The schizospec/people with psychosis need help. No one listens to us, we have no voice due to one of our symptoms is having delusions and/or hallucinations(these are positive symptoms).. No one spreading these schizoposting memes will stop to listen to someone with it. people with positive symptoms will be further degraded and manipulated, using everything you say against you.
We NEED someone who can speak out about us, someone they "trust"(bleh ewwww). im sick and tired of being treated like a toy to these noskis, i try so hard to try to change noski's minds, it always fails, i just want to just change ONE person is all... so far, 0 luck and my efforts being used like toilet paper.
please take time to educate yourselves so you can help the schizospec community, thats all you can do at this point.
these are two sources i trust right now. you dont need to reblog, but if you dont know much i encourage you to watch some of their videos
1K notes
·
View notes
Being at Your Worst Leaves its Marks
This post will only contain my personal opinion and experience. It may not be applicable to other people who have the same conditions as me and may likewise be relatable to people who have different ones.
I am not really sure how to start this post, so I guess let me warn you that there will be mentions of deep depression, unaliving thoughts/intents (insta doesnt like the s word), psychosis, paranoia, trauma, death, violence and whatever else falls under it tbh. This is not a happy post...I think...
I am not aiming for pity, nor am I trying to encourage people to do/believe any of the following, or discourage people from recovery! This is an educational piece and a chance for me to once again practise honesty, vulnerability and maybe shed light onto something rarely discussed, cus its just too personal.
Its been 8 years since I hit my personal first rock bottom. 8 years since I ran away from home for the day, because I didn't have the strength to just talk. I needed to create a situation in which I was forced to admit it, forced to talk about it. I couldn't do it on my own. Recently we visited that place again, that parking lot where I told my parents in tears, that I did not want to be alive.
Its still the exact same parking lot as it was and even though I am a changed person now, seeing that place again reminded me of things I had wanted to forget. It reminded me of scars that aren't visible, of marks you'll never be able to lay your eyes on.
That moment has stayed with me and I don't doubt that it will continue to do so. I will never forget how scared I was when I finally took my parents call after having ignored it for hours on end, but I will also never forget how relieved I was when I finally told them that I wanted to d*e and my mother threw her arms around me and I felt loved and seen for the first time in ages.
Its been 8 years since I had my first contact with the psychiatric industry in my country. 8 years since my first encounter with a therapist, who I told about my violent thoughts, my delusional beliefs, the situation at home, my feelings of being unloved & unseen, my mission and what I had been planning to do.
She medically recognized me with conduct disorder and gave me an ASPD prognosis, which is something I, today, am not happy about. I wish she had looked at me as someone who could still be fixed and wasn't doomed to develop that condition, because ultimately it influenced me negatively and is part of why I do fit it today. She was in the position to tell me that I wasn't a lost cause and she did the exact opposite.
I still don't hate her though, because despite her being the cause of one of my biggest "what if" scenario spirals, she never, not once told me I was an evil monster or a bad person. She was non judgemental when it mattered, she didn't forcibly admit me even when she could have done it easily, but instead gave me the power to choose my own path. That, I will forever remain thankful for, even if I am unhappy about the way my case was handled overall. I still can't help but wonder: what if?
Its been 8 years since I stood in front of my classmates declaring that the government is controlling us, that they are all sheep and that I am the only one who understands what is really going on, but that that also is the reason why the government is out to get me. 8 years since I was so undeniably convinced that I was not human, as I was so much better than them, and thought I had been given the mission to save humanity or eradicate it.
I must have seemed absolutely insane and looney to my classmates, while I was spouting those beliefs, while also telling them explicitly about the fate that was awaiting them by my hand, namely: "death". I am still surprised that no one ever reported me to the teachers, but I guess they just never took me seriously and instead encouraged me to end it all, or just come and end them, so I'd be arrested.
To this day I am cautious about any type of literature about school sh*otings, nonhumanity, governmental control and the like, just as I am careful about political ideology. I know what it did to me, I can still remember every single moment and I am scared of what it could do to me again in the wrong circumstances. It has left a mark. A glaring one.
Its been 8 years since a lot of the most traumatizing and bad shit of my life happened and in those 8 years there has rarely been a moment, where it has not affected my life in some way. Not a single moment, where it has truly left me alone, because those things have scarred the inside of me.
Hitting rock bottom, having to be honest about whats going on, being confronted with choices that I didn't know were going to significantly shape my future and having to live with the things that happened, because I did in fact survive that period? Theres no words that'll ever describe how hard that is.
I am not angry that I chose to work on myself.
I don't regret getting better and telling people.
I don't yearn for how things used to be.
Well most of the time at least.
But what I did really want to talk about is this: No matter how much I recover, no matter how well I get, there will always be marks and scars, that I can't forget.
I'll forever have to be careful around politics, media and the like, because I know how easy I am triggered and lose myself in the wrong things. No amount of recovery will erase that danger completely and no amount of recovery will take away the anxiety I have regarding this.
I'll forever have to live with the choices I made, the things I claimed and the thoughts I had and most especially the consequences this had on how people viewed me. No amount of recovery is gonna get rid of the past and no amount of recovery will erase the knowledge, that some people out there have the power to ruin my life, if they went public with the things I did, to the wrong people at the wrong time. They could tear me apart and portray me as the villain, because I was (even if non maliciously sometimes) and I am scared of it, cause I really really don't want to be that villain anymore.
I'll forever remember the places and times where significant things happened. I can't go to a McDonalds without remembering that evening in the parking lot. I can't walk by my old house without remembering the countless fights. I can't walk by my old school without remembering the worst days. No amount of recovery will take those memories away and no amount of recovery will erase what those moments have done. I know that the effect of those memories will lessen and that I get to choose how I look at them, but they'll always define me. And while that isn't necessarily a bad thing, I really do dislike that sometimes.
As mentioned in the beginning, I am not aiming to discourage you from recovery! Rather I want to give a kinda realistic picture of what life, pre rock bottom, could look like for many people.
Its a weird sort of situation when you have changed a lot,
have worked trough loads of things and are so much better off overall, but still have to live your daily life with the knowledge of what once was and what could be again.
I never intended to be here at this point yk? I wasn't supposed to still be here. But I am and I got to a point where I am also just kinda glad I am? Which however, and this is very important to me, doesn't mean I am not still traumatized and scarred. I am, heavily so! Those things still haunt me and maybe they will forever, cause I don't know if you can truly get rid of marks that deep! But yk what? I kinda think I am really beautiful with marks and scars like that and I decided that I am not gonna let them stop me from being happy.
(first posted on my instagram (same @)
6 notes
·
View notes
Intruder In the hallway
Exploration into an episode of psychosis. That being said trigger warnings for discussion of psychosis and thoughts of home invasion.
You know he is in the hall. There are no footsteps but he is there. You know it. You never heard the soft sound of the door latch clicking and the swoosh of it opening but that doesn't matter. He doesn't need doors. So you know he is there in the hall.
You also know you are deep in the throws of an episode of psychosis. Your mind is not a safe or reliable place. So you whisper reassurances to yourself. None of this is real. No one is in the house. You breathe in and out as steadily as you can. That little voice of reason in your head is getting louder. No one is in the house. You are safe.
Then the voice shifts.
“Yes, I know no one is in the hall. But what would it look like if someone is?” You try to pull your mind away from this line of thinking but- “He would approach the door with even steady steps. He would be confident because he already know which room is yours.”
Your heartbeat starts to pick up.
“He would simply walk through the threshold. No need to open the door. He is beyond such things. Or perhaps he would come to the window. Walk up the air like it was a staircase made solely for him to reach you.”
“Long legs would stretch out and bring him swiftly to your bedroom door. He made such quick work of the front door so there is no reason to think this door could protect you either.”
There is a tightness in your throat and you cant remember the last time you dared to breathe. The slightest noise could alert him of your location. Not that it matters, because he knows where you are. Even if he doesn’t because you know he isn’t real. But if he was?
“If he were real he would knock on your bedroom door. Or perhaps the window! He is a gentleman after all. He needs to alert you of his presence, make sure you really are there, tucked up in your bed. You don’t need to response to him because he can hear your heart hammering out of your chest.”
A pathetic whimper passes through your barely parted lips. Your muscles lock you in place and tremble with tension. Your mind goes on. Painting a picture of what he would be like, even though you know he isn’t.
“He would open this door. You remember locking this one. But that doesn’t matter. The doorknob would creak.”
Is that the glint of your doorknob turning? You can’t be sure even as you stare at it in fear. Perhaps one of the other members of the household is coming to check on you? Or perhaps he is here. Even if he can’t be. Since all of this isn’t real, right?
3 notes
·
View notes