Luckily, this isn't a motivational blog.

Apparently, I am now considered ongoing paranoid-psychotic.  Which I do not actively feel in an uninterrupted way. Adaptation is, eh, great, I guess. 

Sometimes life is going along about 80% like it used to prior to my mental illness, never 100%, but I'm good with that now. I'm basically writing the script~as much as anyone ever can~ & then schizophrenia interjects 254 paragraphs with impunity.  Hate That, but luckily~over time~ it doesn't feel as bad as it should all of the time(just 1/3 to 1/2 of the time). Funny, too, what you can be thankful for. 

Like the IRS picking up with a live person 3 phone numbers & 1 hour of holding later, then actually nicely helping me to resolve a small issue.
But then I needed to call back, & they started asking questions about my 2015 return only for identification purposes.  Sure, I thought as I started to eat Smuckers peanut butter from the jar.  A highly appropriate coping-response I think. 

I happened to look up a favored Pulitzer prize winner only to be met with his mug shots from DUI's.  The Pulitzer came young & early, the mugs late, in senior age.  Then his life partner left him but kept esoterically dissing him in the press. Is there a preferred order for all of that? 

I'm a schizophrenic who never did anything amazing or brave in her life, but mug shots I do not have.  Should I be thankful for that? 

Because, it seems, unlike lots of  the challenged  I read about, I reflexively feel bitter or hurt by what my life is now much more easily than I can access my gratitude or talk about hope or positivity.  I start thinking I'm not thankful enough & then I wonder how I can ever be thankful for this sort of life. 

You have adapted to voices & sounds that hate you waking you in the morning to tell you to run, sit, slap yourself....how come? had enough? why? eat, go, waitsmilelaugh, see what you did? lie down, drink water(I hear this at least 50 times a day), come, it's over, pig, hahahaha, nails-chalkboard sound.... & then I cry when someone says job or a neighbor speaks, or a siren blares. And that's the way it is, sans the my illness does not define me unembraceable bs.  Because many days it does. But then it would appear I mostly gather myself again.  And Mr. Pulitzer?  He can't be having it easy, either. 

Less Voice More Bears, Please.

The past is over, but Schizophrenia is here for good.   Previous balance never to be restored(I really need to accept this.).  Life still calls, just in very different ways, with a lot of interesting limitations.  

Psychiatrists & (many) schizophrenics bemoan & reject the split-mind concept that they claim is unfairly, misguidedly applied to schizophrenia in the media.  Uhm, gee, sorry.  That is spot on me. 

Currently, I have 1 OTHER predominant voice- it can feel internal or external- that torments me to the point of derailing at least 1/3 of each day. The voice is compounded by every sound I hear(when it gets to this point)feeling entirely directed at me & my supposed misdeeds. It quickly becomes all-consuming.

 Some of the other symptoms also try to kick my ass, again unfortunately, daily.  Nicely(smirk)they take turns in being a priority in & of themselves, but they often visit me at the same time as the voice & the other sounds. If that sounds confusing, trust me that it is actually markedly more confusing than I feel comfortable, or quite frankly capable of,  articulating.  But hey, this is a blog entry not my medical chart, so..

In search of normalizing, helpful activities I volunteered at a food pantry that just happens to be located in a building I can see from my balcony.  I have a history of such volunteering, & other than a mild-to-infrequently moderate amount of confusion & paranoia, it is working out well.  Atheist that I am, it is actually The Salvation Army stained-glass cross on the building that is directly across from my balcony door.  Hard to miss as I told the female pastor(it is a husband & wife pastor team. endearingly they bring their beautiful, gentle terrier with them most days.).  She said I was sent to them. Perhaps I was, by proximity, but not by a God.  

While dreaming last night, a big, beautiful brown bear was sniffing me while I stood still & wide-eyed-awed silent.  Whatever sent her to me, Thank you.

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.