literature

Delusionally Yours pt1

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“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.”-Albert Camus

02/05/2016
11:00 PM


It starts as something insignificant.

It could be the way a rain drop hits the awning, or the street light shimmering through the shades of your bathroom window while you’re just trying to take a piss. Better hope your hand is steady when your heart starts beating out of the flesh, and all your body can do is shake. It could be someone looked at you cross-ways, or you stumbled onto the wrong, that’s not quite copasetic blog.

OR

It could be that black SUV you saw in the Gersbeck’s parking lot while driving around in the back seat of your friend Kate’s car. An everyday vehicle, completely unremarkable in every way. I doubt you could even pick it out of a line up. But there is something off, chewing away at the back of your mind. First it is clean, almost straight off the lot pristine, you can see your reflection in it shiny. Secondly, the men inside are in suits. Who wears suits to the grocery store? It’s weird, right?

Or it could be nothing at all, you simply woke up, you simply breathed.

In my case, they call it Justfiable Paranoia. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.” Abusive home, abusive foster homes, fights, mental institutions, homeless teen (I think you got what that entails,) falsely accused of this and that over the years, scape-goated and gas-lit. The icing on the cake, the normal state of humanity… So lies, cheating, betrayal, barbarism, unfathomable ignorance, violence, corruption, the shit you see on the news, all bundled up in a culture of selfishness, indulgence, opportunism and profiteering at any cost.

You take that and add the dualistic nature of my other mental disorders. Some I was born with, and some were created. One of my previous therapists told me, that it is hard to know where one ends and another begins. Mostly because if you have one, you have symptoms of others. They just attempt to pick out the more obvious ones.

As I was saying though. Think of it as a seed. Planted at some time, even possibly unbeknownst to you. It already has a rich soil, the natural disposition for anxiety. Then it is simply a matter of nutrients. Bi-polar, illusions, PTSD, Adult RAD, or whatever you may have. But it grows little by little…

It is always in your waking life, something or another, like when you close your eyes in the shower, and you feel that hand in your hair. Those all-consuming eyes on you. So you open your own, not caring about the shampoo burn, just needing some internal relief.
When it starts to invade your dreams, pervade your sleep. When the thoughts are moving so fast that you don’t sleep, 12 hours, 16, hours, 24, 32, 48, 50, and you pass out. But there is no restfulness, no solace from the constant barrage of monstrous nightmares. A plague, that’s what a progressive mental disorder is, that’s what they are, plagues that slowly and permanently eat away at your sanity, at your soul. We have short, average life-spans for a reason.

But once that all-consuming dread feeling sets in. You feel like you are onto something, with every fiber of your being, like a twisted love child of narcissism, and self-depreciation, you believe you are close to cracking the conspiracy against you. Now I say narcissism, because even though the paranoia is justifiable, it takes a level of self-importance for your brain to believe that you, personally, are they aim of their vendetta. The truth is though that unlike classic narcissism, the self-importance, doesn’t come from love, but from hate. You hate yourself so much, that you know others must hate you either equally or more so. This isn’t something you think about during the panic, but it is more of an after-thought. You cannot be sure of the accuracy of the thought, but it has got to come from somewhere, right?

Either way, it is like a sapling now, or a Ficus dreaming of being a tree as it suckles from the teat of life.

Then something happens. A random occurrence. Although it is seemingly normal, you dwell on it till it becomes a part of you. You try to ignore it, try to push it away, write, paint, work, anything to keep your mind busy… But the junkie next door who hasn’t paid any of their bills in months, suddenly has electricity again. The gutter-snipe style offspring shows up with a large, flat screen TV out of nowhere. How? Neither of them work, and no one can hook that much, especially after 30 or so odd years of crack, and God knows what else. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t judge drug use, I judge people on how they treat me. But perhaps that is for another time.

You have your sapling, and you have your random occurrence. That’s when you know that “they” know. Who “they” are is an unknown, but per the traditional aphorism, “the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence.” You just know that they exist and are in play….

You aren’t quite sure how you fucked up, but you did. You do not know what you did, but you know it was something. That something is right on the tip of your mind, maybe you have an idea, a notion, or it is frustratingly unknown. It is something you missed, something inconsequential in the moment. And they know, they know you missed it. They know you don’t know what you did… Shit, they may just not like you.

Which in most cases is accurate.

You got sold out. Or you are going to be made some kind of example for others, either way, they are there.

You got sold out. Or you are some kind of example for others, either way. They are there. Your best-friend Spiro is freaking out because you are talking about people being in the walls. You can hear them scrambling about. You can feel their mind prying fingers, their untrusting eyes, inside you. You can hear them on the stairs, inside the stairs. No matter how many times you yell for them to get out of the wall, they remain. They did this to you, over time they made you this way. In truth, just existing, just being born as you were, life, life fucking made you this way.

They could be in your skin…

Then you start to have illusions, visions, you can see reality and unreality simultaneously, one just as vivid as the other. The only thing stopping you from tearing open your veins, ripping apart, the flesh of your arms, of your chest, in hopes of removing their sinister devices, is that your friend is attempting to have a normal conversation with you. The only thing preventing the blood, and muscle, and bone and unreality from becoming reality, is a small foothold in the guise of guy talk.

I know the tree thing has probably gotten tiresome. Hell, if you made it this far, you are probably bored, or are tired in general. But it is like a massive, looming, redwood now, the paranoia has subsided some but the anxiety is still there. You don’t wanna leave your room. Today was the first time in days I have left my room for more than bathing or food. The thought of leaving the house, makes you literally vomit.

Or you are out and about and it strikes you, and you can’t breathe. It feels like someone is stomping on your chest, over and over again. You cry, and you rage, and you scream silently. Because it makes it worse, when people notice, when someone outside your circle knows, because there is a stigma, a shame that comes along with it, isn’t there? Which just adds to the brewing shit-storm of chaos and fear.

At the end of the day, you gotta try your best to eat it, you gotta fight your hardest to never let it win, because it could literally be the end of you at some point. You don’t get the choice to be normal, you don’t get to wake up one day and say “Today is the day I start to be sane.” You can’t ween yourself off of the damage already done. Its permanent, the “crazy” is a part of your chemistry, your biology, your neural networks, your nerves, there is no cure and it doesn’t go away. But on the days it is really bad, if you can find an anchor, an object, a symbol, you can ride it out, you may not win, but you can never let it win.

Do you understand?

You can do it.

Delusionally Yours,

Me
There are two large parts to this so bare with me.

DY Pt2 Run Away, It's a Rant

poetoflore.deviantart.com/art/…

Found on my blog as one piece, 

documentingdescent.wordpress.c…
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