What goes on in the mind of a Schizophrenic, Part 3.

 (This is part 3 in a 3 part series. Read Part 1 Read Part 2)

One thing about these two rival viewpoints is that they are both entirely internally consistent. Either one can justify itself logically, albeit not rationally. They both also feel the same to me. One is not inherently more valid than the other, at least internally. I can recognize how irrational the mystical viewpoint is, but is only because I've learned how regular people think over the years. Without that, I would never for a moment consider that there might be something wrong with the worldview. I have no problem whatsoever behaving as if it is entirely the truth, it is never questioned. And when in the mystical mindset I will occasionally think of the mundane mindset and feel a pang of guilt over how naive that thinking is, how simplistic. I must have really been a coward to have backed down from the "REAL TRUTH". Conversely, when in the mundane mindset if I think back on my life all I see is a repeating pattern of irrational behavior and choices that frankly, I am horrified at. As a result, by and large I don't think back on it. When in one mindset thinking about the other one just feels painful, so I don't do it. I am only able to do so now because of the aid of medication, and it is still quite taxing. Even the act of recognizing that there are two rival mindsets is difficult, I have to draw the line mentally. Under normal (non-medicated) circumstances I would barely be able to process that there are two contradictory mindsets in me, for the most part there is nothing inside that alerts me to the conflict. I absolutely experience a ton of anxiety as a result of this split mindedness, and to some extent both are always vying for my attention. Until I was medicated I was never even ware of this source of anxiety, or this source of internal stress.

Moreover, when I switch from one mindset to another I am not really aware of it. There is nothing inside me that seems to change. It just happens. I do not notice any difference. No alarms go off, nothing at all seems to change inside. Even though my behavior, desires, and reactions to things have radically changed it does not seem strange to me in the slightest. The transition is always smooth and unremarkable. I am just going forwards, just like I always have. It is the same with all my symptoms really, even the manic/depressive. I never notice anything strange when I'm manic, I'm just being my awesome self. When I'm depressed I wonder why the fuck I can't seem to get motivated, because I really really really want to get back to being my awesome self. (Realistically, I could compare my past obsession with becoming manic to a drug addiction.)

The only way I have come to recognize that two separate viewpoints exist is because I am a very careful observer. I at least would note that the reactions of people around me would sometimes change dramatically, and I was genuinely puzzled by it. Only by many mistakes over the years and careful self reflection did it ever occur to me that the problem was ME, not everyone else. The first time the possibility that I was the one causing people to behave differently towards me was quite a startling revelation, it had never really occurred to me before. Later, through therapy I came to realize that the two differing mindsets existed, and that they switched over time. Only recently because of going off meds for three weeks did I come to realize that I DO NOT HAVE CONTROL over which viewpoint is dictating my behavior. In those three weeks I reverted fully back to the mystical mindset, as well as having several rather sharp manic episodes.

Now I have noted before that depending on a combination of dominant mindset and presenting symptoms, my behavior changes. I will now try to describe why it changes.

Keep in mind that when a change occurs, either presenting symptoms or mindset, it happens on a subconscious level, I am not really aware of it. I'm going out for a walk in the park today because I feel great and have the energy to do so. I always do this when I have energy. I am sitting here reading prisonplanet.com for 5 hours a day because it is vitally important, I always do this. I don't realize that I am behaving differently, nothing seems to feel at all different inside me. Paradoxically, the internal landscape *HAS* changed dramatically. The reasons for the behavior changes is because everything inside has indeed changed. I am just totally unaware of it, even though the alterations are significant.

The mystical mindset for example, views the world as unevolved, ignorant, threatening, and hell bent on self destruction. When in the mystical mindset I feel a strong compulsion to try and convince the world of the need to evolve their understanding, specifically everyone needs to understand things the way I do. As a result I have at times been a ranting madmen talking about conspiracy theories to anyone who would sit still for five seconds. I also feel compelled to obsessively research conspiracy theories. I will listen to "higher" music, Enya, Enigma, Deep forest, and the like. I also feel an immense and ever present sense of dread. I just know deep inside with every fiber of my being that something terrible is about to happen and I have got to try and do something about it. There is no choice for an evolved being like me, I can't simply stand aside and watch as the children play with gasoline. Other main points with the mystical mindset is its intolerance of repetition or drudgery. The mere idea of doing the exact same thing over and over for 8 hours is terror inducing. I must have stimulation, I must have new things to think about, I must have new experiences. If everyone else was as evolved as I am they would see that too. Keeping schedules is also noticeably harder in the mystical mindset, and there is a great deal of anxiety as a result of this. The last thing to note about the mystical mindset is the absolute certainty that I am doing the right thing, that I must find a way to fix the world, to make people understand why they should all be more like me. Hand in hand with this certainty is the knowledge that I am an alien presence on this planet, this is not my home, I do not belong here. My future is not in my hands, my guides arrange every experience that comes my way. I receive instructions on what to do next in the form of strong intuitions, or knowings. I do not question what I regard as the instructions from my guides/higher self, I just do it. It is all connected, it all has a reason, I am merely being lead to non stop trials to help me to see that. The terrible future is coming, the thing that I have known ever since my youth that would happen, will happen soon. I must prepare. I must follow my instructions so that I can be ready to help as many people as I can survive the coming ordeal.


As a result of all this, I behave very differently in the mystical mindset. Even my appetite changes, as I constantly indulge in overeating as a way of escaping the stress of the world's imminent demise.



The mundane mindset by contrast, is much calmer, and generally more productive. Working a job is considerably easier (although still very difficult to do long term), I am interested in academic subjects but spend less time reading. I go out more, socialize more, I pride myself on keeping to schedules. I am ambitious, I want to learn new skills, I have some goals for the future, some ideas about how I would like to live my life. The world is a strange place but I can learn to understand much of it. Things and events simply happen, they simply are. There is no grand overarching spiderweb of connections. I do not have special perception that other people don't, in fact I don't even worry about that. I just wanna get through my shift and go out and have a good time. The exception to much of this would be if a good manic fit hits while I am in the mundane mindset. In which case, I will become obsessed with achieving success in something great. I don't do anything without it being part of some master plan to propel me into either the world stage or wealth beyond my dreams. I try to learn whatever skills I think I need as fast as possible and become super critical about the slightest perceived flaw. Other than that, when in the mundane mindset I am a pretty regular guy. I have more stories about crazy shit I've been involved with/done than most, but I do not advertise this fact nearly as much.

What goes on in the mind of a Schizophrenic, Part 2.

 (This is part 2 in a 3 part series Read Part 1 Read Part 3)

In my last post I mentioned being an online Tarot reader, and the reason I did that job is because I was in a different mental state at the time. I was very much into the mystical mindset, and I was slightly (but not badly manic). Getting the job seemed like a natural thing to do for someone with my psychic talents, and for a while I did enjoy it and made good money. The schedule of the job also suited me, because me hours were from whenever I felt like to whenever I felt like. I tried to keep a rough schedule, but it was always a relief that I could just decide not to work if I wanted too. (Pretty much everyone involved in the psychic industry is pretty goddamned flaky so an irregular schedule doesn't even raise an eyebrow.)

Mania in my experience is usually triggered by environmental factors. My first day as a webcam psychic I got pretty lucky and got a ton of customers. I made a couple hundred bucks in around 4 hours. The next morning I was manic, eager to launch my career as a successful psychic. I was planning into the future, fantasizing about what my lifestyle would be like with a steady, large income. I had natural talent, all I needed was to build a brand and really get my name out there. I made a twitter account, started a new blog, and made a separate facebook account just for my new psychic persona. I did very well on cam for the first week or so, and in my spare time I worked on my social media. I was constantly thinking of ways I could expand myself and get my name out there. I made advertisements on craigslist, I contacted local psychic fairs, anything I could do to get myself out there. It was all coming together for me. I had finally found my calling. I felt great and started taking long walks by the lake just because I had the energy.

Then the Mania faded.


It faded fast this time, literally overnight. One day, I'm feeling great. I had made good money, had garnered a number of twitter followers, and was working on an ambitious series of articles for my blog. I stayed up late writing, and went to bed content and happy with myself, excited for the morning to come so I could resume working on my blog.

I woke up much later than usual, and the first thing I thought of was my blog. But instead of excited I felt deep anxiety about it, I didn't want to write at all. I shrugged my shoulders and figured today was as good a day as any to take a day off from my social media activities. I felt really tired, and the thought of cooking my breakfast just seemed not worth the effort, so I didn't eat. I dawdled all day online, not really doing much of anything, I didn't even feel like playing WoW, it seemed like too much effort. As the day wore on a sense of dread started to come over me. I could feel it intensely in my stomach, something was wrong, but I had no idea what. As the hour approached that I normally got on cam the feeling of dread only intensified. By the time I sat down to log in and turn the camera on, I was feeling such dread and anxiety that I was nauseous. I put these feelings aside and forced myself to go online with a fake smile and upbeatness I really didn't feel. I did very poorly, made little money, and logged off early.

I took the next day off, figuring I had been working really hard lately and just needed some time to recharge my batteries.

A day off turned into a week. A week I did literally nothing that accomplished anything. I didn't even play videogames or watch movies, I just sat at my computer. I would half read something, get bored, and then switch to reading something else. Or I would start a flash game up, and after 10 minutes get bored. I couldn't find anything to occupy my attention for more than five minutes. I took frequent naps, and sometimes just lay in bed. All the while I was starting to feel intense guilt over abandoning my social media and my job. Every day the shame and guilt got worse, until I finally forced myself to go back online.

I did terrible. Despite working more hours than normal, I had almost no customers. And worse, it seemed like my psychic powers were all gone, I felt like a giant fraud the entire time. During the few readings I did give it was agony. The entire time I felt like a giant fraud. I wasn't psychic, no one was psychic. I was just exploiting the trust of gullible people who just wanted someone to tell them it would all be okay. I couldn't shake that feeling that I was a giant phony. What the fuck was I doing trying to portray myself as some sort of light energy working psychic? I couldn't even look at a my social media, because it was all a giant fake and I felt deeply ashamed for ever having made it. This went on for a few more weeks, my feelings of being a phony growing worse and worse, my customer base dwindling down till even my regulars never came by, and I just gave up. Forcing myself to log on was a mighty struggle of willpower that would begin early in the morning. By the time my appointed our came to work I was a stressed wreck, desperately trying to hide my real feelings about what I was doing. As soon as I logged off for the night I instantly started dreading doing it all over again tomorrow. In the end I just abandoned the entire thing.



The truck driving and online psychic are two pretty typical examples from my life. I could explain many more examples but the pattern stays roughly the same. Start new thing, do very well at new thing, feel great, like a living god with an inevitably successful future. Then wake up one morning and all my energy is gone. No amount of willpower allows me to produce results like I had been. What work I manage to do is of poor, substandard quality. Then, after a brutal struggle with myself to keep going on, I abandon the entire effort. I feel such great relief the moment I decide to walk away. Relief that is slowly replaced by shame because I have let people down again with my failure. After a couple of weeks I don't think about the project at all anymore and just pretend it never existed.

On to Part 3. 

What goes on in the mind of Schizophrenic, Part 1.

 (This is Part 1 in a 3 part Series.Read Part 2, Read Part 3)

So living with two competing views of reality is going to be hard to describe. What it is, what it feels like, and how it all works, and how I hold it together is still something of a mystery even to me. These viewpoints on reality are not only incompatible, they are very nearly diametrically opposed. Furthermore, both views fear each other. As was demonstrated very strongly to me in the past weeks, which viewpoint is dominant determines my behavior to a rather startling degree. (Actually to a degree that makes me very uncomfortable) Its almost like there are two different Prester John's at times. However, it isn't necessarily as clear cut as that, as the less dominant viewpoint has a tendency to occasionally intrude itself very very rudely, which is an incredibly stressful experience. I'll start first by describing in detail what each of these views are, and then how they interact.



1.) The Mundane

Although there are two distinct worldviews in my head, fortunately they do not have specific names. (And oh thank you god for that) So here I shall give them names to simplify communication. The first mindset is what I will call The Mundane. In this worldview I am Prester John, mentally ill man in my early 30's with a very checkered past. I came from an extremely psychologically abusive/poverty stricken childhood. I have spent most of my adult life trying to escape from my upbringing, to understand and overcome the many deficiencies it left in me. I have made many mistakes, held many very strange beliefs, and done many odd things over the years. All of it can be explained as untreated Mental Illness that started in my mid teens and progressed from there.

I am currently getting real help for my issues for the first time in my life and recognize that this will be a lifelong issue that I will need to learn to cope with. In many areas of my life, owing to a combination of my bizarre childhood and my Mental Illness, I am no more developed than a teenager. I am working as best as I can to rectify those deficiencies and to cope with my condition. My political views are fairly left leaning and I am generally optimistic about the future of the Human Race. I feel a strong desire to improve myself and become able to function in normal society.


2.) The Mystical


I shall call the second worldview The Mystical. In this worldview I am Prester John, highly evolved soul who came to earth to help the Human Race overcome the external influences which currently rule it. (The Illuminati, whom are yes, probably 4th Dimensional blood drinking reptilian aliens, but I'm not entirely sure. In either case, they sure as fuck aren't human.) My soul is not natively human, as it developed through its incarnation cycle on a different world with a different race vastly more sophisticated and more developed than Humans on Earth. I have been through relatively few human incarnations. This makes it difficult for me to interact with people, as they simply are not evolved enough to understand me, and I haven't learned how to simplify myself enough to be readily accepted.

My childhood was carefully planned for me and like the rest of my life has been under intense micro-management from my Guides. I have an extremely important role to play in the events unfolding on this planet, and I have been put through a rigorous and accelerated curriculum to prepare me. I am currently failing. My reach may have exceeded my grasp. My human body has proven to be too frail for the struggles I have put it through, I have been unable to force it to continue onwards. I broke an energetic circuit somewhere in my Manipura Chakra and my healing arts have proven inadequate to treat it. I am currently being a coward by taking my medication. (Psych meds have been designed by the Illuminati to target the Pineal gland, or 3rd eye, which is what allows humans access to higher realms of consciousness.) As a result I am probably going to be passed over for my Grand Destiny soon and will slink down into mundane nothingness, a failure of a life that wasted a human body that could have been better used by a soul capable of getting the job done.

In many areas of my life, owing to being at least 100 years ahead of my time, the uninvolved people around me misinterpret either my intentions or my reasons and attack me out of fear of the unknown. My political views can be summed up as "I'm pissed I'm not living in a worldwide version of The Venus Project and I'm even more pissed that the people around me are completely unprepared to entertain the notion of such a world. I am not optimistic about the future of the Human Race. Society is getting ready to collapse and I can't wait to watch it all burn. (I understand the condition of the planet is not entirely the fault of Humans, but I'll be damned if a large majority of them aren't practically begging for it.) I feel a strong desire to smash the current power structures in society and help replace them with something more evolved.




There we go, whoo, writing that was exhausting. That is literally the first time I have ever written down the belief system that comprises The Mystical. It is actually a massive relief to get it all out in the open. Now, a few things before we really start to delve in deep here. I have always had both worldviews to some extent ever since at least my early teens, if not earlier. Both views have developed considerably over the years. In each worldview I would say that many themes have remained consistent, but details have changed dramatically, particularly in the case of the The Mystical (If there is interest I could post a description of an earlier incarnation of the The Mystical, which if anything was considerably more bizarre than the present one.) There is a reason why I spent so much more time writing about The Mystical, and that is because it has been the dominant worldview for the majority of my life. In one form or another, I have long held it close as "the truth". It has dictated my actions greatly, as I have always followed the instructions I was given. (Either by my guide, or in earlier versions..........Enoch. Yes that Enoch.) On the other hand, I have several times retreated completely from the mystical worldview and embraced a completely materialistic worldview. During my most notable and intense Manic Phase I became a Libertarian. Somehow, believing that I was a Randian Superman made me a WORSE person than when I believed I had a grand destiny to become a super powerful warrior. (I guess what I'm saying is fuck Libertarianism forever)

One further note, each worldview has a couple of important variations depending on what symptoms of my mental illness I am experiencing at that time. In Schizoaffective, the Schizophrenic symptoms and the Mood Disorder(Bipolar type 2 in my case) symptoms can occur separately, or together, creating a wonderful cornucopia of unpredictable behaviours. The mood disorder can be either Manic or Depressed, which is fairly self explanatory. The Schizophrenia in my case takes three main forms, seeing the connections between apparently unconnected things (that only I can see) experiencing that I have psychic powers, or outright visual/auditory hallucinations. Generally the Shizophrenic symptoms work on a severity level, where if I am having visual/auditory hallucinations, then I am damn sure using my psychic powers to suss out the connections between major players in world politics so that I know where to steer the future.

This makes for essentially three important (but to others totally unseen) factors that have dictated my behavior over the years. Either I was in a mundane or mystical dominant worldview, and then it was like rolling dice for where my symptoms where at the time. Under the right circumstances, this could go my way and I could pull off something pretty impressive. And then I could wake up the next day, the dice coming up with a different result for my symptoms, and now I can't even come close to matching the previous performance. In short, this has made my behavior, and in particular my performance at jobs over the years rather............inconsistent. For many years I beat myself up pretty hard over this. I always felt the fault lie in my motivation, so I would strive to find ways to motivate myself or just brute force willpower my way through.

Some examples:

I drove (and instructed) 18 wheelers for 2 years. During much of that time, I was in a totally mundane state of mind, manic like a motherfucker, and the Schizophrenia was mild, just a good "gut sense" that I would follow from time to time to avoid trouble. My performance was remarkable. I needed little sleep. I was excited to get up every day and work, I loved the challenge. I purposefully took the highest risk/reward loads I could and I ran illegal as all fuck. (Let me emphasize the illegal part. My log books were an immaculately kept lie) My company loved me, I was a top 3 performer out of 800 drivers in my division every week. I only slept 3-4 hours a day and would wake up and vault out of bed. Food was always amazing. I loved life, I felt like a little God. I was living proof that with a little hard work and dedication you could make it in this country no matter what your background was.



and then I woke up one morning and it started to get different



I stayed in my completely mundane worldview, but my symptoms changed. The non stop Mania started to give way to Depression. My Schizophrenia went from "gut sense" to full blown hallucinations of demons attacking me. I started to under perform. I started to make mistakes. I started missing deadlines and making bad judgement calls. I didn't have the energy I used to have. I needed way more than 4 hours of sleep, and it took me an hour to get moving in the morning. I just couldn't do it anymore, despite the fact that I really really wanted to. I tried everything to try and recapture my motivation, my boundless, endless source of strength and energy. I started to become terrified of the truck and dread every moment I had to drive. I lost all my nerve. In short order I racked up speeding tickets in 3 different states and tore down a bank sign, my only at fault accident. Each of the tickets I could have fought, I would certainly have won at least 2 of them, but I just couldn't muster the strength. I shut down. The tickets passed through courts without contest. With only a few days before my CDL was going to be suspended I turned in my keys in disgrace. I had gone from golden child to abject failure in only 6 weeks.


Another example would be my stint as an online tarot reader, offering readings through webcam. (Oh dear god is *THAT* ever a slimy industry). I will cover this more in part 2.

On to Part 2 

I want to die. I don't want to kill myself.

(What follows is a serious and frank discussion of suicide. If you are experiencing suicidal ideation do not read this. Get Help. Go to  http://www.suicidehotlines.com/)

One of the harder aspects of living with Mental illness is suicidal ideation. In my experience, the form it takes changes over time. I have struggled with suicidal thoughts for two years now, and though it has gotten better with medication and therapy, I would be lying if I said it really ever got easy. From what I have seen people don't just commit suicide, they lose a long war with suicidal thoughts.

 For myself I haven't found a way to win this war yet, and I've come very close to losing it. Too close. There are occasional lulls where no active battle is being fought, sometimes it even seems like I have finally won. But then like an allergy it flares up again, and I am left struggling. At present I do not so much think of suicide so much, its more that sometimes I just really don't want to live anymore.

That sounds morbid I know, perhaps even frightening. I'm sure there are a few of you concerned for my well-being. Well don't worry, I'm not going to kill myself. As much as I might want to be done with my time on this planet, I have found a spirituality that keeps me going. I believe that we choose our lives on this planet, and we know what we will face going into life. I also believe that if you commit suicide, its an admission that you were in over your head, and you get to experience the same or very similar circumstances in your next life. The idea of having to relive all the struggles I've been through is repugnant. I did this all once, and I really feel like no matter what the results, I tried as hard as I possibly could.

 Plus I am a stubborn, prideful man. I will not, no matter what, admit that I cannot handle this. I cannot bear the sting of a failure that big. I've had to eat plenty enough humble pie and I'm not about to cut myself another heaping slice.

Sure, those beliefs are probably totally irrational. I absolutely have no way of knowing the truth. I just accept it all on faith. Because it gives me strength.

So I am resolved to keep going on no matter what. To keep finding things to look forwards to. To keep finding pleasure wherever I can in life.

Moist of the time I manage to not think of death, or when I do its very fleeting. A passing moment of jealousy when I hear of someone's death, a glance skyward towards heaven with a wistful sigh, a stray thought of just how spiritually tired I feel.

But just sometimes, its all a little too much. And the desire to die can just flare up like an allergy, almost overwhelming, with little or no warning.

About five days ago I was visiting over at a friends apartment. I was just chilling, watching some Kpop videos (my guilty pleasure) on YouTube and not really doing much of anything. My friend was scrolling through Netflix looking for something to watch when he happened upon a documentary about near death experiences. At first I didn't pay any attention to what he was watching, but gradually it started to get my attention. By the halfway point I was enthralled, totally engrossed. By the end my whole mood had changed.

Schizo-affective is a strange disorder. Not only can your mood change quickly, but your entire thought process, beliefs, and motivations can chage as well. Sometimes, like this time, at the drop of a hat.

When the documentary ended I suddenly knew I was going to die. Deep in myself, I knew with absolute conviction that my time alive was almost up. I knew that I had pushed this body to the absolute limits, that my energy was almost all used up. I knew that I had done my job in this world, that I had played my role and whatever purpose I was meant to serve was almost complete. I knew that I wouldn't kill myself, but rather my body would give out soon, probably while I slept.

I knew I was going to die, soon, within a couple months, and I knew that I was leaving the planet with dignity, that I hadn't been a total failure.

I was absolutely ecstatic. I was so happy, so relieved, I could feel the stress, the anxiety pouring out of my body. I was so happy I was near tears. I had done it. I had won after all. Very soon I wouldn't have to struggle anymore. I wouldn't have to be a burden to my loved ones anymore. I wouldn't have to spend half my day sorting out the real from the unreal, or calming my anxiety, or enduring the shame I feel. It was all over soon. I was loved, I was forgiven, I was accepted. I felt happier than I have in literal years.

I was also excited. I've had many great adventures in my life. I've risked death, battled Corporations, taken huge doses of psychedelics, been involved in the black market, and taught newbies how to drive 18-wheelers in mountains. I have had many great adventures. But all those adventures paled before the adventure I knew awaited me now. What is death really like? What waits on the other side? Can it even be described in human terms? These questions and more rolled around in my head.

Somewhere though, a part of me said it would be best to do nothing. To say nothing, to make no decisions, and to just enjoy the night and do nothing.

I thought a great deal about what affairs I wanted to wrap up before I died. There were a few people I still owed apologies too, a few people I didn't owe apologies too but it would probably help them so I'll take the full blame for the past, and a few financial loose ends to tie up. I decided whom to leave what little property I own to (basically just my laptop) and how I would make sure that the online communities I was part of would be alerted. I decided that I wanted to be cremated, no headstone for me. I wanted my ashes to be spread in a pond in Silver Creek back home. Many of my happiest childhood memories were in that park, as well as some of the best times I ever had with my true friends.

I would leave all these details in a document on my laptop. I would make sure its location was obvious, so that it would be found after I died. Just in case though, I would drop a few hints as my end drew nearer.

It was all so great. Dinner that night was a simple meal of red beans and rice with a little sausage, and it tasted fantastic. I savored every bite, chewing slowly. When I went outside to smoke the tiny breezes of wind passing over my skin were invigorating. Each puff of the cigarette was a celebration of life. The soft bird songs of evening floated around me, creating a musical harmony that was just perfect. I wanted to savor my last few months on this planet.

When I went to bed that night I did so feeling safe, secure, and happy. I was excited and exhausted all at the same time. Thoughts of what I would try to do with the time I had left kept flitting about my mind. I wanted to eat at Whataburger. I wanted to get out to a Sushi restaurant one last time. I wanted to walk the river-walk. I wanted to finally sit down and read Das Kapital. I wanted to have one last barbeque with my friends in San Antonio. I wanted to rewatch all of DragonBallZ abridged. I wanted to tell my loved ones how thankful I was for their help over the years.

I felt like a child the night before Christmas, wanting to fall asleep so the morning would come sooner, but too excited to calm down enough to sleep. Slowly, happily, with pleasant thoughts a a feeling of such peace, I drifted off to sleep.

When i awoke I was still kind of floating, but not nearly as much as I had been the night before. I went through my normal morning ritual of combing my hair and getting freshened up. I went downstairs to eat breakfast. It tasted good, but not nearly as appetizing as food had the night before. As the day wore on more and more of that floating feeling faded. By the time I was into my third cup of coffee, it was totally gone.

About an hour later was when it hit me. None of it was real. I was going to go on living. It had all been a delusion, just another delusion. I had many mixed feelings.

On the one hand I could see how with the aid of medication this delusion had passed much quicker than other ones had in my past. I could also see that I had managed to not actually do anything, or make any decisions, or tell anyone of my sudden insight. So I felt some pride there. I felt relieved because I didn't really want to die. There was actually things I still wanted to do, reasons to go on, and I started to remember them. I felt a little better.

On the other hand it was embittering to realize that despite all the therapy and all the medication I still had these delusions. When you get treated for mental illness you here the phrase "symptom management" a great deal. What this phrase means is that often, the symptoms do not fully go away, they just become easier to.......manage.

As much as I can take some pride in weathering this particular sotrm, it is also a bit embittering to think that I might have to keep doing this sort of thing for the rest of my life  For now though life goes on, I continue looking towards the future. I continue to walk my personal path of healing with the hope that someday I will find a way to win this war.

I'll never give up.

The Vomitapocalypse.

(Don't know what PCY is? Read This post First.)

During the Holidays (Thanksgiving and Christmas) PCY has a ton of extra people residing in it. It gets packed. On the plus side during the holidays, its really easy to get plenty of food. In addition to all the extra feedings, there are a ton of smaller groups/families that cook up a bunch of food, park in front of PCY, and pass it out till its gone.(Its gone fast) Its a good experience for all, the usual sight is a family SUV that rolls up with about 100 prepared meals in styrofaom containers. Usually the food is pretty awesome, and very welcome. However, one of these trucks giving out food was either run by a sociopath or just had shitty cleaning standards. It was tacos, I remember distinctly because I was one of the people from this particular truck.

That night around midnight people started getting ill. A TON of people started getting ill. Like, 100 people or so were getting violently ill. There were people vomiting everywhere. People were rushing to the bathroom, or the nearest trashcan, or sometimes just standing over the storm drain and puking directly in it. Most people made it somewhere, but as the night wore plenty either didn't make it, or were too exhausted from constant heaving to move. Diarrhea was also part of this sickness outbreak, and when there weren't enough toilets available in the bathroom, people either improvised or they shit themselves. It was disgusting, and the messes were appearing faster than they could be cleaned up. I was lucky in that I was one of the first to get sick and got my puking out of the way early. So by the time things were getting really bad I was down to the dry heaves. (The stress however caused me to go psychotic and I started hallucinating badly, but that is a story for another time.)

By the time the sun came up, there was vomit all over the courtyard. The whole place reeked. There were spots all over from people not making it, various people had been awoken in the middle of the night from getting puked on, every trashcan had gallons of puke in it. The aroma wafting up from the stormdrain was indescribable. But that was nothing compared to what awaited me in the mens room.

There was vomit and shit just fucking everywhere. On the toilets, in the urinals, dried on the walls, in mixed puddles on the floors. It was inches deep in some parts of the restroom. It was hard to walk without stepping in it. There was not one single fixture out of 30 or so that was anything like useable, and people were still getting sick. The stench was just overwhelming. If my stomach hadn't already been empty I'd have probably vomited just from walking in there.

Somehow though, the staff got it cleaned up and life was back to normal within about 3 hours. I don't think the staff at PCY gets enough credit for what they deal with at times.

The worst thing I ever saw in PCY.

(Don't know what PCY is?Read this post first.)

So the restrooms in PCY are pretty bad overall. The staff does go to great lengths to keep them clean (literally pressure washing 3x a day) but they get dirty fast. The fixtures in the restroom are prison style. That is, solid metal, angular, and fucking indestructible. The urinals in particular, are different from what you might expect. The are much larger than normal porcelain ones, flat bottomed, and can hold about a gallon and a half of fluid if they get clogged. This is important, because they semi frequently get clogged.

One morning I walk into the restroom and out of 8 urinals, 7 of them are not only clogged, but filled to the brim. There is one working urinal and a line of guys 10 deep in front of it waiting to use it. It was not a great situation to being with. One of the more infamous residents (a very mentally ill man) gets a Styrofoam cup from somewhere and goes up to one of the urinals and starts scooping the urine out and dumping into a drain. Twenty guys start yelling at him to knock that shit off. He argues with them that it needs done. He is treating it like some sort of chore. Guys keep telling him how disgusting it is and he keeps insisting its not disgusting.

 So he then takes a cupful of urine (that must have been from 40-50 different guys) puts the cup up to his lips, and takes a gulp. Everybody wretches, a few actually run over to the toilets and puke. Then he takes the remaining urine and pours it over his head, saying "I need a shower". He was reveling in the attention he was getting.

Just another Sunday

(Don't know what PCY is?Read this post first.)

For a large portion of my time at PCY I was a regular at all the feedings and I had quite a large group of people who would come along with me. I was laid back and remarkably drama free, which was a rare thing in PCY at the time so I quickly I became the person people would ask where the feedings where, or what time was I planning on leaving so they could come too. Some of the routes to the feedings were dangerous so their was always safety in numbers. It also just made the whole thing a bit more fun. Sometimes though, the people who came along brought their own set of problems....

One Sunday morning I was getting ready to go on my regular Sunday route (Which on the last Sunday of the month is 4 different feedings) and I had a couple of my regulars, my girlfriend, and two new people coming along. One was a big 24 year old with the mental capacities of an 8 year old. (Like literally, this guy acted like he was 8. He was already on disability and had a payee with legal guardianship but for some fucking reason he was running around PCY unsupervised.) We will call him Brian. (no real names used) the other was a younger woman named Maria. Maria had only been at the shelter about a week, and had spent most of her time hanging around this really nice but really unstable guy who kept trying to form a "family" in PCY. We will call this guy John.

So John and Maria had hung out a lot together and John started referring to her as his wife. This creeped Maria out but she put up with it because hey, she's new to being homeless and doesn't know anybody yet. But after a day or two of being John's "wifey" Maria decides to ditch him and hang out with us all day and go to feedings. So as we are getting ready to leave my girlfriend at the time tips me off that Maria wants to leave as discreetly as possible. We gather our things and had out the door (It was about 7 in the morning and the sun wasn't really out yet) Just as we get clear of the gate John sees Maria and screams her name. She says something about "He's so weird keep that guy away from me." and tries to duck and hide between me and my girlfriend. John keeps shouting her name and she tells him to go away and leave her alone. John says something "Maria, I was good to you. I even gave you my sweater." At this point Brian calls out in his 8 year old voice and tells John to "Leave her alone". John freaks out and, screams some profanity, followed by him muttering something about "oh this is fucking happening now. Right fucking now." John then ducks back inside PCY.

We walk a few blocks towards our first destination when my girlfriend points out that John is Jogging to catch up to us along with one of his friends. Just as we get under the I-35 overpass John catches up with us and starts another shouting match, this time with Brian. John and his friend are screaming at Brian for "Getting involved in other peoples business" and "showing disrespect", Maria starts cursing in Spanish at John, and the whole situation is getting heated up pretty quickly. I started to think a fight was unavoidable so I  balled up my fists and got ready to start swinging. For whatever reason at this point (but almost certainly not because of me, I am not that intimidating) John starts to back down. Brian kind of quasi apologizes, and we leave without further incident.

A couple of minutes later John's friend comes jogging up and apologizes to us. He says that John just asked him to come along and he didn't really know what the situation was, but after we left John started talking nonsense and he "just can't stand it anymore, that guy is fucking nuts. I don;t want any part of his shit." So after he apologizes we do a quick "We cool?" "Yeah we cool." and he decides to tag along with us to breakfast, just like that. A couple blocks further down he sees another group of homeless people that he knows and darts off to talk to them.

We get to breakfast, and its rapidly becoming apparent that Brian needs a ton of supervision. He is reasonably cooperative, but he is like a gigantic child and you have to pay attention to him constantly. My girlfriend and I kind of take it on ourselves to supervise him. Make sure he cleans up his messes, keep him calm, make sure he waits his turn in, etc. During breakfast we run into another guy we know from PCY. He is also really new and its his first weekend in San Antonio. He is in incredibly polite, super helpful guy who smiles a lot and goes out of his way to be inoffensive. So when he asks if he can come with us to learn where the other feedings are, we say sure. We will call this guy Frank.

As we leave breakfast to start the walk to the next service Frank suddenly stops and starts puking in the gutter. He apologizes profusely, but this is a pattern that will repeat all day. Frank eats, and then pukes every 20 or so minutes times as we walk along. Frank also has absolutely endless amounts of energy and is constantly doing pullups on anything sturdy enough to support him. He is also talking constantly about the wonders of nature and how grateful he is for the charity we are receiving and how awesome people are. So as we walk along its Frank is either puking or doing some sort of exercise, and John is wandering off and generally requiring alot of attention. In the meantime Maria is starting to open up and talk about her home in Chicago and how she is trying to get back there.

We get to the 2nd feeding. Food is excellent, homemade lasagna with a fresh salad and a cup of chicken soup. Frank volunteers to help with cleanup and starts walking around with a garbage bag getting peoples plates when they are done. John wanders off with a couple of kids. Maria wants to know where the Mega-Bus terminal is so she can look into getting bus ticket home.

After the second feeding we have a good 3.5 hours to kill before the next one, so we decide to take Maria by the Mega-Bus terminal on our way to go hang out at the RiverWalk. Once we get to the bus terminal Maria walks right in and tries to buy a ticket on the spot, but she can't because her debit card won't work. (It had a bend in it that might have made it impossible to read. Either that or it was invalid anyways, I have no idea.) Maria begs us to take her to other ATM machines to see if any of them will let her use her card. There are a ton of ATM's all over the RiverWalk so we head there and start wandering from restaurant to restaurant and hotel to hotel trying every atm. Meanwhile Brian is going hyperactive banana's and drawing way too much attention to us. Then suddenly he starts to get very nauseated and sick. (Frank has been regularly puking this entire time, then going on and on about how beautiful the world was and how grateful he was to be alive) It turns out Brian hasn't drank anything in a while and is probably dehydrated from all his running around, so we walk over to a CVS on the RiverWalk where I can spend my foodstamps to get Brian some water. A couple of bottles of water later Brian looks a lot better and its time to head over to the next feeding. On our way to the next feeding we run into another woman I i knew from a few feedings. We will call this woman Sarah. Sarah is a middle aged Iraq Vet that chatters, non stop. This woman never quiets down. But she is something of a well known figure in the homeless community (and the tourist community, there are apparently video's on youtube of her "dancing".) So now its Sarah chattering, Brian running around every which way, and Frank doing exercise moves on everything available and occasionally puking. And it is with this motley crew we arrive at the next feeding.

Waiting in line at the next feeding is a contrite looking John. He calls me over to him and gives me a cigarette, then apologizes for what happened this morning. He assures me that he was just worried about Maria's safety but he was happy she had been with me the whole day because "you know these streets and she doesn't". He then says he was never gonna hurt Brian, he just wanted him to understand respect. I try to explain that Brian is a giant 8 year old but he isn't having any of that. He tells me that he knows that Brian just got out of county for some sort of sexual assault on a minor. I have no idea if its true, but accusations of being a sexual predator carry some serious weight in the homeless community so I drop the matter. We finally get into the next feeding and the food is as always, awe-inspiring. (Last Sunday at First Presbyterian church is like a holiday to the homeless around here, its worth its own post honestly.)

During the feeding we wind up sitting in different places so we get split up. By the time my girlfriend and I are done eating and walk back outside everyone from our group has split off in their own directions. I try to track down Brian feeling some sense of responsibility for him but all I can find out is he was last seen heading off towards the last feeding of the day with another group of people. I decide I've had enough for the day and aren't really hungry anymore so I say fuckit and go back to PCY. Once I get inside I grab all my blankets, make a mat out of them and pass out in the shade. (You would be surprised how well you can sleep on concrete with a few blankets once you get used to it.