Schizophrenia

As I’ve said with my last few posts in this little series, I spent a lot of time on http://www.mind.org.uk to try and understand Schizophrenia as a condition – I have no personal experience with Schizophrenia so I hope I have given it the justice and respect it deserves. Like the others, this was part of a creative writing assignment at university that I thought was worth a post. Hope you enjoy reading!


Schizophrenia is feeling lost. I’m lost inside my own reality. I can’t keep track of the truth anymore. There are a sea of voices fighting for my attention, but I don’t know who I can trust. There’s a voice, the most common voice, that tells me to do disturbing things. Things I don’t want to do. This voice tells me I don’t have a choice. Do I have a choice? There’s another voice, a soft, feminine voice, that offers words of comfort, reassurance and love. Is she real? I can hear laughter and singing, screaming and crying. Constant whispers. Soft murmurs. Shrieks of terror. Howling. Sobbing. Sighing. Acceptance.

Schizophrenia is a blend of good days and bad days. On the good days I feel grounded. I can sort through the voices and make sense of the truth.

There are more bad days than good days.

On bad days I retreat to the back of my mind, the only place where I have a chance of escaping the cruel tongue of the voice. I lose myself for hours, clinging to this feeling of safety. The voice calls to me, searching, but I travel further and further inside myself. My body is no longer my body, but a hiding place.

Eventually, though, our game of hide and seek will come to an end.


OTHER POSTS IN THIS SERIES:

Addiction

This post – like my last post, Paranoia – is based on curiosity and research (thank you, http://www.mind.org.uk) and was submitted as part of a creative university assignment based on mental health conditions.

Anyone struggling with addiction should head over to http://www.mind.org.uk and look through the resources available. There are lists of websites and phone numbers that can offer support to people suffering from addiction.


Addiction is being controlled like a puppet on a string. The strings wrap around my body with the strength of steel cables. No matter how hard I try to claw my way out of their grasp, the puppeteer pulls harder, and I’m flung into the arms of my controller; my vice. I have tried for so long, for too long, to separate myself from this toxic relationship. I know it’s toxic, but I’m in too deep. How could I possibly leave when mere hours of separation makes sweat seep from my pores? My fingers shake with need, itching to grab a cigarette from the pack; rip the cap from a bottle; roll up a fiver and make a line. Chills sweep through my body, rack my frame, and force my body to convulse violently. I hunch over the toilet, clutching the seat in my sweaty hands. I’m too hot. It’s so cold. I brush my matted hair away from my face, flinching in agony. One delicate touch on my sensitive flesh is agony. Everything aches and I know nothing but pain. Excruciating, overwhelming pain. 


OTHER POSTS IN THIS SERIES: