A natural Drunkenness

I’ve had a damn good day as it’s progressed, but suddenly I’m feeling far gone as I write this. Between my innate psychological problems and the side effects of antipsychotic medications, there’s no longer any certainty as to the cause of all my episodes. I often can discern between good ol’ biology and the consequences of medication, but when I get this far gone my judgement goes with it. Whatever it is. My sanity. My bag of bloody marbles. I’m lucky if this will make any since.

I spent a week in a state mental hospital where medication was practically shoved down my throat. It was too much. I degenerated to a shadow–or more like a poltergeist. I don’t want to live my life that way. Now I am free to medicate as I please. I understand most pharmaceutical treatments for schizophrenia involve won or a few pills administered daily. I get that, and trust me, I’ve got a whole slew of scriptures with the very word on the label. But I’m a PRN sort of guy. I know my mind, my biology, and I have to tread some sort of meddle ground. As of now, I cannot live my life medicated as the doctors demand, nor can I function with a total lack of a chemical support team. All those colors! But most of them are yellow. A prolific yellow if nothing else. 

I guess I bring my disease up a lot. I hate that word. Disease. I prefer the word Curse! Sums it up well I think. Despite how I speak of it, my purpose is not to complain. Far from it.

Though I will admit, getting it out helps.

Serval years before my own biological deterioration broke its way in, my mother suffered from the disease and eventually died from it. I remember when we communicated, her words seemed so off–her world intrigued me. I was beyond curious as to what her actual experience was like. When I speak of my life with schizophrenia, I’m trying to get across the experience. Believe me, it’s something for the story books, but nothing you would dare wish to experience. Imagine having a bad LSD trip and the horror that comes along with knowing you won’t come down. Soon a man dressed in white will enter your door. He’ll inject more of the drug in two your veins. Helpless. Losing my damn marbles! Sometimes I find them around the house, but fuck it’s annoying to step on them. Inevitably they’ll all be lost again. That’s why I haven’t bothered to name them. Kind of like those experiments done by the CIA in the 60’s, or some shit like that.

I may or may not speak more of this subject later. I am a free spirit. Ha ha!

 

–Jolly Tripper

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