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.

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. 

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?

Delusional

When I was younger I was delusional and believed that everything – the whole world and everyone in it – was just a creation of my mind. Hence I felt unable to trust people; including my friends and family.

I believed myself to be in some kind of coma and making up this world as one would a dream. I knew that there were scientists watching me, and they were doing so via a TV that was hooked up to my brain, providing them with a live feed of the world I was creating inside my head.

The thing was, although they could see my world, they were not privy to what I was thinking to myself. I therefore spent every hour of every day trying to act in such a way that they wouldn’t be able to tell that I knew what they were up to.

I never knew why such a need for secrecy though..

Psychic Ability

I met a medium the other day who was convinced that she had the ability to communicate with the dead. She said that she would sense a person when talking to someone – not see them but feel their shape.

It struck me that maybe what she’s sensing is unconscious and non-verbal signals from the person whom she’s with, and interpreting them as a supernatural ability.

Do we give off signals unconsciously - perhaps through our facial expressions or pheromone emissions - that can be picked up on by a naturally astute observer? 

Sell sell sell your art

Obviously making money is important (how else can you buy food/clothes/shelter/etc?) but when it comes to art the money comes second.

I do not sit down with my pen and paper and think "hmm, I wonder what'd look good on a persons wall" (you can probably tell this from the unpalatable nature of much my work of course). 

It's all about rattling cages for me - jerking people from the stupor of the lives that they've come to accept as normality. 

I realise that this desire stems from my wanting to appear altruistic for selfish gains. But somewhere in there as an annoyance at corruption and inequality.

The funny thing is that people are being corrupt for the same reason that I am being altruistic at the end of the day. 

A sick way of thinking

I have a sick way of thinking (that is how I see the mental illness I'm told I have) and so have to choose which thoughts I agree with and which ones I don't. 

There are enjoyable thoughts as well as distressing ones, but both types come from the same place so I have to separate them into one lump and label them all my 'voices'.

You'd think the fact that I have them going on in my head must mean I'm unwell. 

I hear that people diagnosed schizophrenic are less likely than the general population to be violent towards others (though sadly more likely when it comes to themselves). 

I have no desire to act on what the violent voices have to say, but I hate experiencing them (especially at times when I'm run down and unable to deal with them effectively). 

It's a strange because the voices aren't always easily distinguishable and fall somewhere in between enjoyable and distressing. I sometimes struggle to tell whether I should embrace a voice that speaks up, or try and resist it.

The human mould

Has it ever been so difficult being inside your own head that you spend every second trying to get out of it?

I latched on to learning Japanese as an outward focus and it enabled me to avoid thinking and in doing so get out of my own head.

As I recovered following the psychotic episode I began to find my way back inside and those fifteen or so years of development I had missed out on suddenly happened in a flash.

Recently I noticed that the things that at one point were fresh and exciting had now been filed away to the back of my mind and I was beginning to lose touch with that way of looking at our world.

Fitting into the human mould is what happens to everyone. You lose sight of what is important because you are so focused on getting on with the world that your brain can cope with that the eyes you used as a child growing into an adult get shorter and shorter sighted until you can no longer see beyond the end of your own nose.

Because everyone else does?

Do you hate people taking others from their loved ones?

Things like old age or unpreventable illness are one thing but when someone kills another person because it makes their life easier, is that not hateful?

The problem is we are doing it all the time when we waste money on things we don't need. I bought a coffee machine because I drink a lot of coffee to counteract the sedating side effect of my anti-psychotic medication; but couldn't I drink instant instead?

Like Tim Minchin enjoying his bottle of Chardonnay (because it is the equivalent of an immunisation for an African child) I am aware of what I am doing. I put that down to the necessity to be aware of everything for fear of a relapse creeping up on me.

I wonder if other people are aware or because everyone else does, do they just keep on ignoring the horrible reality until they eventually forget about it?

The weight of the world

Why take the weight of the world on your shoulders and spend every second possible (and a few impossible ones) trying to strain every drop of practicality out that you can?

You can’t be beyond what is human so go with the flow - what's the rush? You are just missing out on the here and now by stressing over insurmountable things. You'll be gone before too long so enjoy it whilst you can!

But does the knowledge that horrible things are happening right now all across the world while you buy expensive cars not linger at the back of your mind; gradually but constantly niggling away at you like a parasite? 

GOAL!!!!!!! (Do you care about winning?)

Red v Blue

I used to get very upset when the football team I played in or even the one I supported lost a game, the cup, etc. Losing would distress me so much that I’d end up angry and in tears.

Now I no longer get worked up about things like losing a football game but, as with everything, I recently started to question why this is.

One explanation could be that the antipsychotic medication has numbed my emotions to the point that I am physically incapable of caring.

But what if it’s simply that I’ve managed to alter my thought processes?

Have I matured to the point that winning no longer has the some importance in my life?

What if the desire to win (that, when not achieved, can leave a grown man in tears) isn’t a natural impulse? What if our culture has developed in a way that shapes our brain so that it wants to win, when what is truly natural for us is more the opposite?

I saw this army slogan recently and it seemed to be very appropriate to this idea of winning so I've included a link to the British Army Blog.

http://britisharmy.wordpress.com/

It's a loose connection but this TED talk rekindled it for me so here's the link:

http://www.ted.com/talks/dan_gilbert_asks_why_are_we_happy.html 

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.