I had a friend pick a Cala Lily from a stranger’s garden. The stranger, a woman with short spiky hair, opened her door as if she had been waiting for someone to do just that. She screamed at my friend; her voice bouncing off my friend’s blouse. My friend and I took off running. We didn’t stop until we got to the porch of her home. The Cala Lily remained intact. She put it into a beautiful, single flower, blue vase. I thought, bad karma. This flower is going to bring the he-be-jeebies to my friend. Her dog sniffed the air and knew this to be fact. She might burn her dinner, or worse yet, have a stinky man in plaid knock on her door begging money. If this be the case, I urged her to pay the man his asking price. This would right her karma.
I get paranoid–I’ll admit it. And filled with worries. Upon leaving the library’s parking lot, I cut off a woman who wanted to walk in from of my 4-runner. Bad karma. She knows where I park and could easily do damage to my vehicle. I imagined leaving work to find my truck’s tires slashed. Since then, I have allowed several pedestrians to walk in front of my truck, not having to break their stride in an attempt to right my karma.
True paranoia is me thinking the government has picked my ticket and are on their way to get me. They will use me rather than a rat to experiment with different kinds of shampoos and cosmetics. They will keep me in a cell, water me down when I smell, and feed me apricots. Only after watering me down, will they test deodorant on my skin. I will be released and return home after my teeth have rotted from unmarketable toothpaste.
I think the docs refer to this as delusional thinking. It doesn’t make what I think any less real. A delusion is a false belief I believe to be true to the core of my being. My medications work so well that I do have reprieves from this kind of thinking. Worry will leave me if I deep breath and allow Spirit to attach herself to God. Shadow bickers with Spirit at times, but Spirit is the stronger of the two.
I had a schizophrenic moment today. Yesterday, I put in new air filters. Today, I wondered if I put them in the right airflow direction, thinking that I didn’t and that I was breathing polluted air. Today, I thought because I had to jam them in that they are set to high and will catch on fire. I called Scottie for reassurance that all was well. I am somewhat reassured.
Paranoid, obsessive thinking is like gravel against the eardrum with a cockroach tucked in making a bed for himself. It is like a scratch on a CD of Green Day replaying the same “Fuck” while my car is stuck in the middle of a car wash, the thick ropey things surrounding all four sides so I can’t see out. It is thinking over and over again that one of my cats is going to get stuck outside in a hailstorm. My cats are indoor cats and I live in Arizona.
Most of the time I am free from obsessive thinking, so when it is happening it is five times as worse as it could be because it is so unfamiliar. Thank God when it slides out the side of my mouth and disappears in the ether.
Paranoia is paralyzing. To date, I have been able to leave my house and enter the world for sometime. I don’t take entering the world for granted. I feel I am blessed every time I do. There are so-so days. And there are the glorious days. So-so when I swim through the tasks I have, leaving a tray of bubbles to pop behind me. Glorious are the days when the love I have for people and the love they have for me consistently causes small, silent eruptions; a Gerber Daisy pushed form the earth, tulips pushed from the earth.
Maybe you have noticed in some of my blogs I throw a word in that doesn’t quite make sense but the word sounds right. I think sound drives writing 25% of the time. With that, I’ll spring up, comforted by the fact that my bed is unmade and I can roll right in, covers up to my chin.
I haven’t been psychotic for a very long time; at least not hospital psychotic. My days can be filled with the voices only I hear, but I ignore them and don’t follow through with the things they tell me to do. They are random, these things, and never kind.
I have not been paranoid recently. I am able to get in my Fore-Runner, knowing it won’t blow up when I turn the ignition on. I am able to throw trash down the trash chute, trusting that I haven’t thrown my keys or cell phone down there also. Little paranoias. They’re not catching me like bees to honey.
I leave my house. This freedom is like throwing open my closet and choosing a pair of pants. Do I go straight for the blue pair, look right for the black pair, or left for the gray pair? Going backward without choosing is no longer an option. Backward has become the single sock in my drawer; I have no use for it. This freedom is like a slice of American cheese melted on wheat, very specific, very driven. Once I know where I am going or what I am doing, everything falls into place, even if I have yet to discover where I am going and what I am doing….then I eat the American cheese and leave the wheat for later.
Freedom is also not being afraid to drive forty five minutes to the hospital to visit Victor, who had open heart surgery yesterday. I will try and not be afraid to park and leave my car. I will find it when I return to it, like finding the ice has frozen in the tray in the refrigerator. All is where it’s suppose to be, to include my parked car which I will find with easy effort….I hope. Ha.
Sheila, Victor’s wife and my dear friend, tells me he is doing fantastic. He’s already sitting in a chair. I take it for granted that I can sit in a chair. Maybe it is more appropriate to feel blessed that I can easily sit in a chair, all kinds of chairs.
I’m looking forward to today. My mind is clear. My toes all bend.I have two hands and ten fingers. Magic. All is magical.
excerpt from second book–
True paranoia is me thinking the government has picked my ticket and are on their way to get me. They will use me rather than a rat to experiment with different kinds of shampoos and cosmetics. They will keep me in a cell, water me down when I smell, and feed me apricots. Only after watering me down will they test deodorant on my skin. I will be released and return home after my teeth have rotted from unmarketable toothpaste. I don’t want to qualify this line of thought with a psychological tag, but I will. I think the docs refer to this as delusional thinking. It doesn’t make it any less real. A delusion is a false belief I believe to be true to the core of my being. My medications work so well that I do have reprieves from this kind to thinking. Worry will leave me if I deep breath and allow my Spirit to attach herself to God. Shadow bickers with Spirit at times, but Spirit is the stronger of the two.
Thank you for your readership.