We are restless creatures. We struggle to fill our time, either with menial tasks that may or may not have any impact, or with a barrage of entertainment flowing from endless screens into our consciousness.
Here’s the sad part though, as much as I want to help these people, I also vehemently don’t.
I fight to be as normal as I can, to be an equal among the rest of society.
Rob is basically an amalgam of myself, the self I wish I was, and the horror stories I’d heard about my condition. In essence he’s me and the journey he goes on pretty much parallels what I did when I first “broke.”
I was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was 20 years old.
Memories of that stupid meditative Indian flute music that reverberated through your ceiling way too loudly during many attempts at getting some much needed studying done.
I came to the conclusion that drinking a lot of alcohol and staying up till the wee hours of the morning trying to get laid, although fun when used sparingly, doesn’t exactly fit my vibe.
Why is it that when we see a person we might like to get to know we don’t automatically run over to them panting and lick their face saying “OH MY GOD, I’M SO GLAD I SAW YOU!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!”
The last year of my life has been marked by a relative paranoia of the outside world followed closely by a depression that things were never going to change.
Spend years after your diagnosis experimenting with different combinations of antipsychotic medication until you can feel at the very least, like you can get out of bed in the morning, if only just for that first cigarette.