When I was 14 I decided to leave my family. Not physically, but in heart. I believe it was a normal human response though. It wasn’t until two years later, when my brother moved off to college, and my sister fell head over heals for a guy. And I knew everything was different. Something in me shattered. I had left them, and they were gone. Atleast that’s how I felt. They had always been there. Always. Then gone.
Where they were previously then were whispers, as if memories were calling me. I kept seeing them in a field calling me and calling me…and this warm feeling, like syrup, would pour down from my head…except it didn’t comfort, but left me hollow. Everything green, everything alive was a curse. Because they weren’t there. It’s as if I killed them. Like they were somewhere I couldn’t be, and I just wanted nothing else other than to be there.
I expressed these feelings to my brother, and he tried to understand, but he can’t. I don’t think my sister wants to. All my family seem…odd. It’s as if we’re all in this droned out state, with all real emotion replaced with psychotic mockups. Now I’m detached, from everyone, except for my little sister. She’s the only reason I speak with anyone at all. She’s the only reason I’m fighting for recovery… Everyone else are just walking manakins as far as I’m concerned. Really psychotic, over-enthused manakins.
It’s not just them though. It’s also the friends I used to have. As if people like to study my moves, my language. Psycho-analyze the hell out of everything I do… I feel low and dull in admitting I just wish I knew if “it were me or them”. Have I really cursed myself? Maybe I chose this? Maybe I wanted to be alone? Tortured? I know I wanted to be alone, now more than ever, but not like this.
Years later, now 24, I’ve suppressed the schizo-warped guilt near to 100%, but it’s manifested in other ways, just as bad, or worse. Or maybe it’s just sz… who knows. I want a donut.
me too, people feel they have the right to psychoanalyze everything I do now, it’s maddening.
Pick something, anything, and it has to be psychoanalyzed at attributed to me having a mood disorder, or my mood being up, or down, or whatever. Like I hate to do laundry and clean. Who really enjoys doing laundry and cleaning.
So, a friend who is bi polar was filling out my social security forms and I talk to her regularly, and I said in passing I need to clean, especially my bedroom, do laundry. And she picked that up, called my mood low, and wrote down I don’t do laundry, activity of daily living I guess.
Suddenly everything and anything I do is up for analysis and interpretation daily. I hate it.
And I can’t get mad anymore, like I would get mad if my kids didn’t call me back, that’s normal. Now I’m considered an angry schizophrenic and they get away with ignoring me and feel totally justified, pisses me off.
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It seems the best way to handle it is to simply not worry about it or think about it, as it seems to just make it worse. Screw what people think.
I’ve decided that too. I attempted to be discreet and so I told 1 friend what was going on so I could put her down on the call list if I went into the hospital.
she started lecturing and ranting saying things like
normal people want to help you
what meds are you taking
my husband said his cousin had that, jumped off a bridge killed himself
she just freaked, so I came out. I told everyone I had a stroke 2 years ago, was psychoti c on and off since, with this diagnosis. which is true. before the stroke I would have bouts of stress with depression, but then I have a very stressful job and used to be married to pee wee herman.
I feel better, everyone feels better, things are calming down.
I was in that state once, I withdrew into my head and decided that it was just easier to stay down and not deal with the scrutiny. But My kid sis was the one who kept me connected. She’s the one I tried for and fought for and wanted to do better for.
There were times when I felt like I was under a magnifying glass being “observed” but after a while when everyone began to heal from the nightmare, it got better. It took work and family therapy, but it happened.
Now, I’m not observed. I’m just me. No one seems to take note if I pick up the spoon instead of the fork or if I’m wearing the same jeans I wore yesterday.
It got better as time went on. I really think family therapy helped that a lot.
I’m glad you have a kid sister too. Mine was a Godsend. She saved my life.
Many times in this life I’ve written her a simple note just to let her know that underneath this confusing and horried illness, there is still a big brother who is grateful for her friendship and patience.
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