping the people who are truly sick, or are we damaging those who aren't and KILLING the rest? You watch her eyes go hollow; she watches a screen go over her filtered eyes.
The next night she dreams of walking through their minds in a sedated catatonic chemical haze. No faith. No belief in herself. No belief in them, but the edges is soft enough so it doesn't hurt her eyes when she screams. She believes them. Prescribes to them.
They prescribe it to her. She is the product of the INSTITUTION. The institution thrives on its disciples, those who weave the webs of despair and hatred, a hell on earth where peace will never be achievable. Don't say it's not true. Take your medicine dear. She's being drugged up enough just to believe in the faulty goals they propel, she swims on the current of hopes in your false American dream.
A Utopian hope, when in the pits of despair. I'm going to get an education, become a productive member of society...but when push comes to shove the greedy people in this institution have pushed her too far. She takes their violence, their wars, their ideologies, their lies, religious bastards and Gods.
God fearing and God engineering, those who are paternal and right, she swallows it in the form of a placebo. The sugar pill of hope, the sugar pill of a world that doesn't believe in itself. A society gone wrong, an institution in ruins, and a government that is BLIND. Yet don't despair, hope is within you. Who are you? Who owns your spirit, and your mind, who owns you now, America?
I'm not someone who's easily convinced of something. That should say something about my brain, and that my instincts are pretty normal too. I'm always wracking my brain and trying to figure out what it is that is the source of my condition. This has been brought up time and time again to clueless psychiatrists.
When it started, I had also developed an acute sense of "tinnitus" or ringing in my ears. Not only the tinnitus, but constantly listening to music and trying to drown out my existence which seemed futile at fourteen. At fourteen I was the misfit who would lock herself in her room to write poetry in notebooks.
Then I went to boarding school. In my parent's mind it was to solve the problem of school bullying, and yet they were proven wrong. I went to boarding school with the notion that I was escaping my home life, my problems, the bullying. The summer before I left, I had been experimenting with self-hypnosis a lot. This caused spontaneous dreams of being awake when I was asleep. So I'm staring at this book, "Conscious Dreaming" tonight and feeling like I'm losing it finally, for good.
Losing it to me is not hallucinations, it's a mental collapse. It's a mind state. It's not some chemical misfire. It's a literal misfire....when you aim for something and you get something entirely different. I was a healthy baby but maybe, maybe a little too introspective for my age. A little too aware of my surroundings, and of the pain inside a person's voice when they were upset.
Nothing like this is noticed in psychiatry and yet, I want them to know. I want them to notice. I feel trapped. I'm trapped in a never-ending cycle of escape. My problems are being quelled by a chemical restraint. I seriously mean this; I have psychological pain when I stop taking the medication, not delusions. The pain is gone, but for how long until I go out in a big bang?
Then what of the pain? Will it just disappear? If only it were that easy.
I may collapse now without taking pills, and that's even scarier for me. The kind of desperation I feel, to be lied to or mistaken for some magical illness. As if it’s physical like diabetes or cancer....as if it’s eating away at you, and yet would I am sane enough to write this without the medication? Well I wouldn't be at peace but I'd still be able to write this. There is genius in madness and inspiration. "The answer is yes. The answer is no. The answer to your madness is: there is no answer." But there is an answer, you see. Perhaps I'm just being manic by making sense of the whole idea that I'm not insane.
I've grown up taking pills. I mean teenage years are crucial to personality and brain development. I grew up from age fifteen up until twenty-one taking medication. I feel like a little girl in a woman's body. This is what it's done to me. It has completely stunted my growth. I mean I took the college SAT at thirteen and passed. At seventeen I dropped out of high school. Psychiatry has ruined my life pretty much.
It really bothers me because I don't think I did anything but mess myself up for years. I went to the therapist who wrote down all the stuff and tried to soothe my bandaged soul. It became like a trap, like never-ending numbness and repression of my feelings. Because who was answering that nagging question, "When will it all be ok?" other than the insurance company and drug industry and mega million dollar psychiatric machine??
But I can't give up. Even if they say I'm wrong. I still know it's a lie. Yes, they never taught me their lesson by isolating me and raping my mind and destroying me down to the bitter end. I still said, it's a lie. I refused medication for a reason. Yeah, I was a dependent. But my parents were not the ones who should have been making that decision. And this is a BIG problem. Not only is the very inequality of it terrible, but a child who is mature should be valued for her maturity.
Instead, I was degraded by this system. I was debased and treated as a worthless animal in a cage. But no one is listening. No one is listening...
I am a worthwhile individual who deserves to live her life. I am not garbage and if the real mistake is based on trying to escape my problems you should blame my parents. They instilled this idea in my head by sending me to boarding school as if it would make everything better.
So I can think of that when I look to someone who has had a mental collapse, their world fell apart. Their brain did not fall out of their head. And if a person is there enough to listen to you, why don't you explain it to them. That's also a major difference between me and most people who had experienced "psychotic episodes" because I would have negotiated my bad behavior for a reality which didn't burn like fire.
What causes tinnitus? It could be either hypersensitivity or it could have been trauma from my parents screaming all the time. It could have been the constant music playing, and escapism. I was drowning something out though and what I wonder is--was the noise a coping mechanism to drown things out? Or was the noise drowning me out? It seemed as if as soon as I walked in my room my ears were stinging and this noise was everywhere.
When I was little I used to get ear infections a lot. I was sensitive, but not the extent of madness. I think something else was definitely going on. I would go to bed and the walls would start to sway, and sometimes I would hear this piercing shrill noise. But only when I was quiet and not distracting myself. Perhaps this noise caused the hyperactivity, some excitation thing....but I don't think it was dopamine or serotonin.
Is her life worth throwing away simply because she believes her madness is her right? What if her resistance were crucial? What if the very reason I'm still here is because I denied psychiatry? The lie I am still being force-fed.
Believe me, I've accepted it. Yet I must be mad to have this nagging fear that it's a lie.
This is just a regular update on how I'm doing. I am able to write today, so I think I should try to write while I can. I want to start back reading my book again, but ever since coming home I'm feeling in a rut. I saw my grades online for last semester, and they're not bad. I have a 3.0 gap...which isn't bad. I'm feeling accomplished that I finished the year, or trying to.
I went into town last week with my dad and saw a movie. It was awkward because the movie turned out to be dark and he didn't like it as much as me. Is it weird to see movies with your dad? Am I too old for that? I'm twenty-one, but I enjoy spending time with my dad, we get along great. I'm starting a new medication: Celexa. It's to deal with depression, focus, and smoking. I hope it can pull me a bit out of the darkness. Maybe I'll feel more motivated.
Versions of Her
I love to write. Stories, they’re so human. They expose all the rage, love, lust, and beauty of our everyday lives. Of course, when you pick up a book, you don’t have to live it. I wrote a story in my mind, but it’s not a fake one. This part, the part I expose, is real. Even when I fear I am losing my mind.
When I was six months old, conversations tumbled out of me before I even knew I had said them.
I was wondering what I was and where I was. I was in curious awe of everything. It was like I was psychic or something. Thoughts just came out of nowhere, knowledge of things. I was so excited that I must have soaked everything up….I could have swallowed the world. And then there was this space, this loneliness.
I felt alone in the world. I felt so oddly different than other kids. In the second grade I talked about maturity to my classmates. I was slower and more meticulous, I struggled at math and perfecting my coloring. I never could fit in, though I knew I could if I wasn’t so shy. One minute I was acting like an adult, and the next I was suddenly playful and young like a kid should be. I couldn’t figure out which one I was.
Something sped me up while slowing me down. It was my drive, my eagerness to learn, and the smallness of whom I was. I couldn’t let go. What was I holding onto? What was so important about describing everything to me, and in detail? What was so important about memorizing events and days, and playing in the sunshine? What was so important about imagining things, and what was so wrong with being alone in this magical world?
I managed to find friends; they were always the outcasts (like me). Of course it wasn’t always that way. For a time I was like the mother, and I would sit and tell adventure stories to other kids. They were stories that came from the imaginary world inside my brain. Then I became a tom-boy, and I spent all my time outdoors hiking and exploring forests. I did this on instinct, but I also have a rare muscle condition-CMT. CMT is when the myelin around your nerves wears thin, causing your muscles to be weaker than most people. For some reason, I got it a lot less bad than most people.
Among my friends were stories. I’d see a picture- and the picture would become a place. The place would become a scene from a movie. The movie would become an urge, a place to escape to where I didn’t feel so alone. It would be a place where I wasn’t depressed. You can only escape for so long.
My parents bought me a porcelain doll for my eighth birthday. I named her Christina. Christina sat in my room with all my other toys. I loved my dollies. It’s hard to imagine a girl who loved dollies also loved playing with cars and power rangers. Thinking back to when I was little, I was always someone different and someplace new. Sometimes I acted like a tom-boy and sometimes I was just a young girl.
I had very epic dreams, and a few reoccurring nightmares. The nightmares consisted of me being driven in the car with my dad or mom, and suddenly my dad or mom vanished. I was driving the car and the steering wheel had a life of its own. Those dreams scared me a lot. When I was little- my freedom was never-ending, but the real world was nowhere near mine. I was young, and I wasn’t independent. I wanted to stay a child, but I also wanted to control my life.
That same year I turned eight, my mom had become increasingly paranoid. She had false memories, false beliefs, and wasn’t herself at all. I was kind of angry at her for abandoning me. I wondered why she suddenly acted like she didn’t know me or couldn’t talk to me. She was taking Prozac. My dad told me she was overdosing, but I’m not sure if that’s fact or fiction. I know she was taking Prozac, and I found out when I was seventeen that she had tried to kill herself. For my entire life until then, I never knew. I always thought that she had run away to a bus station, like my dad had said.
I also had this scary impression that she had electroconvulsive therapy. I don’t know if she did or not. These questions can only fuel one’s paranoia. These lies can only fuel one’s fear of one’s family. How could this perfectly normal mom suddenly turn into a maniac? What had changed so abruptly? Was it my fault? Whose idea was it for her to take Prozac in the first place?
My mom has false memories; do I have them as well? When I was seventeen I was taken to an adolescent psych ward. One day I was taken aside for a meeting with my councilor- who told me that schizophrenia meant that I will have false memories. Maybe that’s why I always try to remember everything, because if I didn’t—How would I be able to write this right now? Without our memories, how can we tell fact from fiction? I was born in love with a world that didn’t seem to grasp my concept of it.
False memories….I don’t think I have false memories. But some things happened when I was experiencing my “crisis” that would scare a normal person too. It was as if my memories were always under attack, as if…as if they didn’t want me to remember. Why? What was there left to forget? Sometimes I wonder, if it was God they wanted me to forget. I didn’t forget about God, I just wish he talked to me once in awhile. Why would anyone try to make you responsible for something you hadn’t done?
I was born on Friday the 13, 1989. You could say I’ve had my stroke of bad luck in life. That doesn’t mean I’m not fighting to reverse that damage and pay my karmic debts. There is mystery, for sure, in the beautiful madness of it all and of my mother. Today, she is living in a fantasy world. In some ways, it’s almost comical. Her beliefs are random. Yet here, in WV, you cannot hospitalize someone unless they are dangerous. Well, there is a reason for everything. Maybe if I put my faith in God this will all work out.
There is that thin line…that thin line between this world and the next. It’s that place in between spaces where you lose yourself, and wonder if you’ll ever make it back. I’ve managed to survive through all this hell. Catch me when I fall. I was there through it all. There I am, and I am seeing it you see. We must be saved, before the calling of eternity. Today, everything fell apart. Today I lost my mind and decided that I should have saved my soul instead.
Imagination-land is what I called it: It was my secret place where anything you wanted came true. I was so fascinated by art, science, music. I listened as my dad played guitar for hours on end. It was an adventure. I was just too amazed. There was so much love.
But then I was forced to learn that outside my happy little world, things were just so different. My mother was my shelter, my advocate, the one I looked up to for everything and I lost her at eight. She came back…and then she was gone like a magical star. She was the spark that never really died…
She used to say, “It only takes a spark to get a fire going.” Well my mother will always be that spark. She’s still my inspiration….even when she doesn’t know exactly how important she’s been to me. It’s hard to fill that vacancy, when the spark goes out and you’re feeling blindly through the dark for an answer to why, why can’t I just help her. Why is she so upset and why doesn’t she make any sense? Why can’t she just wake up from her reverie and be there for me?
A...negative attitude. At least it gets me somewhere. If I believed God would sort my shoes, wash the walls blue, then I'd agree with them too. But these walls are white, and I'm still tongue-tied. I forgot my place on the line, and I'm losing my way and I've lost my mind. I wait for it to catch me, when I have the time. I'm out of time, and I will not waste another moment watching the rain splash me away.
I may need to explain every imperfection, once upon a time I had them...those explanations. They were stolen from me, like phrases whispered in a monotone voice; the white noise has stolen everything. I have nothing left to tell, so take my words yes steal. I have nothing left to sell, and I have no one here to take my words as well.
There might be a demon in my head, but at least I never let him call me dead. I'm still alive, and I have my fist for a knife, I will ball up the madness and love despite it. I will persevere, maybe I'm strange. I'll be the freak you admire when all the walls change, when everything is re-arranged. I hope you don't see me when I'm painted blue, because today that's actually all they can do.
Maybe I lost it a long time ago, before everyone understood how horrible my suffering has been. Perhaps, too existential for the hippie good-doer, love dove person. I might not make sense to the "normal" person, since we're all just trying to fit in. Except they follow and I lead. I led them into my nightmare so they could bleed too. Someday there will be revenge; I will get what I meant. I will have a voice, freedom, a choice, my redemption in my hands. I will own everyone's voice and like sand, they will fall through the hourglass, and I will turn it over, call you all my family but so....different from what I'd expected, and I was neglected.
You'll never see my manic yellow cries, you'll never taste my madness purple sighs, you'll never feel my poetic justified crime...you'll see only black no colored white. And that's why this music will kill you in your petty little house; they say that they've done nothing wrong. Well that's what they had done, absolutely nothing...nothing to help me.....nothing........but sing the same song.
Just boxed me up and sent me to another universe, force-fed me family like it was rehearsed. And all I wanted to do was cry and grow up and leave this curse, because I seriously wish things weren't in reverse. I wish I could just......make it all free....but that's another story that is....just a story.
So it's Friday. It seems like a day that I should be exercising, making plans, etc. I'm not feeling so awake today, kind of tired and emo. I slept ok last night, but near the morning I couldn't get comfortable and was half asleep, half uncomfortable. Mom's been watching old movies--the Exodus. I think I had too much to eat today, doing it out of impulse or maybe because I've been feeling emo. I haven't been very productive, I bought Atlas Shrugged- even though I oppose so much of the philosophy; I'm starting to wonder if this essay is such a good idea. I mean, and then I went on YouTube and saw the "Objectivists" condemning Earth Day.
It struck a nerve. My brother went off and called her a bitch when I mentioned the book. I was upset, I mean she was a great woman of the twenty's...I think he just found a lot of stuff that he didn't agree with as well as most people. Things are getting on my nerves easily- annoying music- things I don't feel like reading but I want to, I'm just having trouble trying to soak it all up. I'm still upset about things, and the past is digging its claws into the present. How can I defeat these things that have come to so well define me? Schizophrenia...is it a myth? It's just a confusing thing, because no matter what it seems that the people who practice psychiatrist are dodgy of actual proof that it's real, though they claim it is.
Maybe, I was just unlucky. Maybe I've grown out of it. Maybe I've recovered and it has nothing to do with my morals, conscience...but I doubt that. I think you are what you eat. I think it's ok to have the medication on hand just in case, but it's too much of a temptation to take it and make it all better. It kills the psychological pain, which it probably created in the first place. I'm serious- it's like this invisible pain and I take it and suddenly feel, happy...like marijuana might do.
It's abilify, it doesn't just dumb you down- it does both dumb you down and lift you up, which might be why it feels so addictive. I can't write anymore about my experiences--you can turn them and see them in many different perspectives and lights, but no--psychiatry doesn't really allow that. It's getting boring, thinking about my shitty problems. So I need to censor that part-- kill the urge to scream. You were all wrong! You ruined my mind, you fuckers!
Sometimes, that's exactly how I feel. Angry. And medication really doesn't allow that. You think I'm joking? Medications kill your instincts, your reactive impulses...yes they do and I'm almost one hundred percent positive just based on my experience. It's a self-perpetuating illusion. But right now--I'm feeling pretty blank...duuuuuh. That's how I feel.
I've been chain smoking....so I'm going to find the gum and try it again. I don't want cancer, Ayn Rand died of lung cancer. The other thing is--about schizophrenia myth-- Is the loss of rationalization over this illness her lack of logical reasoning? That's what they'd say! It's called...something I forget...like oppositional defiance disorder...I haven't been labeled with that, to my knowledge.
And I'm not denying that right now I'm still suffering from things, I am withdrawing--so it could either be withdrawal psychosis...and also I'm chain smoking so it could be brought on by this....not sure. I'm sensitive. I haven't been illogical or irrational, in that area I'm good. A few times my ears started ringing-- Due to drugs. And then a couple times I heard low voices from the air conditioner, nothing I could make out--just gibberish.
I think I can overcome this. And that's something I need to work through, but without all the negativity! Without saying that I'm sick! I need to just consciously work through it. I'm a free spirit. And also, some of these "voices" have had relevance, like yeah I don't know about esp. Twice when someone committed suicide I had premonitions of the event. Twice, complete strangers.
The first time I was in my room and I suddenly heard out of the blue- in a kind of low whisper. It can only be described as some kind of conscious debate that person was having. "Just do it. Jump. Just do it." I heard it over and over and over, but it felt like he was speaking to me. I didn't think "don't jump" I just listened...the next day my mom was in tears over the newspaper, some college student had jumped off a bridge in our town.
And I just knew, that I heard his conscience...a kind of residual thing...the spirit...we didn't know him, but when people do these things it affects everyone. The second time happened this week. A well-known member of the community committed suicide. I didn't know him personally, and this story is sad. All morning I kept thinking someone might be in distress in the community and thought I should reach out to them, like this gut feeling it was sort of urgent. Then, I was in bed relaxing when I heard "Don't do this. No. You can't do this. They need you." Instantly remembering what happened before, I said don't do it don't do it don't do it.
But it was inevitable...it had already happened. I logged onto the forum and tried to write them a message, their account was gone. Then I heard the news, it had been a couple days--and people were saying a member had committed suicide. In some ways it made me feel helpless because I was so determined to help him...and because he seemed alive to me...I also get the feeling he didn't really want to do it. I never heard any thoughts cheering him on, so it makes me wonder how sad or desperate he felt...and I am really upset.
I've looked into psycho pomp stuff, like guiding lost souls into heaven. The only problem is I'm not sure where heaven is, exactly, or what the light consists of...I mean- listening to the Beatles, I could feel them...I could feel them in my heart...but where were they? And lately my tarot cards and such are telling me to let go, that some things are inevitable...and I kept getting the same card about loss.
I'm afraid of losing people, I'm afraid of people changing. It scares me to death. So with Buddhism, at least there's one thing that's infinite- that stays the same. I also felt kind of drained after watching a 75 minute lecture about theories from Ayn Rand, at first I’m like oh this is great it makes so much sense. Then I started to question their idea of government as guns, not people...and other things...and it just turned into--well that's your opinion, you can't measure life like that. Or you can, but don't measure mine. Things like condemning Earth Day and the 60's as "just about LSD" and not about protesting an unfair war-the Vietnam
War. Though it looks like things are looking up for Russia-US which signed a new treaty which will limit nuclear weapons...with the goal of one-day having a world without nuclear weapons. That's progress, I think. Oh but God- so many ignorant Americans, I don't get it. Who are they fucking kidding- me! It's not about welfare or money for people in poverty, it's just about criticism. Yeah, a dose of healthy criticism is good. Now, bashing someone for race, or just spewing nasty comments all the time is so close-minded and is making us look bad! Really! We're looking bad as a whole, as a Nation.
Well, it looks like I've found something that might help me get sleep and deal with the insomnia. It's a Melatonin supplement, and I took it this afternoon when I felt I was a bit high-strung. It calmed me down. Dad suggested milk. I bought a new book, by the author of Shutter Island; though I've not seen the movie....I want to. It looks interesting. I'm not feeling too sensitive, but a little worn out just for the sake of being worn out. I'm not doing well with this positive reinforcement, I'm doing realistic reinforcement. What Does it Mean to be Crazy In a Crazy World?
So going raging into the storm can't help, but here I go! I hope this sends a lightning bolt your way. We're Not Crazy So Let us live happily, without hate amongst those who hate. Let us dwell unhearing amidst hateful men. Let us live happily, in good health amongst those who are sick. Let us dwell in good health amidst ailing men. Let us live happily, without yearning for sensual pleasures amongst those who yearn for them.
Let us dwell without yearning amidst those who yearn. Let us live happily, we who have no impediments. We shall subsist on joy even as the radiant gods.
For many it had started in their childhood years. They had an 'overactive' imagination. It was fun when you could 'make believe' that the things you wanted to happen really would happen, but it was another thing when you believed it to happen. Then you tried to convince your parents it was real. They would scold you or brush it off. You would try to re-evaluate your beliefs.
You were ten years old, sitting on the swing set in the backyard crying because you hadn't really seen an angel right after your grandma died. You let those habits die after elementary school when you learned how to fit in. Or at least you wanted to fit in, and did everything in your power to play your part in the game of life. Your parents got a divorce, you felt like a piece of you had been broken and tried to recover that missing half. You started dating, but each affair only pulled you deeper into the drama that was that inkling that everything around you wasn't real to begin with. What were the causes for those transformations that began to take place? Who knows? Who knows?
Of course, it had nothing to do with a distant mother and alcoholic father. It had nothing to do with being picked on, or getting all D's on your report card. In other words it had nothing to do with your life. It was your brain....scratch out the MIND part. Or maybe you had a perfectly normal life all leading up to it. It was a cold day in October, you woke up to the same old routine and yet it seemed like on that certain day something was missing. From then on you were crazy. Something fired in your brain; you hid in the closet with pillows over your ears to cancel out the noise. But you couldn't stop it- stop the volcano of blackness from spilling over you and engulfing you in liquid heat.
You start sweating, the noises increase, your body is tensing as your temperature goes from hot too cold to hot again...they take you to a hospital. No observable changes. You just kind of 'slipped' and now they're treating your catatonia, or voices, or visions, or whatever...with a chemical straight jacket.
You're smoking every day. You lost your job. You're still in that place; still in that same place that you were seven years ago when it all began. The same problems haven't gone away. You wait for death, you want to end it all, want to take back all that people had done to you but you just can't. You just can't give up on the hope that it really was "all in your head"...whose else would it be?
The dark road was spread before them as a land of opportunities. For miles and miles, the sun shined down on the dreams of a nation. We danced to timelessness and spun around corners in speeding cars. Those were the good times. We lived like stars.
He snapped his magical fingers, and limitless truths emerged. Courage. Faith. Hope. Love. He was from the land above. I was from the land below the sea. I come from the shadows. I'm made of silver dust. I am the ashes of eoros and the wound in evil's heart. I've fought with the beast, I've poisoned his mind. Until all he can do is love all the tears I've left behind.
The water is clear. The water is sin. The water is warm, but I don't want you to drown. I'm no one at all, no one unseen, and I sparkle because I am free. I am the God of Queens.
I was once an illusion, an avatar of comfortable soft light. But then I shone so brightly, the others became so blinded. There are riddles in the written words of the holy books we read. I'll never die, even though the world's heart will continue to bleed.
Truth is. You don't need me. You need Love. & True Love is My Destiny.
I just bought The Given Day by Dennis Leanne who also wrote Shutter Island. I have not seen the movie yet, but my brother says it's good. I signed a petition to release a Tibetan man Rinpoche who has a life-term sentence for speaking out.
There were a lot of signatures from all around the world, and this was heartening. I'm listening Rage against the Machine. I've been wondering, and I think my memoir is not ready to publish....there's too much subjective experience--
I plan on choosing mass communications as my major, and they have a really good department it looks like. They also have an Amnesty group. It's difficult, when you become passionate about these things, not to feel somewhat depressed though, realizing corruption and trying to remain positive to work through it is hard.
I still think, it just takes one voice to spark a revolution. Revolution doesn't mean that everything falls apart; revolution is about positive advancements and progress. That's what it means to me. It's kind of frightening to read about the persecution of others in countries, while supporting them not to feel that it could happen to anyone.
I just don't get why things have to be this hard. It rained really hard yesterday...I usually feel peaceful when it rains, this was an angry rain. My tarot cards predicted some things in the future, mainly The Tower and I worried...is this inevitable? Does the Tower represent foundations built on solid ground, or ones that are corrupt, or foundations that are being threatened that are important? How can someone see positivity in this sudden social change? It also said
"Power to the Little Man" this could mean minorities...and those who feel oppressed. I see a sudden shift of power from those who are not managing it fairly or just an overall shift of power....because like Taoists say, change is inevitable. It's a gut feeling...I think that change is coming, regardless of where we stand, change is inevitable.
I just got back from seeing The Karate Kid. This was a really good movie and I recommend it to anyone, especially family. People in the audience seemed to really enjoy it, lots of laughing and reactions to the story. I thought the acting was great. It's been one of the best movies I've seen this year. Another good movie was Prince of Persia and Robin Hood. I was going to see Splice, but Josh warned me about it...and at the last minute we decided against it plus I realized once I got there that I wasn't in the mood for a creepy movie anyways.
I'm kind of glad I didn't see it with my dad. That would have been awkward, according to my brother. It has to have been about three weeks since I've quit taking Abilify cold turkey. I feel fine, but right now I think it's better not to get caught up in things...like I'm taking on enough stress to be making judgments about the system.
The only thing I think is important to mention, is that it does seem like it's hard to get out once you get in. It does take an awful lot of strength to go against the doctors/psychiatrists and say "I am well now let me do my thing." When psychiatrists examine my history, I think sometimes they fail to realize how difficult it is that I
was diagnosed at sixteen, and that because I've been good about taking medications most of the time; that's why I've been in their system for so long, because I am told it will help and so I listen. I also want them to realize that while they offer their standard of care, they fail to offer care that has met my standards.
It would be easy to just continue on this way, taking a pill that effects my brain chemistry...and just letting it go...not taking a hold of my own life. Because for me, no matter how much they'll say that treating your illness is taking responsibility--to me it's not a fair generalization.
To me, taking care of myself means...doing what I feel is best for me. When you trust your instincts, when you feel something in your gut, when your being told that what you think isn't as important as the proof that you're sick...it seems like it's just making someone powerless, telling someone they have no conscious...telling someone they have no choice.
That's what schizophrenia is--a generalization for a disconnection, "split mind" = split of power...or disconnection of power....or something... making a choice vs. letting some "force" make the choice for you. And when you boil it down, the real truth is that if you don't have the individual power to make choices for yourself, then you are crazy- and to be told you have no choice is like being....told you're crazy and it doesn't matter what you do. Anyways, my psychiatrist does seem to support me, I don't know if he really got all of where I was coming from. I tried to sum it up and he seemed happy though, because he shook my hand and wished me well.
To summarize my experience so far: first couple days I still noticed some weird stuff, but nothing beyond how I am on medication--which is pretty much 99 percent fine. Function is important; my psychiatrist says that function is the most important aspect. I'm functioning very well. I've adjusted to being off of them quickly, though I do feel a little vulnerable right now. Ironically, though not really because I know myself pretty well...I feel like I'm adjusting much better than would be expected by others.
I feel more logical, more rational, without my head in the clouds so much.
It's a switch. Sometimes when I take the abilify I have this urge to shut down something, shut myself down inside....hide...like I'm hiding behind it...I don’t know. Like I have to repress myself. I write things, and then I erase them because I wonder- did that make sense? Then, I start becoming a maniac. Everything has to be perfect, everything has to make sense completely...ok maybe like it causes me to be a little neurotic. If you stretch out neurosis long enough, it can become a disorder- and if there never really was one, then no wonder I'm doing so well!
Go figure! Everyone was wrong. They were all wrong. I can't really prove it, I don’t have science backing me up...I just have me...well maybe I'm living proof of something. I'm trying to undo the neurosis; ok I'm not that neurotic. Maybe more like a perfectionist who beats herself up too much...? So it's simple, I feel more loose and more in tune...I think I've just grown through it....experience helps us grow...you can gain a lot from even the worst experiences, momentum, virtue, compassion. Kids aren't perfect, sometimes you feel like when you're a kid that you've got all the possibilities inside you, that you're perfect already. Life teaches you to live. To adapt. To grow strong...and you can't just soak up the sunshine forever, you do have to fight for yourself...you have to learn that life isn't handed to you...life is a mutual exchange...like everything else. Right now, every day I'm feeling stronger and I'm sleeping better.
I'm starting to reel in the feeling of being disconnected from myself....and undoing the damage in my own way. I refuse to feel like a victim, I don't want to see it that way....but I refuse to be a victim, and so continuing on like that--medicating myself... on one hand yes, if I'm really this biologically ill then I need it..On the other hand, I have to be realistic.
I can't rationalize everything in the universe. So to be realistic would to state it more like this: It really came naturally. I saw a pattern that wasn't helping, and so I just quit taking it and was fine. So far I'm taking a melatonin to sleep so I can help adjust to sleeping without it. I'm feeling ok, rational, but I'm just trying to work through some things....acknowledge strengths and weaknesses. There are some things that I'm hoping I can work through and will wear off eventually. I'm feeling more alert--and more self-aware--I feel like defending myself because I do feel more whole and more strong, and like if anyone were to say I'm really ill or disregard what I actually think, it would hurt. It would tear at a wound...it would be hard not to simply say "ok I give up you're right"....take the pill...go to sleep...wake up better...forget about it. I'm normal. I'm normal this way...etc.
Can I change those people's minds? No. Should they try to change mine? No. Are we going to agree? Probably not. Do I need to explain to them in exhausting detail....? I already have, I'll tell them to go to my blog, and otherwise stop bugging me about it. There are lots of people who think that since they know all about it, more than me right, that they have the obligation to tell me I should take medication...for instance my aunt, my grandma who only based this on my mom, my dad, doctors, therapists, people at colleges might even suggest this...if I ever told them I had it then they would ask "are you taking your medication"?
Should it matter if I function? I tried to get off it at camp and my dad made the camp councilors talk me back into taking it. So yeah, it's a freaking mind trip....I've rarely had friends though, maybe one, that told me I needed to. The one because she was studying nursing probably. Basically, anyone who thinks they have more knowledge than me despite how unique everyone is...blah blah blah I'm done talking about this. Just put yourself in my shoes for once. And yeah, it is a catch-22...sometimes...
“[Wisdom] is like a lamp, O king, which a man might introduce into a house in darkness. When the lamp had been brought in it would dispel the darkness, cause radiance to arise, and light to shine forth, and make the objects there plainly visible. Just so would wisdom in a man have such effects as were just now set forth?” Milindapanha
I can't complain. I'm doing pretty well in general, and I'm too hard on myself anyways. I was tired all day yesterday, and I think I have stomach flu. I had a beautiful dream during my nap; it was like I was narrating a romance novel and living the character at the same time.
Everything was vivid, the parks, the school children, the sky, the trees, and the mystery boy who left me a heart to find when I wasn't looking. I took it as a sign, because my name was etched into the heart. Last night I had trouble falling asleep, and I eventually fell asleep. I was tossing and turning all night, I felt restless and hot with the weather but I eventually did sleep fine. I want to quit smoking, but it's hard to. I was also thinking about something which started to bother me. I was feeling a bit on edge and having somewhat suicidal thoughts, or more-so, thoughts about death in general and whets waiting on the other-side. I couldn't focus as much; I was too tired and sore. I'm trying to start reading again; I feel kind of overwhelmed.
The truth is, without this medication I feel like a part of me is missing. I'm dealing, though. It's like if you were always getting this "thing" and it was suddenly gone. You would still have trouble. I feel like the chemical sucked something of me out with it. I'm just trying to stay motivated.... I need to find a way to get energy besides this. I need vitamin c or something stronger because I'm feeling fatigued. I was listening to madness radio; it's true, protesters and anyone who represents a social minority or goes against the norm; they're more likely to be labeled a mentally ill person.
Society kind of breed’s sickness. I was also thinking; there's not exactly a push to recover people with manic depression or schizophrenia. Just medicate them! That's it. There's no actual push to help them recover- which in my mind, your so called schizophrenic brain, sounds crazy. I just have to not push myself too hard. I know where my problems came from. I know it was a mixture of harassment at boarding school, identity, and exhaustion.
I don't know what caused the exhaustion, probably the harassment... I also wasn't eating meat but I don't know if that contributed, I was really skinny. I had self-esteem issues; I practically walked right off the edge...on purpose. The guilt continued, in and out of hospitals at fifteen, no one wanted to actually hear my story or know why I felt this way. I remember the first time I was given medication. I was telling a nurse about a lucid dream and describing it in detail...then she walked up to me and handed me dispersal, which they had told my parents was sleep medication before my parents signed. I remember the effect was instant, which scares me, I took it and then suddenly I couldn't remember the dream or what I was talking about.
It was like this pill had some psychic force...like it turned me off just like that. The reason I refused to take medication was not because I was crazy, but because I knew it was making me sick. And I still know that, after five years....of being virtually screwed up about it. Don't worry, though, it doesn't really bother me anymore. Society itself doesn't bother me. I know I don't belong.
I'm doing ok, not as good as I want to be doing. I'd really like to be less tired and cranky. It's really hot and I've been spending too much time at home lounging around. It's probably week three of quitting the medication...I'm not having problems yet.
I have a new appointment with a therapist tomorrow. I haven't seen a therapist in years, so I'm kind of nervous about it. It'd be really easy to just take the pills, but I'm fine right now so I'll just wait it out. My brother and I bought dad father's day gifts yesterday....I just got my book in the mail...and there's a package coming tomorrow but we don't know who it was for. I was hoping it was $10,000,000.
Ok well we're going to go have dinner. Yep, overall so far so good. I can't complain.
This feels right. I'm hurting but I know there is a reason. The pain is different, it isn't crazy pain. I was lying in bed feeling the pain well up, and then I just let go. I let go of the pain. Maybe it was not really the kind of madness that could be understood, and I'm able to remember it better at the moment. I can take a pill, and it would wash it away the pain and the sadness and yet it doesn't help me recover my broken pieces. If I'm sad, I want to feel sad. If I'm mad, I want to feel mad, whether madness or just plain mad. It's slowly going away, though, I'm coming back to how I want...in a different way. No more explaining myself. It runs deep. I decided next semester I'm going to try to get into an
art degree program. I want to study painting; I think it might help me heal. I've never taken a painting class. I'm also thinking mass communications, but I'm having second thoughts about doing that next year. The aching has started to ebb away. This unexplainable hurt, I'm just not used to not having chemicals in my body. I'm going to start a hand written journal...still getting papers together for next year. I can still focus, I can still think....I'm not going to worry about six months from now or next year.
Just this moment, this one peaceful beautiful moment. I wish the pain wasn't there, but it got so intense that I couldn't bear it anymore. I feel better now, in ways. In some ways I don't know. I wish I could just feel ok. I was listening to a Placebo song. "A heart that hurts is a heart that works"...when my heart hurts so bad, I also feel like in some ways I'm better. I know some people don't believe in psychic stuff, that empathy can transcend the body. I know it can. I've experienced certain things that prove it. In some ways I wish I could have just kept going without the medication.
I took the medication and the pain went away almost instantly. My heart seemed to slow down or something...my ears are still kind of ringing and my head still hurts a little. I'm managing though, there's no reason to change course even with medication to help me focus and feel less pain. I need to stop smoking. I need to start being more alive and active.
I can't sleep so much. I just wish I could have managed, of course, without it. I felt I was close to recovery. I felt like I was different...a different person. Maybe a better person. I guess the thing is, whether or not I could have recovered, it's been way too long on the medication to get off it at this point. I am so used to it. My body and brain are too used to it to stop taking it at this point...or even lowering it. I'm too used to it. And maybe it's helping a lot. I'm happy I found something that really works. I guess if I think about it, if the abuse had never happened and I was on abilify I still would have recovered. They just hadn't found the right medication yet and I didn't want to take anything. The thought that I can't really survive without it though is kind of scary. I wouldn't want to take anything else; it's the only one that really seems to help me and manages all my symptoms without any side effects. To the point I think I'm all better and don't need it anymore. At least right now I can function better and at a reasonable pace.
I lay in bed, trying to fall asleep. I know that I will sleep better than usual if I just take this medication. I begin to hear things, people talking and commenting. There is no intuition that exists...not for me anymore because I know the secret. That it's all a false delusion. There are only these outside echoes of what could be, might be...and I can't prove anything. I am a robot. I am a robot who is scripted by the universe and the laws of reality. Nothing will ever be impossible.
I will always be trapped in my skin. They want this. They all want to see things dumbed down, and I sense this...or do I? What is sensible when it's all really...a dream? Who am I to them? I don't think they consider who I am anymore and my thoughts create the next definition. None of this really seems to sink in. None of it. Non-reality, reality, dreams, only one thing seems to sink in and that is this pill...this white-washing pill that dissolves and I'm gone. I'm starting to feel afraid that there will be no way to hold on anymore.
I'm still losing my mind, still....and I haven't given up on it. I really don't think I want to be crazy. When I make sense, I don't want to be crazy. I just am so confused....sometimes it's easy. It's easy to just ignore silly thoughts or worries or frustrations, but then sometimes there is proof. Proof of your delusions. How else would I fall into the trap? You prove it to yourself; it becomes real...or something. I can't stop thinking of that man who was screaming...just screaming and screaming in fear. I pondered what happened to cause him to flip out like that?
Was it the same thing as what I have?
Some kind of illogical brain? My biggest problems have been that suddenly my brain just doesn't make connections. So I don’t understand the dopamine theory. It's not like an overload, it's more like a miss-fire....like my thoughts don't know where they are going or coming from...I get confused, and illogical....and that's what causes the delusions and hallucinations. It's the confusion.
I should stop worrying about it, but it's hard to get around it because I have to constantly think things through or else I'm lost. Maybe I'm stupid, but I don't feel stupid or think I'm stupid. I was speaking at six months in full sentences. How can that be stupid? I took the SAT at thirteen. How can that be stupid? College level SAT. I'm not stupid. Maybe, I'm just confused. And that's it. I want an answer that makes sense and I can't make sense of the answers.
Crazy in an Insane World
I am crazy in a sane world and I'm crazy in an insane one too. I'm a crazy person with no destination. I like being crazy, no reason to worry about it. This is exactly the kind of thing I needed to know. I flick the switch, one point to another...it makes no sense. I'm pointless on this horizon. I'm a narcissist, and I can't help it anymore. That happens after people drag you into hell too many times. They all see me; they all think they're right about me. They think they have the answers somewhere on a dotted line...they don't feel me. Feel what's inside.
They see the cardboard box, they eat the cereal, they are soul less, and they can't deal with reality. They can't just breathe, so they twist and turn and duck and dig their heads into the sand. They can't breathe, so they run. They can't feel, so they pretend to. Or maybe I'm better this way. Sometimes it feels like everything was set up just so I could become crazy. It seems strange how everything came together into this beautiful insane mess. At least I know what I am. What are you?
I'm doing pretty well right now. I had some coffee last night and so I felt amazingly good to the extent I was off the walls and couldn't sleep. It sucked. This morning I'm feeling better. Today we're going to see Inception at an IMAX. That will be really fun. I'm doing well on medication and I feel more stable. I have issues now, thinking back, about how wrong it was to think I could control my own chemical state just through my own behavior. That's a confusing thing, huh. Well I feel much better; wrote a few poems and I will post them later. Plus I'm working on a video to bring awareness. So a few things to note. I got accepted into a college & I plan to go there next spring. I'm excited and a bit nervous, but it's not a huge school so I will have to choose. Life is going good but there are some serious things affecting it: mom who flips out and calls me fat and other names. Mom who is out of touch with reality and ...the situation is that there's nothing her family or anyone can do to get her help and no way to get her to leave...which is sad...but true it's hard to live with her when she's so delusional and abusive. I'm staying at my grandma's house for this week.
I might go with my cousin who is coming here to get the tattoo. I'm worried what she'll think if she sees it but it would be nice getting someone's opinion on it. It's darker today than it was yesterday. The crescent moon isn't so bad though. It's kind of cool--but it's too obviously self made and it looks too much like a scar on my arm...sort of like a dark scar in the form of a moon. Good thing I didn't go deep and I barely scratched the surface of my arm. I'm reading a book by Wally Lamb "Couldn't Keep it to myself' it's writing from female prison inmates of a correctional institution. The writing is actually really good and the stories are individual short stories from when the women were growing up etc. I'm excited about the tattoo- it's all I can think about. I am smoking lighter than usual and last night I slept better because I didn't take my pills...and I feel better too.
Less "crazy" it could be the pills just screw me up in the head instead of make me any saner. That or they help me write. But who knows when it's all a matter of perspective? When I'm happy--I don't take pills...when I'm sad--I medicate...there's a pattern to how they effect me.
I should probably consider them more "preventative" except that medication causes problems too...maybe even more than prevents them? I wrote to democracy now on doing a news story for current mental health system, hospitals, treatment, consumerism and culture dynamics and social stigma. I hope they write back....
Hmm well I've been giving people more readings on some sites. I started using my old Astor-Mythological card deck...one of the first decks sold by the famous Mlle Lenormand the inventor of the fortune telling parlor games in France. It's amazing how accurate these cards are. I feel I'm doing good and helping people out too. A few times--I was dead on about health and certain injuries and relationships. It's also fun. I started writing a new book on magic. It was going to be on mental illness and magic, because that's a very overlooked or ignored topic. There's a lot of stigma in paganism etc. towards those with mental illness I think...or somewhat of stigma. In general I am writing an easy to use book on practical ideas behind magical practice, ritual, the power of intention, and religions, it's pretty good so far. I want to major in these areas: international public affairs. Environmental sustainability and improving public health...I already found a site that does study abroad programs and a 10,000 dollar scholarship for it. I think I might try to focus on this for my third or fourth year of college though. I plan on heading in this direction-- stability amongst poor nations...it is an important topic in this time of economic recession. But I also want to steer somewhat clear of the politics of war, and focus mainly on the objective of sustainability and the rest will follow.
Well everything turned out great. First good news--the ink from the "tattoo" I gave myself wore off the day I got here. I was leaping for joy. I watched my grandma for a couple days last week then headed off to my cousin's house in Pittsburgh. I got to see her new apartment and honestly made me feel a bit jealous. It's more like a house and it's really nice.
Early on we hung out for awhile at barns and nobles and looked at tattoos and together we figured out the perfect one: a phoenix rising up with a woman's face. We took a picture of the book with her cell phone. Here we had about 11 tattoo books stacked up and were looking through them. Then later on we went to Fright Night in Kenny wood which was so fun.
The first ride we rode was the new Phantom's Revenge rollercoaster. I thought it was awesome and wasn't even slightly nervous, though still a little shaken up afterwards. There were probably eight of us at fright night. Then the next day we had an awesome Halloween party and everyone was in costumes including me as the she-devil ;). I drank my first shot with Angela, and a few more after that.
I had quite a few shots and jell shots...and I started laughing so much I really must've been embracing...but oh well. Angela's friend from work came and we watched The Descent and played some games. I won four dollars on a lottery ticket a few times on Halloween. I bought one ticket and won $4. Then I bought four tickets and won $2 and then a free ticket, and then finally I won $4 again on a ticket...actually two dollars in two places. So I'm feeling pretty lucky, and I plan on winning a million one day.
Dreams, Sleep Paralysis, and Tactile Hallucinations
There's something I noticed the first day I was there at my cousin's apartment, I took the two pills of Abilify and felt HORRIBLE! I felt awful....my heart was pumping too fast and I had a huge adrenaline rush...plus I felt a little weird. Just like, weird...hard to describe. So finally so I could at least LIVE I decided not to take the pills. How the hell am I supposed to LIVE on these pills? I can't drink, can't stay up late if it makes me weird or just knocks me out or worse keeps me up? It is very inconsistent....so I'm going to get off them again.
The worst thing right now is that I HAVE fixed my life. It's my mom who is nuts. Being related to her is impossible for me to rationalize me being sane. I'm probably going home tomorrow. But I don't mind. I need to start preparing for the holidays too; we're having thanksgiving at my house. Then Christmas, then in January I start college. It's all happening so fast. I need to register soon too. Another good thing is I will be starting with a new therapist soon, probably when I get back home. Maybe having a therapist will help me deal with the whole medication issue. Because it's really confusing to me. Is it helping? Shouldn't I know? Deep down? Is it so bad that I don't know anymore? Is that telling me something? But anyways I had a great weekend, and my cousin
Angela is the best. She also wants to visit me for my birthday in January. I turn 21 next year. Well I haven't been as able to write lately. Not sure why. I've gotten Christmas gifts for my family. For my dad my brother and I put our money together and bought him a Kindle. Bad story-- last week the kindle came at 3 pm and our lab-chow dog Juno got to the package and dragged it to the yard before I knew it had come. Damn delivery people never even knock.
So the dog tore up the package, and the wires were in shreds, and the kindle had chew marks in it. So yeah everything was pretty much ruined. My brother called Amazon and worked it out. Amazing, they replaced it for free so Amazon gets my vote for customer service. So I just finished wrapping the kindle yesterday.
I got my brother a really cool tripod for his camera, he has a nice rebel camera and I got him a tripod with expendable arms, so you can wrap them around a tree or a pole or anything, and fit it into touch places.
I think he'll really love the present. For my mom I got her a nice necklace with a rainbow sea glass piece. I think she'll really love it. She's hard to buy for. Phew, and then my cousin I got the fairy tarot cards, she's getting older so I think it would be a nice gift for her, and she said she'd like to learn to do tarot readings. I'm feeling a bit depressed though, and I think that's because I still can't drive so I can't get out of the house much.
I'm still smoking, and my medication needs to be raised because it's just not working well enough. I'm feeling an atmosphere of prissiness sometimes too...but it's not as bad right now as it could be. Christmas and the holidays should be about getting together and enjoying time together....and being with family. It's touch because my mom's been so confusing lately.
But I'm glad she wasn't hospitalized this year, I just worry that when I'm away at college she'll end up hospitalized...I guess the stress is a lot. It’s the instability at home. I think she'll be ok though, they'll figure something out. But right now it looks like nothing's going to change and I can't stand seeing my dad become so depressed....feeling like she's dependent on him when she can be emotionally abusive and yells at him a lot without thinking.
She's also started saying things to my brother. She's even called him names a couple times. But I don't want to focus on that right now; it's just that life is so unpredictable. I am looking forward to going to college, I've gotten in touch with my roommate and she's given me the heads up about what to know about the dorms. Oh, and she has gerbils. Just my luck. I said I'd be ok with it, but man I was so hoping to get away from animals. My cats pee in my room lately and I'm just so exhausted with controlling the dog and her barking at everyone. I don't want to get in trouble about the gerbils...but they aren't mine so oh well. She keeps them in the closet. She sounds really nice though, and it seems like there will be stuff to do.
I'm nervous because I'm picturing all the worse scenarios, such as not having a car means I'll be stuck at school all the time. What will I do in my time? Will I be bored out my mind? Well maybe there will be things to do. Who knows? I don’t... I should get a little dog and bring it with me, and then I won't be lonely. Of course dogs can be a hassle. I know I won’t be missing popular; do they have popularity in college? I'm feeling ok about it though...a new place and far from home. It should be at least slightly different, of course it's still out in the country.....out in the boonies...I wish I could have gone to Colorado, where I wanted to go but I couldn't afford it.
Update: Ok so for the past week I was overcome by a very intense depression. It was strange, like the darkness itself was telling me "give up" "you're not worth it" "I don't love you anymore" and so I tried to reason with it, I believe there was a remote cause. Tried to find a reason--but I believe it was a combination of things. I started writing about some of my manic experiences- this could have started me on, and then I realized from the depressive state how I was worried about things that were not really worth worrying about. The depressive state was not so horrible, because it was like a sick sort of pain that helped me.
Gradually I disconnected from the sadness, and I'm recuperating from it. Illusions. This is what I'm recovering from. When something seems like its one thing, but is really another. The illusions can be a tool--when you are caught between black and white paths, and suddenly you realize--the right direction is not necessary because the two paths converge, and will converge at some point.
We are all heading to a similar place... The nightmares have been intense--and I'm learning that the best way to handle these nightmares is to teach my spiritual self to go back to its source. IF this force is outside me, I have to strengthen the barriers--enough to send it back to its own source...which is not mine. Here is my call to the darkness: Earth, Water, Wind, and Fire- Go back to the source of you! Bind yourself to your source. Go back to the source! Do not tamper with me!
Then I'll wave my hands in the imaginary world-with light and make rays of golden light in the form of a cross and star. I will push the coil around the darkness, and bind it with silver light. Be bound to your own cage! Do not cross this line! Aloha! Peace. This method was used last time- when I encountered a demon of darkness which yelled terror at me. I found that when did this instantly it stopped. It was like a miracle. Then I saw it raising like some three headed force and above it the tree of life--or kabalistic tree, and a flower.
I started college on Sunday. Well I adjusted quickly, but at the same time while I seem to feel a lot more able to handle things, I'm worried this is just what I think. I would rather not adjust well than have to be someone else. I'm just recovering from dealing with the doped up feeling of being on medication. Yesterday I was getting de jab vu everywhere; everything about this school gives me de ja vu.
The people, the buildings, the situations. Like I've been running on a loop. Even when I walked down the hill to get some cigarettes I felt de jab vu. It's started to scare me. Why do I feel this way? So I hadn't slept the night I took the medication, and then when I smoked I felt I must've knocked some kind of sense back into me, or is it non-sense? Maybe the cigarettes are ok I just cannot chain smoke like that. So I skipped the medication last night and slept sound, and now I woke up feeling BETTER.
I am NOT feeling like disassociated and nuts right now. I'm worried at this point the chemicals are acting like a straight jacket or just...traumatizing my brain. Because that's how it's starting to feel. I mean, I slept fine last night. I took a shower this morning and was ok. I don't have four classes today. Only two. I think if I had confidence more I'd be ok. One other thing I notice about the medication is that is makes me feel extremely gullible. Like I'd believe it all. But maybe not entirely,
just somewhat. It scares me. It's like it's changing who I am. Like I'm on a strange drug, like heroin, like any drug...it's fucked me up. So where's the happy medium? I seriously cannot take a chemical every single day of my life. It's just not the way it should be anymore. Who makes the rules here? Now that I'm away from my home situation--the father who believes I need them and who I look up to and feel more gullible to believe when I'm on meds, and the mother who's so incomprehensibly insane you'd think of course I'd be nuts if I'm related to her. As long as I'm away from people who tell me I am ill then I'll be fine. I just can't lose it here. When I have nothing to do it's difficult to adjust....but here I will have things to do to adjust to getting off the meds. Repeats mantra: I am fine. I am fine. I am fine. I am ok.
2010 College Journal
I turn twenty-one today. I'm kind of sad because I just got to this school two days ago and I don't know anyone here. I'm trying my best to get adjusted and it was easy enough, I just figured it all out on my own. But I wish I just knew some people, because you know- it's my 21st birthday and I'm completely alone at a new school...this morning my mom called and sang happy birthday to me on the phone. It was really sweet. Some students heard it while I was waiting in the hall. One of the girls said happy birthday. I wish I was anywhere but here.
Well I'm here for the weekend. And there is nothing at all to do. It may be a nice break from being home, but it's not exactly really exciting here. I get bored, not that I want to be bored...and I'm quitting smoking. I feel upset right now, I think it's because I'm not important. Not my feelings. Not who I truly am inside. I'm just not important. No one really wants to know who the real me is. Ok yeah that's being negative. I lay in the dorm here for hours trying to fall asleep.
Finally I just got dressed and lay in bed staring into the darkness, ignoring the blah in my head. I don't feel horrible...but what matters is that no one knows the me inside. The me who is real, and why?? Because that me doesn't really exist. There are concepts of me, but none of them are the real true never changing me. I could say it's all me, all and none of it. Or maybe the thoughts do make me who I am. But really, they're just words/. Words don't define a personality.
So how can you know for sure who you are? I am on a mission to find out who I really am. I am trying to picture that I'd be, or find some meaning to my meaningless past and childhood. None of it, and all of it....if I could put all the pieces together maybe that would be me. Or maybe there is no point in trying? Should I just go with the flow? Does reality flow? I need to get more organized. I need to care again. I feel so strange, like I just realized that I was trying to lose myself and I was depressed. And now I want to be normal again. Well that's all for my venting, maybe I'll find God or something.
Maybe I will find myself. I'm getting off these medications again, but I can't tell anyone I know personally or they'll try to lecture me or talk me out of it. And I am so fucking sick of being told what to do with myself. One morning, I'll wake up and be me...and I'll start over. Or maybe I am me, and I just need to give myself a break.
Well I've gotten more sleep. I hadn't slept for a week awhile back, and that caused me to become manic. I'm being less reckless. I'm still smoking, but I'm not going to the bar alone at night as often, or doing stupid things that I would get in trouble for. I'm trying really hard not to do things which are against the rules. I have to go to a "hearing" tomorrow for smoking next to the door, even though I gave her my card--and she said she wouldn't write me as non-compliant--then she forgot.
I told her about it and she had simply forgotten that. It's not a huge deal though. I think it's a bit ridiculous since I usually smoke fifteen feet away from the door and practically no one does. I feel singled out. That's not new. I have some things to write about, but they are too personal. I'm nervous about my mom getting better, and I'm nervous about life in general. I just want to find my career and be successful. I don't think college is really all it's supposed to be right now. I do a lot better alone sometimes.
In fact, I think I was doing better alone for awhile. It's actually worse around all these people who I don’t know. I feel like being creative. I was in a real learning mood this morning, and I still am. I want to get into Spanish more. I've been teaching myself some words outside the book on my own time. I'm a little depressed about my test grade in math which was a 45. An F. I'm sick to death of that horrible class. I should just take the test and see if I can pass. This teacher is a dummy. He just gives us busy pointless work because he doesn't know how to teach. Ok enough blogging I’m going to lunch in hell West Virginia.
It's been one day. So far, I feel much better. My personality is more apparent. The teasing at the college hasn't stopped, but I can manage that. I will go to judicial affairs tomorrow and let them know what's been happening, just because it's so stressful. I think that I'm doing ok, already, and I feel more aware. Not dead inside and weird like it usually is. People are psychically more aware of me; because I'm more awake and my mood seems to channel things a bit....I'm trying to stay calm.
Like, nothing is going to happen hopefully if people just leave me alone. I'll try to stay out of trouble. Instead of buying alcohol I bought pizza, for instance. I really have nothing much to write about in this blog right now. I got my eyebrow pierced and went with a new friend, and he's really cool. He always waves to me and says hi. Not all the people here are bad, and the nice ones are super awesome. They get the cool in my book. Why people have to be so dramatic and cruel beats me. They're always trying to tear me down. I don't know why. They like to put all their pain to me, like I'm an object for them to tear down. It's really getting stupid and old. It's like; I have this vision of me becoming emotionally vacant before this year is over. But I will try to hang in there, keep myself intact and not slip into this emptiness which surrounds me.
Lately I've been interested in schizophrenic artists beause their art is inspirational. The art of people diagnosed with schizophrenia often has a distinct surreal quality, sharpness, and feeling of separation. I've realized that I can't paint in such a way, and it would require a lot more practice. My art is more moody and impressionist, which may depict a different state of being or presence. But the paintings shouldn't label or define the artist's mental state in such a grossly defined mannar. We have to take into account what the artist is thinking, feeling, or is driven by to paint in such a way. People with schizophrenia often feel lonely. Those who can depict this feeling of isolation and lonliness should be congratulated for being able to put such profound work into that darkness.
I sometimes wonder if schizophrenia helps people produce these images better. When I was in a manic or psychotic state I was able to visualize paintings so vividly in my mind's eye before I took medication to dull my senses and this was to them a way of making me better, but to me was a false sense of realism. There are still many unresolved problems, and it seems to me that instead of medication curing my symptoms they have only been further burdened within my subconcious because they tend to arise in the dream state. I have incredibly fantastical dreams and often frightening nightmares that make me feel my personality has been split apart by a fragmented sense of identity in my world.
When I paint, I have too many ideas and yet I am not happy enough to keep my paintings intact. I constantly mix the colors and eventually they end up being a blur. This is my depression seeping through. But recently I ruined an abstract because it wasn't what I wanted it to be, and I ended up with blue flowers that I was happy with. I have the creative drive, just not the instruction or motivation to complete the task. This is a symptom of the same dilemma of my own schizophrenia or bipolar. I have the intuition and depth to defeat it, but there are no tasks that have been placed before me which actually challenged me to think rationally. I had to teach myself to overcome schizophrenia. I had to play my own therapist, and pretentiously they might want to analyze my behavior but in the end, it was my own activities that worked better than any medication. I also used a lot of energy and visualization to bring myself out of the depths of depression and madness (loss of identity).
Often society reinforces this pattern of losing one's identity.
I've been having lucid dreams more often lately, and recently had one where I was attacked again. This time I forced him away and he manifested as a man clothed sitting on my bed. It was frightening to put a face to this ominous trauma. I didn't put the face to it, he manifested himself, as often secrets manifest to me. Or mysteries. I attain secret knowledge through dreams. I call it secret because I do not know the information otherwise and have no outside resource to attain it other than psychic information, or collective information. The universe speaks. This morning I heard speaking from outside for the first time in many months. It was not alarming to me. In fact I welcomed the change and ability to see what my subconscious lower mind was up to. Hidden mind. Veiled illuminated mind. It's the thought beneath the thought or surface. Often it can be repressed and manifested outwardly as oppression or anger from others.
The unconscious forces of the mind of confusing, as often are mysterious symbols we can't comprehend with little knowledge of the language. I'm learning the language. That's also how I'm overcoming schizophrenia. Schizophrenia is a real issue, what causes it I'm not sure though. I do not think it has to do with chemicals. I think it has to do with insight into hidden areas in the brain unexplored and often leads to competition with society and its institutions of thought. If you knew something so absurd to everyone else, but knew it to be true and no one acknowledged it, that would drive you to fury and madness as well. But when those very people conspire to ridicule you and lock you up for those reasons, then it is corruption at the finest.
Dissidents are locked away for speaking their minds. Peaceful protesters in places like Egypt, China, Israel, Iran, etc. can be tortured and killed for believing something different than others. In China you can't even speak about the communist rule or fear exile or persecution.
How is that any different than the way liberal minded radicals are treated like their crazy?
It happened in the 60s. It's still going on. We had Mkultra, I dont know much about it. I do know there were LSD experiments and remote viewing experiments, and schizophrenics were lobotamized etc. so we wondered what silenced all the protests and who shot Kennedy and why John Nash invented Game Theory and was so brilliant, claimed to be inducted by the CIA, and suddenly he's a schizophrenic. Or even Charlie Sheen, a 911 "truther" suddenly goes berzerkowitz. It's not random enough. But then we have sudden media attention of crazed mass shooters who all seem like they were tripping on LSD, called schizophrenics when several only were Autistic or suffered PTSD. Most of them but one were proven to carry actual labels of schizophrenia.
So it seems like it is being done on purpose. But why would anyone do such a horrible thing on purpose? Like knock two towers down in a controlled demolition and create random false flag events with phony terrorists. Why? They have too much time on their hands. More than me.
But before all this happened the thought was in my mind, "I'm sure their gonna go after schizophrenics now"
Because schizophrenia is a powerful weapon of mass destruction in the hands of terrorists.
But anyways, there is a such thing a schizophrenia. It's just too hard today to distinguish fact from fiction especially in the media.
My dad flipped out at me when I mentioned the U.S. and how they caused a ripple effect in the Middle East to gain control of the petro dollar. So there's obviously a barrier between my father and I. Little brother is now big brother etc. There's too much irony in it all, the story I wrote in 2001 was the summer before or after 911 when I took a cross country trip to California and I wrote about how the U.S. would invade other countries and become depedent on oil in an abstract sense. It started like this "and they prostrated themselves to billboards and worshipped madness in their prison for paradise"....no one liked it because it made them uncomfortable and they didn't understand I was twelve years old and dished out a lot of criticism.
My mother was also a civil disobediant. She protested the WHINSEC or SOA, was interrogated by the FBI and wrote secret letters to activists. She struggles with mania and has for some time but just because she is doesn't give me a reason to have to be one too. She began her descent after she was released from jail and never spoke of her experiences in there but her journals are online and you can tell she was stressed a lot.
I was put under extreme pressure to take medication when I was fifteen. It seemed I was singled out.
I was told their methods were to break me in order to comply. I was well for about 1 week and a half before I was told if I didn't take a medication anti-psychotic that I wouldn't be released and I was ok anyways.
The medication disintegrated my senses and identity, it caused a wave of depression of fogginess to sweep over me almost like witchcraft. It is not a natural means to get someone well.
Because our society is disconnected.
To be able to express the feelings of isolation is an amazing feat for any artist. In my manic states I had lots of beautiful paintings and it came naturally, now after years of taking pills, not so easy. But I can still write and much better than before when my symptoms rendered it impossible to write a logical sentence.
I don't believe we were targeted, only pointing out the obvious reasons people can feel paranoid and a part of why my mother will never seek help.
Our society doesn't allow help. Our society is disintegrated. Too many people have allowed themselves to become corrupt and careless.
No one cares enough and that's how the people up top want you to be, not to question authority. Not to ask reasons why.
The voices I heard told me some stories, though I didn't believe or dismiss them. There were a few of different frequencies. One was the thoughts I projected to an imagined intelligence agency which I hacked with my brain and was reading my EMF signals. The others were from Mercury and told me Earth is so horrible and that there was no truth here, and no justice, and that I shouldn't have come here. Speaking to my soul, and it told me it had two moons except their not moons their called Obelisks and then he said we are being invaded by monsters or demons beneath the earth. I would call them demons, but who was here first I wonder? Perhaps its revenge they seek, or perhaps it's because we live in a world united by its polarities and that good and evil co-exist so easily in this world, that its hard to distinguish one from another.
The problem is we see our world through such colored lenses, and fail to notice reality is much larger.
What of those lucid dreams so realistic that they can't be distinguished from waking ones?
I'm not dreaming while awake, I woke up to the real dream....
Smoke and Mirrors
College 2010 journal
What about pot helps me so much? It's just interesting, how it above the horrible anti-psychotics caused me happiness and helped me become more integrated. Like, it was so interesting....suddenly I was there, and I mean really there. I think I have post traumatic stress disorder, and only that. I just cannot rationalize having schizophrenia. I can't....it's eating me up that I cannot believe it. The reason is--the belief warrants I have no options other than taking a mind numbing sedative type pill. Even though Abilify does some things, it really works just to blanket my symptoms....and muffle the sounds....I think.....it kind of works like most drugs- opening up certain parts of your brain that otherwise wouldn't be. I just need to not stress as much. I'm sure it's not damaging me; I just pressure myself too much. I am naturally very introverted, that could be part of my dissociating.
By dissociating I mean, so nervous that you don't know where you are. Noise everywhere, nothing calms down....ringing sounds like a siren in your ears. I don't think its schizophrenia. I think it's like panic or ptsd, as a result from stress and trauma. And how do I tell this to anyone, like a doctor. All they Fucking care about is the fucking book of my fucking history which doesn't fucking exist because I was never ever in the hospital. The hospital never existed, it's an obsolete. Irrationality. I've ranted on so many random places about my experiences, but guess what? Nothing will ever be done...there is a solution, but everyone is too lazy to step up no matter the hell I've endured. There are NO hospitals anymore. No asylums. No mental institutions. There are only jail cells.
It's been a few days, long enough that the Zombify should be out of my system. I feel a little ADHD, but that's it. And that's ok. I'm not hallucinating or anything horrible like that. I don't have anxiety either, so it's really good. I won't tell anyone, until my apt. with the psychiatrist over spring break, because I'm doing a lot better. I'm just tired because I didn't sleep very well last night. But I can't use an anti-psychotic to help me sleep, that's just messed up.
I realized that the symptoms of Abilify are pretty bad, when given perspective after getting off it. My dreams were revolving around getting off abilify, and how people were saying that the medication takes your mind from you. I remember I was walking around, but I was zoned out. Well that's how it's been on this medication, I've been anxious and zoned out all the time on it. I have to re-establish myself in the world without meds. And it is my choice.
I got kicked out of my room, because I had a few dirty socks and a clothes pile that made it smell a bit like laundry. There was no verbal warning, they just straight up kicked me out. But I get to stay in a staff room for the rest of the year in a nicer part of the university. It's called University Place. It's a really nice room, with a bath and shower. And I have it all to myself. I had the hearing yesterday for my involvement with the fake acid.
They wanted to say I had a drug history (which I most certainly DO NOT) and that I intended to use real acid, and I know it was a huge mistake. I said that I was sorry and that what I did was wrong. I was really nervous; I tried to prove that I hadn't intended to use the acid. But I got nervous because I'm not sure if I did or not. I hope that I can finish the semester here, but likely I will transfer back home. I really don't want to go to my home town college, but I'm going to have to. It might be more lax there. I don't mind it here, but the people here haven't been very nice to me. They've been nicer recently and better about things....but it's still been hard to cope with.
There was some harassment going on for awhile, just constant insults to me. I can cope with it, but I just hope I don't get kicked out of the residence...which means I can't live on campus--which means I'm basically being kicked out of school because I'll have nowhere to live. I might appeal if that happens, and I'm nervous about what my sentence is going to be. I really hardly did anything well first off because I never took it anyways. I purchased what I believed were drugs...yes...and it was a big mistake. I won't ever do anything like that again. But the guy who said I should get kicked out of residence, wow, was really out to get me I think.
I'm tired of feeling so messed up, and that's what scares me. Zombify really messes me up mentally. It makes me feel....dumb and gullible. That's why I'm getting off of it. I've still been waking up fatigued, and dizzy, and having my legs cramp up at night so I am in so much pain. I barely can think sometimes.....but not anymore. See, my 3.3 average in classes is not because of the medication, it’s because I'm smart and I do well. I can't attribute my knowledge or success to a medication. No more.
The only problem right now is that I'm feeling fidgety, like I want to do something to get my mind off these problems. I'm going home on Friday, and spring break is right after Friday....so I should be able to get my mind off it for awhile. I find out the result of my hearing sometime, it might even be after spring break. I don't know. I just want to know though so I can stop worrying about it. I know my guilt is the intent to do drugs, and I tried to express that. But I wasn't sure what to say...
I've never had a hearing before. I said that I didn't do drugs prior to here, and also that I went to Shepherd and they asked if I got in trouble there. I didn't, I just failed my finals. It feels confusing to be in this situation. Just a little. Oh god, I have to stop stressing.....I hate being in trouble. But I'm not someone who gets in trouble that often, and I think that's the interpretation that this one guy had. Though the residential affairs person said that I'm in good academic standing and he didn't agree that I should have such a harsh punishment. I threw away my bottles of prescription pills...for good. I had like six bottles of random crap that's been making me sick. Including trazadone and klonopine which I only recently started and haven't been taking that often.
So this is it. All my work this semester has gone to waste. I had a 3.3 GPA and this was my first offense. Possession of FAKE acid which I hadn't even planned on doing but had in my purse. Apparently my roommate told the RA I had it, when she wasn't even there that night to make a report. She told me herself that she did not make any report and didn't want involved.
Went to the doctor got a physical and my vaccines. I've lost 35 pounds. That, I am proud and happy with. No dieting, just constant walking and staying active. If I can do this over 2 months, I can keep changing my habits and stay healthy. I'm feeling in a good mood, despite everything. My dad really is supportive, and I told him this today. I have no blame or anger or anything towards him. I don't feel helpless, just in need of direction. I'm going to find a therapist who can help me work through all this. I do need someone to talk to, to relate to on these issues. I just don't seem to have the nerve to find one, I'm worried about unleashing more demons through therapy, I guess.
I got my eyebrow pierced a couple weeks ago. It didn't hurt, and it looks cool and I love it. Well, Spring break is not exactly a break....because I'm not going back to college. We are appealing and dad says at the very least. A lot of things weren't right in the whole thing. I didn't know I was even in trouble until one day before my hearing.
I got kicked out after that one incident. I wasn't in possession of anything, because I was sold fake drugs. So the only thing was intention to do a drug, which I apologized for and said, was a big mistake. No one ever helped me do my laundry, which they said to my dad that the whole dorm of girls helped me do my laundry. Wow. What a lie. Who made that up? I'm just upset because I have a 3.3 and I can't even take my finals because I was kicked out of residence, all sports events, everything...I have no reason to want to go to college. I'm so mad. So mad.
I'm taking a break from things. Moments of contemplation. Realizing a lot of my issues that led to being manipulated, and all of it. I was trying to escape my depression. My sadness. Anxiety about college... And of course, the feeling that life should be more. But right now, life just is. And I'm happy with that. I wrote my appeal, and the dean actually approved it and I'm going before the board again to defend my staying on campus for the remaining month of the semester. I'm a little confused about things...like how long I would be removed from campus if it does stay. I feel I have a chance of getting them to change their minds.
Because I really don't plan on being led into the same mistakes again. You can't escape through drugs, the big catch-22 is that despite the drug was fake they are saying it's just as serious as if I had possession of actual LSD.
Which I kind of understand, but at the same time--it doesn't seem to help...the situation. I was duped. I really think I'll be able to finish my semester with at least a 3.0 GPA. I have a 3.3. Which is fairly good, I took my final in math today. I failed my music test on Monday...because I've spent spring break writing my appeal and forgot all about the test, plus at that point I wasn't sure if I was even going to be able to continue past Friday. It's all been up in the air.
What sucks is that I still can't drive. Well the dean and everyone have been empathetic, but they're still making me feel like a criminal...or it kind of feels like that. He said that this story is something that might be read in the Journal. A bunch of students were kicked out, and my roommate could sue if she really didn't say all the stuff they say she did--because once again, how could she report me that night if I was pretty sure she wasn't even there?
I don't want to jinx my luck so I'm hoping for the best. Why am I keeping a positive attitude? It's not because I escape the fate of others, this was seriously a jinxed situation...but because there's nothing you can do but try to smile and move on. It seems like nowadays I'm the only one who ever have my back, but I do owe some people credit for being there for me. I got my appeal approved a few weeks ago, and I'm now able to finish the semester while living on campus. This took a load of stress off, knowing that I'm able to finish and have a place to stay. I can still eat in the cafeteria etc. After the semester then I will not be allowed to live on campus here, but I've been accepted to my hometown college and I'm transferring there. I'm a little nervous because I find it difficult to socialize sometimes, but hopefully I'll find a niche of people there.
I've realized that when I smoke I feel really anti-social, which is a strange effect on me. I started drawing and sketching yesterday, and it felt so therapeutic that I started feeling really great. Took a quiz in Spanish today, and I think I got an A on that.
My grades are mostly going up, and it's just one week before finals left...the thing that sucks is I got a 53 on a Music test. I'm so upset. I hope that this won't kill my grade, I can't fail Music. I can't. I'm accepted to the new school on a provincial basis, so they need my final transcript asap after finals. I'm going to study like crazy.
Adjusting to college life is a bit tricky at first, but I've gotten used to things more. And I've been doing pretty well in all my classes which seem very easy for me. I started back on the meds awhile ago, and this helped a ton. I feel more natural and myself again...still worrying about my mom and how to help her. I'm trying to steer clear of existential thinking, because sometimes thinking this way makes me feel even more like an outsider. I need to lose weight again. The stress made me gain weight.
Plus, I've been eating doughnuts for breakfast more than twice a week. I watched some clips of What the Bleep to we Know? It's a cool video, but it doesn't seem very.....scientific or rational....just a bunch of theories about reality and quantum stuff. I'm counting down the days until school is out. Only about 9 days left, I don't have a final on Friday, but my first test is 8 am! ugh so early. I need to make plans for the summer. I need to get a job etc. I find looking for college’s fun...but I think staying laid back next year might be a good idea. This semester should have been laid back, but it was different starting during spring semester and not knowing anyone....and then all that crap that happened.
Finals are over! I finished the college year and survived despite the constant harassment. I am so glad to be done with them. I hope I did well on the exams. I'm crossing my fingers.
It's a beautiful day today although it got cooler towards the evening. It's seven thirty. I will get my final grades on Thursday or Friday. Might wait until Friday to look because I'm nervous. I feel pretty good right now. I'm trying to get creative- but the mood will hit eventually. I'm overcoming a cough and congestion. I need to find some friends around here. I just don't know how to approach random people outside of college. I'm too old, I guess. I want to get started on pottery sometime.
Final Grades: I had a 3.2 and was on Dean's List
“I sometimes wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic-fear which is inherent in the human situation.” –Graham Greene
I have been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and later schizoaffective disorder with bipolar. I do not get paranoid and am probably less paranoid than the average American. I don’t get depressed nor have I ever really been that depressed. My symptoms started when I was about fifteen years old and at sixteen I received my diagnosis.
The labels do not describe my every day state of being, and they are there to diagnose the symptoms of a condition that I am treating. Yet, with the medication Abilify, I do not have any side effects and I no longer really have much to complain about. If the theory on brain chemistry is correct, then I merely have issues with processing information. And this is treated so I can function well.
I believe it is possible that my disorder is not a curse, but that it is a natural aspect of evolution. We cannot always be happy and we cannot have a perfect life without some retrospection. I think of all the people who question the paradigms, and yet without them we’d get nowhere. A little questioning never hurt anyone. The world is full of too many possibilities not to question our place in the universe.
My life is less stressful than it could be as well. Though keeping stress down is important in managing my symptoms. There’s nothing wrong with questioning your treatment, trying to draw your own conclusions, and being self-aware. In fact, if I wasn’t such a strong-minded self-aware individual I think I could not have recovered.
I became my own therapist. I had decided when I presented with the issue of schizophrenia that it was up to me to get myself back. I had to put the pieces back after-all, and I did. I put myself back together. Over time I no longer felt there was something missing, and I slowly began retracing my steps. I would focus on a memory from my childhood and verify it with others, because it is so important to have logical and accurate memories. I made sure of this. I’ve been told many with schizophrenia cannot remember things correctly, and so my determination has kept my memory intact.
Now I’m at the point where I no longer worry about putting it all together, but I focus on the greater aspects of life and my being. But don’t get me wrong, I have suffered over the worst of symptoms and have had just as bad as anyone with full blown schizophrenia. I’ve had paranoid delusions, disorganized thinking, heard voices, and even had visual distortions. It took many years of effort to help myself. My symptoms have significantly diminished and are managed through work, therapy, and medication.
Some of my best techniques for recovering were: writing poetry and stories, therapy and self-talk, spending time with family and friends, socializing, re-learning to focus and concentrate, learning things I enjoyed, music, and simply loving myself and the world enough not to give up.
I’m really satisfied with myself right now. I have all the best of both worlds, because even if schizophrenia were a genetic factor I think even madness can be seen as a gift. It’s just hard when there is a disturbance in the way you process things, but everyone has one to some extent. There are plenty of reasons to be able to live a satisfied and comfortable life while treating schizophrenia.
My father has been the biggest supporter in my steps to recovery from the illness of schizophrenia. He has always been there to help me and listen. I know how devastating it was for him to see me struggling as a teen. He was very supportive and advocated for me. He never treated me as if I had anything to be ashamed of. I owe a lot to my father for helping me. My mother had helped as well, but she had issues with the system and worried about my treatment. This was also good because it helped give me perspective and led me to learn there is nothing wrong with questioning my treatment. My mother definitely helped to fuel my independent mind and willpower. Without her compassion and inspiration, I would not be as strong-minded and independent as I am today.
All of my family has been very supportive to me. Just as now everyone’s being supportive of my mother, who has developed symptoms. I think in some ways, I can understand how it is good that she’s not in a hospital or on medication. In other ways, she doesn’t seem to be getting much better and I believe if only there were better treatment available to her then she’d be back to her normal self.
She has had false memories, paranoid delusions, and many of the symptoms I had once but they are even worse. The law prevents my family from being able to get her the care she needs. This has given me more perspective on the importance of treatment and advocacy for those who are mentally ill or untreated.
I believe is very important is to keep the dialogue open between patients and providers in mental health practices. This is so that together we can create better care for people who struggle with diagnosed conditions. I believe a diagnosis should be given very sparingly, and often it is, in the instance where a person's functioning or method of behavior is severely limiting or impacting their lives for the worst. It's also possible that people can have imbalances that are triggered by drugs, stress, or simply genetic factors that make it harder to cope with everyday life.
Although I had a lot of energy, the language and dialogue in the story was very much like that of a disorganized dream. I have grown up in a different way than other people.At the times I’ve been psychotic; it had seemed even the insignificant details made a world of sense to me. This can happen in drug induced states or in dreams. Inducing states that aren't normal can be seen as spiritual in some shamanic practices. There are definitely many questions remaining over what helps and what hurts the individual.
Still, I question how anyone could say that there is a normal way the brain functions when we all have different perceptions of the world. It is no secret that through-out history people have used altered states to find meaning and place in existence.
Sometimes heightened levels are good for the brain and body. Sometimes they can throw you overboard into a sea of confusing waves. Some of the most brilliant intellectuals, artists, and creative thinkers suffered from forms of schizophrenia.
Schizophrenia is a broad term, and no one symptom is exactly the same.
I think this is because of how every human DNA is unique, and I believe schizophrenia has to do with the makeup of the individual. We as a whole should accept that everyone has a unique genetic disposition, and our dispositions are what make us who we are in a lot of respects. Vincent Van Gogh cut his ear off, but painted some really amazing and surreal images that invoke a sense of being within the painting for me. His sickness also may have been toxin induced.
John Nash was a brilliant Mathematician, but also suffered from paranoid delusions. Sylvia Plath was probably manic depressive, but her poetry was ironic and beautiful for her times. I have a personal theory that some prophets would also be classified by modern days as suffering from a mental illness, because many of them then/now are rebels.
They resisted authorities, spoke to invisible forces they deemed Gods, Spirits, Energies...do these energies exist solely within the mind? It takes a brave person, a mad person, to find out.
There is some great beauty, I have found, with schizophrenia. It makes it easier to soak up information when you have recovered to a stable state. Sometimes the intuitive feelings are not far off, but too much of anything can turn into a bad thing. There is also the question, what is actually a normal human brain state? I'm not thinking of when you aren't ill, but questioning what actually constitutes normal for the human brain.
I've had some moments of great clarity, and I was a high functioning teenager before the symptoms set in. I had early onset of the disorder, which means that I lost some of my teenage years to battling the disorder. I’ve begun to think that schizophrenia is a broad and complex system that factors in the: psychological, chemical, environmental/cultural, physical, and genetic.
The genes play an important role in the development, and also it shouldn't be discounted, the possibility that when we grow up if we are subjected to harsh conditions that may also be factored in. I was on a vegetarian diet for a year before the symptoms started, and also had stressed myself a lot through physical activity before the insomnia, and eventual breakdown into psychosis. I can't say these were factors or the cause, which is also frustrating.
I do believe there will be progress made for those suffering from the mental disorder, and we all know it's vital to find better medications and solutions to the problems we face with mental illnesses. My schizophrenia did cause paranoia; I was frantic and frightened, thinking bombs would blow us up and had very visual ideas.
I could picture things in my mind's eye very clearly, but on a different level than others could comprehend. The difference between me and the most severe cases of schizophrenia is that I have memories and insight, and even through a crisis I was pretty aware of what was going on. It made things harder because I was also aware of how I was being stigmatized by people who didn't have compassion or knowledge of the suffering I was enduring.
Yet it has become apparent that I do think differently than a lot of other people, and in some ways it's a blessing. I like being unique. My genes are not a curse, but there are some flaws with them. That's not really a curse but something that could also be considered a true gift. I'm happy to be alive, and I've had a beautiful experience with the world. Especially as a child, when my schizophrenia was only a unique imagination and over-abundance of love.
I began talking in full sentences at six months, and at seven years old I was already contemplating my place in the world. In some ways, I was an adult or an old soul even at eight years old. People with schizophrenia, if they were like me, grow up too fast and then have to adjust to a world that has a lot of rules. We have to learn to adapt. Sometimes because of our innocence and love, we forget that there are consequences and we hold onto our stubborn virtues, but some of those virtues are what made the world free. Our brains have evolved over time, through DNA, and we have adapted to be the best we can be. But we have the chance to become better, and hopefully there will be some way to isolate the problem and find a solution.
I don't think necessarily that we are the problem, or even the way our brains were built...because I function fine in the world with the aid of a single medication. The brain is unique, a tool that should be honored. Just because we produce more dopamine, doesn't mean we aren't capable of being completely fully functioning humans or adults in modern society as I have proven.I have recovered and have maintained recovery for the past five years; it was changed to schizo-affective disorder in the past year. And because of this very abnormality, I stand in solidarity with all those who have the diagnosis of schizophrenia. Because human life is a gift, no matter the way we're put together, we're all gifted in great ways. We should honor our gifts, not deny them. We should work to help ourselves and help each other. It took a lot of living before I realized how lucky I am to have what I have, and to be who I am. Remember: honor thyself, honor each other. Madness can be a gift for those who understand its beauty.
I am now much more knowledge-able about Schizo-Affective, Bipolar, and Schizophrenia to tell the differences between them; maybe my post will help answer curiosities or questions on the differences and how they affect us. Bipolar is thought to be when you have too much chemical activity leading to a "high" or mania and then a crash/low and depression. One reason I think Abilify treats Bipolar well is because it moderates both the high of mania and the low of depression due to its chemical actions which I've researched. It both brings down the mania which can cause delusions and psychosis, and it brings up the low to a normal level so you don't swing into depression. This is effective for me.
Schizo-affective is very similar to Bipolar. It is essentially Bipolar with Psychotic features when untreated for many people with this disorder. It is not both schizophrenia and bipolar because it does not have the exact traits of schizophrenia but you can have similar features of psychosis; it is slightly different because it can be treated more effectively with a mood stabilizer and is less effectively treated by heavy anti-psychotic doses alone.
The prognosis for schizo-affective treated appears to be higher stability than schizophrenia alone or spectrums of schizophrenia. This may be because it is mood alone to blame for Bipolar and Bipolar Mania psychosis. Schizophrenia is harder to pin down the cause. And Bipolar Mania has shorter rates of diminishing cognition while Schizophrenia is more pronounced and can nearly reverse cognition completely, like being turned inside out I speculate due to a LACK of chemicals instead of too many at once. Schizophrenics may be even missing some areas of normal chemistry.
The cause of schizophrenia is less a mood problem than a thinking, social, and functioning problem. A person with Bipolar will usually have their hallucinations triggered by a mood related chemical possibly such as norepinephrine or seratonin in high unregulated increase. I am diagnosed with Schizo-Affective disorder. My doctor and therapist have speculated for quite some time that I've had untreated adhd leading to impulsivity and stuff, now I'm treating it and am more rational and more clear headed. So yeah, in a nutshell my personal stuff is Adhd and Bipolar I. The combination of Vyvanse and Abilify has kept both disorders completely in check.
Hope this makes sense. I think the lines do seem to blur a little when trying to understand differences between Bipolar Mania and Schizophrenia, and I wish I knew more so I could explain it better. I had a friend with schizophrenia who seemed to think it was about lack of chemicals vs. too much chemicals. This may be true.
This was all explained to me by my doctor and therapist. Not everything I speculated was, but the difference of schizoaffective to bipolar and the prognosis are what they described.
I hope someday they can cure both disorders!! Scientists seem to be drawing closer to a cure.
It takes a brave person to embrace the unknown, but without reason you may unleash a wild beast within.
I've had some odd experiences, ones that the DSM would like to diagnose and label as proof of the mystical that I hide.
Differing from a norm or from the accepted standards of a society.
One that differs from a norm, especially a person whose behavior and attitudes differ from accepted social standards.
Infinity was such a dare to behold
we've been picked from a bouquet in a world so cold
to play a piano tuned to a rosy memory
sailing upon the waves ascending into immortality.
Translucent eyes remain frozen in their vacant observing--
He offers you ecstasy crying in echoes
drunken & stoic she'll keep on scribbling interludes
He will always dream of loving you.
The Seraph is reborn from ashes and smoke
The beast's conquest is to think and provoke
Oh my God! Your eyes are flashing with fire
Great dragon melting an eon of vampires.
They'd follow the immortal beast's spiraling trails
spelling the path of ascension, the Magus speaks in riddles
and each one, with his or her profound revelation
Though one might cave through the mirage's delusion
Found peace in revolution
Though translucent, the butterfly fades
To destroy only fuels but to live conquers all lies.
If he loves you, hold his hand
No mere poet need understand
The secret kept inside your mind.
Relationships, boyfriend, etc.
January 30th 2012
Overall things have been so positive that I just didn't have anything to write about. Other than the occasional worry about family and worry about the future and worry about the government, lol my pun on being a paranoid...which I'm not! *shifty eyes* I am feeling very awkward writing this--oh well. So here goes nothing.
It's been about a year since I started this blog. I realize that over time I've become a more legible writer and that I can string together sentences with ease. I swear. My music taste is changing from sappy acoustic to Lisa Loeb and glam rock...add some glitter and punkify me baby! I think I'm falling for my boyfriend. There's something so awkwardly cute about him. He's got this whole Glam rock look about him, and I love it. His awkwardness can be a little overwhelming sometimes like when he blurts out private conversations to random people, but I swear it's not as bad as I so neurotically put it. He only did this once, to clear the record and it was kind of funny. He seems to be less and less awkward the more I'm around him, and more motivated and happy--but so am I. As long as I have some space and ability to express my thoughts I am fine. He said he'd probably like my brother's art. My brother takes horror photography. My brother got into photo manipulation since he was little.
I feel pretty much chill right now. Just conflicted/ my dad wants me to live in town/in my apartment, and my boyfriend wants me to live with him. I think I just need to live with my boyfriend, because it's helping me a lot to adjust to living on my own. I only realized after helping Ryan that I need help too, living on my own, managing finances etc. and he's helping me move in with him, so I don't have to live alone.He's also helping me clean out my own apartment, so it will be nice and see if the landlord let's me leave before my lease is up.
Being with Ryan is awesome, we chill like best friends and we're always comfortable with each other--which is cool but surprising, I've never gotten so along with someone. It's just, hard..he hasn't been rude or anything, not to my knowledge has he ever done anything mean...he's never been abusive either--but he did get upset at his mom, so that is nerve-wracking, and my dad knows me better than he does...so far...he's also different, I guess?
I had the feeling I should defend Ryan and our relationship when my dad was like "well what if you two break up? you'll never know about the future..." but I just got caught up in what he was saying, it felt manipulative in some ways...he projects so much of his own insecurities sometimes. He just is worried but come on, I need to live my own life, I'm 23! When he was 21 he was already married and taking care of me with my mom. He should know how it feels. But he played on my misgivings, because of course I have some--that's natural. It was embarrassing I was at a local restaurant...and I felt majorly doubtful that I agreed while my mind was saying "that's bs" my mouth was saying, "sure yeah ok" and then I called him and he's like "this is the opposite of what you told me" like he knows what I'm thinking...so now I'm nervous and stressing over nothing.
I am going to clean my apartment tomorrow. Then I'm going to have my day off from school as usual. Tuesday is my day off. I have 3 classes on monday, the last one is 6- 9pm! It's also a law class and tedious. But classes are fine, with all the support from Ryan I can focus on schoolwork and not get lazy or party etc. which has helped a lot. Ryan is getting better about stuff, and he doesn't drink which is good. He never drinks or smokes. I don't drink much either but I smoke ciggs. It sucks. i want to quit. I'm going to go to bed soon, but just letting you all know everything's going really great! Got a job thing on Thursday, we're both going to this job services to help us get better at it...hope it works out. No class tomorrow and 2 classes on Tuesdays.
some classes are hard when my teachers don't know about my schizophrenia, sometimes I wish I could just tell them--but pride or fear gets in the way, or worry about job outlook etc. makes it seem like I had an easier time plus, well, i can do the work really well. I'd rather weigh my strengths than avoid weaknesses.
I don't feel schizophrenic anymore. but it's something all 2 million of us in America have to deal with. Oh yeah my therapist is awesome! She understands schizophrenia very well. She has such depth, and she was nearly in tears after reading my "letter" describing how I perceived it. She said "so and so" I am really in awe with how you have described the illness, you have it so understood and have so much more insight while many patients with schizophrenia have less insight or none at all, you have described this with such "depth"...
because I pointed out some of the bigger questions as well, like what is "reality" anyways? and that's the scary thing, and the place I haven't been to yet--or plan to--because I don't want to go over the edge, but it also seemed like the opening to a really good thriller, but I don't plan on going that far- I have more important concerns and people I love, having seen them go there I know that I'm safer with God than some flighty ideal/some fantasy story played out before my eyes would prove no more true than my life lived out moment by moment. Even if a delusion meant having everything you wanted, quoting Marilyn Manson
"When all of your wishes come true, many of your dreams may be destroyed." In essence, you can't have everything you want because it destroys what really matters- you and your mission on this world/ this plane / this reality. Earth is like a school, and we all have lessons to learn, maybe my lesson was a Christian lesson, I dunno. Maybe...I'm not sure...but science is not something to overlook, just something to understand.
I'm logical and I can prove things--I could probably prove some delusions if people weren't afraid to look, but we're not ready for that yet. Delusions are--in my theory-- basically a projection of the mind...that others may not be able to perceive, or may, but that has a source and the source is what matters--not what you see...the source is connection. We're all connected, we all have a mission, and have responsibilities...I guess it really boggles my mind, and I've yet to truly prove anything. At least the hallucinations I had were pretty minor other than that one where Texans started speaking with British accents, that was weird. LOL.
So note to self::: keep a journal for working with therapist.
Started my journal today. BF and I went to the dollar store and picked up two leather journals to write in. I am writing for him since he has autism and can't write very well. I have over ten pages of information in it now, but nothing to explicite other than talking about childhood and my diagnosis.
The Stattera is helping me cope/focus but I have too much homework. I'm going to stop by the college soon. Actually. Although today is my day off from class.
Landlord is ok with my moving out before lease is up, now it's just my dad whose the one whose stressed about this change. He keeps saying I'll become "dependent" on my boyfriend, but I'm really not--he's more dependent on me. He says I have no trouble contradicting him when i said that I can't contradict him, and that's why it's hard to disagree. If I had a home to go home too...but I don't. My crazy life is there waiting for me, and I dont need to go home until I'm free and my mom is sane again. He doesn't want me at home either, because my mom is helplessly ill---and no one out there knows what she needs.
I'm really happy right now. I applied for an internship in the area. After a conferance call and interview, I was offered a paid leadership position. I'm trying to think/outline in my mind what I need to do to prepare for the summer. This is really great in contrast to the Walmart position I almost took/because I think I would do better, despite the challenges, in a more political/activist oriented environment than a cashier position without much room for diversity. In Media Studies there's a term called: scientific management--which was developed during the Industrial revolution as a way of making labor productive/but also treats people like machines in some ways, that's my understanding. Scientific management seems prevalent in most major corporations like McDonald's and walmart, etc. This position will be better for me because it is open to diversity, improvement, and you can excel based on what you put into your success/measured by people you reach, etc.
Ability to condense information, be concise and make persuasive arguments
This is where taking PR is really helpful in school/learning how to write and format press kits By the end of the semester I hope I am even more prepared for the challenges I will face.
I might find some college students who are interested as well. My brother might visit next weekend, I'm excited for him to meet my boyfriend as well. Dad congratulated me on the job position, and sounded happy about it--we're talking later on today.
Also: I finished my essay and I'm happy with it. It's an essay on the parallels between Sappho and Pizarnik's poetry style/ with themes on feminist writing, gender queer studies, and rhetoric. I used a lot of citations from Jstor/cited them all, my GPA has been going up every semester about 7-10 points. If this summer job goes well, I might find a career interest in politics, which would be pretty impressive considering...at least I think so.
I personally dont think pdocs have a clue whats going on inside schizophrenics heads. I dont have faith in them. I waste my time most times trying to explain what Im going through. They think my experience are irrational and off the wall. Well thats not insight. Any body can read a book and give an opinion. Its easy to just relay something that youve read and then pass it off as the theory of the time. Thats just it. Psychiatric assessment now on sz is just the theory of the time. Sure to dismiss the spiritual aspect of sz is a folly.
Anybody can read a book and give an opinion. But insight is neither that nor just accepting the current theory of the time, which now basically dismisses the spiritual nature of the illness. I could easily agree with my pdoc and try hard to ignore the nature of my voices but then Id be a traitor. I know this. And thats the intuition you have with this disease. You just bloody well know.
Interesting enough, I agree with you on many levels. They base so much on analyzing behavior and it has nothing to do with the true inner workings of the mind/brain/body...only slightly. The other day I expressed that I thought I broke down at boarding school to go home, and I got angry because nothing I said to her was considered valid enough to change my diagnosis...there-fore, nothing I do or say makes any difference...
there's no way out once you have experienced a break, there's no help other than this fragmented labeling system. Sure, I have gotten manic before and I admit and understand how severe it could be. I take medication and it helps me, but the way they analyze behavior and call it something or another is way too subjective, ya know? So I just shut up and don't say anything contrary, I play the mass made sheep when I am really not.
Oddly enough, there's too much speculation to prove much other than what you see in the first place or it would become extremely invasive. So I can understand why studying behavior of people with mental illness might help be more humane way to get treated. It's working really well for me. On the other hand, I think it's confusing and unfair, but who am I to say what I believe is right or wrong for me?
And yes, the voices are sometimes helpful, like a painting that no one can see-they help you out of difficult places. That's all it is. We know it's not real, but the demonizing creates more demons. I found God and it has healed a lot of it. Instead of asking questions to others I learned to look within and hear the voice of reason, of God, of love for the world peace and healing each other. I have maintained my own personal agenda as a pacifist for years, which is part of my healing recovery process....anyone can be a pacifist. It's not restricted to gender, race, genetics, will, personality...it's not restricted to anyone. Peace is a choice. Despite how non-pacifist the system is I still need some pills and talk. It can be corrupt to me sometimes but it's been better since I switched to a new office...it's flawed right now though---because they hurt us violently, label us and then demonize us still whether intentionally or unintentionally.I wish everyone would read this, its too true to ignore the system's fault here.
Madness at Last!
June 6th 2012
The leaves have dried on the trees
of my weathered mind
What once was beauty
Now is what beauty left behind
I watch the moon drift overhead
The mountain tops
Poking into the sky
I dream of a day I can awake
And know truth from falsity
Is there a way to embrace
the clouds so fluffy in their charm
With magic dying softly
In your arms, we dress
We wander often in regress
do not worry, my dear
For I am the mockingbird
At last, I am mad here
A great cry, it was had
For I have lost all that could be
My heart at least can flee
These aching dreams can rest
These wings now bested
What was that? A memory
Now what's left of me
A prism for the world to see
Madness at last
A world that I could be
June 16th 2012
I kind of just let loose and I feel so much better today. My appetite has improved and I bought a gift for my dad for father's day. I'm thinking about going to a local online college and take a few classes, to get back in the swing of things. I still plan on getting my license, it's just taking time and I worry a lot maybe too much. I'm thinking of lowering my meds, but I'm not sure yet. The medication causes akathasia and anxiety so I feel stiff and like I have to keep moving, or clenching my muscles all the time. I'm losing weight slowly but surely. I feel more healthy today than lately. I am writing more again. I've painted recently. Brought my Xbox to the apartment so I can play. I think once I get it set up I'll be playing a lot. I have some cool games on it. All I can say is I'm doing the best that i can. I need to start writing more. I wrote this on June 8.
June 19th 2012
Wow. It's hot as heck today! I went into town, grabbed a small coffee and some smokes. Soon I will start painting again. Recently I painted a purple mountain over the sea, with a orange yellow sky. My brother really liked the painting. I'm realizing that you can be creative even while dealing with schizo affective disorder. There are ways to work around the feeling of dullness or depression.
I can't take stimulant or anti-depressant medication because of my response to those types of medications. So I have to deal with things as they are, which is good I think. Things still haven't changed with mom. She is unstable and it's hard on all of us. Someone suggested that since my dad has taken care of her no matter what, it's true pure love. I think it is. I think my mom's just really sick right now and doesn't know how to cope. My dad is truly the most supportive person you'll ever meet. Yesterday he skipped work to help a company with their network issues. He did this just to help them. He does these things and people always say how my dad is a great man. The real me knows this, the delusional me gets confused and paranoid about things. That's why I really am trying to deal with all of this and keep trucking on. I need a job and I need my permit. I will try and take the test as soon as there is time available and its not crowded at the DMV.
The mind has the ability to self heal and also generate patterns in the biology of the person. It's true. Just look at different ethnicities, for instance the evolution of different reactive traits due to the SUN's effect on skin and eyes. But they say it's all a random crapshoot, anyways. I am not a random person. If that isn't enough proof behind a conscious source of progressive evolution...I dont know what else there is to say on that subject, sure, I think therefore I can think...but I think we all can get the gist of what i'm saying....I don't want this to end in psychobabble, I really want to get there in a world where cures are possible and people are healthy.
So anyways, schizophrenia...split mind. More like overcompensated mind. Medications alter glucose levels and while they may affect the blood/sugar and immune system. suppressing the flow of cells throughout the brain is not going to cure schizophrenia, neither is boosting an already over-reactive immune problem. Much like anemia can't be cured that way either. And altering the path of neurons only creates a new channel in another center of the brain, causing it to spread like cancer. Is it really cancer of the mind?
Dopamine is the transistor radio of the brain. Serotonin gets the job done by creating the information and spreading it, Zyban recreates new pathways in the need based brain paths. Basically, Dopamine is the thought/idea/need/want and Serotonin is the logical neuron transitioning neuron. They must work together in order to make sense. Serotonin is basically a regenerating mystery machine. It collects the particles of Dopamine and transports it to other parts of the brain...it can be absorbed as food, like the plants absorb the sun.
Dopamine can become overactive, de-regulated, and under-active...all leading to psychosis if in the extreme. Serotonin can become the same and lead to depression. Combined there is schizo affective disorder, because obviously the schizo-affectives got there AFTER they were treated with Atypical Anti-psychotics which target both areas and de-regulate them or over-regulate them…or both?
Bear with me, certainly there is no standing theory of the cause of schizophrenia...but it is most likely stress induced...obviously more-so than likely. The confusing symptoms and confusing treatments are both toxic to humanity and cost millions. Let them eat cake, they will say! DMT is naturally occurring in the pineal gland, prefrontal epilepsy, and seizure disorders can induce hallucinations as a response to immune system stress and oxidative malfunctioning, if you over-stress your body, you will compensate by producing more and more, but if the stress is sufficient enough to cause shock to your body, you might begin much like in hypothermia a process of DMT and other chemical reconfigurations and over activity.
This is what i believe happens to a lot of the homeless people, and to me...after a camping trip during winter-time without sufficient food, warmth, and high stress that I could not handle due to CMT or a muscle condition. No one believed me. No one still will. I do not believe schizophrenia is a random occurring genetic irregularity that occurs during the teenage years because it is so random... and there can be a lot of stress inducing factors.
Dear Mr. President Obama,
In the wake of the chemical attacks in Syria, one thing to reflect on is that a destabilized nation will not survive, and that the stability of a nation depends on a democratic, and well structured environment for citizens within it. While job creation and the over-all economy has reached a better over-all state, there is so much more that could be done if the U.S. diverts its attention back to the economy and education. As the President, you often promote the glory of America and the pride of being the best nation ever, but we need a better system of growth and tolerance. I also think we need to invest more in impressing the international community. Most of all, reforming education so that it's more accessible will definitely help improve this country completely. The youth of the nation is the backbone of America's future and if we're all in debt from college, then we won't be able to do much to save the U.S. from bankruptcy.
I also think we need to do something to save the U.S. dollar and the best way to do that is: bring back pride in America and invest in innovation so that America can leap ahead and begin to compete in specialized fields that inspire growth and other countries to participate. I.e. green Energy, scientific innovation, technological advances, more open ended market and protections on ideas and information (because having people able to access your information online also could lead to copyright infringement and info stealing--these are just a few things that I feel you also agree are good for the economy and job creation.
I'm lucky that I have a scholarship that helps to pay for a college tuition, and that is one great thing about living in America; having good education available is essential to quality of life and my ability to contribute ideas and skills to the world. Communications is also very essential to the 21st century and a growing understanding of what we find valuable. While technology can overwhelm and sometimes distract us from reality's concerns, it also provides the means of transference of ideas. I believe protecting the ability to think freely without interruption and intrusion is vital- please try to set policies that protect us from abuse of this powerful resource (internet and social media) to keep our info and ultimately, ourselves safe.
Getting to the Subjects
My therapist has this look about her as though she truly understands.
Maybe that's what scares me about her. In our first session she asks me
to write a letter addressed to my mental illness, and after I show her
she begins to tear up,"You have so much potential." She says, "And you
describe it so well. Most people with Schizophrenia can't do that..."
Potential...hmmm. Later, we are trying DBT to cure my Bipolar disorder
and now I'm feigning overstimulation, thanking the Gods of ADD.
It is too difficult to describe what they would call schizophrenia. One
has to have walked those miles in someone's shoes before they can truly
understand the depth of this Westernized disorder. Modern science has
failed time and time again to describe the loss of contact between each
block of time, the identity crises that can accompany us when we're
broken. Why be afraid of something you can't even see? They are afraid
because they do not even realize the truth of what makes us genuinely
human. Those pieces that were left when the rest just washed
away...survival for you. So I choose to reach for the inner beauty, the
illuminated truth reflected in the madness they discard.
It was my fifteenth birthday, when I decided I had to lose my mind.
Inside of a white machine, I began to lose all sense of color..The
doctor pointed to a chart where my EEG ratings had spiked upward--into a
world beyond the unseen. And then I fell down towards a place where
dreams had the ability to become reality. Tortured back to perfection,
the voices in my head wouldn't shut up in the hospital, whispers..said..
“you're an animal now that you've been domesticated...” What if?
Those voices arrived, first, after endless seconds turned into torturous
infinities of isolation for refusing meds that were making me sicker. I
waited, in my dark cell, I waited to be let out. Tic tock tic tock tic.
To be released for my crime of resistance. I waited for eternity. After
all, my real sanity did not arrive in the bottle of pills I had been
assigned. A secret fix for the "broken", after-all was said and done,
their crazy machines couldn't locate my pulse. I let the nurse close the
heavy locked doors behind me, and I dared them to destroy me leaving my
parents helpless to do anything to stop them.
I try to remember a life of sanity before schizophrenia. I was two,
standing in the grocery store staring at a blue and white frosted
birthday cake with trains on it and a big number. Age Number 3. I felt
exquisite, oh to be older. There were balloons on the cake. Red. Green.
Yellow. To be tall enough to reach things I wanted to reach, and be in
charge at last of my world.
I was a bright sunshine to my mother's dark sequestered world--of family
values, guilt, and punishment. Some were in awe, of my big blue eyes
and intelligent mind. An early talker, at least nine months old. At
night I was plagued, though, suddenly my parents vanished and I--this
mere three year old girl--holding onto a large steering wheel with no
idea of how to steer. The car would steer on its own. life seems aimless
sometimes, but it's not.
My dad took me everywhere around the city in a blue backpack. He took me
to a large graveyard, and I remember the big stones and the awe and
peace I felt...actually, all I have to do is TRY. I could probably
remember everything about anything if really wanted to. I had this kind
of poetic depth of a writer and I was melancholy with bursts of
blissful awe in experiencing the world. A Sylvia trapped in an eight
year old's body. I soaked up everything, turned thoughts and ideas
around constantly. I loved museums and plants and stars and God. My
mother stirred my deepest sympathy and awe as she broke down. As the
world shattered around me.
In a coffee shop down the street from my family's house, I'm in a
stroller and the adults laugh and smile at the baby girl with the bright
smile. Little did they know, I can and still remember. I don't really
forget things. In fact my memories are more than non-physical, they can
never truly wiped out so don't attempt that dear doctor. God has a mind
too and he wouldn't be please with it.. So as she tries to protect her
children, and he tries to shelter them from a world with ideals turned
extreme...they grow up in a world so strange.
Her suicide attempts still perplex me, and by this I mean. I sometimes
wonder if they ever really happened. I never saw it. I never saw
anything but bottles of Prozac, and then mom leaving to go to a hospital
where bad things happened and her coming back, and being better, and
then...years later the delusions returning. Borderline, Manic
Depressive, Psychotic, Schizophrenic Mom. My mother who was a social
mis-fit.. in her battle, constant rage and fury held so deep inside, at
doctors, at war, and at everything wrong in the world. Who did so many
great things, whose heart cannot burst.
White blood cells, anemia, dementia, lost dogs lost minds lost friends. A
pattern in the sky. A voice whispering on the wind, a colorful picture
book that is too bright to call anything. I am schizophrenic. I am
schizophrenic. I am a schizophrenic. I dull my hues to a perfect
combination of blue and purple and yellow. I refrain from remembering, I
stop myself from questioning, from asking anything.
And I cry silently for the abused animal I have become. You will never
know the true me, she's hidden beneath layers of darkness. I remember
her how she was once before this madness, she was full of bright-eyed
sunlight and open to things that no one else was aware of. As a child I
colored rainbows that laughed and together we vanished into the horizon.
She hands me a tearful letter,"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,”
July 22nd 2012
So it's hard to always relate, most people don't have such philosophical urges that a schizophrenic has. I recently stopped a rainstorm that was flooding the streets with my thoughts. It was cool. I can't prove that my will to stop the storm really stopped it, all I know is it stopped when I commanded it to just as rain has started when I've commanded it to or willed it to on even perfectly clear days, as well as parting clouds and controlling wind. I will explain this as a sort of metaphysical ability. Foreign Realities
"Greater love has no one other than this, that they lay down their life for someone..." Lisa
Lisa had been visiting the cabin secretly every day in the woods. Her husband noted her comings and goings with mild concern, but figured he’d let her be this time and that she needed her space. In her spare time she scribbled in notebooks, jotting down her dreams and hopes for her children. How she felt, hopelessly, day by day drawing ever to the truth of dawn’s light--wondering if she would ever be heard or understood as more than a woman caught between the polarities of time. The two partners had met in engineering at Cambridge, and bonded through their love of exploration and the unknown. Yet, there were forces at work that meant a bigger plan and in time they married and had two children, while Lisa began her quest for spiritual salvation and to understand the world in its grandest mysteries.
Her husband found her dead on the the day the two of them were scheduled with the therapist to discuss claiming custody over their children. He found her hanging by a noose in a tree way back in the forest on their land. The husband hadn’t known that she had been making the ladder, but heard the hammer pounding off in the distance thinking she was working on the cabin. The cops had been searching everywhere for her. The husband ran screaming from the body, as officers in full gear told him not to come near the body and yelled to go straight back to the house. It had been almost two months since his wife committed suicide, when he found the coin she had lost thousands of miles from their residence.
He told a girl about the angel coin that he found on the freshly swept wood floor. It had come over one thousand miles from where it had been lost, and it had belonged to his late wife.
The girl was having the hardest week of her life, everything just seemed to blur into one terrifying nightmare. For many weeks she struggled with the truth, that she could explain to no one what she saw and knew. She understood the darkness, but did they? It’s hard to explain how it feels when suddenly everyone turns against you, and there’s no way or reason to explain it. Not to mention this man in Missouri was sending her cryptic emails he received and top secret information about UFO's and mind control.
A bunch of school children walked up to where she sat on a bench drinking her coffee. Giggling and saying they were on a scavenger hunt for someone, they asked her what her name was. She refused to tell them, and she wondered if those kids had found her social security card and I.D. It had been missing since the night before when she filled up her gas tank. The paranoia hit her full force. She saw the room of students trying to raffle off her identity. She walked up to them and said, “I’m on a scavenger hunt as well.” She was all she had left, well that and the adderal someone had traded to her.
The weather had been changing rapidly for the past two and a half weeks. Everywhere she looked the sky would illuminate and streaks of lightning fall to the ground. She knew where the first bolt of lightning would strike, as she sat on the porch looking at the power lines against the clouds. It went straight down into the ground, and then rain poured so hard that she missed her concert. The girl was trying to stop being careless and childish, not to lash out at the strange coincidences and be brave enough to look for the real signs. To listen to her intuition, to her soul, and not get freaked out by cryptic emails or text messages from the grave.
The nightmares went away for at least one year after the man who resembled her attacker had gone away, or at least stopped existing in her eyes. It had all come together almost as if strung up on some horrid Shakespearean play. First, she picked up this winchester pocket-knife on the ground, and then she meets this tall man who admires it and the knife and him end up going missing. Then she gets a call that he's dead but she swears he’s back in town. The ominous drug lord or vampire take your pick. She had a dream about him, surrounding by lightning bolts. But everywhere she goes, the nightmare she had haunts her still. Normal people call this paranoia, but what about the dreams that came true?
She has struggled with premonitions, and they typically do not fail to underline the threats she has come head to head with often. The image of the man with the knife haunted her, as if some terrible curse was laid upon her. The best way to defeat an enemy, is to believe he is your friend.
Everything has withered, dried up, & become a void of dispersion. The hatred, the anger, the force of his mind or the dark ink scribbles that I can't simply muster anymore. The beauty of the rain drops or the bitterest downpour, soaking me to the core with vapid discontent. No drug could satiate nor satisfy the barren volume which sits within me. My thoughts skim through fleeting moments of what was before and the urgent sense of sanity, which could never have claimed my mind. I feel broken like a violin; voicing her song to no one but the creaking floorboards. If I could only summon the Lords of the universe to sweep me away from the numbing chill of depression. If I could dip a brush into India Ink and smear my portrait across the infinite canvas that has become my life--to be born again in the wild thunderous storm of madness.
Instead, I remain listless as the fog mows over the evening sky, an intrepid traveler of clouds. Meaninglessly I conjure words to realms which are too far from this lake of disarray. The world spins and twists itself betwixt bands of oblivion, but we know better.
A blur of watercolors descends upon this oceanic view of the neither-nor woman. I see a bright room lit by an undesirable opaqueness, where the listless fallen are nursed back to life. I pray to Heaven and his convoy of immortals, though I never am sure if he has heard. The voices have all gone to sleep, have been banished to never-land. Once a child of innocent insanity, now slipping past the moon as the shadows dance upon her in a circle of understanding.
She watches clouds gathering droplets of rain from her eyes. She knows it is because there is something wrong with it. Unsure if she's angry or relieved, the woman goes and sits on the porch like she had for so long. Staring out into the beautiful green and blue, her sobs release as she pleads with the Lord for forgiveness from her ignorance. They buy Maggie flowers on Sunday, purple ones that look like daisies. That night their children dream of blood pouring from the sky. Angry voices leap at them from the shadows.
How can she begin again? Like before, after the cleansing had left her mind barren and her skin cold to the touch. Would it be wrong to suspect father's accusations? A lying, stealing sorrow forms like a dark cloud drifting across the horizon. Her mothers sobs are heard from the room below her; he's cursing Satan who dances around twisting anything he can touch. How strange that she had to lose touch with everything she once loved so dearly. Now the words mean nothing. A mother with secrets. Where was the shining spark that kept her alive whether it drove her to madness or not?
People are susceptible to lies because they cannot accept harsh truths, the same goes with lying. This is how a wealthy man becomes a poor man over night. When he looked out from his big house, did he ignore the flowers? When he thought to his two children and his crazy wife, did he feel loathing? Did he not feel any sense of pride or joy? It's not fair, said the daughter, to blame me for hating your life. Just because you hate your life, doesn't mean I have to destroy the life that is inside of me. You have everything in your hands because you own the land. The dollar bill is more cruel than a pill to wash away the memories.
It's not that she wanted the child, it was that she had no choice but to give her the world back.
"Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life."
It's autumn, and all the oranges and yellows of the sun have fallen. I hold your hand because I can't walk down the street. I am unable to move. Flashbacks permeate my brain; I fear that I'm going insane for good this time. I see memories, I relive a million of these theories. I wash down alcohol, pepsi, and story endings. I drift in and out of clothes and Zen. I am working up a tolerance to this world. I'm gaining influence over the matrix. I'm breaking down the walls of reality; and I am falling every time I find myself alone. When will love be centerfold?
I drum my hands upon the cage of resistance. If only it were true. I smashed one thousand theories over a broken piano, screaming, thinking about you. I washed her hair and she fell asleep in my eyes. I can't get him out of my mind. But he is only a lover of the things I hide. Inside of all these houses and rooms, they close in on each other. Every empty vein is begging for a mouth to feed. I begin to unveil the possibility that I do not crave what I need. I have fooled myself, how vain of me! I go into another realm, zone in zone out. I dream of escape, and unending insanity. Love made me insane. Does no one love me?
'How do you know I’m mad?' said Alice.
'You must be,” said the Cat. 'or you wouldn’t have come here.” Lewis Carroll
Those voices beckoned her to shrill loudly, chaotically, beneath the evanescent sky. Voices, those terrifying taunting sounds, those identities and with her face came a new persona every day of the year. Her madness was unmatchable to the stars who poked their eyes lifelessly out every night, to see what the world was up to. Maybe Jesus Christ himself heard voices, or maybe he could heal her of them—someday, one day. He'd dip her into that holy water and absolve her of the sins that left her selfless, selfish, confusing. She'd crumble into his arms.
The man of the household kicked the dog, he has just been promoted and now goes to work three times a week instead of one. He had no time to address his cancer, or the dog, or the woman with the cast watching videotapes and dreaming of other lives. Now and then she would stop, and then she'd speak in hisses and whispers. This was not always my mother. Once, not that long ago, she fought against war and its assassins. She did her time in her jail cell, barred in between white walls and hell with nothing left to sell.
They taunted her, the guards, and shook her freedom away. She came home, glowing, but tired. She never protested war again. She felt it was useless, like she hadn't been heard. Now she speaks to ghosts who listen in third person to the woman she longed to become.
I have also heard voices, the voices of angels. And the first time, they were there screaming at the world to let me out from my confined state, where they sanitized me of sanity, and stripped me of my reason. When I was there had pushed the trap doors and told them all I was well. Dear Doctor, is this really psychosis? Have I remembered clearly your false prognosis? Am I that invisible to the mirrors the important doctors to see every broken lie.
Who would peer into my psyche, and justify this malady of panaceas which would never cure, only dull the senses. Perfect and justifiable behavior. And the doctor, who wouldn't cure your failing memories, only correct any errors in perception. But they haven't killed the memories, for I wrote the truth on the wall of justice. I am sane, after-all, only living in a deteriorating schizophrenic world. One of my own design, coerced to remake it mine. It's a world I can retreat to, now, that I am safe.
One where dreams are reality, but reality isn't really even there. One with cotton candy clouds and a premonitions that come true too often to keep dreaming.
White blood cells, anemia, dementia, lost dogs lost minds lost friends. A pattern in the sky. A voice whispering on the wind, a colorful picture book that is too bright to call anything. I am schizophrenic. I am schizophrenic. I am schizophrenic. So I dull my hues to a perfect combination of blue and purple and yellow. I refrain from remembering, I stop myself from questioning, from asking anything. And I cry silently for the abused animal I have become.
When I was seventeen, my mom lied to get me sent to the psych ward. I remember the intake nurse who turned to mother and asked how my behavior was at home. My mother lied a little too easily, and I just stared wide-eyed in shock. I mean ever since I was old enough to conceptualize, I'd be worrying about whether mom was going to live or die because, this time she overdosed on her pills. I recall sitting at the dinner table and asking her where the marks on her wrists came from, and she gave me a dysphoric grin and said she crashed her bike into a window. Of course how would I know the difference between truth or lie.
I remember being eight, watching from across the room while my mom complained of being blackmailed by agents. She was shaking and looked as though she was going mad. "Just look! Look at the letters! Even the handwriting is different," she said in a frightful voice, because the other letter was written in cursive. Maybe there are more inconsistencies. It was either interrogation, willful protest, blackmail, madness, or something else. The day mom was put into the hospital, my grandfather called to tell Dad that he'd found her, and she had walked to a bus station. Now it's slashed wrists, not a bike accident, though I never saw mom attempt suicide.
Then as the dosage increased, so did her madness. Suddenly there was a secret history to everything. Suddenly she couldn't decide what was real, or wasn't, suddenly she lost her mind. I'd shake her gently but she refused to move from the queen sized bed. She's simply snore all day, her spark gone. She battled demons and madness, but I hate God for doing this. I hate God for allowing this. I kind of hate myself for loving her too. She broke down and there's no way I can bring her back to life. I can't wake her up she's still asleep. She never caught the bus at the bottom of the hill to our house, where her father found her. And I still have no proof of her claims about forced electroshock.
That's why I don't hate my mom for lying. I don't think she knows any better. I began having auditory hallucinations in the psych ward. I believe they were sent to get me out of there. My mind in its trapped inexpressible state. If, however, I tried to ever express myself I was degraded for my circular reasoning. I got brave one day and told everyone I was fine and that I didn't have schizophrenia. I got up and walked straight to the doors, "I'm leaving" and then bounced back as reality hit. The doors were locked obviously. I had no way to get out. One month before my eighteenth birthday.
Every time my parents would send me to the psych ward, they cleaned my bedroom. They never would do that when I was home. This is really funny too, the voices I heard whispered about domestication, white blood cells, anemia, dementia. I'd always have weird visions of messed up old people lost and shaking in this kind of place. That's how it made me feel. I still have premonitions. I still know.
You can either live with regret and pain from what happened to you, fully. Or you can buy the lie that you're broken. I reprogrammed myself to forget. Tranquilizers, seizure medications, anything to knock the pain out. I bought the lie that I was broken. I am like the million broken pieces of all the beautiful things I have thrown away. But the truth is, I didn't throw this world away it abandoned me and I destroyed myself. Well, I haven't died yet. I almost thought I was going to die last night when the navigator got me stranded on a mountain, and no one would give me directions. I followed my instincts and made it home.
I have good instincts, but I typically ignore them because I hate being a nun. I really don't know why so many bad things happened this week. It just seemed like the world was conspiring against me. What are the chances. The world is full of chance. I just hope I haven't missed my chance at existence because it often feels like I don't. If I was smart, I tell myself...my dad blames me for my bipolar schizophrenia. I blame him for putting me in that box in the first place, and he blames me.
Because Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still hear my mother screaming. I envision all these scary things, like a dimly lit room with a woman in restraints being zapped with electricity. She doesn't remember anything. Now that the once real smile on her face has melted like plastic and has been replaced with bleach, what does one do but cherish the memory of all the radical mothers in America. I remember her how she was once before this madness, she was full of bright-eyed sunlight and open to things that no one else was aware of. As a child I colored rainbows that laughed and together we vanished into the sunrise.
She hands me a tearful letter, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,”
I believed in her more than she realized, and her dreams were called borderline by the man in spectacles who wanted to believe in nothing. I turned eight when I heard them say she tried to catch a bus, but ended up with slashed wrists and a diagnosis of bipolar schizophrenia. No one ever told me she tried to run away. My memory, has it betrayed me?
I have never forgotten that phone call, "she's at a bus station. We found her." I can believe in more than her suicide attempt. I don’t even know why I can’t forget her standing there in tears saying that she was afraid of the writing in the envelope and my father saying that she was being paranoid, practically begging her to calm down. She was sick. She was sick. She is sick. Please don't take my sunshine away.
So what happens when a rainbow turns upside down and the edges twist, and what happens when the flower in your hand turns into a dream that you misunderstand? What happens when it’s too much to be silent in prayer? I remember how much she believed in me, and how everything she believed in caved eventually. Maybe we are the same as them, but they just don't see. They don't know how to embrace the deepest recesses...what it means to be human and be free.
She had the passion to resist every bullet until the one that pierced right through to the core, this evil poison infecting her with disillusionment . She crossed the barred off line and got arrested for protesting a white man's war. They painted the padded walls off-white and we were screaming until you just stop caring. The doctor uses his syringe to steal every soul and cell as we dance with our demons. When all she wanted was to teach peace to the children across the world, who knew only a bloody war.
Sometimes I want to smash through that locked door of hers and tell her that I'm still here. can’t she love me too? Sometimes I just wish she understood what it means to know that you are loved. But it's not her fault, she never caught that bus to freedom and I was whisked into a dreamland. I will imagine she's still real, because she is here still. The mind never really goes anywhere—you can only hold your breath and count to ten. We can only close our eyes until they open again.
"They grope in darkness with no light; he makes them stagger like drunkards."
Dear Doctor, There should be no argument: it is essential to have an accurate diagnosis; after all without scrutiny and judgement you can't call diagnosing a science at all. My diagnosis should reflect my treatment in such a way that I am confident I have received factual and appropriate representation, and I don't think I have. It has gotten to the point where I dread coming into the office because nothing productive seems to come of it--I've begun to feel like I am the ultimate cadaver on display for dissection; & actually being heard would be a miracle.
Diagnoses are indeed generalizations which have been assigned to a particular set of symptoms for documentation purposes. So is it possible that in conversations I am being misunderstood and your judgements have been based solely upon those misunderstandings and poor value judgments? Since when did vocalizing my own conviction become a symptom of human broken-ness, mania, madness, or Lexapro? I would like to remind you that you do not have authority over my personal life, nor is it your place to assume that what I say is not true unless you have a reason to. What's this like disco for doctors?
Will it ever be possible to express how frustrating it is being labelled with such grossly inaccurate terms that have not applied to me, even by DSM standards? Is there any way I can show you that I have never identified with either Bipolar disorder OR Schizophrenia? That having the two seemingly magically stitched together was this cadaver's ultimate demise. Given the false representation I've encountered by those in the field of psychiatry, I'm at the point where I no longer see its point.
I have done plenty of the research that I need to arrive at my own conclusions on a diagnosis that would have fit my own description. I'm on the autism spectrum (my issues are attention and self-expression) and yes it does matter. However, I am frustrated by the lack of assessment and have grown so tired of being poked and prodded at. It's wasting my time (no amount of exaggeration on anyone's part can express that this has been my ultimate symptom).
If there was any clear resolution to this, it was totally lost in that stack of papers of yours; so while the ones I wrote myself are missing, only your incredible thoughts and meanderings made it on that paper. Psychiatry is not prophecy, so stop trying to divine meaning from bullshit please. Some lives are incredibly dull, but that's no excuse for throwing shit all over the wall and blaming me for it. BTW that was a generalization. You know what I mean?
PS. Well at least I have the integrity to speak my mind where others would fall silent. Maybe caring should have been my brain disease, after-all who really gives a damn about value or progress anymore to the point they'd actually be honest with themselves. So while one day it's crazy and one day it's moody most days it's you whose talking about issues.
Dan 2:22 (NIV) He reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in darkness, and light dwells with him.
The Bible is to me a metaphor of evolution between mankind being a savage and warring to enlightened, as in peace-keeping. Enlightenment to me is simple: it is the epiphany or realization that as a species the only way we can survive is to work collectively and not murder, pillage, steal or engage in reckless behaviors. That to me is the message of the Bible I take as a Christian.
Now, prophecy to me...that's a difficult one. I would say it takes guts and bravery to remark that you are a prophet for believing that you should spread either the word of God or meaning to humanity in your own way. A prophet is someone who intercedes for humanity, whether through mysticism (receiving spiritual guidance how-ever you do) or even completely non-religious intentions that are separate from an established religion. There is nothing wrong with claiming yourself as a prophet who spreads a message.
What merits a prophet is how much humanity benefits from your "prophecy" which could mean an intuitive divine message or peace activism or simply civil disobedience to a force that is doing something corrupt and you know in your heart it is. If more people followed their hearts and not their egos or judgements, we'd be living in a more peaceful and progressive, as in progressing, world where our human achievements could also coincide with the natural world around us. We can't keep killing the earth and each other. We can't devour the rain-forests, oil will not last forever, oceans will someday dry up if we keep polluting them, the ice caps will melt and it doesn't look like we can even stop that at this point.
I love the idea of someone standing up for themselves, and if it means calling themselves a prophet than that takes the courage of a prophet in the first place. But the true test of a prophet is that they are tested, and strengthened, hardened, and courageous enough to say no in the face of what is wrong. A true prophet doesn't need a voice in their head, they know without having to be told. As I see it, there is a difference between a premonition and simply knowing. I could choose to be a mystic but I'd rather live the righteous life where I follow the word of God. God is the knowable in all that is around us, and to me. Our creator was never gender specific.
God is a voice within and far reaching beyond people. Perhaps God knows us better than we do. After all, if there were a creator he must be the one who set the stage for our awakening, our ascension, our realization of the importance of the very simple thing we have discarded. ourselves. our planet. Perhaps God could be seen in a blade of grass? Perhaps God could be seen on a falling drop of rain? Perhaps the unknowable is not unreachable, and once you reach within to what you know--realizing that what you know is all you have, then you know true faith in a higher meaning to this planet.
Wonderment, imagination, creativity---are these hallmarks of madness or hallmarks of a world that is repressing the beautiful presence which once carried us through a harsh winter storm.
I believe to know the true prophet from the false, would be to understand the Bible and the meaning of many religious virtues across the world. They mean something.
Bipolar Disorder is just a facet of our cultural repression of the idea of swimming against the current. But I had to swim upstream one time when I was tossed from a raft along the river, trust me. Sometimes you just have to swim against the current or else you'll be carried downstream where you might drown. If we don't swim, believe, build, and grow up--we will drown one by one regardless of how screwed up the chemicals in our brains have become.
If you think Bipolar and Schizophrenia are just random, think again. I think mental disorders arise from an imbalance in the holistic nature of mankind. We are not robots, we are not machines meant to toil at sweatshops etc. Anyways, I've gone off on a tangent about too many things. I just wanted to say that this is very touching this woman stood up and said this. I wish I had been there. It's so rare or has been for awhile to see someone whose that brave. And lastly, true bravery is in doing what is right. Revenge has never set the world right, nor proven anything but misery. Like these kids who beat up a guy for ripping them off.
I was once thought to have schizophrenia, but through God I balanced myself. In fact, I do not mind the label of bipolar disorder because I do know my own struggles, but the truest and clearest perceptions don't even come from manic states. Truly religious experiences have to be felt and known from within and out. Mania only inspires us to leap outside the box and look around for answers.
Several years ago, I decided to take the first step in a personal journey of coping with the severe mental illness, schizophrenia. I sought out a self-employed therapist who introduced me to the idea that I could affect change by eliminating negative self-talk. She introduced me to something about brain programming called (NLP) and the power of intention.
The power of intention implies that thoughts and dreams affect us on both mentally and physically. It is possible that our attitudes and thoughts can even create biological change and rewire the brain, forming new pathways and instilling new modes of behaviors. This idea inspired me to further pursue NLP and the power of intention to eliminate symptoms of paranoia and depression. In dealing with the more chronic and severe forms of mental illness, there are no quick fixes, and while medication provides temporary relief from the harsher symptoms of psychosis, psychotherapy and visualization was my way of actually healing and recovering from the damage done by psychosis.
The Collective Unconscious
Carl Jung called it the "collective unconscious" a hidden wellspring of knowledge can be derived from this, but information itself is malleable-and one can misinterpret symbols from the mind. There are also completely chaotic or nonsensical stuff, the complex pattern making algorithms that the mind operates on is not always true to a script. Outwardly, conscious, behavior and modalities are typically social oriented and based on structures. While, unconscious patterns are more of the illusive and primitive stuff of the past. Different genes act in according to their nature and environment as has been discovered.
Stress can cause bad reactions in even intelligent or good gene functions, turning into something else...intelligent voices to me are a sort of adaptation to stress. I think it's adaptive, yes. It's also stress and trauma oriented in some instances, often a tool to overcome a deficit in the outward and conscious individual. Human nature presents itself a rich industry, and we all want to survive. TO survive, one has to Excel. Therefore excellence is a secret code that has been mapped in the human genome since the start.
I only hear one-two voices, at different times and not often at all--and I allow it to happen on occasion. Most of the time though, I don't bother to do this. I mean thoughts are not singular anyways, a thought can be picturing a word sentence or the image of a flower, or it can be an audible internal voice. If you want to practice creative visualization, that's the way I overcame and continue to overcome the imbalances in life. I hear a feminine voice, a soft voice, not often. I consider her a voice of wisdom.
Then I hear a male voice, more direct--still not very loud or demanding. It's been a recent thing, because I've been doing a lot of internal reflection and have been lacking a lot of direction in life. The "voices" came about as a result...and yes a bit willfully too...it has helped in some ways. I deterred a robbery, I reflected on bad decisions. These "voices" have brought to light problems in my behavior which is ironic. Since I normally act as my own self-advocate, and I've managed to navigate the system better, now when I hear a voice it is the voice of reason, not madness....
I'm still working out the nightmares. I do not have sleep paralysis, but I've struggled with the concept of things beyond my control. The "shadow" which is also a Carl Jung term, may be what influences these dark dreams. I know, on some level, this is not intelligent or real. It is a darkness, a negation. It's like war, control, oppression, powerlessness, fear, persecution. It manifested as an archetype called the shadow only through the unconscious sleep REM state, when the unexpressed becomes expressed. That is the nature of being unconscious.
Yes, that does prove the nature of the soul and has clues to what the prophets were pointing to. But Shadow is not a substance, shadow is the inverse expression of the human individual and just like Capricorn Signs are total opposites of Cancer Signs, and I learned that one fast...well, the shadow is the polar opposite of the light. The unification is fitting it all together ...we are that. Pretty simply put, by doing what is true--you cannot fail.
About the Author
Writing has been a way for me to find myself. I write about many topics such as death, mental illness, war, poverty, crimes, conspiracies, dystopian futures, abductions, paranormal. Many of my stories are written in a style which is subversive or experimental. I learned about this style of writing at Naropa College in Boulder which a poet such as Allen Ginsberg, a Buddhist and another poet activist founded awhile back. It's a very small college but it's awesome so check it out!
I picked up a book in the library about breaking the rules of grammar and writing, and ever since then have been inspired by having a reader peer into the mind state of the author or individual whether it makes them uncomfortable or what they may feel, the reaction is the intention. It's kind of like a mind game. Serious writing can be considered as such. It's too bad that people are so stuck that often they fail to realize this illusion of safety should be broken, and not cookie cutter. I refuse to be that. I'm not ashamed to be a hard worker. I feel like you should earn what you have, but I also think our society needs to allow opportunities to people where there presents few options to exceed. I also like to paint: oil and acrylic are favorite mediums.
I write fiction and surreal non-fiction. I tend to write on the more subversive side. I enjoy darker explicit themes that explore the unique side of humanity. I love when good triumphs bad, but I also know that alternative endings are important because life is tragic, and not all endings are happy. The world is a tragedy and without being able to express tragedy and irony we continue to live in the past without being able to express what is natural to the human condition.