There are many measures and routines to help ensure our stability and further existence in schizophrenia's shadow. Not a single one is bulletproof or sure-fire. They're more like an array of alarms. A network of self-imposed checks that serve to help me protect myself from myself and help me maintain an awareness of what is happening inside as well as help me perceive how or why I am interacting with people on the outside. It sounds elaborate. It is. It works sometimes. Maybe 50% of the time. That's too low, maybe 65% of the time. I believe. I would like to think.
The auditory hallucinations are always there. Sometimes the best way to handle it is to drown it out or try to blanket it in constant music or reruns of radio talk shows or television shows that I've heard dozens, in some cases, hundreds of times so that it forms a background tapestry to latch myself to. Sometimes the way we handle it is by drinking... a lot. If you hammer your brain into unconsciousness, you can't hear anything at all and what's more is that you can skip entire days sleeping while your body tries to recover itself. Those auditory glitches cannot hurt you and you don't have to engage with them for 7 days out of the week. Through the gift of alcohol, your week becomes 4 days long instead of 7. That's not the best way to deal with it. That is a way to escape it. Sometimes the best way to deal with it is to try to engage them outside of yourself. Try to write to them or draw to them or just talk to them through your mouth if possible. That never works. Nothing ever works. Don't kid yourself.
It does help us to feel secure for a while. The acts help us feel grounded to something and allow us to move through the world and focus on tasks, conversations, and people in front of us. It isn't always paralyzing, but it grows all its own. Sometimes it's fun to think I can control it. Will power. Discipline. Routine. Everything where it belongs. Simplicity. All of these things. Then I'm in a line at a grocery store asking the man behind me "did you say something" four times before it hits me walking to my car that he's the fifth person I've questioned that day and things are slipping from bad to worse and my little network of alarms is not helping. Sitting up in bed, watching shows I've seen thirteen times, and getting up for an eighth time to check that I'm alone because someone else is in here and I heard them say my name twice and I know it's not the neighbor downstairs because she goes to bed at 8:45 every night. Someone keeps turning the doorknob to the pantry and I heard them stub their toe and curse. Jesus, they are inside. We have to go. Now!
Walk out underneath the street lights and it's 11:30ish. Headphones turned up as loud as they will go. Walk around the block. We try to memorize every detail and compare it to what was there before we started walking. We compare it to what was there after our evening lap. We try to see if we are seeing things again and a shadow grunts "pssst, hey" so we decide to walk to the next town over and avoid the bridge because they will be waiting there to howl through our insides and if I could get to the park and lie down in the field for an hour or two to catch my breath the world might stop spinning for a moment.
I feel depression creeping in again. A very light pressure behind my ears and chest. A dull railroad spike through the near corner of my eye straight through the back of my head that will start to crystallize and splinter outward like a molten iron snowflake. I start to question again. Who wants to deal with this? How could we have been so blind and over confident to believe love can iron out differences whose gulf spans literally every aspect of your lives? You broke, dumb, idealistic, garbage, man-child. What is that? Who's there? Lying awake in bed until the sun comes up wondering if he is going to come for you tonight. Sitting on the cool bathroom floor telling yourself "never again, never again, never again." You didn't really believe someone would choose this warped, scarred, perverse thing over a human. Did you? How sweet. That is just adorable.
I still receive letters from time to time from the people that were my parents. Some expressing concern and well wishes. Some acknowledging holidays and other spiritual flotsam and sentiment. I feel my fist close and my fingernails dig into my palm. How dare they. How dare they. How dare they! Still, not one acknowledgement of responsibility. Not one acknowledgement that part of why I am here now, fighting every day to navigate through and undo the damages where I can, is because of their compounding actions for decades . Not one hint. Swipe at my twitching cheek that is curled into a stone snarl and spit out another piece of chipped tooth. I have to stop doing that. We only get one set of teeth. We probably won't get to drink their blood any time soon. That's a shame.
How can you love someone else, when you cannot love yourself? I do love myself. I love other people too. The simple fact is we're broken. Period. Not fixable. You can try all of the little things you like to lure someone else close: more money, a little land, cars and furniture, clothes and shoes, it is not going to change the base state of how you function. What's more, and pretty funny, is that the base state of how you function also governs all of those things too. You'll end up asleep in a bathtub chasing those things, we all know this first hand. I haven't the stomach for it or the mental health and make up. It won't take long to stop seeking meaningful intimacy with others. I'm already just about there. Roiling hatred transposes to the grainy, rattling, vision of rage. Kill them all. I have nothing to offer you and rare in this world is the human who truly needs nothing. I am close. I will find someone in kind. Or I will stumble upon them in the dark. Either way, I am not built for this world.
The hallucinations are growing in volume. It is best to be alone when it starts to happen. It's a lot easier to differentiate and stream thoughts apart from them when there isn't someone else around requiring attention and head cycles. The frustration and irritation and embarrassment is greatly reduced and sometimes it helps to deal with and engage it when I can strictly control what I am sensing. To a point. There is a point where it doesn't matter what we do to insulate and protect ourselves because the assault is coming from the inside of our body and eventually there is no where to hide and nowhere to run and I try my best not to claw my skull apart. I try my best not to scream.
Moving through the day and the little ripples tickling the hairs on my fingers and shins, I pause and whisper "not again." That was not my name. That was not my name. That was not my name.
///Muriel Zoe - "Bye Bye Blackbird"
The auditory hallucinations are always there. Sometimes the best way to handle it is to drown it out or try to blanket it in constant music or reruns of radio talk shows or television shows that I've heard dozens, in some cases, hundreds of times so that it forms a background tapestry to latch myself to. Sometimes the way we handle it is by drinking... a lot. If you hammer your brain into unconsciousness, you can't hear anything at all and what's more is that you can skip entire days sleeping while your body tries to recover itself. Those auditory glitches cannot hurt you and you don't have to engage with them for 7 days out of the week. Through the gift of alcohol, your week becomes 4 days long instead of 7. That's not the best way to deal with it. That is a way to escape it. Sometimes the best way to deal with it is to try to engage them outside of yourself. Try to write to them or draw to them or just talk to them through your mouth if possible. That never works. Nothing ever works. Don't kid yourself.
It does help us to feel secure for a while. The acts help us feel grounded to something and allow us to move through the world and focus on tasks, conversations, and people in front of us. It isn't always paralyzing, but it grows all its own. Sometimes it's fun to think I can control it. Will power. Discipline. Routine. Everything where it belongs. Simplicity. All of these things. Then I'm in a line at a grocery store asking the man behind me "did you say something" four times before it hits me walking to my car that he's the fifth person I've questioned that day and things are slipping from bad to worse and my little network of alarms is not helping. Sitting up in bed, watching shows I've seen thirteen times, and getting up for an eighth time to check that I'm alone because someone else is in here and I heard them say my name twice and I know it's not the neighbor downstairs because she goes to bed at 8:45 every night. Someone keeps turning the doorknob to the pantry and I heard them stub their toe and curse. Jesus, they are inside. We have to go. Now!
Walk out underneath the street lights and it's 11:30ish. Headphones turned up as loud as they will go. Walk around the block. We try to memorize every detail and compare it to what was there before we started walking. We compare it to what was there after our evening lap. We try to see if we are seeing things again and a shadow grunts "pssst, hey" so we decide to walk to the next town over and avoid the bridge because they will be waiting there to howl through our insides and if I could get to the park and lie down in the field for an hour or two to catch my breath the world might stop spinning for a moment.
I feel depression creeping in again. A very light pressure behind my ears and chest. A dull railroad spike through the near corner of my eye straight through the back of my head that will start to crystallize and splinter outward like a molten iron snowflake. I start to question again. Who wants to deal with this? How could we have been so blind and over confident to believe love can iron out differences whose gulf spans literally every aspect of your lives? You broke, dumb, idealistic, garbage, man-child. What is that? Who's there? Lying awake in bed until the sun comes up wondering if he is going to come for you tonight. Sitting on the cool bathroom floor telling yourself "never again, never again, never again." You didn't really believe someone would choose this warped, scarred, perverse thing over a human. Did you? How sweet. That is just adorable.
I still receive letters from time to time from the people that were my parents. Some expressing concern and well wishes. Some acknowledging holidays and other spiritual flotsam and sentiment. I feel my fist close and my fingernails dig into my palm. How dare they. How dare they. How dare they! Still, not one acknowledgement of responsibility. Not one acknowledgement that part of why I am here now, fighting every day to navigate through and undo the damages where I can, is because of their compounding actions for decades . Not one hint. Swipe at my twitching cheek that is curled into a stone snarl and spit out another piece of chipped tooth. I have to stop doing that. We only get one set of teeth. We probably won't get to drink their blood any time soon. That's a shame.
How can you love someone else, when you cannot love yourself? I do love myself. I love other people too. The simple fact is we're broken. Period. Not fixable. You can try all of the little things you like to lure someone else close: more money, a little land, cars and furniture, clothes and shoes, it is not going to change the base state of how you function. What's more, and pretty funny, is that the base state of how you function also governs all of those things too. You'll end up asleep in a bathtub chasing those things, we all know this first hand. I haven't the stomach for it or the mental health and make up. It won't take long to stop seeking meaningful intimacy with others. I'm already just about there. Roiling hatred transposes to the grainy, rattling, vision of rage. Kill them all. I have nothing to offer you and rare in this world is the human who truly needs nothing. I am close. I will find someone in kind. Or I will stumble upon them in the dark. Either way, I am not built for this world.
The hallucinations are growing in volume. It is best to be alone when it starts to happen. It's a lot easier to differentiate and stream thoughts apart from them when there isn't someone else around requiring attention and head cycles. The frustration and irritation and embarrassment is greatly reduced and sometimes it helps to deal with and engage it when I can strictly control what I am sensing. To a point. There is a point where it doesn't matter what we do to insulate and protect ourselves because the assault is coming from the inside of our body and eventually there is no where to hide and nowhere to run and I try my best not to claw my skull apart. I try my best not to scream.
Moving through the day and the little ripples tickling the hairs on my fingers and shins, I pause and whisper "not again." That was not my name. That was not my name. That was not my name.
///Muriel Zoe - "Bye Bye Blackbird"
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