Some common little errors like the prevalence- it’s more like .5%, reported .3 to .7. Big error in rounding up the highest report to one in one hundred. It’s more like one in two hundred.
I didn’t read the article, I have my own case to speak of. She is correct about questioning everything. I myself do it. It prevents me from anything but science. I mean down to what I watch to relax every night, I do what is proven or at least shown to be effective in making my life function.
Skepticism is the name of this game. There is no room for taking things as true unless extremely trustworthy scientists say so. Even then, I have to be shown things and try things myself. Yes, it rules faith out. So sorry, but I can’t be believing in things when I am prone to believing in freaking insane things the moment I let belief into my life.
It’s really just about grit after getting the skepticism down. This life, life with schizophrenja, is hard. Life is hard enough to begin with. I have been doing this for a while and I must say that this life is hard. In fact, my escape is what others find hard. It’s the subtle nuances of life that I find hard- eating, sleeping, going to bed, waking up, dealing with irksome others. Put me to work and I will just dive in and then ask for more. But that’s because I have to use it or lose it. I am on here right now because when I am not mentally stimulated, by mind runs amok.
The “work” I do is a privilege. It’s taking it easy that makes me insane. I mean academia and exercise are easier than taking a shower. Making an A in a class is easier than interacting with the people in it.
I have comorbid Asperger’s.
I come home at say 5:30 every evening I stop my train and try to be normal. I fail. Every. Time.
It’s a curse to be highly functioning. Many take me for a mild case. Others take me as “just getting passed”. Nope, none of the above. My performance is a curse. I sometimes sit down to get it done and tear up because what is in front of me is not the challenge. It’s what’s behind the work in front of me that is challenging. I am my own greatest challenge.
And then I get written off as an exception to the rule and “not crazy” because I don’t exactly quack like a duck or walk around flapping my hands. When I speak, I make too much sense. My insight into being psychotic is rare.
I seriously wish I could be normal for a bit every day. However, my life does have its moments.
And when stuff gets serious, I become very surprisingly sane in the blink of an eye.
Overall, it’s responsibility. People know I can do certain things. It’s pretty severe. When there is something to do, people who know me well know that I already have it all planned out and am already on my way.
Being reliable…is a stigma. I am reduced to a mechanical operant. I am not quite human, I am that thing that does certain things. I lack sociality, what really makes humans unique. I am a machine. Machines are created by humans to perform tasks. I am the product of a bunch of psychologists. As an object created by humans to do things, I am stigmatized in the classic sense of being, in some manner, sub human.
Like a machine that needs serious maintenance.