Live Your Myth. Walk Your Reality.

Since the onset of schizophrenia in my late thirties, I’ve been reeling spiritually. Delusions, paranoia, and hallucinations, both auditory and visual, have left me pondering deeper truths and reflecting upon the nature of life, death, and all things taken for granted. I came up with saying to help me discern between two (often disparate) realities of what I hear and what I believe to be true.

Walk-and-Live

Anniversary — Year Seven

Hearing voices again, though I am surely not in the condition I found myself last November. My last bought with psychosis was really hard core, where I was not only delusional and hallucinating, but I also found myself fainting and passing out in public on numerous occasions. After a battery of tests with cardiologists and a neurologist, nothing has been discovered to be the cause of whatever ailed me.

This run of hallucinations are much more mild, perhaps alleviated by the medications, but not altogether suppressed by them. I approach seven years with the onset of schizophrenia: so debilitating. I’ve quit two jobs in the past six months and am now faced with the hard fact that I may not be able to continue to work full-time with intermittent psychosis that lasts a month and takes yet another month from which to recover.

I was living in my Airstream when — again — this cycle hit. I moved back home where I am now living with my mother in a 450 square foot apartment. We’re slated to find larger accommodations this summer when another place becomes available. As I hate to admit it, I feel so much better having company and constant contact with people at home.

For the most part I find myself in good spirits except for when my cat, Daisy, leaps upon me in the morning with her hangry (hungry, angry) pleas for food. Here in America, doctors won’t dispense anti-anxiety medications as often as before. My once-daily dose 1 mg Ativan/Lorazapam has been revoked. Without any way to manage my anxiety, it does reach the higher limits occasionally. In those times, I try to remember Twitter, so I can focus my energy and attention on something different, but sadly it seems more than absurd that someone with diagnosed paranoia-symptom illness (which is more about feeling intense fear than suspicion) can’t get medications to treat the condition while older ladies I know get huge bottles of more potent medications to help them through menopause. Rush thee, Change of Life, along please!

I approach Year Seven with Schizophrenia, hopeful that things can change, but fearful there is no panacea that will take me back to where I once was.