Life as a Shirley Jackson Story

I moved to a new town July 1.  Was it convenience or denial that kept me from noticing questions pertaining to a mental disorder when I last did a change of address at the DMV in 2010?  My little life-ruining (that may be too dramatic, but I'm keeping it for now) mechanism has been called:
1)Schizophrenia with paranoid features
2)Schizophrenia, depressive type  or
3)Schizoaffective disorder ... all at different times & stages.
I decided on schizoaffective disorder as the most innocuous sounding answer(snort)for the DMV form.

I purchased a new car a year ago; for that & all sorts of other reasons, I'd like to keep my license. Schizophrenia with paranoid features sounds like the answer to:  What does really crazy look like?

While trying not to look really crazy on the DMV line, a man pushed past me, saying:  Move.  What are you, Stupid?

"Yes, I'm stupid, MF-er," shot right out of my mouth.

Though many times I've been a mouthy smart-ass in my life, I assure you I never ended any sentence with a MF-er chaser before schizophrenia.  Line waiting, I'd felt like various people were targeting & mocking me, way before Mr. Move.

The paranoid features of my disorder intermittently convince me that I've been especially picked out of your crowd of "betters" to be subjected to ingenious methods of dehumanization.  The scapegoat in Shirley Jackson's The Lottery.
I am sharing this in a This Is Me Now way, not in a negative way.  I remain thankful this isn't always me.  I'd rather have Robin Williams authoring my life though; but I guess, inside, he was a lot worse off than I am.

Who is scripting your life?  I hope it is mostly you.

Her Again?

I've not blogged in quite some time.  I'm a late-onset schizophrenic.  I get paranoid at times.  I no longer keep Internet access in my home; I swore off the blog world while I felt cornered & abused.

I've found I miss some of the bloggers, so I started reading again.  I believe I need a little more interaction with people & ideas.  Maybe not ~ time will tell.  Time tells me all sorts of things. Sometimes I listen & sometimes I try like hell not to.


 I'm sticking a small, hopefully not subconsciously paranoid toe into the blog waters.  I don't even remember the ins & outs of using blogger, so bear with me.  Interact with me, or not.  Some days I want the former & some days the latter.

So tell me your last mistake.  Hopefully, this isn't mine.