earliest memories i was psychoitc.
my brother goes crying "daddy, you know what he said?"
"he said that the sun is where heaven is but
the fire on the outside is hell and you have to swim through that to get to heaven"
i must have been 8, earliest memory of my psychoses bothering other people - my little brother, about 5 at the time.
the dad gathers up the other siblings and tells them,
your brother onderdonk has a very unusual imagination;
don't let what your brother says bother you.
psychotic throughout my life,
they put me in mental hospital for two months whn i was 12,
battle of will thing, got put in for saying i hate my mom,
had to stay until one day i said ok i don't hate my mom,
weird games they play have no effect on how i feel about my mom,
st vincents in greenwich village new york city.
got to see naked girls for the first time, in the rubber room, and practice arts and crafts,
now 47, i have been in most of the jails and psychiatric hospitals in new york and california, and a handful in the midwest.
i always get free in a few days.
i've never really been into sanity much,
don't imagine i'm gonna start anytime soon.
The decision, at least for me, to go toward schizophrenia was made early in life, as a decision to
become magical. A little kid hears a bunch of bible stories, then when it's time to create a
personality for himself, he doggishly goes for the king-of-the-universe model, while the
psychiatrist's vision is only objective, to be a functioning member of society, keep yourself
presentable, etc, and the only concern at all for our subjectivity is that we are not miserable
enough to get mad and kill everybody, but other than that the construction of mental subjectivity
is left entirely to the spirit world.
I think it's the wildness of the images presented in the early years,
personal choice based on genetics, on what "reverberates in the soul" when you choose what
you want to like, along with lots of torture, or at least a mom who yells about stuff.
I know I am different. Ever since I was 5 years old, my parents told me I was "crazy", and an
"idiot". What they neglected to point out was that that is a GOOD thing, as I realized reading
Dostoyevsky's "The Idiot" - the idiot was the pure and mystical minded soul who gave his life as
a sacrifice to his beautiful and simple dream. That's a role I would like to have in life, and to
some extent, I do.