Hey guys, it’s me Alex with another livejournal update. I posted a google hangouts AMA last week about what it was like to live with paranoid schizophrenia. Sorry for leaving early. It was starting to get so loud that it hurt. I’m not comfortable being seen like that. I don’t like it when people see me shake either.
One of the viewers noticed a Walmart receipt on my desk. I realized one of the suits could be watching. They could use the order number to track my purchase, which would be linked to my credit card, which has my address on it. It would have been so easy for a suit to find me like that. When a thought like that starts up, it keeps coming back even if I push it away. Louder and louder. More insistent every time. Can’t hear myself think. Then other voices start picking up and talking over each other. Saying things like:
“You’re such an idiot. You can’t hide from them.”
“How many times can you screw up in one day?”
“You can’t take care of yourself. You’re a failure.”
That’s why I’m using livejournal instead. I’m going to take you through a day in my world. There’s a lot of people who are scared of schizophrenics, but it’s just because they don’t understand. I think we’re like snakes in that regard. Hard for you to read. Unpredictable. Even if we aren’t dangerous, that makes us scary. Well hopefully this will help you understand a bit better what it’s like to be me.
Slept in late. Didn’t get to sleep until around 4. I’m so used to taking my meds (Haldol and Thorazine), but they make me so tired that I decided on a break. More than tired. Like the static your foot gets when you’ve been sitting on it wrong, only its in my brain. It makes me numb. I can’t feel. I can’t think. It’s such a relief to be myself again.
The meds do help knock me out at night though, and I had so much restless energy without them that I couldn’t fall asleep. So now I’m just going to focus on waking up, more soon.
The music is good. Billy Joel. Gives me something to focus on and helps drown out the voices. They’re louder when I’m off my meds, but it’s okay. They tell me to do stuff, but it’s not like I have to listen or anything. It’s a good thing too, because some of the things are really nasty.
“Your mother didn’t go to the store. She left because there is a carbon monoxide leak. You’re going to die.”
“She did it on purpose. She’s ashamed of you. She wants to get rid of you.”
I know it’s not true. Mom loves me like crazy. I know it’s been difficult for her, but she’s always been there for me. When I say I ‘hear’ the voices, I mean it sounds like a real person talking next to me. Sometimes they’re just intrusive thoughts, but other times its so real I have to ask other people if they heard too. Doesn’t matter though. I’ll just turn the music up.
On a park bench. I wanted to get some fresh air. I think I wanted to pick up something while I was out too, but I can’t remember. It’s hard to focus with that man watching me. Like I don’t belong. Hat pulled low over his face, sitting alone without a book or a phone or anything. He’s the one who doesn’t belong.
Maybe he’s homeless. He looks pretty scruffy, but that’s how the suits try to fool you sometimes. Nobody is as inconspicuous as a homeless man on a park bench. People don’t look at them on purpose because it makes them feel guilty.
The suits are clever like that. See people think that government agents are all about staying out of sight in an underground lair or something, but it’s not like that. There’s nothing as covert as sitting in plain sight and blending in with the crowd. I’m going to keep an eye on him.
He’s moving now. And that’s the third person he’s slipped a paper bag to. Those poor idiots must think they’re buying mundane street drugs. A voice is telling me otherwise.
That’s how the suits conduct experiments. No matter what happens to the guy, they can always blame it on him being a junkie.
There’s no knowing what twisted shit they’re moving either. Intravenous mind control serum, biological warfare, tracking devices – it’s impossible to tell. I’m going to get closer so I can get an idea of what we’re up against.
1: 55 PM
This has to be quick. He panicked when I said I was on to him. He’s moving away from me, but I’ve got him in my sight.
Don’t let him get away.
Don’t worry. I won’t.
Been awhile since an update, but now I finally have a chance to explain. I followed the homeless man/suit for about two blocks before he ducked between some apartment buildings. You’re an idiot. Should have seen it coming. The moment I saw the van I should have run, but it feels good when I start finding proof for a suspicion.
Schizophrenia comes with a lot of delusions. I spent years convinced I was an alien before I was diagnosed at 22 and started my meds. Believing something without proof can be frustrating – just ask any religious man praying for his life to change. When I find things that validate my thoughts though, that makes me feel special.
I’m the only one who figured it out. The whole world is blind but not me. I knew that man was hiding something, and now I know what it is.
Two men jumped me behind the apartment. They beat me with baseball bats and threw me into the back. I didn’t get a good look at either, but when the doors closed, the man I was following was in there with me.
He asked my name. Didn’t answer. Never answer the suits! Then he hit me across the face and asked again. Didn’t answer. I caught a glimpse inside one of the paper bags and saw syringes. Like I needed more proof.
I think one of them broke a rib with his bat. I had my back pressed to the wall with my knees drawn up in front of me, but I couldn’t get far enough away from him.
“I already know everything about you, Alex. There’s no point in lying to me,” he said.
Drivers licence? Didn’t have it on me. I make a point of not carrying identifying papers just in case. I was starting to shake pretty bad now, and I couldn’t look at him. Maybe two ribs – my left side felt like it was on fire.
“I’ve got something to help you, Alex,” he said. “This is going to help you feel better.”
Don’t listen to him. He’s going to pretend to be a doctor because he knows you’re used to doctors. He’s going to try and kill you.
“I don’t need help. Let me go,” I replied.
“They call me the medicine man,” he continued. “I find people who are having trouble, and I give them what they need. But there’s something I need from you too, Alex.”
Get out. Get out get out get out get out. The voice was so loud I could barely hear him. Visual distortions were happening too. I usually only get audio, but I can start seeing things when I get stressed. Now it was like the “medicine man’s” neck was growing. Two feet – four – six – it was starting to twist its way toward me all the way across the van. The veins bulged and knotted in the massive neck as it pulled against its fleshy constraint.
“This isn’t real,” I told him. “You’re not real. I’m alone somewhere. You know everything I know because you’re me.”
“I know everything you know because I’ve been watching you,” he said. The voice had a peculiarly deep echo as it reverberated from the massive neck. His face was only inches from mine, but I couldn’t look him in the eye.
“No you haven’t,” I said. “Why would you? No-one cares about me. I just make it up. It’s all in my head.”
“Why you? Don’t be silly. You’re the best person I could find. After all, even if you tell people what we’ve done to you, who in the world is going to believe it?”
He put a syringe into my arm and I couldn’t fight it. The liquid was so cold in my vein. I couldn’t even move. Couldn’t look at him. Once it was inside me, the liquid started taking on a life of its own. I looked down at my arm and saw a bulge working its way through my veins, crawling up my arms like an insect beneath the skin.
I told you. The voice said. I warned you. You’re such a stupid boy. You deserve this. Now I can’t help you anymore.
I didn’t wake up until around 10 minutes ago. I was outside, lying on the steps leading into my building. It’s hard to even type this, because my arm feels so cold that the fingers have turned blue. My ribs are starting to feel better, so I don’t think they’re broken. Or maybe the medicine man gave me something to make it better, I don’t know.
My veins aren’t swelling anymore. I’m starting to feel back to normal. Better than normal maybe. I’m not hearing the voices, and I’m not even tired. What still bugs me more than anything though is that he never told me what he needed from me. All I’ve got to go on is what I found typed out on my phone when I woke up.
The next time you hear a voice, it will be from us. Do what it says.