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.

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.