Belief

Richard Dawkins calls the extolling of the virtues of blind faith to children a form of abuse. I can understand how a child who is completely trusting may be duped and abused but I still think trust and belief are important things that need to be fostered in young children.

There is no afterlife awaiting us so the rewards must be here in the short life that each of us has. If you are trusting and then suffer because of it then that can’t be practical because once something has happened it is part of history.

A child’s mind is still forming so it is important to nurture it properly. Imagine a young child too small to have something explained to them like you’d explain something to an adult; you reward them with a treat when they’re good and punish them if they are not, right?

Is the same not true of belief? I think that teaching children through the medium of festive fairy tales that believing without seeing is very important.

The Matrix highlighted the point that you cannot even trust your own senses to be truthful to you. When I was ill I didn’t even trust that my own parents were my real parents! Trust (or belief) is a big thing in each of our lives so it is important to mould the brain of a maturing infant so that he or she can believe.

I thought that it was wrong to lie to anyone, least of all the most trusting. Master Oogway tells us that yesterday is history and I think that this is a good point. When you’re a child you become lost in the magic so it doesn’t matter how you feel once you are an adult; the important thing is that you found a measure of pleasure in the moment.

And belief has an important part to play in that. And hopefully when you make it to adulthood you will have the wisdom to see that you weren’t being duped, you were being loved.

But what if you reach adulthood and you have a very – maybe overly – trusting brain? You may be easily swindled or worse – where is the good in that? Can you teach children that believing without seeing is good but at the same time teach them to question the world around them?

The Value of Life

You probably think that life is valuable; but is it?

As a human I believe myself to have a better concept of death than, for example, a chicken does. Unfortunately being able to conceptualise death can cause a lot of pain when people do die.  And for whatever reason, it is safe to say that the living suffer when their loved ones are lost.

Does this ability to suffer loss mean that our lives have value? Does it mean that the lives of animals that aren’t capable of conceptualising death like us aren’t as valuable?

I don’t see a difference in value between the life of a human and that of a chicken; ideologically for me they are both valued at level zero. And so for example I don’t have a problem with eating meat (I am omnivorous after all).

I don’t want to kill another person but that does not mean that I value their life over that of a chicken. I wouldn’t want to cause any suffering to a person's loved ones; and I definitely would not want to cause suffering to myself by murdering a them.

If you look at the damage the humans have done to the planet, would you really choose to save the life of a human over that of a chicken? We have perverted the natural order and it has to stop.

Wake up to the facts, the world would be a much better place if the human race were to go extinct; and if that isn’t a wake-up call then I don’t know what is!

The you you think you are

They say that it started

With just a single bite

Now it seems I’m self-conscious

And it’s become a fight

Who is this thing?

Who is floating on my surface?

Having all of these thoughts

Thinking “Do I deserve this?”

Am I like the ocean?

That thing’s dark in the deep

And impossible to be delved into

By any swimming sheep

You can’t fathom the depths

And it’s the same with the mind

Some things they stay hidden

(You might as well be blind)

Could I be a denial?

Some kind of creative fabrication?

Am I too scared to face up to me,

And handle the situation?

If only I could know -

But then maybe I can

Could this articulating mind

Belong to an imaginary man?

He thinks he runs the joint

And that it’s all about him

And his body is a slave

To his each and every whim

But wake up my friend

You’re not who you think

The you that you think is you

He’s superficial and he’s never going to sink.

Why I’m thankful for Hitler

Do you ever wonder why you weren’t born into a different body at a different time?

Children are natural dualists: they feel there is a body and a mind and that the two are separate, which is a difficult habit to break. I have now come to realise that we are our bodies and that there isn’t a ‘spirit’ that transcends our physical form.

I like this idea because it makes sense to me. It is impossible that I could be someone else because I am a bunch organic material pieced together by genes. I am unique because the sex cells that became me contained unique combinations of instructions and the environment I matured in whilst gestating, and then the environment I grew up in once born were and are both unique too.

The point is that without every tiny bit of history that led up to me being conceived (and that led my nurturing), I would not be here as I am now. And this is where Hitler comes into it; without him (and all other people throughout history for that matter) I would not exist and I find that amazing.

Creativity

http://sommer-sommer.com/braintest/

It turns out I am substantially right-brained. My being an artist you wouldn’t be blamed for imagining that I might be slightly thrown in discovering that I am not so much inclined toward creativity. But I have known for a long time that I do not have a good imagination.

Little things like the large amount of time it takes me to compose a witty text message - or any text for that matter - are good hints of this deficit. I have to really concentrate in order to fabricate anything; am I trying to be someone else? Should I have to strain to come up with a reply to a post on Facebook?

Or is it my illness that prevents me from processing things because I have fled my head as a way of dealing with (by which I mean avoiding) the distress of being in there?

I don’t know.

Should you embrace who you are? I realise that – for one reason or another – I am not very creative. I need to write things down in order to process them properly which, as you can imagine, isn’t very convenient for me; but it is simply how it must be at the moment.

I enjoy making art; I want to jog people out of the stupor of their everyday lives and help them see beyond their horizons. This is probably a very naïve way of looking at things but it is the way that they appear to me.

I see people who don’t have the mental capacity or even the natural inclination to realise that they have been blinkered. It saddens me but I do not blame them. It has crossed my mind that I may be able to observe things from a different vantage because my antipsychotic medication numbs my feeling and makes me more cold and logical; in which case were I not being medicated I would probably be as short-sighted as them!

That isn’t a bad thing but it is in a way. It seems to me that there is so much that is wrong with our world that could be solved if people were to simply wake up.

Or perhaps it is me who needs to wake up. What if we can’t run the world on renewable, clean energy? What if the government isn’t corrupted by the oil companies? Is it true that world hunger really cannot be solved? Is it a lie that advanced technology is being held back so that more money can be made? Do we even need money? Is the prescription of medication not just another money-making scheme? 

Welfare

When I was first diagnosed with clinical psychosis my dad was keen to impress on me the importance of not giving in. He was concerned that the mental health professionals were going to wrap me up in cotton wool and be over cautious to the point that I was hardly moving forward at all. His advice remained with me in a way whilst I fought to get better - even if only in a subconscious form.

It’s strange being mentally ill because it’s very easy to forget that you are unwell. Or rather you don’t like to admit it to be true and so every time you have a panic attack or a dark day where the voices overwhelm you, you are quite taken aback. So, as you can imagine, when it comes to benefits it is very easy to feel like a thief or a cheat.

At times I believed I’d get better and be able to have a full time job with all the trimmings (I guess my dad’s words were still resounding in the back of my mind somewhere), but recently I stopped thinking about working. There are a lot of big changes happening in my life at the moment and the stress is proving to be very disrupting.

(I wouldn’t call it admitting defeat because it is definitely not that; I just had my sights set unrealistically high this time and actually it is an achievement to be able to come to terms with my own limits).

Now I rely on the welfare state because I am ill – or it could be that our world is ill, either way I am struggling to live day to day so something must be up! Everyday things seem to take more of a toll on me when compared with most of the other people in my life. I become worn out very quickly – although it’s rarely easy to pinpoint why this is.

Naturally I guess I’d have flown the nest by now; but unfortunately our world is far from natural. Maybe it is me who is ill; I may have a malformed brain – but what caused it to be so? It seems to me that the unnaturalness of our world may have had a part to play. If so then the natural process of child rearing simply goes out the window; which means that another system of support must take its place. Enter welfare.

But am I giving in too easily? I will keep on pushing of course but for the minute I must be sensible and embrace my limits and play the hand that I have been dealt. I guess that it’s disheartening but luckily I have the state to support me whilst I figure out a different route through this life.

Avoidance

It’s frustrating being smacked in the face by your own limits. Each time they catch you off guard; is it a denial that there isn’t anything wrong? Or is it because they come out of nowhere and are unpredictable? The situation you may have been in a thousand times before can randomly trigger a negative reaction and it is subjectively unpredictable!

Take tonight. There’s a Zumba class that I would like to go to with my fiancée but guess who reared their ugly head? That’s right, my limits. I was fine all day – it wasn’t a particularly busy day either – but right at the last minute I felt that regrettably familiar sensation of panic in my chest and then my mind began to shut down.

So what to do?

The staff at my CMHT would tell me that I need to push through; anxiety has never killed anybody and it can’t stay at that high level they’d say. Also once I get to the other side I’ll see that it wasn’t as bad as I feared.

I’ve had many panic attacks over the years and I really don’t want to experience one around people I am unfamiliar with. But maybe that is what must be done? Or should I take smaller steps?

Should I take care of myself and recognise my limits?

It’s hard to accept the fact that you’re mentally unwell (I still don’t believe it sometimes) and that you’re limits are far narrower than those possessed by a lot of others. I see the things my fiancée can do and it amazes me.

When she tried to persuade me to go tonight I got annoyed that she didn’t seem to understand me. I really wanted to go but there was something stopping me that I had no control over and wasn’t even able to put into words; I was annoyed but I also recognised that she has no idea how it feels to experience these things.

There is someone else with me in here. He can’t speak but he can take over my body; stiffening up my legs so that I can’t walk or shutting down my brain so that I can’t think.

So I chose avoidance (although I think that ‘chose’ is a long way from being an appropriate word), and have stayed home.

I hated seeing the look in my fiancées eyes as she left without giving me a kiss goodbye. I hated feeling that whoever it is that’s in me had let me down. I felt anger and frustration and had the desire to lash out but, having felt that way many times before, self-control pervaded and I managed not to.

The frustration has mostly evaporated now but will I learn my lesson for next time?

Be yourself

When I was growing up I was always encouraged at home or at school to “be yourself”. I got a bit muddled somewhere along the way though; I’d watch films and instead of recognising characteristics that were already part of me, I found myself thinking “I want to be like that and I will be!”

That just plain isn’t healthy, so now I’m beginning to embrace who I am.

My dad was eager for me not to succumb to my diagnosis. He would always talk of how the service mollycoddles me. How they are being extra cautious and I that mustn’t allow myself to take on their cotton-wooling approach.

But I’m beginning to think that they’ve got a point.

I now see that am ill adjusted to the world around me; I don’t seem to fit in to the traditional niche. This is annoying because I would like to get a job to support and raise my family. It is now obvious that I must find a different way of achieving this goal.

I am an animal that hasn’t adapted to its environment.

Then there’s medication; I know that has changed who I am. I would like to lower my dose but I am worried that I’ll change for the worst if I do so. I feel quite numb at the moment so it would be great to experience a wider range of emotions. But this could come at a price which I don’t know if I’m willing to pay.

So I will be myself and learn to know what I think and develop confidence in my own opinions. I will embrace my limitations and make use of what help is out there for me. I will not measure myself by the rule of others. 

Religion

I have to die. I can’t bare the doubt anymore. If I die then two things will happen;

1.       Nothing

2.       Something

Either way I’ll feel better. If nothing happens then I won’t know any different, but if something happens then it will all be resolved.

This was my thinking when I was twenty years old. I have been told it is psychotic and I no longer agree with my reasoning back then. For one, based on what I’ve been taught, I’d be going straight to hell for sure - so it wasn’t the best thought out plan.

Luckily I don’t believe in heaven and hell anymore. I am now happy I didn’t kill myself because all I have at the end of the day is my life and so that would have been an awful waste.

But was my thinking any more psychotic than that of the millions who believe in God and are prepared to die and kill for that belief (probably not in that order)?

But then if they are not psychotic then does that mean I’m not either? If I based my idea to kill myself on the beliefs of many then is it a psychotic idea?

Hold on…. am I normal?

Have I tailored my life to my diagnosis? The boot does seem to fit: I hear voices talking in my head independently of my thoughts and I also have horrible images in my head that seem to be inserted somehow.

But could these be normal, everyday experiences? And if I had never been labelled would they have paled into insignificance a long time ago? Or would I have killed myself from sheer frustration many times over by now?

Who knows?

I am starting to understand that I am not my label.

Am I still ill?

They labelled me; first with OCD and later as a paranoid schizophrenic. Now I wonder what it’d be like living without a label.

Back in school when my problems started I thought that everyone was going through the same difficulties as me but somehow, where I wasn’t able to deal with them, they were. Then came the diagnosis and with it everything suddenly made sense.

(There’s no use speculating as to whether my problems had something to do with my head injury or whether they were there from the beginning - I just don’t know. There is also the possibility that the world is just too fucked up for my poor human brain to cope with!)

A lot of people aren’t very receptive when receiving a diagnosis of mental illness, but I was. There was something romantic about being diagnosed and having treatment and being prescribed medication. It made me feel special.

I felt like I was out of the TV program Six Feet Under, being put on meds; and that made me feel even more special. I used to try and meld myself to the personalities of the characters I’d see on TV and in movies instead of simply recognising portions of myself that resonated with them.

I remember sitting in with the psychiatrist and saying that the world doesn’t seem real to me. I didn’t know if my parents were really my parents; I didn’t even know which thoughts were my own.

I’m always trying to find a reason. Why can’t I work while at the same time I am ok doing other things? Is it weird not knowing why you’re unable to do something? Maybe it’s like with science in that some things just haven’t been proved yet.

I am this way and there is a reason behind it but it just hasn’t been understood yet. That’s interesting though because even with a reason to validate it, it doesn’t change anything. Giving something a name doesn’t mean it’s resolved like with the discovery of a new element.

Is understanding fundamental to overcoming your problems? “Knowledge is power”, right? Or is it? Maybe living by your instincts is the key to happiness. But who can do that? The world is a lie that has grown out of control. We are all fucked up pieces of meat who don’t have a clue! Born into a world that doesn’t make sense, that isn’t natural. Trying to live instinctively because that is natural but then this man made thing comes along and it all goes Pete Tong!

Nobody fits into a box. We all live in the grey areas and that is what makes us fantastic. You can’t say I’m a paranoid schizophrenic because that is an empty statement. I am a human; there is nothing wrong with me. I am not ill; I am just grey.

You can diagnose someone with a physical problem like diabetes but mental illness is totally different; there’s no evidence that for everyone it is a problem in the brain. I think it’s a problem with the world we live in.

So what to do?

Medication

I like to say that Japanese saved me. I stumble upon it during my second attempt at University when I noticed it was offered as a complimentary study course and thought it might be cool. After my psychotic episode (that put an end to my studies at degree level) I continued to study Japanese independently at home.

The prospect of a day studying Japanese almost organically became my reason for getting out of bed in the morning and staying away from my bedroom for the rest of the day. Anyone who has been prescribed major tranquilisers will empathise that this is no mean feat!

My studies gave me direction but there was something about learning Japanese that enabled me to remove myself from the difficult mental processes I was experiencing. I could almost tangibly feel my mind whirring around outside of my body. I guess I had essentially managed to put my fingers into my ears and sing “lalalalalalala” at the top of my voice.

The interesting thing was that through this technique I was gradually able to explore my boundaries more and more. It was as though the Japanese study was some kind of temporary scaffold that enabled the reconstruction - by which I mean the rehabilitation – of me on a personal level.

Now the Japanese has largely fallen by the wayside and my passion for thinking has been re-realised which feels great. I know that there is still a long way to go of course, but the progress is promising.

As time passed I began to wonder if my experience with the Japanese study could be compared to my experience with antipsychotic medication. Does the medication provide a supporting scaffold that serves the rebuilding effort?

Anxiety

“I don’t know how”

“Anxiety never killed anybody” my doctor told me; “you’ve just got to push through it and when you come out the other end you’ll see that it isn’t so bad”. I am not a generally anxious person; my anxiety only arises in certain situations. I have recently gained a grasp on where my anxiety stems from which I’d like to share.

It all dates back to when I was younger; I’d struggle to leave the house to go to school but couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. I ended up making all kinds of excuses so that I could stay at home. I found it very confusing: “How come everyone else deals with this problem (I assumed they all did) so easily?” In the end I logically concluded that I was just weaker than them.

It wasn’t until six years later that I was diagnosed with clinical psychosis, so for that period my family and I were almost completely in the dark. Now, six years after my diagnosis I have a new handle on the anxiety.

It all has to do with ‘shutting down’. When put into a situation that I find overwhelming, I can almost hear my mind saying, “screw this I’m out of here!” as it packs up, leaving only the surface thinking – I literally become an empty shell; unable to look inside.

For ages I found this experience to be very disturbing; I’d find myself out in public but I wouldn’t know how to be there, which made me feel very exposed and as a consequence the anxiety inevitability prevailed.

It was only in understanding what was happening when I shut down that I became able to develop a comfort with it. It no longer distresses me because I can say to myself that it’s ok, this is just how your body deals with an overwhelming situation.

I learned to shut down on a subconscious level in order to shut out the paranoid ideas and intrusive thinking that was so distressing to me. I have become so good at suppressing them that I no longer honestly know whether those thoughts are still waiting in the wings, trying constantly to break through.

For now, I must continue to push my boundaries and learn how to be again.

At the moment I still find my inability to do certain things (because I have shut down) to be very frustrating. I scare myself on these occasions because of the violence – which is directed entirely towards myself – that wells up inside me. 

Retrospective

A hundred years ago someone said that everything that we ever needed had already been invented. Do you ever wonder what people in the future will think when they look back at the world as it is today (in the event that a clean alternative is found for fossil fuel, so that the world doesn’t tear itself apart when supplies run low – oh and don’t forget someone discovering how to undo climate change)?

One of the things that strikes me personally is medication. I am taking the a-typical antipsychotic called Olanzapine. As far as my understanding goes antipsychotics were discovered to be effective treatments for psychosis by accident and it is not fully known why they work.

While taking it I have noticed significant changes in my emotional spectrum AS well as a reduction in psychotic thinking. Now that the dose has been lower slightly I am beginning to rediscover (sometimes overwhelmingly) my original emotional range. Unfortunately the positive symptoms appear to have grown slightly stronger too.

But is the medication a good thing? Does it treat the condition or the symptoms?

Apparently advances in genetics will have a big part to play in the future of how Schizophrenic disorders are treated and even cured. Also, the medication - such as the one that I am on - whilst alleviating the symptoms may be causing long term damage to the patient’s physiology.

Is it so difficult to picture a medical professor lecturing his pupils in the future on the archaic medicines that used to be prescribed so readily; in the same way that people now think about prefrontal lobotomies? Of course a lot of people are finding they are better off on medication as there is no alternative treatment at the moment beside psycho-socio therapy……or is there?

You could call it a conspiracy theory (and don’t worry, I’m keeping a close watch on this one) but I recently heard of a ruse by the pharmaceutical companies in America to suppress information about natural medicines that are equally effective as their counterparts – but without the unpleasant side effects – simply because they aren’t patentable and so wouldn’t make any money for their companies.

Is it true? Why would so many people testify that they are getting better naturally? And what is in it for them? Is it just me or isn’t it easier to believe that the pharmaceutical companies would choose to deny the efficacy of natural treatment because they have such a high stake in the game?

I don’t know what damage the Olanzapine is doing to my body. I read on the leaflet that comes in every box that tardive dyskinesia and diabetes can await the long term user so I’m slightly worried and eager to get my dose lowered as quickly as possible.

I’ve been on a dose of 17.5mg down from 20mg for over four months now and things are definitely better but it was not an easy period. It’s been four months of disruption and frustration and pain for me and my loved ones. Finally though things seem to have levelled out and I can start wondering how the months following the next drop will pan out?

Innocence

“You’re too nice sometimes”, my fiancée has informed me on several occasions. I wouldn’t deny that I am not as hardened to the world as she, but is that a bad thing? Is the world I live in an unnatural one?

If I had the opportunity of doing something for someone which would make their life easier (even if doing so would jeopardise my happiness in a way) then I would do it. I do gain happiness I suppose because I am helping out a person but is doing so in their best favour?

The phrase “You have to be cruel to be kind” springs to mind. Am I limiting said person’s happiness by my action? You might think me a pushover to see me act that way and I think that is exactly what my fiancé feels. The thing is, I don’t go about the task grumbling and complaining about the injustice. I also don’t want to tell a grown adult what to do or what not do because they need to figure it out for themselves.

I’ll admit that sometimes I am scared by the fallout of a request to help me wash the dishes for example (founded on experience I might add) so in order to keep the peace I’ll keep quiet. The only problem with that is that it gets bottled up inside and is primed to explode at the slightest irritation.

I found my body shutting itself down the other day rather than dealing with the situation. Even now I find that there is something blocking me from looking at what made me shut down. It was a very odd and novel experience to find myself in that state.

I was still able to function on a surface level but everything below that was just like static. I had no thoughts or annoying song lyrics stuck in my head; I felt like I was floating along.

“You think everyone is good”, my fiancée also informs occasionally. It’s hard to say whether I’m inclined one way or the other to be honest. Logically I believe that everyone has a sense of morality inbuilt through evolution. I believe that right and wrong can only be viewed through an evolutionary lens.

Unfortunately it seems to me that the way in which the world (I live in) works, seems to pollute its people. I like to think that I am a lot more in touch with nature in my innocence to that world.

Because of my disability I have not been able to hold down a job – even a voluntary one. I haven’t been put under the pressures of poverty or hunger and I have a strong nuclear family supporting me through everything that I am going through.

This may be the reason I am nice and not a complete bastard and also why I am unable to cope with whatever it is that I was unable to process, made me shut down and which I am still able to approach without it burrowing its way out of sight. 

Does it ever feel like things are spiralling out of your control?

“The world is too big”

It’s become a real struggle lately to get through the days. I don’t seem to have the capacity to deal with everything that’s going on. Yesterday my brain got to a point where it decided to pull the covers over its head, shut its eyes and clamp its hands over its ears. I was left in a largely vegetative state; I was in no way anxious or unhappy, I was just numb.

My sister took me for a walk to see if that would help me feel more myself. Although I could look around and focus on the scenery, I couldn’t focus on it in my mind. The same went for my thoughts; I felt empty. There was no articulation going on in my mind except the intrusive loop of song lyrics. I felt like a blank canvas.

Song lyrics have become particularly oppressive recently. They never really bothered me before but now they are bad enough as to drive me to insanity. And they are not alone. The intrusive thoughts and images seem to be getting worse. I put this down to the lower antipsychotic dose I am on now.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!              

It feels like an uphill battle at the moment, like I’m straining to survive. It would be so easy to let my guard down and allow the intrusions to rule me. That does worry me quite a lot. What if I start to go along with those thoughts and ideas? I know in theory that they are my thoughts and ideas because they originate from my mind but I have to keep reminding myself of that.

When I’m tired the intrusions are particularly strong and unfortunately tiredness has become a feature of late. This I put down to the meds also. I heard that people with Schizophrenia have to work twice as hard as people not afflicted to deal with their thoughts. It’s no great leap to see how even a 2.5mg reduction of a 20mg dose could make a lot of difference in this respect.

Duvet Day

How do you know if you’re going into relapse? Could it be withdrawal from social situations? Or maybe hearing voices? What about sleeping all day?

I am a member of a karate club. I used to go every Thursday. I’ve been struggling to go since my dose of Olanzapine was dropped. One week I couldn’t face the two hour bus journey. Another, I became unable to contain the new level of excitement I was able to experience as a result of lowering my dose. This has been going on for a while now. Yesterday I couldn’t get on the bus.

I spent the day leading up to the class feeling very excited about going. It was only when I started to walk to the bus stop that I felt funny. I could physically feel myself shutting down as I pushed on. It’s hard to describe what it feels like to do so. However the effect I am able to tell you about.

When I was 17 years old I took an English test. I wasn’t nervous or anxious as I opened my paper. I looked down at the question and realised that I couldn’t read it. I could look at the writing but nothing happened. I remember how odd it felt.

When the bus pulled up I had the same feeling. The bus was there but I didn’t know how to get on to it. I couldn’t imagine doing so. I don’t know why that happened – at least I wasn’t consciously aware of any reason. Somehow I couldn’t access that core part of me that does things. Despite that I felt quite lucid, though only on a surface level.

I had all the hardware but there were no programs running.

Even subconsciously an experience like this would be upsetting. Not understanding why you can’t do something just makes it worse. I spent today unable to get out of bed. I had no motivation to get up. I just felt so tired.

So that’s two off the list; sleeping and social withdrawal. Am I going into relapse? I thought I’d be conscious of some change that would signal so. But what if this is it? I can only hope that these are withdrawal symptoms and that they will disappear as I adjust to the lower dose.

It’s tough right now because I want to do so much more than I am capable of doing. I want to be able to provide for my fiancée. It kills me that I can’t do so. I feel so helpless. 

The New Messiah?

“Are you such a dreamer to put the world to rights?”

They say you’re not a fully paid up member of the Schizo club until you’ve been Jesus. Why on earth do I feel a sense of achievement that I can say I have been? For a long time I believed I were the reincarnation and the second coming.

I did try and argue; for instance I thought “hey, I have no special powers and no angel has come to tell me I am to be crucified to save the souls of man”. But a voice somewhere inside me immediately sprung up; “there’s no evidence Jesus had any powers either, people must have made that up to keep things interesting and as for angels, well, men are living longer nowadays so the angel probably thinks he has time before he need appear to you, right?”

Any way I looked at it there was always a comeback. I should stress that this back and forth was almost subconscious. I was aware of it as I would be a conversation going on at another table in a busy restaurant; sometimes I’d catch a few words but I wouldn’t always be aware that people were talking.

You could blame that particular delusion on my religious upbringing – although it is probably seriously blasphemous to have such a belief. I’ve been hearing a lot recently on how it cannot be psychosis to believe in a creator - and all of the dogma attached - so long as there are many beside you who also believe; safety in numbers.

I grew out of the belief that I was the Christian son of god, back after 2000 years as Chris de Burgh sung. I like to think that I don’t believe in anything supernatural and I feel comfortable in that Universe.

I based my entire belief system on this lecture above by Lawrence Krauss. Although it mostly went over my head I did make out was that there everything can come from nothing. This changed my whole sense of life overnight. I suddenly discovered a world that I could conceptualise, where morality was essentially evolutionary and where I didn’t need a meaning beyond nature.

Judging by what I have seen, heard and read the vast majority of people don’t have the impulse to desire that knowledge. They are quite happy to get on with their lives, dealing with whatever is thrown their way. That is exactly how nature intended it. Evolution by natural selection takes a long time but unfortunately the evolution of society doesn’t. We live in a modern society and yet have primeval brains.

(For example our brains are designed to deal with scarcity. That is why when food is abundant you have the problem of obesity because the instinct says “eat eat eat, who knows where the next meal will be!”)

And yet I find myself aware of desiring that knowledge. My initial reaction was that there had to be a natural explanation for this. A complicated concoction of genes and environment – maybe even the head injury I had experienced when I was younger had caused lesions in my brain. But then a voice somewhere inside said “hey, what if you are special? What if you are destined to make a difference? What if you are the one who will start a new religion of knowledge and lead the world out of the darkness? What if?

It feels like a very naïve idea when I write it down like that. Of course I watch the news and see the situation in the Middle East and North Korea and the overriding worries of Climate Change. I was told you should never base anything on divine revelation and this certainly has that aroma about it. But what if we stopped valuing and wasting money on material things?

Religion seems to glue communities together but they have a dark side as well. But what is there in place of religion? I see young people leading hedonistic lives and it makes me feel sick inside. Is knowledge the way forward? Will it get better if people are made aware of their place in the Universe and realise that there is nothing beyond nature and causality? There need be nothing else because that in itself is so incredibly humbling.

Imagination

Female genital mutilation

Today I read that in experiments, people with Schizophrenia have less imagination than controls. That doesn’t surprise me judging from personal experience. I would not count myself as very in tune with my creativity. Things with me tend to follow a more logical pathway. I met some artists this weekend just gone at an open studios event and it struck me how much more instinctual they were in their approach to life.

My art is worked very hard whereas to them it seems to come naturally. A while ago I realised that my process was mechanical: I record as much as I can in writing and then I review what I have written; noticing patterns, motifs and symbols. I then mould these things into my art work.

I have always been capable at drawing. I have been doing it all my life and I have very few inhibitions when it comes to putting pen to paper. I have experimented and found my own rhythm so it is now almost second nature to me.

I do not envy these instinctual artists because I am who I am; I didn’t choose to be me so why make excuses or pretend to be something I am not; like men feeling embarrassed in the shower at the gym. When I was younger I would look at different people and I’d think “I will be like them”, as though it is possible to fundamentally change who you are.

There may be some leeway I guess; people do change over time as new connections are formed in the brain. Or there are drastic cases of brain damage when an individual can become a completely different person.

I am a particular collection of thoughts. I feel as though I am a being amid a cloud of thoughts; picking them out consciously but I think that is an illusion. There is no ‘me’, there is only the cloud of thoughts that believes it self to be a person.

What Came Over Me?

 Today I decided to go to my first Hearing Voices Network meeting, but surprise surprise it was by no means straight forward. I managed to go into the Salvation Army church (where it is held on alternate Tuesdays) after first taking some time to compose myself. I ordered a coffee and sat in the nearly empty café while I drank. I had the urge to write something down which led me to describe how I was feeling.

I didn’t feel myself and at first I grappled with trying to describe what had come over me. I felt like I was being held back as though chains were restricting my body. But then I realised that I wasn’t being confined by some external force at all; I had just shut down. Shutting down is a well-practiced technique that I learned a long time ago in order to block out the noise in my head.

I remember when I was younger I was able to discern the voices as they were fewer in number. But over time they amassed until no single words were perceivable above the overwhelming din. And so I quickly learnt to shut down - or perhaps I didn’t learn and it was purely instinctive. Unfortunately in order to target the voices specifically I had to shut down everything else as well.

It wasn’t too long ago that any meetings with councillors or social workers or psychologists consisted mostly of dead silence whilst I scraped together some semblance of a response to the questions they had posed. The weird thing was that I felt removed as though the lake had frozen over and I wasn’t able to break through the surface. I tried as much as I could but it was just too beyond my power.

Nowadays I find I have very little problem blabbing away to the professionals. Have I acclimatised to that particular kind of situation? Or is that a sign or how far along I am in my recovery? I do an awful lot of writing. I like to think that it is the only way I can process things - well, if not the only way it is definitely the most effective. But now I come to think of it, who says you should be able to process things naturally anyway?

I am rarely bothered by the noise these days; it only seems to be when I am tired that it manages to break through my barriers. On those occasions the noise is unbearable; like a thousand nails scraping down a thousand black boards. It is at these times that words and sentences force their way through; they usually try and convince me to kill myself so that I am no longer a burden on the lives of my loved ones.

At times like this I’ve found that all I can do is ride it out; maybe do some mindfulness meditation if it isn’t too bad that I can imagine my way to that option. I know that it is very difficult for the people I love to see me in such a state so I find it is best to prepare for it by telling them that although I may not seem it I am ok; I just need a big hug when the time comes.

There is nothing wrong with you – get over it!

Things began to go pear shaped around the age of fifteen. That was when I started to struggle going to school. I had no idea what was preventing me from doing so at the time so I found myself having to make up fake excuses not to go in. I remember being perplexed because I assumed that my school mates were all having the same difficulties as me but were coping with them just fine. I must be weak.

I am very pleased now to have the diagnosis of Schizophrenia. However I still live in fear that someone is going to come up with a test that determines whether or not you are ill and prove once and for all that there is nothing at all wrong with me and that I AM just weak.

But then I remind myself that I do hear intrusive voices and see intrusive images and I speak in a fractured way and often completely lose the train of what I’m going on about. I have also experienced hallucinations and deluded thinking in the past so I think that there is definitely something going on.

It would be nice not to have Schizophrenia; to be able to work and not get exhausted all the time by being ‘on the go’. However I do perversely find myself becoming very defensive when I imagine being told that there is nothing wrong with me. Surely I’d welcome that evidence. Why on earth do I hold on to my diagnosis so tightly?

What would happen if it was proven once and for all that I was as able as any other person to hold down a job? In the past it has been panic attacks that have prevented me from being able to do so. Now that my antipsychotic dose has been lowered a bit I have found that the anxiety too has lessened.

I used to believe that everyone was against me and that they were all seeing into my head. Classic paranoia I guess. One day a while after starting the medication I realised that I no longer entertained that psychotic idea. Now I was faced with the challenge of living in a world where everyone ISN’T conspiring against me. It probably sounds like this new world should be a lot easier to exist in. It is certainly a lot more comfortable, but it is taking a bit of getting used to.

Apparently only around 12% of Schizophrenics in the UK are in employment. Of course this isn’t surprising as Schizophrenia is associated with poor executive functioning. When I first started dating my now fiancée I told her that I was a lot better than I had been. At that time I assumed that I would continue to improve as time went by. I thought it was a matter of taking small steps such as beginning by doing voluntary work for a couple of hours a week and then gradually increasing it, eventually moving on to paid employment. But as Jack Nicolson puts it, “Is this as good as it gets?” - have I reached the pinnacle? I’d like to think that I can get even better than this.

So far things aren’t looking promising. But maybe I’m just going to have to accept that I will need to tread a different path.

I learned recently that emotional numbness can be a symptom of Schizophrenia. Does this mean that I am damaged goods? Am I not able to love my fiancée as much as another could? Or is it all relative? The first thing I noticed when I had my dose lowered was the heightened emotional range. They say you have to find a happy medium with the medication but maybe that means finding a mid-ground between the emotional numbness of the Schizophrenia and the emotional numbness of the medication.

It’s difficult as me to certify that there is something wrong with me. I have not experienced what it feels like to be someone who doesn’t have Schizophrenia. I am told that this thought is deluded and this is paranoid; that the thoughts are all mine and I don’t have to agree with them. But how can I know that they are deluded or paranoid? The fact is that they occur inside me and are so are very tangible.

Again, what if it was proven that I didn’t have Schizophrenia? What would this mean when it comes to these disturbing thoughts? The fact is that it hasn’t been proven that I have Schizophrenia. I have simply taken the leap of faith of trusting in the doctor’s diagnosis. You have to believe in something after all, don’t you? You can’t just sit on the fence.

The malignant melanoma of our world

It’s very morbid but they say death is a natural part of life. I don’t see anything wrong with contemplating one’s own mortality. I learnt recently that getting sunburnt even once before your mid-teens can double your chances of developing skin cancer. Most of our holidays to Spain during my childhood generally followed the same pattern; we’d get horribly sunburnt on the first day and then spend the remainder of the holiday inside in a rather large amount of pain so god only knows what my chances are of developing skin cancer!

Of course you could die at any time but you don’t think that way do you? Even when confronted by Damien Hirst’s shark preserved in formaldehyde all I saw was a freak show. I then learnt its actual title was ‘The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living’, not a bad title.

One of my chief thoughts when I’m writing things down (which I do often and it seems to keep me sane) is, following my death, what would my fiancée think when she reads the many journals and iPhone notes I am continuingly compiling? I’d like to add that I don’t foresee my death any time soon.

When I was younger and I was making drawings I used to be surrounded by a cloud of voices. They would often praise me, which was nice but as my disability developed they became more hostile and distressing until I finally shut down my thinking all together in order to avoid them.

Now, though, I am beginning to access my thinking more and more. Could it be the medication I am taking that enables me to do so? I don’t know.

But back to the topic; say I do develop malignant melanoma and it’s so aggressive that there is nothing that I can do and I am dead within weeks. What would be left? I don’t believe in an afterlife in any shape or form; I’m not sure I even believe in me; instead I see myself as a collection of thoughts which themselves are merely electricity passing through an organic machine.

I heard the word ‘Legacy’ yesterday whilst watching a film called Sinister and it certainly struck a chord. It reminded me of how Henri Matisse professed his love of art over that of his wife. I am an artist and have often mused upon this topic.

What it comes down to is that I am an animal (not in the sexually provocative sense of course). I am a part of nature not separate from it. What matters fundamentally is the reproduction of my genes. This doesn’t mean I can’t love my fiancée but what it does mean is that love is an evolutionary function that has come about in order to produce this effect.

I look into her eyes and it makes me feel all warm and fluffy inside. Why is this? Is “because you’re in love” enough of an explanation? I feel that way so why question it? Why do you need a deeper meaning?

One day we hope to have children of our own. That, Sinister vocalised for me, is my legacy. My fiancée tells me to focus on my own life and not worry about the lives of others so much. I can understand how that is a very natural way to be. We evolved to live in small groups and now we live in a world populated by over 6 billion people. I am told that this change happened so fast that our primeval brains weren’t able to keep up.

But that is the reality we live in. I have this idea that the world is broken – or rather it is like a lie that has grown out of control by continual propagation over the ages. Am I right? I sit here in my living room listening to Radio 3 and looking out of the double glazed windows at a manicured lawn and what I see is suffering.

Do I want my legacy to be selfishness at standing by while people suffer? “You can’t change it so don’t bother”, “Why not go and work in Africa building wells then?” I am asked. Maybe I am being selfish by not taking action personally. I tell myself “you are doing what you can, don’t kick yourself, you have schizophrenia”.

Wouldn’t it be perverse if it was my schizophrenia that has given me the ability to take the necessary steps back from the big picture and question why there is so much suffering?

How would I feel if I had to forego certain luxuries in my life so that people around the globe could have more of them?

I meet artists who are so consumed with expression and capturing beauty that they don’t seem to notice the world around them. As I say I think that this is the natural way to be (or perhaps I am being presumptuous and they are actually doing everything in their power to help put an end to suffering).

‘During the war, it was suggested to (Winston Churchill) that funding (for the arts) should be cut in order to pay for munitions. “Then what are we fighting for?” he replied’ – exert from a newspaper article (I can’t remember which).

You call this civilised? What kind of civilisation allows such suffering?

I know that I am being naïve. People can’t just click their fingers and change the world. I do wonder if religion has a big hand in the problem though. I have a feeling that if the religious amongst us (and bearing in mind that celebrity and art and money amongst other things can be religions) were to realise that they are animals - genetically designed and environmentally moulded animals - then the world would be a better place.

This isn’t an excuse for them to sub cede to their natural instincts of greed and violence. It would reframe the question of what it means to be human being in a lot of people’s minds though. Morality is inbuilt through various mechanisms into our biology.

Maybe punishing someone because of their actions isn’t justified as nobody has any choice in the past that has shaped the decisions that they make and instead people should be punished when they go against their natural moral mechanisms.

The world looks pretty fucked up from where I’m standing. But maybe people just need the opportunity to understand.

The Machine and Intrusions

I’ve often wondered if I’d live to see the invention of a machine that can show the thoughts in a person’s mind (be they images, sounds or emotions). After all, they are just tissue and electricity, right?

I started wondering this when I noticed that after I had made a certain incorrect decision like, say, watching a TV game show and giving the wrong answer to a question. On every occasion when it wasn’t a gamble, as soon as the correct answer was revealed, I kicked myself because a voice inside me had tried to give me the correct answer.

It is a faint voice but I believe it to be my instinct. However, almost 100% of the time what I would deem to be my consciousness steps in and tries to reason an answer and is able to prevail because I am just so full of myself.

But what if that machine was to be created which could measure instinct? So you plug yourself in and you allow your brain’s instinct do the thinking instead of your consciousness? It would surely make TV game shows different as I think the contestant’s brain would then have a higher success rate than that of their consciousness.

I used to wish for that machine to be created every so often but now I’m having second thoughts about that particular wish.

What if the machine could see the bad things that are in my head – or my intrusions as I have come to label them? Would people see me as a monster and lock me up for having the image in my head of grabbing a new born baby by its legs and repeatedly smashing its tiny head against the floor Droopy style? Or would I be seen as a sex criminal for having the image in my head of raping women?

I am told that although these intrusions seem a very real part of me, I have no obligation to them. I have even heard them called a form of internal Tourette’s syndrome. Never the less I still find them distressing sometimes (mainly when I’m tired) but at other times (when I’m not so tired) I can reason that they are basic primeval emotions that are manifest by being pushed through a civilised sieve.

I am also told that one technique is to let the intrusion voice itself. We are taught that resistance creates persistence; so that the more you try and force something to shut up the more it tries to get in.

Another way to deal with the intrusions is to describe them to someone. The thinking here is you will realise just how silly they really are. Obviously that has be done delicately; because people don’t react well to information that their friend or family member thinks about raping of hurting people – especially them!

Take this example: I was sitting in my class when I had the image intrude its way into my head of putting my penis in the teacher’s mouth. Ok, I thought how would that work? There’s a whole classroom of people here – not to mention the teacher herself – who aren’t going to stand by and allow you to do that. So then along came the intrusion with the image of waiting until everyone had left except the teacher and I and then knocking her out, pulling her trousers down and raping her unconscious body.

In the blink of an eye that image was injected into my mind; I had no volition in the matter.

This is the first time I have voiced this. Now that I have written it down it does seem silly and it doesn’t feel like me at all. You have been my guinea pig so thank you. I understand it can be hard to use this particular technique and that you don’t want to throw any more fuel on the fire but believe me it is very liberating so give it a try..

Lowering My Antipsychotic Dose

When I was transferred to a different Community Mental Health Team a couple of years ago, the first thing my new Psychiatrist decided to do was lower my dose of Olanzapine. Unfortunately I had an immediate adverse reaction and my original dose was quickly reinstated.

I wonder now if that kind of reaction didn’t have something to do with my mind set at that particular time in my recovery. Did I see myself as heavily reliant on the medication? Was I scared that I would go back to the person I was without it? Or did I believe it validated my condition?

Two years later I decided voluntarily that I wanted to lower my dose. I told myself that I was in a much better place than before and I was ready to do without that crutch in my life.

At the time I had been studying Japanese for about five years. This was largely to enable me to focus day to day on something that was external to the confused mess of my mind. As I improved I became less reliant on the Japanese and came to see the medication in the same light; it acted as scaffolding, and I wanted to see if I could stay standing were it to be gradually taken away.

When I was first prescribed the antipsychotic medication I didn’t want to take it because I was worried about how it might change who I was. In the end what made me decide to start taking it was seeing how much pain I was bringing to the lives of the people I love. Basically, I was willing to try anything that’d put a stop to that.

I was also paranoid that what I was taking might be a placebo and that everyone – my doctor, the pharmacist, and even my parents were conspiring to trick me; so that if I got better just by taking sugar pills they’d know that there was really nothing wrong with me. I wished there wasn’t something wrong but at the same time I found solace in the knowledge that I was ill and I wasn’t just weak.

As the medication began working the paranoia subsided and those worries quickly evaporated leaving increased appetite and drowsiness in their wake. When I was first prescribed the Olanzapine I was put on the highest safe dose (20mg). It felt as though the Psychiatrist was eager to throw everything she could at me because the more I disclosed to her about my thoughts the higher she ranked up the level of medication.

I found the Olanzapine to be the most appropriate choice of medication and have been on it for about four years now. There were several reasons why I chose to lower my dosage. Firstly, I had done some research and didn’t like the sound of the long term side effects such as Tardive Dyskinesia and high cholesterol; so I was eager to avoid them if possible.

Secondly, I wanted to see what kind of person I was with the medication as low as possible. I was repeatedly told that my illness was no different from a broken leg; it was just not visible to the naked eye. I accepted this but I now doubt its validity. While reading up on my particular medication I came across the analogy of a car engine. Say a car needs its engine oil topping up; taking antipsychotic medication is basically the same as pouring oil over the entire engine so that some of it gets into the right place.

As I understand it antipsychotic medications work but it is not fully understood how they do so.

My psychiatrist told me at one of our meetings that I will be on these medications for the rest of my life. Maybe he is right; there is only one way to find out. I have been on a lower dose for over two months now and it has been an interesting and at times a terrible experience.

The first thing I noticed on the lower dose was the heightened emotional range I was capable of experiencing. Both the positive and negative emotions became more intense. You’d think it would be great to experience more intense positive emotions but at times I was so overwhelmed with excitement that I had to stop doing the things I enjoy.

The next change I noticed was the reduction of the anxiety that had been plaguing me for so long. That was a pleasant and unexpected bonus. Of course I found myself to be less drowsy and consequently less reliant on coffee to fuel my day. However over the past weeks I have been experiencing some negative symptoms.

I’ve been having feelings of distress. I’ve been feeling out of control. The noise in my head is sometimes unbearable. Seemingly insignificant things such as accidentally breaking a cup can throw me completely. I have been told that my body just needs to get used to it, which I sincerely hope is true.

For a long time I had been going along under the assumption that my brain is broken and that something isn’t right up there. But is this the case? Of course it could be but I’d rather believe that I am not damaged and that instead maybe it’s my environment that is.

That could just be wishful thinking on my part. I have now come to see that I live in an imperfect civilisation and that my brain hasn’t evolved to deal with the modern world so it’s not surprising that it struggles.

I recognise the intrusive images and words that I experience (as though they are injected into me) as part of my makeup. They can be distressing and at times I wonder if they really are my thoughts, feelings and desires. Over time I have come to realise that they are all mine – although that doesn’t mean for one second that I have to agree with them (that’s not as easy as it sounds).

I have been told not to look too far ahead; just to concentrate on the next few footsteps. I am still unable to work (even voluntarily for two hours a week) – especially now that I am dealing with my lower dose, which, as you can imagine is very frustrating. I see the people around me progressing whilst I stagnate. I have to remind myself that I am also progressing and that I shouldn’t measure myself by the rule of others.

I have been on a very long and difficult journey and it is important to keep telling myself that I have done well to get this far. I don’t know where my path will lead from now but I am hoping that the lower dose works out.

As for who I am that remains to be seen.­­­

Living with Schizophrenia: A Collection of Journal Excerpts from 1987 to Present

Today our baby boy was born. He was late but worth the wait as it was the most amazing, life altering, perspective solidifying moment when he came out and took his first breath into his tiny lungs with a cry of cold realisation. From that moment he was no longer receiving his oxygen from his mother – he had taken his first step on the path to maturity.

What has life got in store for this helpless little boy? He is a person – of course we can nurture him and bring him up as best we can but ultimately he has his own mind and will make his own choices and decisions - be they good or bad - and we will respect him for that.

TEMPOK is shy around others. He sits on my lap a lot whilst the other children are beginning to strike out on their own. He is a definite mummy’s boy and as much as I value the closeness, I do hope that he too begins to strike out on his own soon and become more independent.

The funny thing is TEMPOK will wear fancy dress when we go out sometimes and on those occasions the effect is nothing short of dramatic. He is no longer this shy, quiet boy; he takes on a whole new confident, chatty persona. At home he is quite happy to play by himself for hours on end – using his imagination. He is good at drawing and says he wants to be an artist when he grows up.

TEMPOK is enjoying school; he has made friends and seems to be getting on very well. We get good reports from his teacher saying he is very hard working if a little bit on the shy side. We take him and his sister to church every Sunday with us and have done so since they were born. I think Catholicism is a good grounding for morals although TEMPOK and his sister sometimes mess about and we have to sit in between them to restore order.

TEMPOK cares a lot for his baby sister although she has made a habit of occasionally winding him up to the point that he punches her and makes her cry. I tell him that he had better stop losing his temper or one day when he’s older it might land him in real trouble if he’s not careful.

TEMPOK is now in a senior all-boys Catholic school and he has managed to retain a handful of his friends from his junior school. He seems happy and confident with this new beginning. We still sit down as a family every night to have dinner and discuss how things are going for our children; we try and sort through problems by getting them out in the open and discussing them together

TEMPOK is now the Captain of a little league football team and I have never heard him shout so loudly and confidently; bellowing out orders from his position back in defence. It’s wonderful to see him coming into his own as he grows.

TEMPOK is having trouble at school. He is fifteen now and has started making regular excuses not to go in and becoming very worked up when we push him to do so. He got so worked up that he threatened to throw himself out of his window if he had to go. We feel so powerless in the face of his problems. Nobody prepares you for this kind of thing.

Ever since he fell off the scaffolding and broke his jaw he has struggled. This may be because of the school he missed as a result of his accident; and the subsequent months of not being able to go into the playground at break time to socialise with his peers as they travel through the important transition of puberty, leaving him behind.

It all got too much for TEMPOK today and he ended up breaking down in tears. It seems he has been bottling everything up inside – is he embarrassed? Maybe he just doesn’t know how to explain what is going on inside him. He said he doesn’t understand why everyone else he knows can cope and he can’t.

TEMPOK was accepted into University today despite his trouble over the past few years. He paid the University a visit on an open day – taking the train up to Stoke-on-Trent by himself which really impressed us and showed his determination – and must have made a good impression. He was so thrilled to get the call informing him of his acceptance; we’re so happy that he is beginning to strike out and become more independent.

We have had to bring TEMPOK home from University. He isn’t very well at all and needs help. He smashed up his room but we can’t get out of him why he did so. He doesn’t seem to know this himself so we are going to take him to see a professional.

TEMPOK cut himself today. He came straight to me to confess to what he had done. He sliced the back of his hand open and says it clears his mind to do so. He is definitely not right at the moment. It was devastating to see that he’d done that to himself.

TEMPOK seems a lot better. We dropped him off at University for his second try today. He has much better support this time around as well as medication to help his mood and therapy to help him cope. He was reluctant to take medication at first, fearing it would change who he is fundamentally but he is acclimatising to the idea now. It was nice to see him so confident; after making sure he was settled we walked away hand in hand, pride and hope filling our hearts.

Everything changes from now. TEMPOK has decided he would like to die. He believes it is the only way he can put a stop to the doubt that is tormenting his mind; he believes that if he dies either nothing will happen or something, thereby putting an end to the doubt. How can he not want to experience everything life has to offer?

Now I see that his wish to die was merely a development of the psychosis he was diagnosed with. In a way it is a relief but it also means that he is mentally ill – our son is mentally ill; I can’t cope with that – this cold realisation brought me to tears during our ski trip together. I felt so powerless and realised how much I need my wife by my side in order to deal with TEMPOK.

TEMPOK confided in us today that he doesn’t believe we are his real parents. This was shocking but not surprising as he is struggling a lot at the moment. I go along with him to his appointments with the Early Intervention Team. It can take him a while to answer their – what I would think to be relatively simple – questions, although most of the time we have to settle with “I don’t know” for an answer.

It is very concerning to hear some of the things TEMPOK comes out with at these sessions. For example he believes people can see into his mind. I myself hear voices so that isn’t so surprising but for some reason the voices he hears really unsettle and disturb him. He has been prescribed anti-psychotic medication in the highest safe dose possible.

I don’t think that the health professionals know what they’re talking about. They tend to molly-coddle him; my fear is he’ll end up a recluse or worse. He spends all day studying his Chinese – or is it Japanese? I wish he could get a job and flourish.

We have all grown over the past years and come to much better terms with TEMPOK's situation. 

TEMPOK now has a girlfriend and is doing so much better – just think, he used to struggle even to make a simple phone call! He is doing karate and helping out in the class which is a sure sign of how much better he is.

TEMPOK is still struggling to work but you can’t just snap out of a mental illness. I am very proud of how he is dealing with everything and the independence he has developed. He is not just sitting back and taking it, he is constantly pushing to get better even though from time to time that may mean he has a crash.

It will be nice when he is able to move out with his fiancee and start their life together. They are getting married in 2014 and we’re eagerly anticipating the day they announce that our grandchildren are on the way! TEMPOK still has bad spells but he is very stable and moving away from us day by day which is absolutely fantastic from a parents perspective. We always tell him that we are very proud of him and his resilience – he is forging his own destiny now.

TEMPOK is lowering his dose of Olanzapine.  I was worried at first but he says he is feeling much sharper now and he reassures me that it is being done in a very controlled way. We have a lot less involvement in TEMPOK's care nowadays which I view as very positive. He is living inside his own head now whereas before he felt shut-down and couldn’t access his thoughts. He is a joy to be around and very cheeky which I love.

I try to push TEMPOK to progress into work, for example with his translation. He is very good at Japanese but something is holding him back. I see lots of small improvements but one day soon he will have to take a big step – a leap of faith. That’s the thing about life, there is no surety and it isn’t fair so you’ve got to work very hard. It would be wonderful if TEMPOK could make a living from selling paintings but I don’t think that is a very stable way to live. 

Understanding Self Harm

A couple of weeks ago I leafed through the Recovery College’s prospectus, picking out the courses that I thought appropriate to me. One of them was the title of this prose. At the time I signed up for it I wasn’t thinking too much and when the big day rolled around I began to consider my choice. At the beginning of each session you will find yourself put under the spotlight of the question: “what expectations do you have about this course?”

In the past I’ve played it by ear and said what came off the top of my head, but for some reason this time was different. During the bus journey there I played out this question’s scenario eventually settling on: “I have experienced self-harm in the past and wanted to understand more about what drove me to it”.

When actually put in that spotlight I managed to piece some fragmented speech together, drawing not only on my bus journey preparation but also winging it. I started my retrospection by happening on the metaphor of a box. I had never spent time dwelling on my experiences of self-harm; instead I shoved it all into a box, locked it up tight and stowed it away out of sight.

“That’s very common”, the peer trainer said with a comforting smile.

After a bit of housekeeping we split into pairs to brainstorm what goes on in your mind and body before and after you have harmed yourself. The course facilitator later commented positively on my assertion that the mind isn’t a separate entity to the body, and that they are one and the same, although this is beside the point.

When we had done writing we re-joined the others and discussed our ideas. The most dramatic for me was that physical pain – self-inflicted in this case – reconnects you with your physical body when you are so trapped in your head; buried under frustration and, in my case psychosis. You can become so numb that self-harm can release you from that as though drawing you out of your own head like poison from a wound.

Although when I had cut my hand open I was too embarrassed to show it to anyone, I felt like I had made a physical token of the invisible torment that was going on inside me, that I myself couldn’t put into words. There was a perverse sense of achievement that went along with this and I can well imagine how that would become addictive just like making a work of art.

Fortunately my mum spotted the bloody mess and it distressed her so much that I was able to unconsciously leave it all locked away in that box for ten years until this day. Boy am I happy that my box wasn’t akin to Pandora’s and that when I had a peek all hell didn’t break loose!

This course had come along at the right time when I was in the right place - I had control. I fondly pulled out the contents of my box like they were childhood memories, allowing the sensations that accompanied them to wash through me.

As the session continued I became aware of the novel feeling that I am – or was, depending on your stance – a self-harmer. I began remembering all those times when I was alone and things got so intense and frustrating that I would hit myself in the head or, if I had a wall nearby, hit my head against that. It makes me wonder if it is the medication that helps prevent me from getting into that kind of state again.

Now that I am lowering the dose of my meds I may find the answer to that question. I hope for the sake of the people I love that it turns out the meds have acted as a support while I become strong enough to walk unaided again and I am not going to collapse. I certainly feel much more in touch with the physical world, in fact I only believe in the physical world and that I am part of it and not subjective to it.

Everyone’s case is unique; there is no absolute knowledge of where your path will take you.

I’m glad that I came to this course at this time in my recovery.

I found this an interesting read:

http://rockland92.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/understanding-self-harm.html

Have you heard of the Butterfly Project too?

http://fav.me/d764p36