Love is Like...

There's nothing quite like sitting down with someone you love and discussing how much you don't want to be eaten alive by a tiger.

You smile and your smiles become digitized into binary code.

You can't resist laughing and going into detail, you can't resist fantasizing about an African safari full of man hungry tigers even though you don't even share a bed.

Cereal.

I hung out with some very nice schitzophrenics in the psyche ward.

There was one I used to have breakfast with all the time. I can't remember his name at all, so I will call him Lloyd.

Lloyd was nice. Lloyd was Lloyd.

Sometimes his brown eyes would glaze over into a nice doughnut blue; diamond-like when it was time to talk in a different way. But Lloyd always came back, and Lloyd was nice. He wore a red shirt once.

I think.

Scene 1: Llyod and Luci sit in the cafeteria with other patients. Lloyd and Luci are eating cornflakes cereal (or something like it).

Lloyd: Did you sleep well last night?

Luci: Yes, did you?

[Lloyd's eyes turn to diamonds and time slows down dramatically]

Lloyd(-ish): Once...when I was 16 years old...I was thrown out of the house. I had to learn to defend myself on the streets...I ran away from home. It was cold.

Luci: OK.

[Time restores to normal pace, Lloyd comes back]

Lloyd: I slept very well, thank you.

[End Scene]

Full Circle.

Hooray!

The damage is done.

Now what?

It's not time yet for Q & A.

test results.

In 13 more days, it'll be 3 years since my accident.

Got a letter in the mail the other day...my case is finally coming to a close. Quite nasty.

The damage is permanent. That's what the letter said...

So there's no turning back. I'll never be who I was again. I'll just...it's done. Permanent damage. That's all I can think of. My condition won't significantly improve or get worse...

My brain is permanently damaged.

I suppose it's the first day of the rest of my life.

Chest Pains.

I'm getting tight chest pains and breathing difficulties again. Anxiety.

I suppose the Head Doktor will have something to offer...more pills, I guess.

Emotional long-distance. I am having trouble talking to people and enjoying their presence. I am having an even harder time relating to them. Caring. I wonder if there's pills for that.

I have insomnia.

My memory is hazy but as the days go on and the interactions with people become less...and less meaningful...

...maybe having amnesia isn't so bad afterall.

Faking Organisms.

Who are these people?

These people that go about wearing womenmasks and menmasks?

They're so fake.

You know the kind, right?

The ones who'll be nice to your face. Tell you that you're doing a good job, tell you that you look fabulous, laugh with you. Maybe they bring you lunch sometimes. I dunno.

Once you leave the room, it's a different story.

You're terrible. You're ugly. You're unprofessional. You've "let yourself go".
Then they laugh at you.

Who are these liars that walk around smiling?
Promising you things that will never happen then think its a joke when you're upset.

The liars, the fakers, the takers, the "fair weather friends". They're there while the good's going and gone when the good's gone. The worst kind stick around to keep your face in the dirt.

The one thing I learned from my stay in the psyche ward is that while crazy, people tend to be quite honest but when you catch them in a lie, they kinda just...give up on it. (More tea?)

You had to be held (literally) accountable in there. Damn, did I ever hate the depressing paint job of that hospital.

Who are these people and why do they do it? Why does suffering make them happier? Little drops of suffering and they think your life is just a fucking joke.

I hate them so much. I hate them until my heart hurts.

Crazy Talk.

Don't you hate when people talk crazy talk?

People talk about losing their mind as if it's some sort of new found freedom. Once your mind is lost, it's almost like a free pass, a get out of jail free card or the ultimate inhibitor-killer.

This is not so.

Once your mind is lost, you're gone for better or for worse. I speak from first-hand experience.

Oh, they also lock you up and force you sit outside in gardens. Even when your medication is the kind that sedates you worse than a hit of rophynol. Take you away from your family and friends...take away all your rights and treat all the words that come out of your mouth the same way a person would treat an infant trying to talk. It's just babble to them.

You are in hell, plain and simple.

I fucking hate crazy talkers.

Talking Psychosis: Episode 1

The House of Monostone is a safe place for those us who have brain waves in more than one tone.

You are safe here from everyone who doesn't understand.

It is warm, here.

People with mental illnesses are erased by society through stigma--there are some of us out there who need help but will not speak up because we live in such fear of that stigma.

Speak and live, my friend. If you take the pills with juice or tea, it's not so bad. I can swallow mine without water, now. We believe the fear in ourselves and take in their malice and disbelief it comes out in bad thoughts on us. Thoughts that haunt and depress. Maybe you might...

Lose your job.
Have your family and friends think you will go on a killing spree.
Have your abilities discounted or outright ignored.
Be ignored and excluded.

They live in stereotypes of us. Ignore them and continue to be strong.

You are not a monster and this illness is not your fault.

Even those of us who are currently in therapy or on medication tend to keep our illnesses a secret. No one will know unless we say something. No one knows.

So let's be clandestine together. No names.

Having your mind broken is not like breaking your arm or leg.

When a bone breaks, you can see it heal. There are x-rays that tell the doctor exactly what's what. Your bone breaks, it heals and then you can move on. Maybe you can see the scar.

When the mind breaks, there is no x-ray. There is no 100% quantifiable proof that it is healed either. It is harder to move on when your brain has scars that cannot be seen but that make it hard to do simple tasks.

You have to fight everyday...risking your life for your life. Fighting yourself, fighting other peoples' hatred; people who may think you are "weak" or a "ticking time bomb."

Sometimes secrets are good.

As an amnesiac and someone who has spent time in the psyche ward as a patient, life is difficult. I was never this way, I was normal. I wish...I could remember...

I hated it.

My mental illness was induced by a head injury I received at work. Before I collapsed onto the concrete all I could remember was me telling myself to walk it off...then the thought of doves flying and church bells ringing...walk it off, doves...then the bus ride home...#20 bus...then..."I wonder if anyone will find me under here?"

And the world went dark as who I was became obsolete leaving a near-vegetable in her place.

I was 19 years old. I am now 22.

Being 19 years old and the youngest patient in a psyche ward full of adults was no fun.

It was 2 months after my head injury. I remember when the doctor gave my Mom a form to sign and informed me in big legal words that I no longer had my rights and was now under sovereignty of the state and my parents until I was "no longer a threat to society or myself".

My first night in the hospital security thought I was dangerous so they put me in a special room connected to their office.

It was because of the head injury the doctors say...I'd destroyed some property in my house and had vendettas against a family member who I believed was poisoning my food and the family pet who...well, I just didn't like his face at the time.

If I wasn't sleeping, I was staring at the floor.

Security was nice. I remember they used to give me the newspaper and National Geographic when they were done reading.

It's difficult to describe not remembering anything save for your name and birthday. It's difficult to describe the feeling of insanity. When your mind is in that state, you don't believe yourself but you can't believe other people either.

Is the glass half empty or half full? Is there a glass? I want to smash it. I can't remember who I am...who I was.

I cried almost everyday because I was 19 and just wanted to go home and watch TV.

Breakfast with schizophrenics in the morning.

One of them was an atheist that screamed all the time about his fat girlfriend that he was going to marry once "he got out". After sharing more of his crap arguments against religion he'd follow it up with Bible verses from the Book of Apeshit Insane and yell at us all about how Jesus was coming to kill us with a flaming sword. We had to be saved, immediately. Or have our heads cut off.

And we just sat there eating cornflakes; milk, sugar, nurses and all.

An Explanation.

What are we doing today?

Why do you hate people?

I always tell everyone that I love human beings but that I hate people.

What is the difference between a people and a human being?

Manymanymanymany.

That's what I'm doing today, everyday.

Won't you come over? I have surprises.

Making Friends.

This is the hate time.

I think I hate people.
I hate how they talk.
I hate how they spit.
I hate how they mock.

I hate how they lie.
I hate how they fake.
I hate how they grab others
and cause them to break.

I hate how they steal.
I hate how they kill.
I hate how their greed will never be filled.

I hate my brain and how it cannot remember.
I hate my amnesia, I hate off-beat tunes.
I hate November, December and June.

I hate their magazines and all of their schisms.
I hate all their politics and bullshit isms.

I hate, I hate, I hate you.
And on bad days I HATE ME TOO.

So I will come and write the hate in a way.
To push, shove and keep it at bay.