schizophrenia

I realized something. The therapists did not know how to care for a disturbed, very saddened young woman, that I am. My father knew: "You have that smile tinged with sadness." He could hear the messages in my voice when I would say, "Home. My room. Here's that same smell of urine again," and when he heard such messages, he would clean my room while I was gone and erase the smell - that memory. He loves me very, very much - and I love him.

My sorrow cannot be reduced to a condition. It cannot be reduced to a list of statistics, or to a sheet of traits. I am human. I have uniqueness in my personality - just like everyone else. And for that, I do not deserve to be treated as a number - I am not numb, and I will not be numbed. I feel. What I feel right now is bewildered, scared, alone. I feel fear of something from my past which comes back again. I feel fear of the nightmares that plague me every night, so that I have to sleep out in the hallway to make them go away and feel safe. I feel fear of people I know, who want to know too much of what goes on in my head. That's what the therapists wanted to do, as well - and when they found out, they rephrased everything I had told them in my words, into their own words and remade my language. They made me define myself as schizophrenia. They made me define myself by the feelings they projected onto me - while the real thing is so much more complicated. By demanding my words, they confined and trapped my reality. Silence is sacred. By defining things, you leave them trapped. And yet we, as humans, depend so much on words.

I don't want to talk anymore about "what do you think?". I know what I think, and I respect what you all think - why not tell me what's on your mind? You know I would listen gladly. I would not interrupt and, despite my demise into social life, I will no more try to define you. For the last few months, I jumped in, defining haphazardly what others were feeling, in an attempt to show resonance and in attempt to fill the silence, so that others would not feel uncomfortable. Or maybe it was more than that ...to keep people beside me. I'm so lonely right now. I don't need to talk - I don't want to talk - in order to be around people. I like just being around them, even if they're chatterboxes. I won't say anything. Some of the best moments last year, for me, were when I could sit quietly with a person. That hardly ever happens anymore. But I cannot yearn for the past; may my words have not damaged much the sacredity of the experiences, and leave them pure. I know what I mean.

I am not sick. I am just very sad and very, very lonely. If that makes me schizophrenic, then I accept the label as who I am, and without fear. I wear it proudly, because that is what makes or unmakes my mind. My mind is a reflection of my body - beautiful, brilliant, and suffering pain beyond belief. That's okay. I am terrified of people, but I care enough to help them in rough spots. I just don't want to be hurt by them anymore. I don't care about rejection; I have myself. I'm enough.


~Yvea

P.S. For more information about schizophrenia, please visit the website of my old patron medication, Geodon: http://www.geodon.com/s_AboutSchizophrenia.asp. There is some very good information here about what a person with schizophrenia might be experiencing. But a quick note: meds are not the answer.