Living with schizophrenia, I’ve experienced all manner of delusions about the way I think things are, and the way they actually are. Delusions signal a break with reality and, no matter how seemingly insignificant they may be, delusions should immediately be addressed with a mental health professional. Delusions are almost always ridiculous iterations of reality. They are skewed perspectives on the way things actually are, and they can arise in any number of situations. Coming to terms with the ridiculousness of your delusions is a process of awareness, then unpacking and analyzing the delusion — testing it against reality. Finally, you have to accept the delusion for what it is: a strange construct of your mind. (more…)
Schizophrenia is an insidious disease. It can be difficult to parse even the clearest facets of reality from the delusions in your head. The delusions you have can wreak havoc on your concept of the real world, of relationships and your idea of well being. Schizophrenic delusions are persistent, which is one of the major reasons recovery can take such a long time. (more…)
There are nights where I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling and I ask for help. Sometimes the voice comes; sometimes it doesn’t but, in the times where it does, it gives me the reassurance that I need to, at the very least, make it through the night, and then to keep going the next morning. I talked, in my previous essay, about the mysterious voices in my head and the God voice is one of the two distinct voices I hear. The other is some kind of demon that I’ve talked at length about in my other writings, but the voice of God, as omnipotent and wise as it is, is still a symptom of my psychosis. (more…)
My name is Mike Hedrick. I’m a writer and I’ve lived with schizophrenia for ten years.
I can remember sitting on my couch, having just smoked marijuana, my mind darting sideways and upside-down when I noticed the sound of the refrigerator’s compressor clicking on. It made a jarring, machine-like hum and whir and continued on for several minutes. There were tiny variations in the whir though and, from somewhere inside my head, it occurred to me that this was the aliens. The aliens were communicating with me through the hum and whir of my refrigerator’s compressor. Though I didn’t know what they were saying, I sat down at my brother’s synthesizer and punched out a long warbly note that I hoped would do the job. I wanted to say, “I hear you”, I wanted to say “I get it.”
If it wasn’t aliens communicating with me, it was the government, having placed cameras and microphones all around my apartment, so small and so well hidden that not even tearing apart toasters and smoke detectors yielded any results. They knew what I was saying, and they could see what I was doing. (more…)