Another night and the physical pain persists. Today I go to “check in” with my therapist. Haven’t been to see him in about 6 weeks. He doesn’t know I went off my meds. I don’t know if I want to tell him. I don’t want to disappoint him. I also don’t want to lose Olivia. Taking my meds will take her from me again and it makes it harder to manage. I am thinking about asking him if he can’t recommend someone who specializes in treating victims of violent crimes. I think that might be something good to look into. I don’t know if there is a certain kind of treatment for people like me but it doesn’t hurt to ask.
Joanne asked me to come up with a different fruit to call her because she doesn’t like bananas. I am trying raspberry to see how she likes it.
“Dream Catcher” is going in a very dark direction. In a lot of ways, it’s much more personal than RH was. I could never write this story on drugs so I really hope they don’t pressure me to take them.
Still, I’ve found that much more often I feel her speaking through me. I usually don’t mind, but I just don’t want it to get to the point where it’s an everyday thing. She can get quite frustrated at times and she cusses when she does. She’s not mean or hurtful to me. She just sometimes feels she has no other way to express her feelings. I understand though. Life the last few weeks has been very stressful for me and that’s when I feel her getting angry. She only wants to protect me and she hates it when people try to take advantage of me.
She was upset when my neurologist blew me off. Understandable. All those visits and all that time and I didn’t even get a diagnosis. He says he can’t help me. I guess I am just screwed then. It makes her angry when things like that happen. She says things like this are what make people go out and buy heroin…because their doctors refuse to help them. Either that or they kill themselves.
I don’t know if I should be worried.
Apparently today I started cooking food for myself. I went into the kitchen and noticed the oven on. I was alone. I looked inside the oven and there was a pizza, almost fully cooked. I looked around the kitchen and sure enough there was a box and the wrapper the pizza was once in. I pulled it out of the oven, sliced it up, and put it in a plastic container to save for another time. When asked why I didn’t have it then and there, I said “I don’t know why I cooked it.” I wasn’t hungry at all. Maybe a little thirsty I thought, but not hungry.
This is happening more often these days. I also experience moving through time. I will look at the clock and it will be a certain time. I will sit there, maybe looking something over, then I will look back at the clock and 20 minutes will have passed. Logic says that I’m not moving through time, but it sure feels that way. I guess these events can only be explained as blackouts. Sometimes I will find myself doing something and wonder how I came to be doing it. Sometimes I will be standing in the bathroom and wonder how I got there and why I went there to begin with. Sometimes I will be stand in front of the mirror reaching out to the glass. I don’t know why my subconscious does this. I’m not really sure what it means. I’ve done the same thing with leaving the house.
Sometimes I will find myself going to my car, fully dressed and wondering what I’m doing. Sometimes I’ll even be in the car with the engine running. It makes me afraid to drive. My only saving grace is that my activities are relatively benign. Sometimes I will find myself holding my hair brush and wonder why. Obviously something told me to brush my hair, but I don’t remember what.
Sometimes I can’t tell if I am awake or still asleep. The only way I can tell usually is if something is happening that simply isn’t possible in the real world like flying or seeing someone famous in my room.
I think about this and it does scare me a little. I wonder how much worse it’s going to get. I know it’s not the medications because, with the exception of my allergy medicine, I’m virtually drug free. I say virtually because pain has driven me to my Vicodin a couple of times, but only a couple. This whole months I’ve had maybe three pills which is not nearly enough to explain what’s happening to me.
She tells me there is really nothing I can do so I should just try to deal with it the best I can. She promises to look after me with every step I take. It’s hard for me to admit this. This is the kind of stuff that happens to crazy people. I worry that one day I’ll forget who I am. I also wonder if and when that day comes, will I even realize it? Will I be so far gone that I won’t even realize I’ve lost myself?
Your words did hurt today. I don’t know why. Maybe I keep thinking that you know more about me than I’ve told you. The truth is you don’t really know me at all. Yes, I realize that the both of us have been through our fair share of crap and neither of us are not without damage. I know I’ve told you before that I’m not well, but sometimes I wonder if you really understand. I’m not saying you have to feel as if you’re walking on eggshells when you converse with me, but sometimes I am someone completely different.
I’ve always tried to act happy around you for your benefit. In a way, I didn’t want you to know who I was deep down. I know you know that I have doctors that I see and for a time, I was on a lot of medication. I know you’re aware that I stopped all my meds several weeks ago. In a way, those medications were both a blessing and a curse. Why both? While on those medications, I wasn’t me. I was a zombie. The medicine took away all my feelings and replaced them with pools of nothingness. I couldn’t do anything. I had no drive to do anything. I didn’t write. I didn’t listen to music. I didn’t dream…and how I love to dream.
I guess there is no real way to skate around what’s really wrong with me, as far as what’s happening in my head. When I was young, I had a terrible accident. I was in the hospital for several days. I took a blow to my head and since then, I have never been the same. I lost almost all of my childhood memories. Holidays, birthdays, everything. It took me time to remember who all of my extended family was. Some memories have slowly returned to me, but not many. I’ve always felt that emptiness. Sometimes I will get incredibly emotional when I hear a piece of music or smell a specific scent and I have no idea why. All I can figure is maybe it’s my mind promoting me to try and remember something I’ve lost. There is more.
I know it might seem like I joke around about being sick sometimes. I do that to try and deal with it. I may have mentioned to you that I hear voices, see things. I’m not kidding when I say this. In fact, there is one voice, a female voice that I’ve heard for almost 22 years. I kept thinking it was just a result of the accident and that it would go away, but it never did. She’s been with me all these years. I hear her as clear as you would hear someone standing next to you.
You see Joanne, when I say I’m crazy, it’s actually true. Doctors have looked at me and diagnosed me. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this to you but it’s called Schizoaffective Disorder, the depressive type. Essentially I can hear and see things that aren’t real, but to me they feel as real as anything else in the world. I’ve gotten good at knowing when things aren’t real. For instance, one thing I see quite often is a black butterfly. The reason I know it’s not real is because it’s far bigger than your average butterfly and it also leaves behind a trail of dust that disappears.
As far as the voice is concerned, she’s good to me. She never tells me to do anything weird or crazy. If anything, she keeps me in check. It’s a very strange thing to explain. I guess the only way to explain it is that I can “feel” her inside of me. Sometimes, when I am under a great deal of stress, I can feel her will come through me and I will do things that I normally wouldn’t do. You may not realize it, but I am very reserved. Very quiet. I keep to myself for certain reasons. I don’t cuss, I rarely argue. I rarely make eye contact with others. If and when I do, it’s when I am bending to her will. The only way I can explain this it feels as if she is sort of taking control of me and speaking on my behalf. She isn’t afraid to be confrontational and she can sometimes have a mouth on her.
I can only imagine what you’re thinking. This is the part where most people leave me. This is mostly why I’m alone. No one wants to associate with a “crazy person.” When I finally told some of my family and friends about my diagnosis, they started to ignore me. Some of them I don’t hear from anymore, especially those with children. They here those words, my diagnosis, and they instantly think I am this maniac. They think I am dangerous and that I’m going to go crazy and kill someone. The saddest thing about it all is my doctors believe the reason why this is happening to me is because I’ve been a victim of violence in my life. That accident at 13 wasn’t really an accident. My brother violently rammed my head into the ground with every intention of hurting me. He got what he wanted and damaged me for life. I know I’ve mentioned my ex wife to you. She was a bitter and vicious woman that physically and mentally abused me for many, many years. During the lowest times with her, she forced me into the shower at gun point and made me strip naked. She then turned up the water as hot as it would go and forced me to shower that way. She had this idea that I was cheating on her so she wanted to wash the “stench of those other women” off of me. I wasn’t cheating on her at all. She was just a very jealous and bitter woman, incredibly possessive. (Sound familiar?) She made me stand there as my skin burned from the scalding hot water. I still have nightmares about it. It’s not something you just forget. There were countless other times where she would throw items like pots and pans at me, destroy my belongings, you name it, she probably did it to me. Even then, I was ill. I was so depressed I almost took my own life several times. I know you can relate to feeling that low. I had no friends and I wasn’t allowed to speak with my family. I was completely under her control.
Even then I heard Olivia’s voice. The worse times though where when I knew she was there, but she wouldn’t say anything to me. I wanted her to tell me not to kill myself, but she knew it was pointless. Yes, I’ve named her. After 22 years, yes, you’re gonna name that little voice in your head.
This is the point where I feel you may just slowly back away. I can’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone for leaving me. I mean everyone goes away in the end. You wouldn’t be the first. I haven’t even gotten into the nerve damage I deal with. That’s a whole other story.
All I know is I took way too many sleeping pills and now they are kicking in. Don’t worry though. I won’t die. I never get to die. I get to keep living in pain. I know what you’re thinking. Everyone lives in pain. I guess that’s true. I’m sick in the head, sick in my body, and I get to live in severe pain the rest of my life. What a life that is.
Sometimes I think I’m developing a split personality with the way she seems to take me over. I don’t mind it at all though. In a way, it’s sort of funny. Sometimes for no reason she gives me endorphin rushes that kill my pain for a couple of minutes. Like I said, she takes care of me. I’m crazy for thinking she’s real, but she’s all I’ve got. Sometimes I start to lose control and all I hear is her voice telling me to go for my pills. The good pills…the ones that calm me down. Sometimes I wish she were a real person. Of course, after all these years, I’m sure I’ve idealized her and there will never be a real person that could compare to her. She’s not perfect though. She has her faults. She tells me not to eat sometimes. She cusses at all the wrong times. She tells me if I take 10 sleeping pills, I’ll probably still live. She gets angry when other drivers do stupid things on the road.
I’m alone in the world. I doubt anyone will ever really understand my plight. I don’t expect them to. I’m not easy to get along with all the time because of my illness. Sometimes I think I’m ok, but then 5 minutes later I am a mess. I don’t know what else I can say about it. My doctor once asked me how often I think about killing myself. My answer? Every day. Every single day of my life for the last 22 years, I’ve thought about dying. The upside is I’m not afraid of death anymore. If it comes, it comes. The benefit of having no friends is that my death won’t be much of a loss to the world. Even Olivia doesn’t argue with me about it. She knows it’s my life and if I choose to end it, it’s up to me. Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just end it. I have enough pills to kill a horse if I wanted. Maybe I’m still clinging to a small shred of hope that something will change. I don’t know. Maybe tonight I’ll just kill myself and that will be that. At least I won’t bother anybody anymore.
We have significant changes and I am not sure if I have a stalker or not.
rick allen pain management
richard alan pope
Do I talk about pain management here? Maybe I do. Half the time I don’t know what I’m typing anyway. Someone’s heart is still grumbling. We have to figure out who this person is. Comment! If your heart is grumbling, let me know and I will…do nothing. Maybe I’ll grumble with you. Besides that, here is a picture of some reindeer.
Here we are for the third installment. I didn’t have on yesterday because it was all the same stuff. Today is slightly different so we can go from there.
Schizophrenia Poetry is new. Makes me think I need to put a few more sonnets up so people can read them and tell me I am crazy. Rudy is still a hot search topic. Make sure to pick up here work here.
This one isn’t nearly as exciting. Still kind of funny though.
People are still talking about Ruby and her crazy book. You either love her or you hate her. You can check out her book on Amazon here.
It’s nice that people are searching for the website name as well, but Schizo writing was kind of funny. I guess people are interested in what crazy people write about. Well, most of us are or seem pretty normal. Just because I hear some things in my head doesn’t mean I am a complete nut. Who knows? Maybe I am.