20.9.16

Mind portal ///

There is a lot of stigma surrounding schizophrenia and it's the definite reason for my silence. It's been so inappropriately demonized (& I mean that quite literally, most major religions are the first to claim demons or Satan, I know this from experience) that even your own doctors will tell you to keep it to yourself. I don't know how many doctors have told me something along the lines of 'if you can go undetected, it's better that nobody knows unless they are actively helping you with your treatment'. This has always made sense to me because even without this dark cloud of stigma hanging over me when it comes to the general population, people find a way to vilify me anyway. I don't really need more stress added to that department. I know that if I dressed stereotypically average and did my best to blend in with societal norms, my diagnosis wouldn't be nearly as bastardized but I can't help it. It's not something that interests me. And I feel like I already do so much to 'fly under the radar' that there really wouldn't be anything left of who I truly am, were I to start conforming to that extent. I'm not sure if I'm making much sense here or just rambling on. I know that maybe I'm not being helpful, but that's really my intent here. I would like to give some sort of insight into this illness. I would also like to be more open and stop secluding myself from the world. Build better friendships and communication skills. These are what I aim to accomplish with this blog. I hope I can. Somehow. I spend so much time locked away inside myself and it burdens me. I don't necessarily want to be an advocate of any type, but I do want to contribute in some manner. We'll see how this goes I guess.

12.9.16

Untitled /// S.O.C

Sunday may first 2016

When I was a kid I had a babysitter who would put me in the basement. She would feed her kids in front of me but refused to feed me. She said she wasn't being paid to feed me. I don't know why she put me in the basement. Maybe I was bad. She didn't like it when I would cry and pound on the door so she put me in the cellar. There was no light and I was too scared to move off that first step into the darkness. There were things in that cellar. I could hear them scurrying around. I would cry and cry. But I knew no one could hear me. She would always let me out before my dad came to pick me up. She told me if I told anyone they would never believe me. Sometimes she'd tell me that my parents knew about it. They just didn't care. Here I am twenty-two years old and I feel like I'm back in the cellar. And I don't know if I'm going to get out this time.

                                                                     

9.12.16.    There were a lot of fucked up things that happened to me when I was a kid and I can't help but think they contribute to the piece of shit person I am today. People will tell you time and time again that you should let go of the past and move forward. Bullshit. I am not a forgiving person, especially when those who have hurt me have impacted my entire life. I am full of a hate that consumes me and if it destroys me than so be it. I was terrified of the dark for years. Sometimes I still get a twinge of fear. I've had problems with food ever since. I used to hoard food as a kid. I worried about going hungry all the time. I never realized until recently that all these years I was binge eating. I would binge and then feel sick. Disgusted. Repulsed. So then I'd eat less and less as a way to compensate. Eventually stop eating at all. Binge eat. Repeat. It's something I still struggle with. When I get stressed out it can go either way: stop eating/eat excessively. It's so hard to control. It's so hard to control. It's so hard to control. I do not owe forgiveness to anybody. 


11.9.16

S.O.C. ///

It's difficult to distinguish whether I genuinely enjoy being alone or if I've just been alone for so fucking long that I'm just used to it. Have I just tricked myself into thinking that's what I want? There are those rare times I find someone that can put up with my idiocity and I get completely enthralled with this idea of actual companionship that I can't believe I ever survived alone. But someone's always got to fuck it up. And who's that? Right. Me. And then I condemn myself to lengthy isolation and self hatred. And I settle into that rut and convince myself that it's what I want.

Then again, sometimes I meet people that are so fucking stupid that I practically flee to get away and being alone isn't all that bad.

Hospitalización/the beginning of the end /// stream of consciousness

It was too much to have that much detailed information about my hospitalization floating out into the world, so I removed it. I'm trying to find the right balance between being more open and being so open that I want to shrivel up and die. Really, any sort of openness on my part makes me want to shrivel up and die. It's astounding to me that anyone would 1. Actually give me the time of day to hear me out, and 2. Even be interested in anything I say. More often than not, no one gives a shit what I have to say, they just care about how I look and that's where it ends. no one cares. no one cares. no one cares. That's been my internal motto for as long as I can remember. Alright. Here it goes. On October 1, 2010 I was hospitalized. I was fifteen. I spent about a week in the adolescent ward at the behavioral health center. It was a long process of going from hospital to hospital to get me in there. It wasnt a pleasant experience. I remember having to take some kind of test. Booklet, fill in the bubble style of test. I hate those sort, my answers aren't ever on there or I have too many questions about the answers or I can see more than one answer being correct in different scenarios. As you can imagine, I was a terrible test taker in school. I'm assuming the man who had given me the test was a therapist/psychiatrist/doctor of some sort. I only ever saw him when he gave me the test and then when he told me the results. At least I don't recall seeing him again while I was there. He told me according to my answers, it was very likely I had schizophrenia. He asked me if I knew what that was. I said not really. I might have heard the word before. That was the only mention of schizophrenia for the remainder of my stay. All the other therapists, psychiatrists, and nurses said i was experiencing psychosis. That's what they told my parents also. It's psychosis. To be honest I feel that doctors don't really want to give that heavy of a diagnosis to kids. Which is understandable. Throughout the years, I've come to sense that when doctors talk of psychosis, there's some sort of optimism that it will go away. Kind of like a cold. Oh it's just psychosis. It's a way to evade an immediate diagnosis. Being at the hospital wasn't very helpful. I have a stupidly difficult time opening up to people or even just trusting people. Also I was so paranoid that I didn't even talk about my paranoia with the doctors. If I had I probably would have been given a diagnosis straight away. And also would have been there much longer. While, I was there I was put on my first antipsychotic. I believe it was abilify. Or was it geodon? I had no idea that I was in for a long road of various medications for the next couple of years. I'll talk more about that some other time.

Now I don't want anyone to think that I was so wildly off the walls crazy that it resulted in my being hospitalized. It wasn't really like that. I was incredibly withdrawn. Spent my time alone. Never spoke.  My parents say they knew something was wrong, they just never realized how wrong things were. The reason for my hospitalization was because I had asked for help. For whatever reason, I had a small moment of clarity and I realized something wasn't right. For a brief moment I realized that no one else around me heard voices and I had told my sister about the ones I heard. I was fucking terrified and very confused.

21.8.16

Rebirth ///

it's three in the morning. i decided to clear all the posts from this blog and start over. maybe later i will recover some of the older posts. maybe. I don't know. I've made the idiotic decision that I'm going to use this wretched slice of the internet to puke out everything that I've carefully kept locked inside my stupid fucking head. am I going to regret this? Undoubtedly. I fear that I've realized this far too late, but it's incredibly damaging to keep your opinions/thoughts/feelings so deep within yourself, that you're left with a timid husk of a human that cannot interact with others on even the most basic of levels. I know if you've ever attempted a conversation with me, it was uncomfortable and awkward and whatever first impression I gave was wholly untrue to who I am. sorry. Kindly erase that pathetic person from your memory. she doesn't exist anymore and she never really did anyway.