Inspired by others’ sharing their stories and experiences.
I’m going to try and condense this.
Introduction:
My car’s transmission might be dying. My dad test drove it for an
hour. He knocked on my door later on and showed me the driver’s manual
and said “Read these two pages. Your car has a high tech computer which
adapts to your driving. It’s fine. Just drive it more carefully.” My
car’s first gear is out, and is rolling backwards when I’m on a hill. My
dad doesn’t know much about cars and he doesn’t want to spend money to
fix it. So I’m not sure what to do. I just facetimed with my friend who
is working down the street for a catering company. He agreed that this
was a silly reaction on my dad’s part. Also, dad doesn’t like my friend
because of the way things have transpired in my relationships.
I’m trying to come to terms with my schizophrenia. I’m not sure how
to place it or describe it because of the many prophetic delusions I’ve
based my story upon.
I was sixteen years old when I lost my mind according to the system. I
did it rather purposely. I had dared The Lord to save me from oblivion
and attempted an ecstatic experience with the divine. I was miserable,
young, and hopeless. I hated life, longed for love, and felt abandoned
by my parents. The only thing I had were my delusions of a better life.
Except, the boarding school was haunted and my demons were too wild to
contain. My parents came to Ohio and we stayed in a hotel because we
were six hours from home.
I was glowing with heightened senses. Everything was pain. I could
see all the differences reflecting in my mirrored existence. I went to
bed and heard the woman who comforted me talking to another sympathetic
women, “and then he shot himself” she said and the shot rang out in my
eardrums. The boarding school was very old and it was haunted. I believe
there was a fire in the past there. Every day was disconnection because
there was no structure at that school and no discipline.
I was put into treatment almost immediately, and given a diagnosis of
psychosis NOS later to be paranoid schizophrenia. I was isolated a lot
because I refused treatment and thought they were trying to condition
and brainwash me. This upset them. Perhaps they were just trying to be
strict with my delusional self. Then I went to catholic school for a
couple years, and eventually stopped taking medications because of the
deep seated hatred of what they had done to break me in the face of some
kind of intellectual innocence. One memory that resurfaced was of the
doctor who administered my EEG telling my parents that it was abnormally
high, that it was off the charts.
When I was seventeen I dropped out of catholic high school after
stopping my medication. The principle tried to get me to talk to a
counselor but I was frightened because she wanted to video tape me and
asked my parents for permission. Then I was stuck at home without a way
out. My parents would not teach me to drive until I took medications,
which left me isolated all day. This was mostly my dad’s influence as he
strongly believed iIwas sick and fought with my mom over it.
My mom once told me that she felt neglected because of me. She had
just come home from her mission in the Middle East to teach peace and
conflict resolution to palestinians, to her raving mad dissident
daughter. I always ruined things for everyone. So instead of her
fanatical fanfare she was housed by the shame of my failures. But I love
my mom even when my brother thinks activists are sad self absorbed
fanatics.
When I was first experiencing the symptoms, it was very overwhelming
and chaotic. I was depressed as well. I would go to sleep listening to
Elliot Smith and praying I was free from this sickness. I never really
heard voices until I was hospitalized, about three years after I became
ill. It was in the hospital where I had no one to talk to, and was
forced medications that I began hearing what I thought were voices in
response to trauma. I was so traumatized by the medication, isolation,
being singled out and my own paranoia of authority that I heard voices
who started yelling at the people around me to pay attention to me. I
heard voices say “stop hurting her” or “are you aware of what they’re
doing to you?” it was definitely a direct response to isolation, trauma,
and forced drugging. I heard voices object to my treatment during
discharge, with a blank stare I heard voices say “they’re not going to
get you followup.”
They said things I wasn’t allowed to say because I was too
frightened. They kept throwing away these packets of writing that were
supposed to get me discharged if I filled them out. I was kept there for
over three weeks twice. The second time because I had a relapse on
Geodon and wasn’t able to express how it was making me sick. I even told
the doctor I wasn’t sure it would work and would rather stick to the
other medication that worked. I heard voices on Geodon as soon as I took
it within an hour. It was a bunch of whispers that started guiding me,
plus the repitition of the isolation and chores, and everything was more
inductive of my suffering and mental collapse. After all, my parents
had just lied to get me hospitalized, my dad had physically left a
bruise when I called him a sexist pig, and my brother had to stop him
from attacking me. I just feel like my dad conditioned me to believe
this.
My mom used to argue with my dad about working for government
contractors. She protested a bunch of government people, and believed
she was being targeted. Whether or not she was actually the target of
something has yet to be revealed. She started a peace group that
protested the Iraq war in DC and dragged us to protests when over
200,000 people marched to protest the destruction of the Geneva
Convention and the torture that would ensue as a result. It started out
small, but over time more and more of her friends and connections
appeared to be dismantled from a distance. In her journals from her last
incarceration in which she refused to post bail, she writes about how
these women are suspected of terrorism.
My dad sometimes seems like a product of the American Dream, and I
imagine he would find that offensive. We don’t share the same values. He
trusts the president etc. I believe that we should never fully trust
our representatives. He supported us until my mom got sick and then me.
My brother thinks activists are miserable ego-driven people as a result
of this, and is going to work for Ad agencies. Over time the medication
has made me quieter and duller, while I might be more insightful about
the hardships of reality, Abilify slows down my thinking.
We’re the perfect family. Dad the quiet American who trusts the FED
and does what he’s told until eventually he can’t, and then might just
change his mind. Mom, the resister who hates corruption and sees
everything but can’t express it because she’s driven insane by it.
Brother, who is free but chained by the same lies that feed America’s
blindness and me, who has been force-fed capitalist ideals for her
entire life.
The spiritual element of all this is really what has me. I know side
effects of Abilify can be seizures, which might explain my seizure-like
sleep paralysis I experience every few months or depending on some
factor I can’t explain other than the weather. The sleep paralysis has
stopped completely lately. I haven’t had any out of body experiences. I
still do have premonitions, but not quite as frequently as before.
I’m on the cusp of understanding it, but I never quite reach that
level of awareness that could pull me up out of this depression. I’ve
had a lot of extraordinary experiences. None of them very earth
shattering to be honest. I just paid attention to them, and instead of
blankly dismissing my experiences every single time, I observed them. I
got a fortune cookie recently that said my dreams created my reality.
It’s like everything falls into place, or natural order, eventually.
Like the fact that the “spirit world” warned me of recklessly moving to
NYC and years later my friend is trying to get me to come with him to NYC .
Or the repeated dreams of a bridge being rebuilt, or tsunamis in
Japan. But my dreams are more metaphorical and spiritual. My dreams are
like sophisticated engimas full of wisdom. I just have had a lot of
paranormal experiences that I can’t dismiss the thought of an other
reality, or a spirit world. I am not inviting them. They come to me. I’m
not shutting it out either.
There is no doubt some kind of energetic resonance to this world
that many people do not attempt to acknowledge.
My paranormal experiences have been physical. Have any of you had
physics defying experiences that cause you to question your diagnosis?
When the De Ja Vu hits it can be intense. If I’ve dreamed of a path
in the woods for several months before I’m walking it…it could be a
coincidence, but my dreams are so intense it’s like they are calling to
me. Trying to wake me up, make me stronger, awaken my instinct and
intuition. I just don’t understand why I have so many repeating dreams
lately.
I can’t explain a few instances where I “thought” perhaps in error,
that the laws of so called reality were suspended and only I could
observe it. That based on a person’s mindset they can be incapable of
processing it, or it’s not supposed to be revealed to them. Is this
because so many are on a path to ignorance? Or is it because reality is
dictating who she reveals herself to. But if you could even prove it,
and still you were ignored, then there is something fundamentally flawed
with knowledge itself.
Knowledge taints experience. Why bother fitting in with the herd when I’m a leader, and why lead anyone but yourself.
When I take my medication all it does is force me to bottle up my
feelings until they begin to warp, I become obsessive and more fitting
to my bipolar label.
I am isolated, have no one to talk to about any of it. No one
believes me. Imagine if you were the only person with a key to the
otherside of the gate, but when you came back no one believed a single
word you said, because that key holds an ancient secret and people have
distracted themselves with something else. And there is deff a force of
nature which attempts to oppress insight. There are multiple forces.
I used to think I could influence the weather because I’d look up
into the sky and feel everything pulsing through me, and the feeling
would just reflect out everywhere. I’d lay on my back and stare up into a
spot in the sky and everything would change. Shift.
There are other experiences that just traumatized me. Like doors
locking me from outside and no one’s outside. I suspected it was some
vicious magician, but some of the things I saw etc. were very
animalistic, like autonomous intelligences that I couldn’t control. But
I’ve decided I know what caused that. Some kind of projection.
You can project a thought into reality. I don’t care if they don’t
want people to know that. People deserve to know what they are capable
of. You can manifest a thought. It scares the ■■■■ out of people.
Another reason not many are open to the concept unless afflicted with a
curiosity like mine. Or maybe it’s just me. maybe I’m the only one who
can do that. Maybe I’m the only one.
“When the power of love overcomes a love of power, the world will know peace."
Stories. Bits of crumbled bits. Did my fathers father work for the
government, and why was his father, an astronomer, contracted to create
bombs? How many secrets lay awake, waiting to be heard? My mother with
her crystalline blue eyes as if she kept the worlds oceans from sinking
America.
It started getting really bad when I was six, but my parents fought
like normal couples do. They met at st Vincent’s college in PA. I know
very little about what they were like before they married. Both my
father and mother had been raised as Roman Catholics. My dad comes from a
six children family with an Italian mother and Irish father. My moms
dad is probably Irish but my grandma is from the west coast and has
French roots. And there’s a story is that we had a great uncle who
gambled away the family fortune.
My mom furthered her studies in politics at Duquesne university after
meeting my father and moving to Pittsburgh. She was studying to become a
lawyer and after she became pregnant focused more on political activism
than that. Both my parents were arrested and interrogated by the FBI
for being at a huge protest in Pittsburgh when mom was pregnant and she
spent a night in jail for “crossing the line” I believe a high form of
political dissent because it sends a powerful message of well meaning
and conviction.
Mom never appeared crazy to me and she became depressed after she was
convinced her to take Prozac, and had a manic episode where she tried
to kill herself, she also had fears that men were blackmailing her with
letters and threats. Moms best friend, Michelle, from that period died
mysteriously and that’s when I saw my mother begin a complete downward
spiral to insanity . She said that they weren’t forward about the cause
of her death.
Some said it was anorexia and others said cancer. It spooked her so much
that she had a breakdown. This was also during the time I dropped out
of catholic school. I was forcibly hospitalized and the ignorance
remains to this day of my emotional and psychological state. Now both my
mother and I carry the label of schizophrenia or schizoaffective, but
my first moms label was originally depression due to childbirth.
My mom accused my father of being linked to defense contractors and
that his companies were linked to mass intelligence networks, spying,
the NSA, haarp, SETI what have u. My moms dad owns a cabin on buffalo
mountain with a clear view of a giant ground satellite that they used
to track aliens or spy on the Russians during the Cold War. Mom taught
peaceful conflict resolution skills to innocent children in the Gaza
Strip and worked with amnesty international who funded her stay in the
Middle East and she felt bad she was never recognized for all her with
including hosting a website, helping fund and run a state group that has
a history of being anti war and anti-oppression.
It is too difficult to describe schizophrenia. One has to have walked
those miles in someone’s shoes before they can truly understand the
depth of this illness. Modern science has failed time and time again to
describe the loss of contact, the parallelization between thoughts, the
language gaps, the identity crisis that is schizophrenia. People are
afraid of schizophrenia.
I was fourteen when the world lost all color. Inside the white
machine, I lost all formulation. I have been born into a place where
dreams once had the ability to become reality.
Tortured by my flaws, the voice in my head screams “you’ve been made into an animal.”
Voices that only came after endless seconds turned into torturous
infinities of isolation as I wait in my dark cell to be released for my
crimes. I waited for sanity. Sanity never arrived in the bottle of pills
I’ve been forever assigned. The secret fix to assail my broken mind. I
try to remember a life of sanity before schizophrenia. I was two years
old staring at a white frosted birthday cake with trains on it and the
number three. There were colorful balloons on the cake of red, green,
blue and yellow. That was me.