3rd Excerpt From Mind Emerging

Perception (January 2008)

            Having a mental illness is not the end of self.  I used to think that mental illness stole myself by polluting my mind. But now I think that the pollutants have been recycled, giving me strength despite schizophrenia. Life is treating me well. Better yet, I am treating life well.

My anima, my true inner self, speaks to perceptions being not what they are. My perception shapes my experiences. My perception camera was broken for many years.  I intuitively knew what was happening without knowing what was happening.

            My broken lens accelerated my alcoholism. When drunk, I believed I was sure-footed although I was falling all over myself. When drunk, I believed I was artistically brilliant, even though I could not decipher my scribbling from the afternoon or evening before. When drunk, I was more social, even though people tried to avoid me because I was stumbling all over myself with words that made no sense. When I was drunk, the world felt right. Even after I passed out on the bathroom floor of a bar, I convinced myself I was beautiful, just misunderstood.

            When sober without a 12-step program, I was terrified of everything. I knew people were talking about me behind my back, even strangers. I knew snot was hanging from my nose. I knew the government would come knocking on my door. I was important; I was a nobody. It was impossible for me to differentiate the false from the true. Both my untreated alcoholism and my schizophrenia kept me from seeing the truth for years.

            Today, truth matters to me.  I want to understand that I am alcoholic and unable to stop drinking once I’ve started; I cannot control the amount I consume when the craving kicks in. It’s the first drink that gets me drunk, not the last. There are character defects that are common to the alcoholic. One of them is self-centeredness and another one is fear. For years, I was unable to see past myself and how I affected others. I didn’t know that calling someone an asshole was never justifiable. I didn’t know that puking all over myself disturbed others. I also didn’t know how to get over being afraid. I feared everything from not being able to communicate with another person, to losing my home. Sometimes, I was so paralyzed from fear I was unable to leave my bed, much less my home.

            Having schizophrenia was a whole other thing. It took me a long time to believe that I wasn’t doomed to live in a psychiatric facility for the rest of my life. It took me awhile to believe that the things I heard and the things I saw while psychotic were not real. I still, even medicated, hear voices that no one else hears. Thank God, I am able to push them aside and not act on things they command me to do like run over that pedestrian walking that cute dog. They still want me to throw my keys down the trash chute or place my foot beneath a car that’s about to move. For a long time, I was not medication compliant. Now, I know I need the cocktail of drugs I take to make my mind right, so I take it as prescribed. 

My brain pitches snapshots at a rapid rate. Recollection is a beautiful thing. It means I have lived life prior to today, and that warrants a space in my rotating file of memories.

Today, if I am having a problem standing in the truth, I reach out to friends who will provide me with strong legs and broad shoulders, who listen to me and remind me that I have an illness that can be treated. They talk about schizophrenia as if it were bad eyesight and encourage me to take the medication just as I wear glasses to correct my vision.  I no longer have a need to be sheltered from the truth. I know why I act the way I act and can respond accordingly. I will go to sleep and wake up rested with a clear conscience, knowing I didn’t harm anyone the day before. And with ease, I love.