#deepgame

Ya know how the medical professionals are always warning you about the potential progression of elevation on the Schizo spectrum? That’s me. At first I was diagnosed with. Schizotypal Personality Disorder. During this period, I was more narcissistic, absorbed into patterns, strangely dressed, and a sort of chill/manic. I wanted answers to why, I coined everything as a religious or spiritual experience, as I continued to abuse drugs and escalate the situation, not knowing how dangerous any of it actually was to my sanity.

Somewhere along the way, life stopped being fun. The things that were suppressing the rage and anxiety, started turning into the things that induced it. All those pleasant and mysterious thoughts, started turning into a plague of ideas, and a dark mystery that didn’t have a quantifiable scale. There was no pattern, it’s just a bunch of shit that doesn’t make sense, attempting to get me to make sense of it. An impossibility. The Schizophrenic stage is when I was introduced to “looping” or continuous unavoidable thoughts with no solution. Cognitive Dissonance was also on full display, I’m guessing, because I overloaded my sensory with so much feedback to interpret, my brain just got tired and decided to space out to get a much needed break while my body still moves. (For those who aren’t aware, the best way I can describe cognitive dissonance, is your consciousness being ripped from your body, but still hanging on. You watch yourself perform outside yourself, but the emotions are with your consciousness, not your body. It’s an empty hopeless feeling of no control).

And then there is where I am now Schizoaffective Bipolar Disorder. The other two were manageable in their own way; but this one…this one feels hopeless. Because not only am I fighting my ingrained nature as a person, now I’m fighting the nurture factor as well. All of my collective experiences over 30 years express how things should be, yet I’m in conflict with what it actually is. I have no dictation of mood at all. None of it flows with any efficiency or tactile understanding. It’s like being shaken up in a can and given a random outcome based on a dye roll.

One day I’m dealing with Psychosis, but I’m excited and happy! The next it’s depression, and I’m tired and nihilistic. Then jovial and angry. Then anxious and scared. Then jovial and scared. Then delusional and angry, etc etc. I don’t know what emotions or psychotic effects I’ll get at all…so I become cathartic and settle on hopeless. I try to build bridges to connect with people, and before I complete it, I completely forgot I have a hammer and nails, and the bridge is now half built, and no one can cross it without jumping and dying in the moat below. I wish just one person understood how I felt. My brain is a cage and I’m alone with my thoughts. Somewhere the real identifiable me is crying in a corner wishing they didn’t have to sustain this existence. My eyes hurt. My thoughts hurt. But this is where my greatness will come from.

Nonetheless, my nurture makes me the “violent” type of psychotic that everyone thinks shouldn’t exist. I don’t belong here, but here I am.

Dead Game

I feel like I’ve thought about every graphic detail on macrocosmic processes, that it has become humdrum to me. This is to say, I think about universal principles, spirituality, science, mechanics, etc, and I no longer feel like a child in a candy store. I feel that glimpse of normalcy that says, “What’s the purpose of further interpretation of these things? How does it affect me? It’s like watching my childlike curious be suffocated before my minds eye, and it’s saddening.

Instead I spend time obsessing over the small issues I never gave a single fuck about. Human interaction. How are people perceiving me? Am I presentable? Am I behaving in a manner that makes people comfortable? Do I look weak? And it’s just a spiral of assumptions that I can’t prove, all of them negative. The alternative is then to remove myself from the situation, which leads to sleepless isolation and wonderment about how I failed such a simple task with a loaded deck.

At this current moment, I’m whirring in a slight limbo. I feel, indifferent? Somewhere between caring, annoyance, and fear of a turbulent future. Logic where none exist is exhausting. And still, my once happy child, has turned into a tireless adult, suffering from overwork of filing all the thoughts that child ever thought. But he files away, because who else will?

Dead Game.