Restored Post from November 21, 2011
First I’m re-posting a blog dated from 31 March 2011, which is coming close to being a year old now. I came across it from my old blog page, I believe before this one [Porcelain Utopia] even came to be. It was listed high as far as reads and it having re-read it myself, it made me think—mostly about change. Have I changed since then? Has the schizophrenia changed since then? Is the mental illness really a “third party,” and not me, or does Jonathan = Schizophrenia.
The re-print follows. I’ll consider adding to it. The Day is Still Mine but… not entirely.
THE DAY IS MINE
Since I had been having manic episodes the last couple weeks, I met with the psychiatrist and we tweaked some of the tablets (sometimes prefer to call them, “psych meds!”). As a result I have been feeling quite irritable. And even paranoid. It will take some time for the new regimen to kick in.
Since I tend to recommend to others to stay positive and everything, I think that I need to step back and practice what I preach.
I have so many complaints today, mostly about other people, and things that I have no control of – so I need to step back and become an observer of myself. Little things are bothering me and well as much larger things, and a lot of things from the past.
I guess when someone is paid to do things for me, I will, no matter what, have gripes about what they are doing and how they are or aren’t doing things.
But I have to remind myself that these people, at least on a deep spiritual level do love and care for me, and are here to help. To possibly do things, and behave a certain way, might actually be for my own good.
I’m sure this is the Schizophrenia talking, but I am quite paranoid that the people around me do not give a damn about me, and are doing what they want around here – that they are doing secretive things. I know this to be true, but at the same time, I realize this is likely not true. It’s like I’m in both worlds at once – both realities.
I’ll try to make today the best it can be, and let some stuff go. I’m likely to record and post another Real Me audio blog this afternoon.
Paranoia and misunderstandings can be a real killer.
I hadn’t even wanted to write today, or even do much of anything, but I decided to, because the more I share and be open about things, and, of course involve the illness, which I often just belittle by saying that, “Schizophrenia plain sucks…” I end up helping myself. Having written the little bit that’s above has already made my day a little more peaceful.
Truly, for anyone, life can really suck. But I’m remembering to keep a reasonable perspective and just go with the flow.
I am no saint. But we’re all saints, in a way. All children.
So keep it going. Get trampled in the thunderstorms, but just be who you are. That is what I am doing. And it seems to be working.
I am definitely irritable, but I had to get some of this off my chest, and stay connected with Source. It is literally all I have. All that I know I have. There’s likely more that I have that’s good and going well for me, and when I’m able to come back to the place where I might realize it, it will likely be a very pleasant surprise.
Stay well, everyone.
Post Script: Now half an hour later, I have found some resolution. Communicated with some people, and have found resolve. Having identified the issues at their core, and communicated about them in a healthy, non-violent fashion. The rest of the day is mine! Thank God for that. I’m doing alright, and will be back!
* * *
And now, today is 21 November 2011—the beginning of the new week, and the end of one rough week, to put it mildly.
I sit in my office, after promising myself I’d not even turn on the computer or phone, or anything of the like. But I have.
I had been thinking about blogging and podcasting all week, but I didn’t want to actually do it—do anything at all.
I’ve been off my mark, for a while, and the paranoia still haunts the living hell out of me. Most—not all—people I feel are out to get me. To send me away, to not listen to me, and my doctor, especially—the one person whom I should be able to trust the most, has been advising and suggesting things to me that are simply not good for me, but I feel “stuck” with her. I’ve invested time with her, I’ve emptied my soul to her, and I can’t give up—and won’t give up.
I find that she interrupts me, doesn’t let me get many words in, and becomes distracted easily, with what feels to me to be everything that has nothing to do with my medical care. I could bad-mouth her all day long, but I don’t feel that would be right, and she really is, in fact a terrific doctor and person who often goes out of her way for me. The schizophrenia, the paranoia gets in the way, and I just have to roll with it; it can be tough. The point is I am uncomfortable with her and others, mostly due to the paranoid feature that schizophrenia has on me. It feels like a pressure. It tastes and smells like soil. It sounds like confused people bickering in Grand Central Station. It feels like impending doom, but with hope. Hope that I might actually be safe. Hope that I might actually be in good hands. Hope that there is such a real thing as hope. I have it. It’s one thing that keeps me going.
It’s just that—hope. But it works. It always has worked.
It’s all I have—Hope. I have no possessions that are actually my own. House, car, things I have copyrighted and patented, even my own mind—it’s as if my own mind is not mine at all. Due to the schizophrenia, it’s become nearly a foreign entity. Something out of the ordinary, that’s not my own. Thank God I have the ability to at least know this enough to be able to describe it to you, I laugh inside.
So many times, and I’ve been clean and sober coming up on nine years, but I feel like I just want to be overmedicated—but as a former drug addict, I would need the doctor’s permission. And I cannot attain it.
I feel that the medicine I’m on, plain and simple, is not making me feel good, and I think that medicine, if that’s what I need to take—and not go to Tibet to seek out True Enlightenment instead—is not having the effect of making me feel better. Overall, I do not feel good. I have my good days and my good moments, but overall, I do not have any peace of mind nor do I feel helped by the medicine—I don’t feel good. I don’t. Everyone else says to me how much better I’m doing but I’m not being heard. I don’t feel good, and I would rather be sleeping and like a zombie instead. Of course that’s against the rules, and I’m not going to go over to the “War Zone” in Albuquerque and seek out some good hits of LSD—I really just want those who count—mainly my psychiatrist—to hear what Jonathan has to say, about how I feel and for her to F-ing do something about it.
I feel like I’m just giving her information over and over again, and I’m not even given feedback in return that has anything to do with what I might say. I’ve been feeling like I just want “relief.” Wishing I could sign onto the Internet and find someone who is in the business of:
“Have You Got a Chaotic Life? Feel Like You Got the Wrong Deal? I Will Fix Everything For You. Sign Up Below.”
…Let me sign up for that. I bet we all would like to.
*UPDATE: Now that the day has unfolded and it’s later in the afternoon, I feel settled as I relax (without any overmedicating). I think I’m doing just wonderfully!
Hope all of you are as well…