Schizophrenia, the Pink Elephant and Imagination

If someone says to you “don’t think about a pink elephant”, it’s naturally difficult not to have an image of one spring into your head (unless, of course, you've never seen an elephant).

The same idea applies certainly when it comes to my experience of what some may term 'hearing voices' and maybe to the experience of others too.

However, in place of someone telling me not to think of a pink elephant (in order to conjure up the image of one), you’ll find worry there.

The worry can be about many things, but they all gravitate about the same point, which is that I am really a bad person who wants to do horrible things.

Where it gets tricky is that this worry isn’t voiced internally – so, for example, I’m not consciously going around with the thought in my head: “I don’t want to hurt him (or her)!”

The unfortunate effect of this lack of internally voiced worry is that it is me who seems to be directly generating the 'voices'. 

It seems as though my mind jumps straight in with, for example, the thought of “punch him/her!” (or the equivalent visualisation of such) in response to a situation. It does this with no apparent stimulation other than what one would naturally assume (and I have done) must be the desire to punch random men and women.

When it came along, the idea of hearing voices really appealed to me simply because it instantly absolved me of all the guilt that I had charged myself with over the years. 

I welcomed it with open arms because the content of the 'voices' didn't sit at all well with my character. By defining them as voices meant that I could separate these bad, foreign feeling thoughts from my own good thoughts.

Interestingly, although for a long time I felt as though I had no imagination, now I see that my imagination was always there, I just didn’t recognise it as what it actually was, which, as it turns out is these voices in my head.

It’s only since happening upon the idea of the pink elephant, that I have been able to reach this conclusion. The pink elephant - or rather, the general worry - stimulates my imagination into thinking of horrible things; just like how it’s difficult to stop yourself thinking of a pink elephant when you are told not to think of one.

Unfortunately the horrible things are easily misconstrued as negative due to their content - whereas in reality this is not the case at all.

I now no longer berate myself for hearing these voices. Instead I give myself a big pat on the back when they spring into my mind because they show that I am a very caring person (after all the sole reason for their existence is my desire not to think them). 

I then give myself a second pat on the back in congratulations for having an imagination which can come up with such a creative - albeit terrible - idea; and also picture it so vividly that, at one point, it proved so paralysing to my existence.

I now no longer think of myself a ‘voice hearer’ but instead I think that perhaps the description: 'voice imaginer' is more apt.

Because I had suppressed it out of fear for so many years, I am still in the process of re-engaging with my imagination. I have found that mindfulness meditation has helped, and continue to help me enormously along this path (I often take time to sit back and mindfully listen to and watch my imagination).

Since seeing the voices this way I have noticed a huge difference. It's as though, now that I have owned them using the idea of the pink elephant, they have literally given up their bombardment of my mind.

All schizophrenics go to hell

For as long as I can remember I’ve always been very creative; but also sensitive to the world around me (as many others are I'd imagine). This was okay when I was young because I was a child then and it’s a fact that children are nuts.

However at some point I found the world around me was too much to cope with and as a result I imagined and created a reality for myself where I was in a kind of coma and the world and everybody in it was a figment of my imagination.

At the time this helped a lot, although I was only living a half-life I suppose.

This coping mechanism probably had something to do with my imaginative capabilities, but unfortunately I got so messed up in trying to marry up my nature with a world that is fundamentally unnatural, that in the end I literally shut down everything, leaving just a shell with nothing inside.

Eventually I was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.

Recently, though, I was introduced to the idea of auditory hallucinations, and because the things in my head do feel external to what I would consider ‘my’ thinking, it seemed to fit that this was what I was experiencing.

There was now a line between the true me and the evil 'voices'.

Of late, I’m starting to wonder if these voices are nothing more sinister than my own imagination. Have I been making a distinction with them simply because they can be pretty nasty and distressing and go against what I would consider to be my personal values?

I’ve also been noting with interest that, often, when I am thinking of something to write, I will just sit back and wait for a voice to pipe up with an idea - of course I don’t always jump on the first thing to be thrown up, since all manner of things appear before me.

The interesting thing is that these ideas feel as though they are coming from the same place as do the voices which plague me especially at darker times.

That’s why I’ve started to wonder if the so called hallucinations aren’t a symptom of a problem with me, but are in fact the imagination which I never learned to cope with and so shut away and abandoned along with everything else.

I suppose it now follows that my new challenge is to re-engage with my imagination.

I can see that the thoughts which - thanks to my religious upbringing (also known as child abuse) - I would have perceived as sins and so tried to suppress, are not evil and do not make me hell worthy.

I am now atheist, as it happens, and so free of the fear of this kind of thought transgression anyway. Unfortunately I am the person I am today because of my experiences, so it is going to be difficult to change – not impossible, but definitely difficult.

At least now I am not afraid to be around people whilst hearing voices and seeing images telling me that I want to rape/punch/kiss/kick/etc them. It is still difficult to be around people because I’m not always on the ball like I am now and tiredness (among other things) plays a major factor in hampering my ability to cope.

The content of the ideas may be troubling but I believe it stems from the fact that my brain is not only a primeval one and not suited to the modern world, but also an extra sensitive and creative one too.

Metamorphosis Felinus

...rain pounds the window pane. I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m so warm and fuzzy; I could remain like this for the rest of my life. The rumbling of my stomach is quick to subdue this whim: time for breakfast! I slowly peel back my eyelids, but the room doesn’t want to come into focus. From what I can see, grey light is filtering through the window; unusually drab light considering my bedroom is south facing – wait a second, this is not my room!

Gradually the room comes into focus - the utility room that is, where the cats sleep. Great, how on earth did I end up here? Sleep-walking maybe? Or perhaps thanks to a night of heavy drinking? Just to make doubly sure of where I am, I rub my eyes – but ouch! I really aught to cut my nails. Blinking the sudden rush of tears away, I gaze down at two tiny, black, furry paws.

I don’t believe my eyes (although I resist the urge to rub them again). The important thing is not to panic. Needless to say, this is exactly what I proceed to do…

…rain pounds against the window pane. This time I really don’t want to open my eyes. A longer deeper rumble issues from my stomach; I’m a growing kitten after all. How could this get any worse? But of course, now I need the toilet. I make my exit using the cat flap – straight into an horrendous downpour. Oh well, it’s too late to turn back now.

After completing my business without the slightest of ease, I return to the house. I am soaked to the bone. My little escapade has done nothing to silence my belly. At least I should have my breakfast before too long. No sooner have I thought this, than the utility door opens, I trill with delight. However, instead of going to the worktop, in order to prepare my breakfast, the figure enters and darts for the back door. ‘Click’ goes the lock of the cat flap.

I make a dash for the open utility door, but just as I make to move, another figure sidles into the room carrying something, and quickly closes the door to prevent my escape. I have been cornered, either way I turn the other person is behind me. Oh well, I decide to submit to their supremacy. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I am bundled into the cat box.

The entire duration of the car journey I am thrown around inside the box. Then, at the vets, a large dog eyes me up hungrily, obviously somebody else who hasn’t had any breakfast. Finally, the moment I have dreaded arrives; my name is called.

I am carried through. My leg is shaved and I am stabbed with a needle, I hiss in disgust. However I soon feel the calming effect of the sleeping cocktail entering my veins. The final words I hear before I lose conciseness are: “He won’t be a Tom for much longer”…

Don't let them get away with it

Our landlord is evicting my wife and I in two months. This is not because we are noisy or messy or uncooperative tenants who don't pay the rent on time. We are simply too much of a bother because we haven't been so easy to hold under his thumb.

Our flat is part of a converted building, which itself is very old and so contains no damp proof course. This has lead to rising damp and problems with mould (not to mention many other problems besides).

We went to the landlord with these complaints but he was unresponsive. We also went to the council since, as we were housed through one of their schemes (due to me struggling with a mental health diagnosis), we thought that they might be able to help. 

That didn't seem so be going anywhere so we sought the help of the citizens advice bureau. In the end the CAB pressed and got things rolling.

Not long after we heard that the Environmental Health Team were to get involved we were served our notice by the landlord.

All we are guilty of is not allowing a person to get away with being a bad human being. I guess that is the way of the world though - you can either compromise, play by the rules and accept the way things are, or hold with your values and get struck down at every turn. 

"I want to rape women"

I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia ten years ago and I have intrusive auditory hallucinations like the one in the title of this post.

It feels like these thoughts are put in my head because there is a disconnection in my mind; so I don't recognise the 'voices' as my own (even though they technically are).

The things the voices say are the result of my primeval brain attempting to grapple with the modern, let's say unnatural world we live in. 

I am fortunate in that I can separate these voices from 'me', so I can take a step back and watch them happen without feeling guilty about having things like them in my head.

This is important because ordinarially the thoughts would possibly get acted upon, whereas I am able to put them in a box for you to see.

I hope you will see them and realise that we are mostly (some people are just bad eggs genetically of course) not to blame for our actions as it is the world being unnatural and incompatible with our primeval brains that really fucks us up.

Are we on the same evolutionary wavelength?

I’ve been going along under the assumption that men and women’s natures have evolved to fit together – but what if this isn’t the case?

After all, evolution isn’t about evolving towards something; it’s about how suited you are to your current environment. We aren’t perfectly adapted to our environment; we’re just the fittest being that has evolved so far.

So what if, in the same vein, each sex isn’t perfectly adapted to the other?

Anxiety that you can't 'push through'

I used to experience a lot of anxiety and panic attacks not long ago. I believe they stemmed from the delusions that people could see inside my head– and the paranoia that accompanied this belief.

The delusions and paranoia developed because I experienced horrible auditory and visual hallucinations and was so fearful that people might be able to get inside my head and see them that I started to believe that they were able to doing so.

I was taught in therapy sessions that all I needed to do was push through the anxiety or panic and once I’d reached the other side I would see that there was nothing to fear to begin with.

The only problem with this reasoning was that the situation itself didn’t bother me – it was the belief that people could see my thoughts that was the problem; and that’s not something that you can disprove.