You Can See Me

This is the first book of a three-book set.

Coexisting With Myself - What schizophrenia ‘feels’ like from the inside

From My Perspective - What schizophrenia ‘is’ like from my perspective

Controversial Subjects - What I 'think' about - Cognition and philosophy

I was once on a long flight. Towards the front of the plane, I saw a naked person walking toward the cabin door. I thought that was weird, but no one else seemed to react.

Before this person reached the cabin door, they suddenly turned into the sun. It wasn't just that they turned into a bright light, in my mind, they had become the sun itself. That was bizarre, but since I hadn’t been vaporized and the plane remained in the air, it was okay.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bag of airline pretzels. I ate my pretzels in peace while looking out the tiny window.

I learned long ago that this is what you do when faced with naked people turning into suns on a crowded, hectic flight with babies screaming in the background: You coexist with schizophrenia. If you fight it, you will likely be escorted off the flight.

For me, schizophrenia began during puberty. At that difficult time, I also experienced some serious trauma. Between the two, I grew up mentally detached and usually see the world more as an observer. I also learned how to exist in two or more simultaneous realities. All of this comes at a cost, though you will read. On the bright side, I survived well beyond the life expectancy for someone with schizophrenia. Being in my early sixties, I have a lot to share. My life may be a mess, but it's an organized mess (except during episodes).

This book offers a raw, unfiltered glimpse into what schizophrenia feels like. Nothing more, it is not a clinical, coping or self-help guide on schizophrenia.

This book is written specifically for the friends and family of someone living with schizophrenia.

It is absolutely not intended for the curious or casual reader. It is not that type of book.

You will not enjoy this book, but you will not forget it either. You will learn many things about schizophrenia that even psychiatrists do not know.

I started writing 'Coexisting With Myself' because my psychiatrist's nurse once asked me why her 26-year-old son refused to go on a Las Vegas trip with her. This professional has known me for years and thought I was the person to ask, but when she did, something clicked.

In her office, everyone was well read on problems due to sensory issues, etc. However, I understood why she asked what she did to me. I was one who could bridge the gap between what the professionals understood and what I knew.

Like with my psychiatrist's nurse, you likely have found that clinical books can only go so far. You may want to know what she wanted to know. Why a pretty carpet on a casino floor is such an absolute nightmare for us.

Using some journal entries from my life and adding reflections and notes, I came up with this book. It is to show loved ones what schizophrenia is actually like. If you knew what it really feels like, I believe you could relate better to them.

As you are aware, your clinical books state that the attempted suicide rate for us is up to 50%, and about 10% succeed. I will bluntly and vividly show why that number is so high.

I will also show how I keep my composure as faces distort and rot in front of me, what hospitalization is like, and even what a mental shutdown feels like from the inside. Every chapter will offer some form of insight. Chapter 10 goes into depth on my thought processes during that flight at the beginning of this book.

For me to sanitize schizophrenia or show only the pleasant parts would not do anyone any good. You already know that, or you would have stopped reading by now. I will show you what it's really like: the good, the bad, and the ‘over the top’ disturbing. Likely every page will be triggering in some way from this point forward.

Of course, schizophrenia affects people differently. Some are lower functioning, while others are higher functioning; many hear voices and likely have depression. Subtypes, treatment, individual resilience, and even culture play a role. I could go on, but overall, what I go through is not that different from what they go through at some point with the hallucinations, confusion, bizarre thoughts, and actions. Fortunately, I am able to explain things rather well after my mind settles back down.

The adage 'never ask a question that you are not prepared to hear the answer' certainly applies to this book. Once you read it, you will never think that your loved one should just ‘snap out of it’ as you will learn why they likely can’t. That may or may not be a good thing for you.

Before you read these chapters…

What you will read are some of my journal entries so that you would understand what it is like for me. They are framed as readable vignettes for easier reading. I have not censored, exaggerated, or glamorized anything.

Everything in the chapters is reality as I lived it. For me, reality and fantasy are intermixed, so all chapters will be distorted and disturbing in some way. Every last detail is very much true, they just may or may not be real.

That said, although it will be hard for you, try not to read these chapters like they are stories. The events themselves are not remotely important. Instead, pay attention to what my mind was doing in each of those situations. That will help you understand why your loved one acts the way they do—not to fix them, but to understand them.

As you read, you will notice that, as I grew older, I became more desensitized. Bizarre things still happen to this day, but I now tackle them in a more detached, logical way. Put another way, the early chapters will definitely be the most disturbing. These first chapters are critical for understanding schizophrenia though.

Age 14 - my first hallucination was not scary

At fourteen, Jerry was the closest thing to a friend I had at school. One Saturday morning, Jerry arrived at my house for our planned adventure in the deep woods by the river. With no adults around, we were free to do whatever we wanted—no rules, no restrictions.

My adoptive parents had recently enrolled me in sports to help me socialize but I was being bullied by others so I did not like sports. Jerry was my only real confidant, and this weekend promised to be a rare moment of freedom from the constraints of our isolated lives.

I led Jerry through the dense forest and to a river I knew well. We collected sticks and lit a fire on the sandy bank, setting up for an afternoon of fun. I brought green apples to roast over the fire; they didn't taste that good, but it was fun for fourteen-year-olds to build a small fire and then roast them.

We were young, independent, and free to do whatever we wanted—at least for a few hours.

As the fire crackled, I left Jerry by the water's edge to explore further along the river alone for a little while. I did not abandon Jerry; I just wanted a few minutes of alone time. This river floods yearly, so there was a lot of debris. Long wooden poles used in agriculture and plastic sheets were the most common things, but occasionally you could find everything from dishwashers to shoes.

I wandered close to the riverbank, where tall, twisted trees stood. Suddenly, I froze. Perched in a tree twelve feet up in the branches was a figure—a man, or what appeared to be one. The body was upright, its face staring directly at me in a way that seemed like it knew I was there. The stomach area was missing; the torso was bloated and green with decay. Despite the gruesome sight, I wasn't afraid—only fascinated.

The man seemed to stare back at me with hollow holes for eyes. My heart raced, but my mind was oddly calm in fascination. I moved closer, drawn to the figure in a way I couldn't explain. It was like I was being compelled, like witches do on TV or maybe a moth to a flame. Regardless, the man was somehow compelling me closer.

I did not want to touch the dried algae on him or risk making even more holes in his body, so I broke contact and ran back to Jerry; my heart pounding with excitement. He needed to see what I found, it was not buried treasure, it was much better than that.

Jerry was by the fire, so I told him, “There's a dead man in a tree past the curve."

Jerry's mouth dropped open at what I said, but when I repeated it, he followed me to the tree. However, there was nothing there—not a trace of the figure or any sign of disturbance in the branches.

I searched every tree around us but found no trace of the dead man.

Confused and unsure what to say, I did my best to save face. “It was a joke,” I told Jerry, though inside my mind raced with possibilities. Could the body have been quickly eaten by birds? Maybe it was a zombie monster or just a plastic sheet blown away? My mind raced, searching for an explanation. I never considered that it might not have been real.

Jerry stared at me, uncertainty and concern etched on his face. "Jim," he said softly, "I don't know what to say."

When we returned from our adventure, Jerry's mother picked him up. I watched as the car drove away, feeling a strange sense of unease settle over me. When my adoptive mother came home, I told her Jerry went home and that was all I told her. I did not tell her a dead man vanished which made a fool of me to my friend.

The next few days were tense. Jerry was distant at school, barely acknowledging my attempts to reconnect. We were clearly no longer friends.

I assume Jerry had told his mother about the strange encounter in the woods. Whether it was fear or a desire to protect her son, Jerry’s mother must have forbidden him from visiting again. I assume my adoptive mother also knew, but, since she rarely had time for me, she did not question me about anything.

All I knew was that something happened and of course I was friendless again.

That was a lot for a first chapter but remember, try not to read it like a story with a structure. Read it to understand why your loved one might point at an empty chair and say, ‘He’s here.’

The dead man in the tree was perhaps the earliest sign of schizophrenia, which would soon define my life. But at fourteen, I was too young to fully comprehend what it all meant.

It was strange that my first hallucination was so grotesque rather than something nice. However, what stands out most about this event is my reaction: I thought it was real and felt excited and fascinated. Also, that odd compulsion I had to get even closer.

I also have a fond memory of building that fire by the river. There is no reason to doubt that fire wasn't real, but as I grew older and schizophrenia progressed, I found that hallucinations, even mundane ones like a simple fire, are common. As you read more chapters, you will see why that is.

When it comes to friends, it's easy to make them, but keeping them is a different story. Like Jerry, most people will go away the first time you slip up. I don't blame them, though. It's not that I'm high maintenance, but it takes a special person to be my friend. On the bright side, special people are usually of higher quality.

The next chapter covers some suicide attempts and the events leading up to them.

With puberty mixed with early symptoms of mental illness, it's a wonder I survived.

-

Age 14 - the logical draw to suicide

During my 7th grade year at a local middle school, I excelled on the track and field team, particularly in short-distance running and cross country events. I even scored high enough to enter the AAU Junior Olympics, a setting where Olympic hopefuls compete for potential slots on International Olympic teams. Although I competed for a slot but was not good enough for placement, that was fine with me. I had a box full of 1st place trophies from local and regional events, which was enough for me.

In this time period, the athletic department had high hopes for me due to my height alone; I was a six-foot-tall seventh grader. Despite being rather shy, awkward, and lacking confidence, I agreed to join the seventh-grade basketball team. We practiced alongside eighth graders in our school gymnasium.

However, during these practices, I faced bullying from several of the 8th graders. One day while running single file inside the gym during practice, one of these students began pushing me forward aggressively. This continued until I stopped abruptly and turned around to confront the bully. Despite my meekness, I had reached a breaking point. Something happened in that moment of confrontation and, instead of asking the student to stop, I swung at the 8th grader with a wide haymaker punch aimed for his lower jaw area. In that moment, I went into autopilot mode. It surprised me but it was done, I had punched someone.

The blow was enough to momentarily stun the bully, leaving him motionless on the spot for several seconds. During this pause, I realized two things about myself: first, that I no longer had to tolerate bullying from anyone and secondly, punching others felt was no more or less than watching boxing matches on TV.

To my surprise, nobody who saw what happened confronted me or even reacted afterwards. No repercussions arose due to the event either then or later on. However, my fellow 7th graders seemed to treat me differently as a result of it all, perhaps they were simply afraid now?

As practices continued throughout both years of middle school, I became known as one of the basketball "hatchet men" on our team—this meant I was assigned by coaches specifically to target key opposing players during games and hurt them. As such, exceeding the maximum allowed fouls count per game seemed to be a regular occurrence for me.

In 8th grade, my feelings toward basketball intensified into deep hatred for both practicing it and playing my role on the team court. Even my interest in track and field events began dwindling at this point too; all my focus now shifted solely towards science/tech studies instead.

At the end of the 8th grade school year, I was informed that I had to attend basketball summer camp for a few weeks because I was such a good player. I told the coach that I did not want to go or even play basketball again and was forceful about it—not disrespectful, but firm. This didn't help, as the coach came to my house the next night and held a family meeting with my parents. I apologized and explained my case of just not liking basketball, but ultimately, I had no say in the matter and was told by all three that I would be going to basketball camp.

A few days before basketball camp was set to start, I decided that I would rather die than go. For those two days, it felt like a sneaky secret I was keeping. The idea of dying made logical sense: being dead meant I'd never have to play basketball again. Another reason was that nothing interested me; life seemed to be just work. Not cutting grass or going to school work but just standing up and walking to the refrigerator felt like labor. With the knowledge that I wouldn't go to basketball camp or live in a life I had no interest in, those two days were peaceful.

The night before I was set to go to basketball camp, I took 37 prescription Benadryl capsules. My reasoning to die this way was that it was not messy like using a gun.

Without any hesitation or regretful thoughts whatsoever, I swallowed all those pills and simply waited patiently. There were no ceremonies or reflections on my life; no ice cream or treats either. I did not leave a note for others to find. The idea of the stereotypical suicide note never even occurred to me.

In that pivotal moment of my life, I was not sad or depressed nor was I happy or joyful; I was simply hollow. The twisted logic for wanting to die was not complicated, to me, if I did not exist, I did not go to basketball camp.

The overdose failed and my adoptive mother eventually found me in a state of hallucination. She promptly alerted our neighbor—who was fortunately a State Police trooper. This neighbor responded immediately to our house and decided to force-feed me all of the mustard from around the kitchen.

What he did worked well. It induced vomiting which helped expel some of the remaining medication left inside my stomach. An ambulance arrived soon after that and rushed me off straightaway to the hospital where medical staff force fed me charcoal among other things. I remained in the hospital for a few days. It was a confusing and shameful few days.

I saw various mental health professionals after my suicide attempt. When asked why I hated basketball so much, I merely stated 'I do not like it' without going into details of hating being the hatchet man and hating team sports. When asked why I tried to commit suicide, I honestly did not know what to say other than I hated basketball. I assume I made people angry but that is all I had for them.

With losing my friend Jerry months prior and this suicide attempt, I learned a valuable life lesson: gauge others around you, and if anything seems weird, keep your mouth shut.

My family life was in disarray. My adoptive father had been away for weeks, my adoptive mother did not know what to say to me so she let the professionals talk to me while she remained busy with other things in her life, and my adoptive older sister was extremely jealous of me and thought the failed suicide attempt was for attention.

Thankfully, I was not at basketball camp this summer, so that problem was over. However, my adoptive family ignored me, while professionals talked to me about life and prescribed drugs of some type. I knew the next school year would bring many students who already knew about what had happened to me earlier that summer.

Odd things that I could not explain were also happening. One day, I saw clouds moving really fast and just knew it wasn't the clouds but me in ‘fast time’. I walked maybe 200 feet while watching the clouds, and hours of my life had gone by. My solid bedroom floor once became stretched out and spongy. I thought things like this might be due to the mental drugs I had to take, but I also considered that maybe it was me.

There was a feeling of being trapped. I was alive, but now with more problems than before. Then it clicked again: If I didn't exist, there would be no problems.

Within minutes of reaching this logical conclusion, I decided to die without taking any chances by playing Russian Roulette with a .38 caliber pistol that our family had. To speed things along, instead of loading just one live round inside the cylinder as is typical in Russian Roulette, I loaded two rounds.

Why Russian Roulette? It was just an impulsive decision my mind came up with on the spot. I had watched a movie where that is what they did. I would do the same and never know the exact moment I died. I thought Russian Roulette was rather clever being played by myself.

That afternoon, without any emotion or concern, I sat on the floor of my bedroom with the gun. I spun the cylinder, placed the gun against my right temple, and pulled the trigger. I heard the click and looked around my room. I wasn't relieved, angry, or even disappointed. Instead, I thought only one thing: 'it was a one in three chance; next time.' I was alive for a few moments longer, but next time...

I spun the cylinder, repositioned the revolver, and calmly pulled the trigger. Still alive, I went into robotic mode, spinning, pulling the trigger, spinning—five times total. On the sixth spin, not out of fear or anxiety, but for some unknown reason, I stopped to check the chamber before bringing the gun to my temple again. To my surprise, the sixth spin also landed on an empty chamber.

Thinking about how unlucky I had been, I first considered just pulling the trigger repeatedly until the revolver eventually fired. However, I found it ironic and funny. That brief emotion and smile changed my intent to die. Perhaps I was destined not to die by my own hand—at least not yet. Given all of the evidence before me, maybe there was something more for me in life? Something I was supposed to do when I was older?

Ultimately, I decided that what had happened with the revolver not firing so many times was impossible, yet there it was. Something overrode my ability to die.

In general, my default was to cover up what I felt inside, both to myself and everyone around me.

As you saw, there were no detectable warning signs others could see for either suicide attempt, unless you consider my contentment as a sign. I did not tell anyone 'woe is me' or 'I hate living' as I did not feel that at all.

My impulsive solution of suicide was just that simple for a young mind beginning to fracture.

The clouds, spongy floor, and other oddness, my reality was breaking down at times. When your loved one says, 'The ground is breathing' or 'I don’t feel real,' they’re not describing a dream. Their brain has lost the filter between reality and what it is making up for them and pretending it is reality.

Looking back, my parents were worse than failures. I was ignored and took advantage of my alone time to sort things out by myself. Living in a rural area, I would hop on my bike with either a machete or my trusty rifle and explore from sunrise to sunset. Then I'd come home and go to my room.

For the record, I have never had a strong will to live and doubt I ever will. What keeps me around (for over 60 years now) is my duty to others (my religion and family). They need me. To a lesser extent, although I am not the most emotional person, I think if I can make strangers' lives easier, it is worth something to them that I am there to do it.

To this day, if someone tries to get me to eat something I don't want to eat, I stubbornly refuse, not wanting to revisit the trauma of being force-fed mustard again. At a fancy restaurant, I eat only bread for fear that mustard might be in their fancy food.

I hate organized sports intensely. If someone wants me to watch any type of sports game with them, I refuse. In the process, I usually mock the sport in some way. It is my way of deflecting from the trauma associated with basketball.

Mustard and sports are such silly triggers to have, but I know that if I dwell on either trauma, they could lead me to take impulsive actions, like suicide.

-

Of all the chapters, this one is ‘the elephant in the room’ so to speak. It is very detailed and is about assisted suicide and the lifelong aftermath. It is okay to skip this chapter however, please read at least the rest of this Critical Warning first as it contains extremely useful information. Information you need to know to understand schizophrenia better.

I would like to share how I view delusions before reading this chapter. I think of delusions as an untamable beast; without warning, they start, and you find yourself 'in the moment'. Beliefs are truer than true until this beast stops its rampage. Over time, you might rationalize these false beliefs away or forget about them, provided you can.

Some delusions take on a life of their own. For instance, someone might believe they can become invisible and then rationalize this by believing it keeps them hidden from the CIA. These delusions are built without solid facts, though, so the brain invents every necessary detail to make the delusion seem logical. As a result, the person develops a vivid false memory complete with sights, sounds, and smells. You likely know of a more clinical definition but that is how I view delusions from my perspective.

This next event I am sharing was not a multi-day hallucination; that much I know. What is left is either that it happened in real life over the course of several days or that it was an elaborate, complex delusion—a vivid false memory quickly inserted into my mind. It could be either, and I now accept that.

I am sharing this chapter for several reasons. A major reason is to illustrate how incredibly detailed ‘any’ complex delusions can be—your loved one certainly has some. In general, they are extremely detailed, involve real feelings, textures, and even smells. Fortunately, over time, ‘normal’ complex delusions tend to fade, but 'in the moment,' no one can convince them otherwise because their brain experiences it as reality.

If this particular event I am sharing was a delusion, it would have the hallmarks of being categorized as (traumatic) truth. Likely in response to my previous traumatic experiences with unsuccessful suicide attempts, involving defeat, loneliness, shame, and knowing that 9th grade would be filled with mockery, hallucinations, time distortions—I could go on. I was a mess immediately before this event.

If this event was a delusion, my mind had plenty of fuel to create an elaborate memory to make sense of the chaos. The memory, as false as it was, was so disturbing that it labeled itself as traumatic and stored it like a genuine trauma. It isn't technically PTSD because there was no real incident, but the feeling is almost identical.

About 25-30% of people with schizophrenia experience this kind of 'trauma-like' delusion, so it's something many families and friends may encounter.

Like all of my chapters, try not to read them like they are stories. The events themselves are not remotely important. Instead, pay attention to what my mind was doing in each of those situations. In this chapter, notice how very detailed everything is.

Real or not, this chapter will leave you with unanswered questions which I have no answers for.

Age 14 - my burden

At almost fifteen years old, I often found myself wandering alone through the dense forests near my home after school each day. With a trusty machete in hand or sometimes a .22 caliber rifle slung over my shoulder, I knew these wood s intimately—every tree, animal, and living thing that dwelt within their shadows.

One morning during summer break, I ventured deeper than usual into the old growth forest when I stumbled upon a girl around my age who seemed very out of place. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes had a faraway look as if lost in thought or memory.

"Hey there," I called cautiously as I approached. "Are you okay?" The girl looked up at me with surprise and relief.

She said softly, "No, I'm not." "I ran away from home."

I felt an immediate protectiveness towards her, having often considered running away myself. "Where are you headed?" I asked.

She shrugged helplessly. "Anywhere but where I was."

"I know a place we can go," I said gently. "My cabin, though it's not much." Together we walked to my makeshift shelter—a six-foot-wide space with gaps everywhere. It was more pitiful than protective.

"It doesn’t look like much," I added as I looked at her face. "But you can stay here for now if you want. I promise to bring a tarp tomorrow in case of rain."

The lost girl introduced herself: "I'm Pam, that's short for Pamela." And so began our strange, intense friendship forged from solitude and shared secrets.

We talked for a while, but it was clear that Pam was weak and exhausted after running away. I decided to quickly go home for a tarp, blankets, food, my portable radio, and a few flashlights. When I returned later that afternoon, she was still there resting in the shelter. I joined her, and Pam confided in me: "I have leukemia," she said matter-of-factly. "The doctors say I don't have much time left."

I felt my heart clench at her words but remained calm for now. "So that's why you ran away? To avoid the hospital?"

She nodded defiantly. "I want to die on my own terms, not hooked up to machines in some sterile room."

Uncomfortable with this heavy, adult conversation, I changed the subject and talked about my dreams and fears without judgment. Pam spoke of her love for art and music. We discussed everything but our uncertain futures.

Pam didn't share many details about her family, except to say that while she disliked her parents, they weren't bad people. Her cancer had made her home life chaotic, and she did not want her parents to get a divorce over her.

I told Pam about my own secrets of wanting to run away sometimes myself and that I was adopted, feeling ignored by my adoptive family who showered love on everyone except me.

Every day, I visited Pam. I would bring food, and we would talk, laugh, and listen to the portable radio together.

I found myself falling for Pam in a way I didn’t fully understand, more than just infatuation, it was a deep sense of connection and protectiveness towards this lost girl who had invaded my solitude and stolen my heart. But I never voiced these feelings aloud, afraid of scaring her off or making things awkward between us.

Late one afternoon as I prepared to leave Pam for the night, she turned to me with tears in her eyes. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I don't want to die in a hospital." This was the first time in days that she mentioned our futures.

I comforted her as best I could.

I decided to tell her something which troubled me yet did not know how to say it.

"Recently, I tried to commit suicide but because of you, I don't want to die," I said bluntly. I paused. "I will always be there for you."

"I don't want to die either but I soon will," Pam replied. She added, "I wish things were not this way." She stopped short of telling me that she loved me.

I comforted her with, "I will protect you to the very end." I paused and instead of telling Pam how I truly felt about her, I simply smiled.

Pam felt comforted by my words but there were still so many things left unsaid between us, especially about how much we cared for each other.

That night, as I lay in bed thinking of Pam alone in the shelter crying, I made a decision. The next morning, I would tell her I was running away too so we could travel together during her final days. I wanted to be with her no matter what until the end. I also realized that I truly and wholeheartedly loved her. It was more than just affection though, Pam gave me everything that my life was missing. Pam made me whole.

The choice between my adoptive family and protecting Pam, the lost girl I loved was a simple choice. I woke up will full intentions of never returning to the house. I packed a few things and went into the forest.

When I reached our shelter, I entered a horrific scene. As I approached, muffled sobs came from inside. Peeking through the gaps, I saw a devastating sight, Pam sat cross-legged on the ground, her wrists slit open, blood pooling around her. Panic and confusion surged through me at the sight of her blood.

I quickly entered the shelter to help Pam. "Please," she whispered hoarsely as she looked up with tears streaming down her face. "Don't let me suffer like this anymore. Free me."

I was speechless, honestly not knowing what to do in this impossible situation. My mind became clouded with memories of my own suicide attempt. I knew I was powerless and would soon lose everything.

Pam pleaded, "I don’t want to live anymore in this pain." For me, there was only one thing left. From the corner of the shelter, I picked up my .22 caliber rifle and held it to Pam's forehead. She looked at me and thanked me with her eyes—in that moment, I saw she truly loved me. But my hands would not move.

Pam pleaded one more time. In an instant, I went into autopilot mode, my brain simply disconnected. I repositioning the barrel to her right temple and pulling the trigger without hesitation. She collapsed instantly, and our lives changed forever. I came out of autopilot mode as reality set in. I scooped Pam up and cradled her lifeless body in my arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Later that day, I dug a grave for Pam and gently placed her body into the earth with extreme love and respect. For just a moment, I stopped crying and felt like she was finally at peace but that feeling quickly faded as I cried even harder, wishing I had told her how I felt the night before. Wishing I had not ever told her about my recent suicide attempt.

In anger, I knocked down the pitiful cabin, leaving only a pile of debris deep in the forest.

When I returned home in a state of shock and confusion, my parents demanded an explanation. "Where have you been? What happened out there?" they asked, concern etched on their faces. I struggled to find words, knowing they wouldn't believe me. Why should they? I had started having mental issues throughout the summer and had even been hospitalized.

Concerned for my mental well-being, they called the police to investigate.

The officer who interviewed me listened intently but ultimately found my story about some forest girl with leukemia too unbelievable to take at face value. He questioned me extensively about my whereabouts and actions over the past few days, growing increasingly skeptical of my claims. To him, I chickened out of running away and made up the story to cover my tracks.

In desperation, I begged the officer to accompany me back into the forest to show them Pam’s burial site as proof of her existence. However, the officer politely declined, citing a lack of concrete evidence and concern for the safety of all involved in venturing into the remote wilderness.

That night, reality sunk in. I realized I could easily go to jail for what I had done. Although Pam had left me with an impossible decision, the courts might still find me guilty of something. I decided to avoid talking about it altogether and to never venture into that part of the forest again.

Days later, my parents sent me to a different psychiatrist who also diagnosed me as mentally ill. This new doctor prescribed medication for delusions and hallucinations. But even with all of the medication, I knew what really happened. My adoptive parents now considered me a lost cause so I carried the weight of Pam's death alone, suffering in silence.

During this vulnerable time, in the early stages of schizophrenia, the trauma associated with Pam's death permanently fragmented my reality, making it difficult to distinguish between my different realities. In other words, the trauma rewrote how I process things. All I knew was that without Pam, I would never feel whole like other people do.

Consciously, I usually managed to put Pam behind me but subconsciously it was different—my nightmares always had the same theme: I found myself in a situation where I couldn’t possibly win; those around me died first, then I died too. I was reliving the trauma of Pam over and over in my sleep.

Ridiculed and embarrassed within the community, my family moved across the country, even more rural and secluded. Taking their mentally ill adopted son with them, hoping I would not cause problems in the new community they chose.

At the new school a few years later, I found a girl named Sarah, although she was not a replacement for Pam. Sarah seemed like a good fit for me. I told her all about Pam and my mental issues, but Sarah was okay with it. We married anyway. In return, I vowed to protect Sarah with my life so I would never lose her the way I lost Pam.

Years later, I and Sarah had a child and built a good life for ourselves but Pam’s memory still haunted me. More than once I searched the internet for missing persons reports matching Pam’s name, partial name, description, or even rough description but found nothing. In time, I began to question if she had ever truly been real or just another delusion born from my lifelong mental illness.

I knew better than to ever speak of Pam to my many psychiatrists throughout the years, fearing I might be turned over to the police as some sort of murderous, schizophrenic monster. The vivid nightmares which centered around Pam continued for the rest of my life; I had to suffer everything alone, in silence.

Recently, I decided to revisit the place where it all happened, hoping to at least find answers or possibly find closure. Driving to the edge of what was once the old growth forest, I found most of it cleared for farming. There were vast fields of grain stretching out before me.

Standing amidst the swaying stalks, tears streamed down my face as I accepted the truth: Pam was truly gone and there was no physical evidence she had ever existed. But in my heart, I knew she had been real, a lost girl who found me in her time of need and I was with her once more in my own time of need.

I walked back to my car and retrieved some things I had brought for her: a cassette tape and a stone I painted with her name and some silly starbursts on it. I thought Pam would appreciate my crude artwork. Placing them on the ground where I thought the cabin had once been, I sat in deep thought, reflecting on everything in the past and also my future.

I thought about Pam but also thought about Sarah and my family. All the while thinking about the .45 caliber pistol I brought into that field with me. I had a decision to make.

I did not say goodbye to Pam nor say goodbye to Sarah. Instead, I realized that I loved them both in my own way and knew that they both loved me. I decided Pam would have to wait a little longer as my family still needed me. Although I did not want to live, I had to for my family.

As I walked back to my car alone in that vast, empty field, I knew I would carry Pam’s memory and the unresolved pain of her loss with me for the rest of my days. The tragic truth was that we are both lost.

As for the cassette tape I left for Pam, it was not just any cassette. It contained the only song I remembered Pam listening to on my portable radio so long ago. I will always think of this song as our song.

Have You Never Been Mellow by Olivia Newton-John

[Verse 1]

There was a time when I was

In a hurry as you are

I was like you

There was a day when I just

Had to tell my point of view

I was like you

[Pre-Chorus]

Now I don't mean to make you frown

No, I just want you to slow down

[Chorus]

Have you never been mellow?

Have you never tried

To find a comfort from inside you?

Have you never been happy

Just to hear your song?

Have you never let someone else be strong?

[Verse 2]

Running around as you do

With your head up in the clouds

I was like you

Never had time to lay back

Kick your shoes off, close your eyes

I was like you

[Pre-Chorus]

Now you're not hard to understand

You need someone to take your hand

[Chorus]

Have you never been mellow?

Have you never tried

To find a comfort from inside you?

Have you never been happy

Just to hear your song?

Have you never let someone else be strong?

I shared about Pam so that you could get to know her, as I do. Real or not, I miss her dearly.

This was only part of the reason why I chose to share such personal details though. As you read, forty years later, I was in a field grappling with the lure of suicide. My reasons were valid at the time, given my mental state. This harsh reality is what you should take away from this chapter.

As I mentioned earlier, approximately one in four people with schizophrenia have 'trauma-like' delusions. These could easily resemble events like this one, or something like being in a fatal car accident, or a horrific rape (that's common among us). It is important to remember that with this particular type of delusion, it happened, maybe not in real life, but it was very real to your loved one.

If they know they were raped and you know it was impossible, understand that it was real to them, and tread very lightly.

One of my friends from a psych ward told me about his wartime experiences. They were painful for him to recount, and his eyes watered more than once. To him, it was realer than real. A war veteran from a war that took place decades before he was even born became his horrific scar, one he lives with to this day. I listened to him without judgement as it was real (to him). It was important that I was there for him, to hear his burden.

With that out of the way:

Before Pam, I had some signs of early schizophrenia, but the trauma probably made it show up even faster and changed how my hallucinations and delusions work.

The trauma from what happened with her actually changed my brain structure as well. Since my brain was still forming like putty at age 14, it likely rewrote parts of the brain that handle fear, leaving me with much less fear. With my paranoia from schizophrenia where I should be more fearful and less fear from the traumatic event, it is an odd mix.

Surprisingly, the trauma actually helped my brain be more flexible. Having to deal with something so horrific and so young made me better at understanding different points of view and dealing with uncertainty. This is important as I am able to switch between realities without my mind exploding. I also solve problems in a different but easier way due to the brain changes.

From this point on, you'll see that I am quite detached from how you likely perceive reality. This is just who I am, and I do not need to apologize for it. It's not that I am empty inside; between my schizophrenia and trauma, I feel distant from reality. While I'm not an observer in my mind, I am close in a way. Put another way, I am aware but detached, which is both good and bad.

Reality and fantasy are intertwined by age fifteen, by age twenty, delusions and hallucinations begin to intertwine as well. It is okay though, for the most part, I am good at adapting. Unfortunately, I cannot ever point out to you with certainty what is read and what is not. You will see what I mean…

The next chapter I am sharing is an entry about my military service. I was functioning well in life, until stress got in the way.

-

Age 21 - a minor psychotic break

I had always felt like an outsider in my adoptive family. At seventeen years old, during my eleventh grade year, I made the bold decision to enlist in the U.S. Army under their delayed entry program. This arrangement meant I would finish high school and then begin military training 356 days after signing up. As an incentive for enlisting early, those 356 days would count as time served, and I was also eligible for a $2,500 bonus.

Joining the Army in 1984 with my high IQ but undiagnosed mental health issues, I approached basic training with determination. The structured environment appealed to me; everything I needed was provided, and every task I had to perform was clearly explained. I quickly adapted to military life, finding comfort in its rigid routine.

I managed to blend in well. I spoke slowly, deliberately, and authoritatively. I did not have emotions to show anyone. The Army liked that sort of thing, as those traits appear to be coolness under pressure. However, beneath the surface, I was struggling with undiagnosed schizophrenia.

A few years after being in the Army, I was selected to attend a special military school. The program lasted about a month or two and was held hundreds of miles away, which meant I was away from my wife and living in barracks with other men. Although everything was structured and there were different rules to follow, the environment was vastly different, and the stress of the classes was intense. These conditions were key ingredients for problems for anyone with schizophrenia.

There was stress so I was very paranoid about others but at the same time, I did not let it show. I believed some of the soldiers at the military school were spies and assassins sent from dark regions of my religious world looking for targets. Either that or they were human allies to them. I think I managed to keep a normal appearance so they would not detect who I was. That was at the military barracks.

We were allowed to visit the city on weekends, dressed in civilian attire. There were wolves there though—shapeshifters, but not like TV werewolves. They stalked the city streets. Out of character for a married man, I met a woman during this time—a horribly embarrassing truth. I decided abruptly to divorce Sarah and marry this new woman.

During this period, the sun seemed strange, frequently transforming from its spherical shape into an exaggerated oval form. The special military school was in another world, with all these magical elements. I played along with everything, much like a television character would in some medieval fantasy show."

I actually passed the special school, I played a part and that was apparently good enough.

I did many things out of character but what got me into trouble was when I decided to run away from military service the day after I returned. I spontaneously hopped into my car and drove a few hundred miles to tell the woman I would not marry her but remain married to Sarah. Of course, a simple phone call would have been sufficient since I barely knew this woman, but that was what I did. Also, while driving, I forgot other cars were on the road. I did not crash into them though.

After about 20 hours of being gone, I returned home and told Sarah I was quitting the Army. My logic was that we would simply go to the airport and it would be okay. That did not work as Sarah called the military police, which quickly picked me up. They handcuffed me and took me to the army post for questioning.

At the MP station, I had a moment of clarity but remained in an irrational state of mind. I briefly considered taking extreme actions with an MP's sidearm; after all, I had made such a mess of my life that dying would end the problems. Handcuffed, I thought hard about how to get his pistol but ultimately decided it wasn't worth the risk. If the pistol was unloaded, I could really be in trouble with the military.

The military police did not know what to do with me. While I hadn't been missing for 30 days (the threshold for desertion), my unauthorized absence was a problem. After careful consideration, they released me back to my unit. My unit could deal with me, not any hospital.

Most of my unit was away on a field training exercise, so there was a skeleton crew. The head sergeant recognized that I might be dealing with mental health issues so he confined me to the barracks indefinitely. He also assigned guards to me which was humiliating. Those guards were from my squad so knew me well.

He referred me to military doctors for evaluation. So you know, this sergeant and I were not friends, so his plan was to kick me out of the Army before everyone else came back. I did not think the dark realm entities got to him; I think he just hated me.

I went to the appointment with the military psychiatrist, and she concluded that I likely suffered from schizophrenia, a condition that often emerges during late adolescence or early adulthood, she said.

Fortunately, by the time I returned from my psychiatric evaluation, I had regained some stability. My unit's commanding officers also returned from a field exercise they were on. They had always liked me, so we talked.

The head officer asked me what the problem was. I told him that I went to a special school and during the time I was there, I thought my wife was cheating on me. Maybe the stress of being away while my wife was cheating got to me, but I learned my lesson, and it would not happen again. From now on, I would always be Army first.

He was satisfied with that answer. He said the report mentioned that I might have schizophrenia; what was the problem with that? I told him I had never heard any voices, so I certainly did not have schizophrenia. Satisfied, he had the mental evaluation deleted from my record. He made certain that anything that might have possibly hindered my career was deleted.

From age 18 to 25, while serving in the military, I struggled with various mental health challenges but also demonstrated resilience and adaptability. Importantly, I kept quiet about the issues I had. Looking back, that was good for selfish me, but in the big picture, it was bad for the Army to hide such things.

It is true that I do not have stereotypical 'voices in my head' constantly chattering. For the most part, my mind is quiet when it comes to sounds. Instead, my chatter involves excessive mental imagery featuring dark-colored geometric shapes, which easily shatter my concentration. Whether it is voices or imagery, the best thing I've learned to do is coexist with the chatter.

I am not free of 'voices in my head' though. There are times when one of three supernatural voices tells me what to do, but those voices are infrequent. At times, there are other voices which might appear stating trivial things which I quickly forget. I do have a lot of non-verbal audio hallucinations, like knocking on the door or wrestling animal sounds.

For the record: My wife, Sarah, was not cheating. I realized later that the shapeshifting wolves, spies, assassins, and the sergeant out to get me were all false facts. It is embarrassing but it is over. I chalk those up to my undiagnosed mind. It is okay, I trudge on because what else is there to do?

As you will read, there are many times when I believe something is real, even though it isn't. Some of these beliefs are silly, while others are more serious. ‘In the moment’, I may accept a false fact as truth for minutes, days, months, or even years. For example: one day, without any reason, a false fact entered my mind that the entire 22nd floor of the Empire State Building was a massive fish aquarium. At the time, I had never been to New York and wasn't even thinking about the city. There I was, believing it as absolute fact. I could even see the fish swimming around.

The next chapter is years later. I found out the hard way that I had schizophrenia. Until then, I knew I was eccentric. OK, there is more—I just knew I was very special. Supernatural beings were out there, and if they knew how special I was, they would kill me. I had to be cautious, but that did not impede my life. I just was cautious for a few years. But schizophrenia? No way—I was too smart and put together for that. I felt invincible in my perfect, little brain.

-

Age 30 - a major psychotic break

In 1995, my mental state deteriorated rapidly, leading to my first long-term psychotic break. This episode ultimately left me hospitalized and marked a pivotal moment in my life.

At this time, I had been out of the military for four years. My life was complicated. I had a good job repairing and upgrading computers and was considered the best in the city by most people, or at least that is what they told me. There were marital and financial issues. On top of all this, I made poor decision after poor decision.

I knew something was wrong, just not that it might be schizophrenia. I saw my first psychiatrist as an adult. He did not prescribe any medication; instead, he said my problem was that I did not have a personality. According to him, if I had no personality, I could not have a mental problem.

He wanted to perform a case study on me so he could become famous. I took test after test—everything from very long IQ tests to emotional and personality tests.

Side note: Keep in mind that everything is from my perspective. I doubt any psychiatrist on Earth would do this. It is likely what my brain told me he said. That happens a lot with me. Fantasy and reality are intermixed.

Regardless, I was convinced I had no personality.

One evening, a personality came to me. It wasn't mine though. For a few minutes, I thought I was someone else and was seeing things through their eyes. The experience lasted about three minutes.

As this event happened, I told a person close by what I was seeing, detail by detail. Like watching TV but knowing I was someone else and it was real is the only way I can describe it.

The person I told wasn't a stranger but a friend—well, until they saw me confused and rattling off details. That was the end of that friendship.

At some point in time, although the psychiatrist was nice, I was tired of taking tests, so I stopped going. I didn't tell him about being in someone else's mind for three minutes.

My memory is not entirely reliable during this period, but I will do my best to recount the events that transpired.

At some point during the initial chaos…

With help from a police officer friend, I learned that my birth mother was alive and living in Arizona—far away from where I lived. Knowing she was real was one thing, but I now had her address. That is all it took for my downward spiral…

Despite being married, I decided to run away to be with my birth mother, convinced that she needed me and was mentally calling out to me in ways I couldn't ignore. It made sense; we were linked by blood, and blood relatives could mentally communicate with each other. She had been mentally calling me, so logically, I know the need to be with her.

To fund this drive to Arizona, I sold many of my possessions. I converted my credit cards into cash at the bank, withdrawing every last dollar available to me. I drove to a few states away to visit an old friend to get even more money and also to say goodbye. While there, I had my blue car painted jet black, transforming it into something unrecognizable as I was now a fugitive. I was going to be with my mother and leave my past world behind.

Armed with my newly painted vehicle and a bag full of cash, I set out on my journey to reunite with my mother. I was confident I would not be arrested from running away if I kept a low profile.

During my travels through Oklahoma on the morning of the Oklahoma City bombing, my fears shifted from arrest for running away to suspicion that I was implicated in the bombing itself. I knew every law enforcement agency would be after me now. I quickly left Oklahoma and continued toward Arizona as a wanted man.

I knew without any doubt that I was now descending into madness. I found it increasingly difficult to communicate with others; my speech slurred despite knowing exactly what words to say. It was weird to have such a thing happen.

As I neared Arizona, my paranoia intensified. I removed my license plate and replaced it with a cardboard sign that read "Stolen Plate" followed by "Bad Vet NY Dec 95," believing this would be enough to avoid detection. I also burned all identification cards at a rest stop, convinced that law enforcement could not arrest people without identification. My logic was, if they do not know who you are, they cannot arrest you.

Upon reaching Kingman, Arizona, I discovered that my birth mother was not where she had last been reported. The dirt road led only to empty desert. Overwhelmed, I cried alone for perhaps hours. That was likely the only time I ever cried out loud, to myself in the desert, listening to "Shooting Star" by Bad Company on repeat. I was completely lost in life. Oddly, I did not think of suicide or much of anything that deep. I was very empty inside in the desert.

After the devastation, I drove to Las Vegas and checked into the world famous, Circus Circus Hotel. On the outside, I was a dirty mess of dirt and tears, but I do not know how they saw me mentally. The clerk did not want me in and politely asked if I knew how much a room was. I responded by putting many hundred-dollar bills on the counter and told him it did not matter to me. He gave me a room but also assigned a woman to go with me on the gambling floor. I spent some time playing slot machines and won a lot. I handed my winnings to the woman and told her I would be fine; I was going to go to sleep.

The next memory I have is several days later when I checked into another hotel, maybe in Oregon. I found that I could not speak or comprehend language as well as usual. My mental state had deteriorated further, making even simple communication challenging. The hotel lobby was huge with visitors from around the world. I blended in by posing as a South African gold dealer. After all, South Africans do not speak good English.

Later, my verbal language skills were gone. I bought a notebook and wrote what I needed from that point on. I did not understand what people told me but faked it. I also had problems understanding the meaning of numbers. That is a problem with currency and highway signs.

The next memory I have is a stay of nine days at a motel in Montana. During these nine days, I sat on the floor without moving, lost in my own thoughts and disconnected from reality. I didn’t eat or sleep much during this time; how could I? I existed in a foggy state. When I left that motel, I remember buying the front desk a pie. I thought it was important they had a pie to eat. Still unable to talk, I wrote a note which I think told them ‘thank you, the motel was nice’.

After this, I began driving back toward home. Oddly, I was now able to speak again. At some point, I called Sarah, and she urged me to return home. My leaving hurt her greatly, and inside, it hurt me, too. That hurt feeling is important as I had emotional feelings again. They had been lost since I cried all of them out in the desert.

In an attempt to erase evidence of my journey, I stopped at a rest area where I burned every piece of documentation related to my travels. I expected to go to prison but was more concerned that Sarah might be implicated by the police. As a fugitive, they could consider me an accomplice to the Oklahoma City bomber.

I eventually made it back home, where I and Sarah decided the best course of action would be for me to enter a mental hospital voluntarily. We thought it was best for both of us. I spent 45 days there before being discharged due to insurance limitations.

During my time at the hospital, I participated in therapy sessions, art classes, and conversations with fellow patients. From what I remember, it was good. However, I did have a severe problem with one of the medications—it caused my tongue to twitch uncontrollably and locked up my jaw. The staff did what they could about that. Overall, my experience there was positive.

Most people around me seemed fine with the hospital, though a common complaint was that no one was supposed to talk to people from the outside. That memory conflicts with me remembering Sarah visited me once, but that is how my mind works sometimes. Maybe people could visit but maybe not. Maybe Sarah was there or maybe it was a hallucination. I do know that patients wanted to talk to their families.

Post-hospitalization, the FBI had visited me because they received a tip from my (reward seeking) employer suggesting I might be involved with the Oklahoma City bombing. The FBI men reassured me that the perpetrator was already apprehended and I was not a suspect; however, they needed to clear my name from their system by asking some questions.

Of course, I was fired from my job since I abruptly left and was in the hospital for so long. The hospital bill was so large that I had to file for bankruptcy. People talk in town, so it took maybe a year or so to find another job. Looking back, that was a troubling time, but I survived. -resilience.

This first very long-term psychotic break left me with slower and with more thought errors—a stark contrast to who I had been before. That is a nice way to write that after that big episode I became less smart. While I have experienced other episodes before and since then, none have been as dramatic or disruptive as this breakdown.

As for things like, “I thought I was someone else and was seeing things through their eyes” part, maybe it was a delusion, maybe it happened, maybe it never happened at all but I remembered a memory of something that never took place. That will always be a foggy mystery.

I will leave my attempt to explain this breakdown as it is: just a confusing, foggy mess with details which may or may not have happened. My hope is that you will come to understand a loved one better by not expecting to fully understand or rationalize everything they say or do. Some things are just what they are, a confusing mess for them and also for you.

This is not a memoir where you learn everything about my life but my chapters are in chronological order. From here on, life is more stable. I am figuring out from trial and error what works and what doesn’t.

The following chapters I am sharing demonstrate how my mind handles various obstacles and how it operates in general. Remember, it is not about the event itself but rather what I thought.

-

Age 36 - thought processes with hallucinations

Another journal entry, one which is not doom and gloom. It is also more detailed with the how, what, why and the thought processes. Detailed journaling can be a great thing when you write everything down…

I walked down the hallway of my house, passing familiar doors. The afternoon sun cast shadows, but my thoughts were on my latest project. Then, I glanced into the spare bedroom.

There was a glow of green then the Aurora Borealis filled the room. Vibrant greens and pinks swirled across walls, ceiling, and floor. Confused and intrigued, I paused to examine it closely.

"Why is the entire Aurora Borealis inside the spare bedroom?" I thought to myself. I didn’t immediately dismiss it as a hallucination, nor did I fully embrace it as real. Instead, I stood there, mentally cataloging the details with an almost eerie precision.

Usually, but not always, when I see a hallucination, I know more than I should about the object or scene. Knowing too much tells something within my mind that there might be suspicion. However, in this case, the sight was so beautiful that I was simply 'in the moment.’

The images of real photographs flashed through my mind—green auroras, pink ones, and even some I had seen in books or documentaries. It could not have been a misidentified fire because the auroras were not the color of fire (orange and red). It passed the test, it was no hallucination or misidentification. I was simply beautiful and I was there to witness it.

Seconds later, for some unknown reason, my validation began to falter. My rational mind kicked in, and I realized something crucial was missing. I just needed to determine what that 'something' was. It clearly existed yet could not be the entire Aurora Borealis inside the spare bedroom.

If it were real, why would the Gods do such a thing? What purpose would it serve?

Then I thought, if it were real, if the Aurora Borealis truly filled my bedroom, the intensity would’ve electrocuted me. I wasn’t dead, my hair on my arm was not even moving from the static.

With it not being spiritual and I was still breathing, it was almost certainly a hallucination.

With that realization, I don’t remember the auroras disappearing, instead they were simply gone. My mind is usually foggy when it comes to knowing when hallucinations are no longer there. To me, the terms ‘disappear' and 'gone' seem like two different things somehow but I cannot explain it. Maybe my mind becomes disinterested and moves on?

I continued walking down the hallway. As I reached the end of the hall and turned into the kitchen, I couldn’t help but smile. The Aurora Borealis in my spare bedroom was a surreal and fleeting moment, one that I would remember. It was just another thing that day and thankfully, it was not monstrous or cartoonish, it was just beautiful.

That was one of the most incredible (non-scary) hallucinations I had ever experienced. Sadly, in time, I discovered many of my hallucinations were of mundane things—extra desk lamps on tables or a glass of water on a counter. Things which are just there for no reason.

To manage these experiences, I developed a system for dealing with potential visual hallucinations. In the past, I would play the percentages on whether an object was real or not, but now I use a different approach. If I don’t have to interact with the questionable object, I ignore it.

For example: In the past, if I saw a 20 dollar bill in the parking lot, I would play the percentages on whether or not it was real. Now, as long as I do not interact with the 20 dollar bill in the parking lot, it doesn’t matter if it is real or not. This change in thinking may seem trivial, but there’s a distinct difference in how it affects my mental well-being. By avoiding questionable objects altogether, I avoid embarrassing myself in public and if I am in private, I avoid shame of falling for things (again and again).

This system has become a cornerstone of my coping mechanism. It allows me to navigate through life with greater peace and clarity, focusing on what truly matters while leaving the uncertainties of my visual world to fade into the background. My reality, though fluid and sometimes confusing, is a place I have learned to live in with grace and resilience.

I found a quiet comfort in the knowledge that reality is not always what it seems. I had learned to embrace the fluidity of my mind, knowing that as long as I didn’t need to interact with the illusions, they could remain just that—illusions.

Of course, there is also the tried-and-true 'reality checking.' If I am with someone and we are going to walk into a giant abyss in the ground, I do not panic. I simply cough, and if the person with me continues to walk, so do I. I would never yell 'look out' or panic, nor would I tell the person afterwards what I saw. If the abyss is not in our path, I would say nothing and even avoid looking at it. After all, I am not interacting with it. This sort of ‘reality checking’ is not foolproof but is what I do.

The next chapter is one of the most important ones, it is short but explains something you likely have seen with your loved one. This is exactly what and how things happen ‘behind the scenes.’

-

Age 36 - acting on patterns and paranoia

Healthy or not, I eat at fast-food restaurants when I am alone. If I am with my family, we eat at sit-down restaurants. That is just the way we do things.

I live in a small town but it is big enough for a Burger King. When I am alone, that is usually where I eat. I order the same meal each and every time. The cashier always asks, "What would you like to order?" I always respond with, "I would like two cheeseburgers, plain with nothing on them except for cheese."

One day, I drove to Burger King to get some food. I parked in my usual parking spot away from the entrance. Partially so people wouldn't dent my car but much more importantly, there are old people who eat there and I can easily walk a few extra feet as they might have trouble walking to the entrance.

I walked in and placed my usual order. The cashier handed me the usual receipt with the order number in bold print. That order number (119) became a serious problem. I thought I was mentally well at the time but apparently not.

I looked at the number 119 and instantly knew it was not right. The number 911 I could see as that is the emergency number to call for help, but the number 119 is not 911. 119 is not even an emergency number.

I thought why I would need a number which is not an emergency number. Then I reasoned that if the order number was wrong, my order would be wrong and since I always ordered plain cheeseburgers. Unless the cheeseburgers are plain, they have mustard on them.

Mustard... it’s not just a taste, it is the thought. It’s that yellow filth they poured down my throat after I tried to die decades ago.

I told the cashier that the order number was wrong and politely asked for a new number. The cashier was surprised and I did not understand why she wanted a different number. It made sense to me though.

I told her again that I just needed a new number, but she refused to do this simple request for me. Despite having gone to Burger King countless times, she did not seem to care. Then it clicked—in under a second, I knew everything. She was refusing to change the number for a reason, and it wasn't because she didn't care. They—her, the cooks, and Burger King itself—had a plan for me: to make me eat mustard.

I looked around and saw a customer behind me so I changed tactics. I had already paid so Burger King had their money from me. I knew getting a different number was pointless from her and also from Burger King corporate, so to keep from having the police called on me for being on to their corporate mustard scheme, I told the cashier that number 119 was fine.

I swung around and quickly looked at the customer behind me and motioned that I would just take a moment more.

I focused on the cashier again and told her, "I need a second order. Can I get two cheeseburgers, plain with nothing on them except for cheese?" She was not expecting that from me but that is exactly what I did. If the person behind me was even aware of what I did, he would have been proud of my quick thinking.

She took my second order; there was nothing else she could do. I had beaten the system by doing something they were not expecting.

When my two orders came, I took them and walked to my usual seat toward the back where I could watch everyone walking through the front door. I was content eating order number 120. It was a good few minutes for me. I was victorious.

When finished, I threw away order 119 without even verifying mustard existed. It made sense it was there and I did not need the yellow stuff possibly touching my finger.

At the time, I believed the number 119 wasn't just wrong; I was certain it signaled Burger King's secret plot to contaminate my food with mustard, their chosen weapon against me. Today, number 119 is just a number. Tomorrow, who knows…

Mustard is something that I struggle with, as it brings back horrible memories of my first suicide attempt, when I was forcibly fed the yellow stuff. For me, mustard is actually traumatic.

For me, sometimes these simple delusions happen for no apparent reason. With this particular one, in an instant, I just knew the entire plot from start to finish. Not with memories or mental images though. I simply knew these false facts were absolute truth.

Later, I forgot about the event, but the next time I decided to go to Burger King, I remembered the previous time I was there and realized it was a delusion I had experienced so I documented it.

Being a small town, everyone knows I sometimes have issues. Over time, I slip up so it is unavoidable. What is important is that I still show my face in town and still go to Burger King and order the exact same thing. It is part of my routine and routine is critical.

The next chapter explores my experiences with body distortions and how I cope with them. My first encounter with these distortions began when I was 41, at which point 'melting faces' were not such a big deal for me. I assume it was because I had become desensitized over the years. - I did not wrote anything gross so don’t worry.

For work, schizophrenia isn't the worst thing if you find the right niche market. For me, even though schizophrenia would eventually get in the way and lead to losing job after job (due to my unpredictability), a different sort of mind had advantages when I was well for an employer. My ability to think outside the box and recognize patterns were particularly marketable. These skills allowed me to create new tech products and of course, analyze data at an extremely high rate of speed. Again, I could only do these things when I was mentally stable.

-

Age 41 - hallucinations I always have to deal with

At a company I worked for, my mornings were spent staring at event logs, scanning for signs of cyberattacks with speed and accuracy that left everyone in awe—not bragging, but true. The rest of the day was spent doing whatever I wanted, as long as it was profitable to the company. Since my position was in network security, that's where my focus was.

My office was secluded, so there were few distractions to worry about. It was the perfect job in the perfect environment.

One late morning, after my usual routine of examining event logs for hacking attempts, I was deep in thought while working on a network intrusion detection system I had designed. I called it Dino, inspired by the lovable dinosaur from The Flintstones. It was a low-cost device that allowed me to remotely monitor my clients’ systems, providing an extra layer of security for a modest, monthly fee.

I went into my manager’s office to discuss Dino’s progress when I noticed something unusual about the right side of his face. The skin on his right cheek began to dissolve like wax, revealing muscles and bone beneath. Soon, only jawbone and teeth remained on that side. Throughout the change, he acted as if nothing was wrong.

At first, I considered telling him about it, but then thought better of it. Logically, if his face were dissolving, he would have reacted in some way, screamed or something. Since he didn’t react, it was likely a hallucination on my end. If the rotting were real, another (more reliable) employee would notice and say something.

I chose to push the disturbing image to the back of my mind, focusing on the conversation at hand. I pretended everything was normal, and to my relief, it was.

The hallucination persisted throughout the entire meeting. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was watching a high school medical field video overlay, but it wasn’t gross. I maintained my composure, continuing the discussion about Dino as if nothing was wrong.

Since that first time, I had experienced many similar hallucinations. Some involved the right side of a face rotting, others charred to the bone, and still more melted by an unseen acid yet I always managed to keep my composure.

One day, as I was walking through the office lobby on my way back to my desk, I noticed someone exaggerating their arm movements while talking. Their arms flailed about as they discussed something with a colleague. My mind immediately began to analyze this unusual behavior, and I found myself thinking about birds, birds flap their wings so for a fleeting moment, I considered the possibility that this person might be some kind of bird.

But then, I quickly dismissed the thought as silly. Obviously, the flesh on their arms was unmistakably human. It wasn't a bird. After that realization, my attention shifted to another detail: the way spiders wrap their prey in silk. I found myself wondering if this person might be a spider, but the normal flesh tone of their arms put an end to that line of thinking as well. By then, I had forgotten why I was even watching the person's arms in the first place.

These kinds of substitutions and forced associations were not uncommon for me then or now. My mind would often wander down strange paths, making connections between hallucinations and reality that seemed silly but made perfect sense to me at the time. I had learned to embrace this fluidity, accepting that my reality was a blend of perception and imagination.

Over the years, I had developed a series of workarounds to help me navigate my reality. I never let the hallucinations define my interactions, always maintaining a professional demeanor. Though I knew they were not real, the visual distortions could still be jarring, especially when they happen in social settings.

Melting faces were merely distractions, but they meant I could not fully trust myself when they appeared. I don't speak much to begin with, and I'm even quieter when I see things like that. My language skills have always been poor, so it's best not to risk it. I focus on the mouth and let the faces melt or rot away; it is important not to let the person talking to me think anything is wrong. I do not need to be institutionalized to go to prison. One wrong glance, one slip of the tongue about a melting face, and I could lose everything – job, family, freedom. That sounds melodramatic but from my perspective, it is also true.

-

Age 43 - over time, cognition decreases

At age 43, my company merged with a larger entity, leading to a shift in focus that made my position redundant. A nice way of saying that I was jobless again.

A full two years later, an opportunity presented itself, a role in computer security in a place a few hundred miles away from my house. The high pay and the fact that they provided me with a brand new car for weekend trips home to Sarah made it too good to pass up. With ample funds, I rented a sparse apartment in a town close to my new workplace. I would just drive home on the weekends and it would be fine.

The job involved working with a friend I had known for 15 years. This friend was also the one who recommended me for this position. We would have lunch together daily, making my work enjoyable despite occasional memory lapses. Fortunately, much, not all, of my work was thinking ‘outside the box’ in finding obscure security vulnerabilities.

However, after two years, things took a turn for the worse when my long-time friend left to work at different company thousands of miles away. Suddenly, I found myself in charge of handling most of the work alone, with only one lower-level assistant who could manage menial tasks but lacked the analytical skills required for any complex duties.

Initially, it seemed like I could handle the increased responsibility. My analytical abilities were still strong, and while my memory was becoming less reliable, it wasn’t a significant issue yet. But over time, the pressure became unbearable.

Sadly, my memory continued to fail more frequently, making it difficult for me to recall important things. At times, I saw very complex keyboard commands in my mind that seemed crucial, but I wouldn't know what those commands did. More bizarrely, the opposite occurred—I would know everything about my apartment except its number or even the city it was in. Fortunately, these lapses were short-term and my memory would return.

There were moments when I would go into panic mode, which was hard for me to hide from everyone around me. Perhaps the most debilitating symptom of all: there were times when my mind would completely freeze during critical tasks. These episodes were impossible to hide.

The combination of these issues led to a state where I could no longer perform at the level required for such high-stakes, complex roles. The anxiety and stress became overwhelming, leaving me in a constant battle with myself. The only solution was very simple.

Ultimately, I had to come to terms with my future and make one of the hardest decisions of my life. I called Sarah and discussed that I would have to say goodbye to my career in technology forever. I felt like half a man but there was no other choice. It was a bittersweet moment for us—bitter because it meant giving up something that had defined so much of who I was professionally, but sweet because it also marked the end of an era filled with intense stress and mental strain.

With the stress gone, I recovered on my own and did not need to be hospitalized. It was good that option was available, though, as there were times when I thought hospitalization and stabilization would have been necessary.

From that point on, I stayed at home with Sarah. I started a hobby of sculpting which, in time, became my new profession. My sculptures were featured in four art galleries around the world. Yet, this new path suited me well. It provided a sense of purpose and fulfillment that technology had once offered.

Although not a famous artist, I survived the end of tech. Through resilience and adaptability, I found my niche away from the pressures of high-stakes computing, embracing a life filled with solitary creativity and peace.

Something I try not to dwell on is the damage that stress chemicals are doing to my brain. People with schizophrenia typically have high levels of these chemicals, which dramatically increase during psychotic breakdowns. This creates mental decline in certain areas. While it's not the end of the world, prolonged exposure to these stress chemicals certainly isn't good.

For me, those stress chemicals flow day and night: during the day with my schizophrenia (reality issues and paranoia), and at night with my traumatic nightmares. It is a rip off but I trudge through. What else is there to do?

I love my routines but I am adaptable, you have to be in life. You work with what you have.

Schizophrenia didn’t make me ‘less capable’ of being a person, over time, it just made my brain physically incompatible with high-pressure tasks. But when I found sculpturing, those same brain differences became strengths: creativity, detail-oriented focus, and resilience.

-

Age 49 - coexisting in chaos

The opening to this book wasn’t fiction. Now that you know more about me, I will expand the naked person turning into the sun into an educational chapter so you can better understand the how, what and why.

My family and I decided to take a flight across the country together. The drive to the airport was uneventful, but once we arrived at the terminal, things started to feel overwhelming.

The airport was bustling with people moving in unpredictable directions. This kind of chaos is always challenging. When I can't predict where people are going or what they're doing, my mind has to work overtime to process everything around me. This constant vigilance is difficult but with the family to safeguard from pick pockets, I had responsibilities. I managed it the best I could.

After two hours in the terminal, we finally boarded our flight. The jet was just as chaotic as the terminal had been. I tried to settle in for the long journey ahead while dealing with chaos on top of the typical anxieties that come with flying. It was a stressful time.

Two hours into the flight, something strange happened: in the distance, I saw a naked person walking toward the cabin, they were far away but I ‘knew’ they wore no clothes. The idea of a naked passenger making their way through the aircraft was certainly going to be trouble however, when they didn't cause any commotion at all, I began to doubt if this was real or just another hallucination.

Using logic, I observed how other passengers reacted. They seemed completely unaffected, which meant that the naked figure wasn't actually there. Crisis averted.

However, as the person continued walking, something even more bizarre occurred: they transformed into the sun itself. I knew we were going to die in that moment but thought it best not to alarm anyone. It would be impossible for them to miss such a sight when they saw it happening.

I expected to be blinded by intense light first, but the light was not overwhelming. My brain told me it had to be the sun, though so I accepted it as fact. Not a lot of light was a trivial matter, being sucked into the sun by its gravity or being microwaved, was serious.

After a few moments, the jet was obviously still in one piece, and the thoughts my brain was telling me seconds ago were gone. It was over. I then knew that none of it was real — a person, clothed or not, all the way to the near-death experience, was false.

In such moments of continual lies, I try to maintain my focus and distract myself from the chaos in my mind. Looking out the window seemed like the best option, so I turned my attention to the clouds outside. Hungry and trying to ground myself further, I reached for the pretzels they gave me earlier.

Later in the flight, one of my noise-canceling earbuds fell off while I was using them. My youngest grandchild was next to me so she quickly retrieved it from under the seat for me. No passengers, not even those nearby, were aware of these unusual events. My family certainly did not know as I did not want to spoil the flight.

The rest of the journey passed relatively smoothly for me, though I remained somewhat tired from all the mental exertion. The time difference and jet lag added another layer of fatigue that I had to manage.

In the end, despite the challenges, we arrived at our destination with the family intact.

I think flights are stressful for most people. I could be wrong, though, with what I see other people doing — laughing and having a fun time. For me, it is just something to manage. I use noise-canceling headphones or earbuds, which help a little. Sarah tries to get a seat with nothing behind me, which helps a lot. I always travel with Plan B in mind. If things get out of hand, I have fast-acting anti-psychotics (a.k.a. tranquilizers) at the ready. It makes me extremely drowsy, but I am not ashamed to use them if I have to.

A point I would like to make is that I either saw a naked person or just ‘knew’ the person was naked. The person was far away because we sat in the very back. As for the person I just ‘knew’ was naked turning into the sun — that part was a delusion. Throughout all of it, I remained quiet and used people around me as reality checkers.

Personally, I prefer driving whenever possible, as it gives me greater control over my environment and helps minimize the unpredictable factors of crowds.

-

Age 50 - dreams

I am no stranger to horrific nightmares. Usually, they are about Pam in some way—maybe not Pam specifically, but the theme is always the same. I find myself in an impossible-to-win situation. No matter what I do, I fail and those around me die first as a result of my failed solution. I am the last to die.

I do not dream like normal people. I can read, write, and even correct spelling errors in my dreams. I can feel texture but not pain. Most strange was that I am rarely myself in my dreams. Instead, I am a man, woman, child, animal, and sometimes I dream I am a color or even a sequence of numbers—anything except myself.

In my life, I had only been myself five times. This was my sixth...

I had just woken up from a nightmare, beside me was my wife Sarah whom I saw had also woken up.

"I just had a horrific nightmare," I said.

Sarah replied, "If it is scary, I do not want to hear it."

"It was not scary but it was very disturbing," I said. "I was myself and you were in it."

Intrigued, Sarah asked, "As long as it is not scary, what was your dream?"

"It was so vivid," I said. "This is what I dreamed."

I and Sarah had embarked on an exciting road trip, eager both to fix my car windshield and spend quality time together as the couple who had shared countless adventures and faced life’s challenges side by side for over thirty years, always there for each other no matter what arose.

Typically, I drove well and handled everyday situations with ease, but today, the intense sensory stimulation of honking cars, chattering people, and blazing sun in the city began to overwhelm me despite my usual resilience.

Not wanting to worry Sarah or ruin our trip due to my schizophrenia, I kept my growing anxiety bottled up inside. After a stressful search for parking at the repair shop, we finally located what appeared to be the right place. However, finding a spot proved impossible as there were dozens of cars already lined up waiting for repairs.

"Sarah," I said hesitantly, "I'll find a spot and meet you at the front."

As I drove around the corner of the building, everything took on a terrifying turn from my perspective. At a parking spot I found, a strange man approached me and claimed my car needed to be taken somewhere important for special repairs. Before I could ask any questions, another man pulled up in a distinctive yellow truck, blocking my exit.

"Just take him with you," the second man said.

In that moment, what had started as a fun trip transformed into something far more sinister—an apparent kidnapping attempt targeting me specifically. I found myself forced into the passenger seat of my own car against my will, driven away at high speed through winding streets I didn’t recognize. I had managed to call Sarah in a panic and frantically explained, "Sarah! They took my car. I'm being kidnapped!"

Before losing signal as we entered a maze-like industrial district, I had heard her concerned voice on the other end: "Stay calm, Jim. We'll find you."

As we drove deeper into the confusing labyrinth of factories and warehouses, I felt trapped, disoriented, and unsure how to escape this terrifying situation. When the car finally stopped, I bolted from it, running wildly through abandoned buildings in fear for my life. No one pursued me.

Confused by my surroundings and increasingly agitated due to my deteriorating mental state, my calls for help went unanswered as the environment blurred together around me. Everything I saw began to blur into a jumbled mess, and even my thoughts started to jumble.

Exhausted both physically and mentally, I had come to a stop, staring at the ground blankly, unable to make sense of anything around me or even remember who I was or what I was doing there. I had completely shut down emotionally and cognitively.

That was when three large dogs suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I did not have the mental ability to understand their purpose but instinctively followed them as they formed an archway with their bodies for me to walk between. One dog stayed back, watching intently as if guiding me forward in the direction they wanted me to go.

"That was when my brain stopped my subconscious. I woke up with this vivid imagery," I said.

Sarah did not know what to say other than, "Get up and walk around for an hour or so and try to go back to sleep."

"That's a good plan," I agreed. Sarah was a realist and knew I would be up anyway.

This was worse than any nightmare I’d ever had, because for the first time in thirty years, I was myself. I spent time attempting to make sense of this nightmare before I went back to bed. Why did three German Shepherds have to guide me? Why did the nightmare make me a babbling mess? Does my subconscious think that little of me?

That was the last dream I remembered where I or someone I personally knew was in it. I am thankful for that.

I take a lot of trips by myself. I am a very responsible and curious driver. If I know that I am even remotely unwell, I stop driving. It's simple to pull over to the side of the road, get out, and walk around for a bit. Only once did that not work; I had to make the 'call of shame' and have Sarah pick me up. That was humiliating for me, but when I am unwell, that is what I do. It's the responsible thing.

When I fly, I usually have problems as airports and jets are more chaotic than most people think. The first thing to go is my ability to read words, then language itself. Sarah has had to lock arms with me through the airport because I was mute, unwell and confused. Again, it's humiliating for me, but it's the responsible thing to do. As a work around, tranquilizers make flying bearable for me. For the record, I am not against flying; I just take precautions.

-

Age 52 - the stereotypical ‘talking to thin air’

Roswell, New Mexico is a tourist trap full of alien memorabilia. There are normal parts of the town though.

Passing through Roswell, New Mexico, I stopped at a dollar store for supplies. After finishing my shopping, I noticed a man with cerebral palsy standing outside the automatic door, using a cane to steady himself. His movements were slow but deliberate.

Without hesitation, I held the automatic door open for the man. "I will get the door."

The man nodded, clearly grateful. "Yes, thank you," he said with a soft smile.

I watched as the man slowly made his way inside, then paused to engage in light conversation. "With your accent, where are you from?" the man asked.

I leaned slightly against the door frame to keep it open. "Mental issues," I replied. Usually, I would say my usual canned response of "just around" but with him, I wanted to treat the stranger like an equal, both of us getting by in life the best we can.

"I see," the man said with a smile.

We then started up a conversation in the doorway, which was light and trivial, much like any interaction one might have with a stranger. I mentioned my appreciation for comedian Josh Blue, noting that I admired someone with cerebral palsy who could find humor in life despite its challenges. The man obviously hadn’t heard of Josh Blue but nodded appreciatively, perhaps recognizing the sincerity behind my words.

After a few minutes of casual talk, I excused myself and allowed the automatic door to close. I returned to my car, typed in my navigation information for my next destination and took a sip of the drink I had purchased, trying to shake off the lingering feeling that something was off about the man and the conversation.

Just as I was about to leave the parking lot, I saw something impossible. The man with cerebral palsy emerged from the store, cane in hand, and slowly walked toward a nearby jacked-up silver 4x4 truck. I watched, astonished, as he climbed into the driver's side with surprising ease. The high clearance and narrow door of the truck made it seem impossible for him to enter. Even more bizarre was that his cane disappeared; it simply vanished.

My mind raced with questions. I had treated this stranger like anyone else, offering help and starting a polite conversation. But the image of the man climbing into the truck was surreal. Could he have really climbed into that truck? Or had I simply hallucinated his cerebral palsy? The cane seemed to be a lie by my brain; what else could also be a lie?

As I drove off, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously off. Then I wondered: had I truly spoken to someone, or had I merely held the door open for no one? The man's presence felt real, but my overall memory of everything was clouded by doubt. This was the first time I ever thought I might have talked to nobody.

I wondered what people in the store must have thought about seeing someone holding the door open and talking to himself. I felt humiliated if this was true, but the evidence pointed toward the likelihood that the man with cerebral palsy did not exist.

As it turned out, he did not exist. This man may have been the first but certainly would not be the last person I would talk to who wasn't there. Not often, but occasionally, I do have conversations with no one in broad daylight, in front of the world. 'In the moment,' they seem normal, but it's simply thin air.

I would explain the triggers and what it was like to talk to thin air if I could but the story says it all. It just happened and only afterwards did I realize it. This event is educational though. I had no idea anything was wrong during the conversation.

I will stress that this only happens occasionally and I do not know the trigger. From what I gather, it is only in public, so it is embarrassing. What can you do? I am not going to stay at home in shame; I have a life.

In the next chapter, there's an incident where I almost died during a solo driving trip across America.

-

Age 54 - when things are real and not hallucinations

On a solo trip across America, I almost died.

The day before, I had not experienced any mental issues, except for a few erratic thoughts. But this suspiciously calm period of clarity was short-lived. I left Grand Junction, Colorado, at 6:30 a.m. and by 8:00 a.m., I faced my first of many challenges of the day.

I was driving through a small, nondescript town in New Mexico when I first noticed a bright yellow airplane circling lazily over an open field. I had seen such planes before, but its presence here felt out of place. At one point, the plane flew so close that I could count the rivets on its fuselage. As it disappeared into the trees, I wondered why a plane would be flying so close to town in the early morning.

Moments later, I spotted a black single-engine plane with erratic movements. The town was small and traffic minor, but the planes' strange behavior in the fields made me pause. Then came a bright red A10 military jet, minus its side-mounted engines, flying erratically as well. Each plane disappeared into the trees one after another.

At first, I thought I had misidentified birds as planes. For me, that is typical: seeing one thing and believing it is something else. If I could misidentify a coffee table as a grey-colored satellite dish at home, it would be easy to misidentify a bird as a plane.

The terrain I was driving through was boring, so I started analyzing the bright yellow plane, the black single-engine plane, and the red A-10. Although birds fly into trees like the planes did, they do not move as erratically as the planes did.

Until now, I never thought I could hallucinate something from absolutely nothing. The sky was free of clouds, so I was wrong; I could indeed hallucinate that way. For a 52-year-old, that was a revelation. I learned something new about myself.

By noon, I found myself in the middle of a slow-moving procession on a stretch of highway. A truck moved ahead of me, flanked by at least twenty vehicles, including a black van that seemed to be closing in on me. According to my rearview mirror, the van had passed at least five cars to get into position behind me. As we approached a steep hill, I noticed the van preparing to pass me. From my windshield, I saw another vehicle approaching from the opposite direction, which meant the van could not possibly pass me.

Suddenly, as if it had never been there, the black van disappeared from my rearview mirror. It was gone, it had never existed. I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing with questions. I knew I couldn't fully trust my rearview mirror, but the van's sudden disappearance felt more than just a mental trick. It was as if reality itself had shifted.

Around 4:00 p.m., my day took a turn for the worse. I was driving on a remote highway in New Mexico, where the speed limit was 65 mph. The road stretched ahead in a long, straight line, and the landscape was almost deserted. My adaptive cruise control kept me at exactly 65 mph, a little slower than the speed of the car about half a mile in front of me.

Up ahead, maybe two miles away, a motionless semi-truck stood perpendicular to the road, blocking it entirely. The sight was surreal—how could such a large vehicle be parked sideways in the middle of nowhere? I assumed it was just another hallucination to add to the long day, another hallucination that my mind had invented to confuse me. I flagged the semi-truck as "ignore" in my mind and continued driving. It was no big deal. The car in front of me also continued toward the semi-truck.

But then, the car in front of me braked suddenly, and I did the same. We stopped just a few feet from the semi-truck, my heart racing with the realization that I would have driven into it at 65 mph if the car in front of me hadn't stopped. It turned out that the semi-truck was real, but hidden behind overgrown foliage was a small road. The truck was simply attempting a three-point turn on a dirt side road that I hadn't seen until it was too late. The truck was very real, but the lesson was like a hammer, reality is always negotiable. Or maybe it is that reality isn’t negotiable but my mind pretends it is.

I sat there, staring at the semi-truck for maybe 15 minutes while it turned around. At first, I was thankful I was still alive but that changed to personal embarrassment and a bit of defeatism.

I continued my trip, but the day's events would linger with me. The hallucinations of planes and the black van were trivial, but the semi-truck's near-collision was a sobering reminder of reality. I wondered if I should no longer drive since I was no longer in tech. I thought about manhood, ego, and being self-sufficient. When I returned home, I asked my psychiatrist about it and told him exactly what had happened. He did not think changing the dosages of medication was necessary. Since I am smart enough never to drive when I am having issues, we agreed that I should self-monitor myself. On the bright side, I have never had any accidents or received tickets, something few people can claim.

Although I go into more depth on how my sorting and organizing process works in my companion book ‘From My Perspective,’ I basically try to sort things I see, hear, or think into organized boxes. For example, I put a plane in its little 'schizophrenic' box and flag the plane as 'ignore.' Why do this? To avoid wasting mental energy on things in the 'schizophrenic' box and to continue with my day. It takes work to keep track of things to begin with, and my mind can only do so much. So, sort things and move on...

This approach is logical to me and works until it doesn’t. That day, the real semi truck threw me off.

When I saw the semi-truck and thought, 'Another hallucination?' My brain took a real object (the truck) and rewrote its meaning as false. Of course, the truck wasn’t false; it was real, but my brain made it feel fake.

In the next chapter, I speak about mental commands. To avoid confusion, at least for me, they are certainly not stereotypical 'voices in my head.' These are more like my brain telling me (my mind) to perform an act so that my body does not die. It's as if my brain overrides everything because it is the king. If this explanation doesn't make sense, that's okay. In times of confusion, I hear distinct commands and am powerless to disobey.

-

Age 55 - stress and being overwhelmed

At age 55, I was taking a solo trip and thought I needed an iPad. With an iPad I could use it for navigation if my cellphone ever broke on the trip. Although my cellphone was new-ish that is what I thought.

During the trip, I became absolutely obsessed with purchasing an iPad mini with cellular service, despite having no real need for one. The idea consumed me, and eventually, I gave in. I decided to buy not just one but two new iPads. Just in case my cellphone and one of the two iPads were to break at the same time. It could happen…

My journey led me to Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I discovered there was an Apple Store. As I drove through the city on a busy interstate, traffic soon became heavy and chaotic. All lanes were filled with vehicles moving at around 70-80mph.

The constant stream of cars quickly overwhelmed my senses. I knew I needed to remove this stress, but that was simply impossible with all of the cars and movement.

Usually, mental commands (voices) override my confusion when things go poorly for me, and this time was no different. A voice instructed me to: stop immediately in lane 2, put the car in park, and play a iPhone game until the traffic subsided. Despite knowing that stopping in the middle of an interstate was dangerous, the mental commands were clear.

Although I couldn't contradict the instructions themselves, I managed to convince the voice that it would be safer to stop at the next exit. There was some back-and-forth, but that was the plan we came up with: focus on the road and continue forward. Eventually, I saw the exit sign, but the traffic was too much for me to change lanes. All I could focus on was staying in lane 2 and hoping the traffic would ease up soon.

The next part is foggy, but I then remember that the chaotic traffic was gone. The voice stopped as the danger passed, and I was able to pull over on an exit and calm down. Something I always do for safely. Never drive unwell.

Back on the road, I made my way to the Apple Store, still feeling the lingering effects of the chaotic drive. The store was thick with customers, making it an even more challenging environment for me. As I browsed, I felt a guard's eyes on me, adding to my discomfort and anxiety.

Realizing I wouldn't be able to make a clear decision in such an overwhelming setting at the Apple Store, I quickly left without purchasing anything. The sensory overload was too much, and I knew spending money or engaging in conversation would only make the situation worse.

As I walked through the parking lot back to my car, I remembered a trick I had read about—moving my eyes from side to side to ground myself in the present moment. Although there was no scientific proof that this worked, I performed the action repeatedly, hoping it might help me regain some composure.

That day in Albuquerque was chaotic and challenging for me. However, by following my routines and instincts, I managed to navigate through the chaos and survive without any major incidents. There was only a bit of demoralization over having to go through hoops that others do not have to.

The desire to buy those iPads did not leave me on that trip. A few days later, I bought two iPads at an Apple Store. The obsession for those iPads was intense. It is funny that I never once thought to simply drive to a Walmart or Best Buy. In my mind, the task was to get two iPads from an Apple Store. Otherwise, if my cellphone broke, I would die because I would become lost. If I was dead, my family would suffer. That was very logical to me.

Those iPads I bought at the Apple Store eventually ended up collecting dust at my house. That obsession faded. In the future, if my iPhone breaks, I have a plan: just buy a cheap phone at a dollar store and limp home with it.

As for the mental commands, 'in the moment' they are my boss and protector. They have always steered me in the right direction, until that fateful day on the interstate. At least I was able to negotiate with them properly, otherwise, I might be in jail today.

-

Age 57 - the realization that I cannot do everything anymore

I received my jury summons over a month in advance. After much thought, I decided to participate under one condition: I believed I could vote alongside the majority when necessary but couldn't make final judgments due to my faulty memory. My plan was to double up on fast-acting antipsychotics if needed, stay awake in a sedated state, and just be a "warm body" in the jury box. I hoped this would help me remain calm and focused during the proceedings.

For weeks, my family pleaded with me not to go. They were worried about the stress and potential triggers I might encounter in such an unpredictable environment. My therapist and psychiatrist offered exemption paperwork based on my mental health needs, but I insisted I could manage. It was more than just civic duty; I wanted to prove to myself that I could handle it like any other man.

The day finally arrived...

I barely slept the night before jury duty. I worried about doing something stupid or forgetting my limitations. I showed up at the courthouse well before 8 a.m. and faced my first challenge. I do not do well in crowds, dealing with overall chaos, unpredictability, and motion. When directed into a massive room filled with these elements, I took a seat in the back corner to observe everyone coming and going. With no seats behind me, I felt as safe as possible.

There were over one hundred people in the large waiting room, and things fell apart within minutes. The white support pillars morphed into both pillars and fog banks at the same time. A blind woman with a white cane entered, escorted by someone. Eight blue-smocked burn patients sat together, their skin unmistakably burned. An impossibly disfigured woman moved about. It was hard for me to distinguish between reality and potential hallucination.

Motion in the massive room was extremely chaotic. I tracked everything while staying still to avoid attention. People’s words didn’t match their lips, so I knew from my past experiences in situations like these that I would not be able to speak words myself to anyone. My task was to remain silent, stay alert, and blend in. That is exactly what I did for nearly 90 minutes.

Around 9:30 a.m., I believed I heard an announcement about a briefing soon. I was actually right as many people got up to use the restroom after the announcement. More movement and louder talking made things even worse...

I broke down due to too much information overwhelming my mind. All sound became blurred into a single blob of noise. All people, seats, and even walls blurred together into merely obstacles to avoid. My thoughts were even worse—no one thing to focus on, and no recognizable train of thought.

Usually, mental commands override my confusion when things go poorly for me. Fortunately, these commands took over this time. They instructed me that if I stayed, I would not be fit to drive home without medication. The commands told me to leave. I followed the commands like a sheep being herded as my own thoughts were simply whispers now.

Outside the room, there were elevators so I waited in line. The slow-moving elevators made me concerned about being arrested for leaving the large room without an explanation. Fortunately, that didn’t happen; I entered the elevator and left the floor without making eye contact with anyone.

On the ground floor, I stepped out of the elevator but immediately faced new problems. I forgot where I was and even forgot my task to escape the large room. Then, it was over for me mentally. Completely shut down, I stood motionless with my cellphone in hand. It was not confusion, it was as though I had no thoughts, or very few thoughts. I do not know how long I was in that state.

The next thing I remember is that I 'knew' my cellphone was turned off and needed to be turned it back on. Even as a near-zombie, I don't know how I could have thought of that, but I did.

I pressed the on button and held the booting cellphone up to my face; that simple act somehow started to wake up my mind. Out of my total mental freeze, I knew to walk forward, away from the elevator. While walking, I then remembered my task: to leave without being stopped or arrested. I was regaining control of my mind. This wasn't mental fog, it was more like slowly waking up from sleep, and waking up was certainly taking its time.

I walked outside the courthouse building toward what I thought was a parking lot just a few short blocks away. Along the way, people gave me odd looks (I do not know why) but I continued in what I believed was the right direction until I realized something was wrong—either the parking lot had moved or I went in the wrong direction. After considering both possibilities, I decided the likely answer was that I was walking in the wrong direction so I walked back to the court house and started again in a different direction. I eventually found the parking lot.

I went to my vehicle and sat inside for a while. I knew not to start it, as I had decided my mental state was no different than a drunk driver to the police, who may be watching me. When I felt safe enough to drive, I got out and walked around. I thought changing the environment from being inside the vehicle to walking around and back to sitting in the vehicle would be a good second test.

I decided I could drive safely, but I performed a test run of a few hundred feet just to make sure. I decided I would be fine to continue on. As I drove past the guard at the exit, he gave me a strange look but did not call the police.

I made it to the interstate and considered stopping at McDonald’s near my home but wasn't sure if I could speak coherently yet. I continued home without incident.

After my experience, it took me three days to recover. Not from the shame which I certainly felt but, for the first two days, I had more hallucinations than usual, mostly shadow creatures. Oddly, there were no hallucinations of solid objects that I could detect and flag as hallucinations. Also, I did a lot of second-guessing myself. All of this was due to 90 minutes of extreme stress.

I had limits under stress. And I couldn’t lie to myself about it anymore. I had experienced those symptoms before, so it was not new to me. However, I thought I could be a manly man and push through them if I tried hard enough. I was wrong.

Fortunately, my family always stood by me and did not dwell on my defeat with jury duty.

Looking back on Jury Duty day well after it was over, although the blind woman may have existed, the eight burn patients certainly did not. However, both of these gave me confidence, and perhaps my mind inserted one or both as a positive message of some kind. Of course, maybe they were not there to inspire me at all but rather to punish me subconsciously. I would like to believe, though, that those imaginary people were there to inspire me.

I do get into frantic states where I don't know what to do. I get stuck, and it's hard to think; focusing is impossible. Mental shutdowns are different from frantic states—as you read when I stepped out of the elevator, my mind wasn't in a slow, confused state. Instead, it simply stops, like a computer crash. If someone were to snap their fingers at me during one of these shutdowns, I would be completely unaware, as there would be no awareness or thoughts. These episodes are rare but do happen. How I'm able to remain standing during these episodes is a miracle.

The shutdown was something I thought was important to show from start to finish. The rest, I should have known better but pride got in the way. In chaotic environments, I do poorly.

-

Age 57 - being a hero to myself and my family

In my entire life, I had only eaten at sit-down restaurants by myself four times. Every time came with its own set of challenges, but the incident in Gallup, New Mexico, was the one that made me realize I would never do it again.

The Family Restaurant was highly rated, so I decided to give it a try for dinner. Having eaten alone at sit-down restaurants only three times before, I felt bold enough to make this the fourth. I ordered a chili burger with tater tots, hoping for a pleasant experience.

When the waitress brought my meal, I was greeted with a large plate that seemed to contain everything at once. The tater tots were piled high on top, and beneath them was a white substance with green bands—something that vaguely resembled mayonnaise mixed with diced lettuce. Everything about the meal was very wrong. At first glance, it looked very much unappetizing.

A wave of repulsion washed over me. The sight and smell of the food overwhelmed me, and I knew there was no way I could eat it. "This just isn’t for me," I told the waitress, trying to keep my voice steady. She nodded, understanding, and offered to change the meal. But I was already in a fragile mental state, and the repulsion wasn’t just about the food—it felt like it was everywhere. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed to leave.

I stood up and left $25 on the table, more than enough to cover the meal. The waitress insisted on changing the order, but I could feel myself mentally breaking down. It wasn’t just the food; my mind was racing, and I couldn’t process anything clearly. The repulsion wasn’t just physical—it was psychological, suffocating me. I couldn’t speak coherently, and the more she tried to engage with me, the more panicked I became.

The manager approached, and several customers began staring. The pressure was mounting, and I felt like I couldn’t escape the situation. I added more cash to the table—first a $20 bill, then another, and finally everything I had left in my wallet. But the waitress and manager didn’t leave. They were still there, speaking to each other and perhaps to me, but I couldn’t understand a word. The entire restaurant was silent, with all eyes on me.

At some point, I turned my back to the manager and waitress and walked out of the restaurant. My heart was pounding, and I wasn’t sure what would happen next. I assumed someone in the restaurant had called the police, and that the manager would stop me before I reached my car. But for some reason, no one followed me or stopped me on my way out.

I was in no shape to drive but did my best. I drove about a block away from The Family Restaurant and parked until I was safe to drive.

A few years passed, and I found myself on a trip with my grandson. We were driving through Gallup, New Mexico, revisiting the town that had caused me so much distress. I decided to use this opportunity to make peace with what happened at The Family Restaurant.

I asked my grandson if he had ever seen an act of bravery in real life. His grandson looked at me, confused. "Not really," he said.

I smiled and told him the entire story of that fateful night at the restaurant. "We’re going to walk in there like we own the place," I said confidently, "sit down, and slowly eat a meal."

My grandson was shocked. "You’re going back?".

"I am," I replied, feeling a sense of relief and determination. "This is bravery."

"Siri, take me to The Family Restaurant," I said, and we were off.

We walked into The Family Restaurant, and for a moment, I felt the same unease as before. But this time, it was different. My grandson and I sat down at a table, and the waitress approached with a warm smile. We ordered our meals without hesitation, and this time, everything tasted just fine.

As we ate, I realized that the experience wasn’t about the food—it was about facing my fears head-on. My grandson looked at me with admiration. We left the restaurant that evening with our heads held high, having overcome my past trauma. I did not feel like a baby needing my grandson as a crutch, instead, I was a proud grandfather teaching his grandson what heroism is. Even if it was silly, it was a very big deal to me.

That was a good time with my grandson. With my wife, we don't talk about my mental issues unless they come up. If I'm having problems, she's quick to address them, getting me out of a bad environment or interfacing with doctors as needed.

With my grandson, it's different. I don't talk about my mental issues with him either, but there is something unique we do together that I do with one else. When I see something odd, I point in that direction and ask him what he sees. He tells me what he sees first, then we can compare notes.

I don't really care if things (I don't need to interact with) are real or not, but sometimes I am curious. Of the questionable things I've pointed out to him, most turn out to be real. Among those that aren't, 85% are misidentified objects (a roaring lion is actually a rock), and 15% are total hallucinations (a horse on top of a roof is just a roof). To me, that is useful information.

-

Age 58 - ultra realistic but typical hallucinations

I had driven nearly 3,000 miles over a few weeks, taking in various sights and experiencing moments of peace during my solo journey. I prided myself on being a safe driver, always cautious to avoid driving when I felt unwell. The trip was largely uneventful but as I navigated through the rural landscapes of Texas, an ocular migraine struck, blurring my vision.

I occasionally experienced this condition and knew it would pass in time. Determined to reach my destination safely and on schedule, I stopped at a roadside store to buy some aspirin, hoping it would thin the blood to my eyes and quickly restore my vision.

The medication started working within 20 minutes, and my vision cleared up. With renewed confidence, I decided it was safe enough for me to drive on. However, as I continued down a long stretch of rural road, my heart sank: the light-colored road was marred by dark black tar lines crisscrossing every few feet.

To anyone else, these would just be ordinary maintenance patches in the concrete, but to me, they were potential obstacles that could turn into anything at any moment. My mind raced as I tried to discern if each shadow or line on the road was real or just a figment of my imagination brought about by my schizophrenia.

It wasn't long before I encountered my first major challenge: a group of crows flying out from what appeared to be the tar lines. Startled, I safely swerved and slowed down, thinking they must have been nesting under the road. Only later did I realize that these were just common crows feeding on something dead or alive in the rural landscape.

In late afternoon, I found myself entering Shreveport, Louisiana. The city lights blurred into a dizzying array of colors as high-speed traffic filled my vision. I had to get past a semi-truck moving at 70 miles per hour in the left lane, and so I made a split-second decision to change lanes to the right.

But then something unexpected happened: a large black object appeared in front of me. It was a 5-gallon bucket lying on its side, blocking my path. My mind raced; I had to make an instant judgment call. I calculated quickly and deduced that since previous cars in the fast lane did not swerve to avoid the bucket, the bucket must not truly exist. Driving through the hallucination seemed like the only choice given traffic was all around me.

The sound of impact echoed in my ears as I drove past what should have been nothing. Startled, I glanced into my rearview mirror, which I rarely trusted but on this occasion revealed something shocking: there was indeed a black 5-gallon bucket behind me, its top third missing and scattered fragments strewn across the road.

I continued driving, trying to ignore the sounds of debris falling from my bumper. The water light didn't come on, so I assumed the radiator wasn’t damaged. No oil light appeared either, suggesting that the engine was safe for now. I decided to get off at the next exit to inspect my vehicle properly and apply some first aid in the form of duct tape on what I thought would be a broken front grill.

To my shock, there were no signs of impact anywhere. Not even under the car where bits of road grime or dirt should have been disturbed. No scuffs on the bumper. No oil under the car. Nothing. I considered that since the roads in Shreveport were light-colored too, it could be possible that what I thought was a bucket was actually a large black patch in the road, perhaps some kind of maintenance work or repair. However, I couldn't recall any such patches on this section of interstate.

One thing was clear: there was no evidence I hit anything physical that day or for the 5 years I owned the car. The front grill and underneath the car were perfect.

As I sat there, trying to process everything, one thing became clear: my journey had been filled with more than just the many thousands of miles I drove solo. The crows and the bucket were symbols of both reality and hallucination. They reinforced something I already knew: in my world, nothing was ever just what it seemed.

I continued my journey, and it was uneventful. When I returned home, my loving family was there to greet me.

Those were several events I thought would be informative. I have hundreds which are boring and some are much more disturbing than what you just read. Hopefully, you now understand schizophrenia better after reading the ones I chose.

-

As you saw, my life is not easy but is clearly manageable. I just have to go through additional 'hoops' which hopefully few people will ever see.

If I am talking to you face to face, I may be perfectly fine or I may be hallucinating your face melting away or have an urge to spout out a long string of important numbers to you but my short term goal is for you not to even notice I am having issues. My long-term goal is to appear normal to everyone, at all times.

Complete strangers I talk to do not even know I have any sort of mental condition. Strangers may notice something different about me by my slow speech and lack of facial expressions, but they rarely make the connection that it is related to a mental illness. I mask things well and make certain to talk very little.

People who have been around me for a while know I have a mental condition of some type because I slip up at times. Also, if I talk too much, it shows. Usually, I answer in parables or go off course, and occasionally, I lose track of sentences. That is okay, though. They do not talk down to me or fear me

As for friends, if I trust them enough and tell them I have schizophrenia, they are first surprised. Some disappear (not a shock), while others stay friends with me. And that is okay as well. The way I see it, the few friends I do have are very loyal friends.

Sadly, going to a dentist or doctor for any reason is shameful (on their part, not mine). I am smart but once the receptionist, dentist or doctor reads my list of medications, they always, without exception, immediately talk to me as though I am a baby.

People may ask what I do when I face medical problems. If I am feeling physically off, I explain it to a loved one first. We go to the doctor together, and they speak for me. If I have to go to the doctor alone, we make a list of the symptoms before I go. When there, I show the list to the doctor and ask them to explain each point line by line. Medical terms are not my strong suit, so I pretend to understand. The doctor assumes I know more than I do and takes care of my medical problem. For me, going into that strange environment with or without someone with me is always disorientating. If I'm waiting in the room for a while, I tend to slow down; I remain somewhat functional but at a slower rate physically and mentally.

People may ask what I do in social situations. People are social and like to talk to engaging individuals. In a group of people, since I am quiet, others usually forget about me as long as I occasionally seem engaged. Inside, I may be fine or I might not keep up with the conversation, or worse yet, may not understand where I am, but that is okay. As long as I nod my head occasionally, they rarely notice. At least, I think other people do not notice. Usually, I am with my wife, who is a talker, so she runs interference for me, which is good.

People may ask about medication brands. I currently take a low dosage of medication daily. However, medications of any brand or dosage have never really helped me the way they help many people with hallucinations. Age has not slowed or reduced symptoms for me either as it does with most people. That said, although I am drug-resistant, I still take my medication because I have not been hospitalized while taking it so it does something positive for me. Anti-psychotics reduce relapse risk by 60 to 80%.

People may ask if I could magically be cured, would I. It certainly would be great to have less mental clutter in my mind, and it would feel strange to experience strong emotions as others do. While I do have emotions, they are not as intense as those I see with other people. Honestly, I would like to feel strong excitement and joy, but I could do without the intense sadness and hopelessness.

The one thing I could never handle is the absoluteness of being normal. If I knew everything I saw was real, I think I would live in constant fear. For example, if masked assassins broke in, a normal person would know they were going to die—it would be absolute for them. But for me, I would see the same masked assassins and wonder if they were real or not. Absolute reality would be sheer terror. My doubt about reality is my armor. In my opinion, that is the better of the two choices if a cure for schizophrenia magically existed. Ultimately, I am who I am, and that is perfectly fine with me.

What helps me navigate life is not jealousy or out of spite of seeing others having fun in life but instead, it is resilience. Resilience for me is the daily discipline of checking the rearview mirror and knowing the mirror lies, but trusting my gut anyway. It is the choice to live life on my own terms and support my family as they need me.

Resilience is hard. Without constant effort on my part, I would be dead, in prison, or homeless under a bridge somewhere. I must always be watchful and coexist with others in society. I must also learn to coexist with myself.

I have a few tips that may be helpful. The first two are not directly related to schizophrenia but have helped me, and they might help you or a loved one with schizophrenia.

My first tip is this: 'just because you can be a victim doesn't mean you have to be one.' If you play the victim card, you'll lose your self-esteem and quickly find comfort in wallowing in self-pity. Be strong—take inspiration from the world-famous physicist Stephen Hawking, who was wheelchair-bound, in constant pain, and unable to eat or drink on his own. He wore diapers and drooled yet maintained his self-respect and never once used the victim card. Never think of yourself as a victim; if you do, self-pity will consume you.

My second tip is: 'learn from your mistakes and try not to repeat them.' This adage is what I live by, it is my core principle. You need to find solutions that work for you and experiment with them. If something doesn't work, don't do it again. Like someone who is short, tall, blind or deaf, you work with what you have and make the best of it by trial and error.

For example, once I was in a grocery store shopping in the cereal aisle. There were so many boxes and prices, and I got confused and overwhelmed. Sadly, I stopped moving entirely, staring at a barcode on a box. That was foolish on my part. The result: I learned my lesson, and now if I start to get overwhelmed, I go outside for a bit, I do not wait. -note: everyone is different so that might not work for everyone.

My third tip is: You will have mental issues along with times of clarity. Do not waste those moments of clarity. Take some time to write down what you think you saw and felt. It will likely be silly or gibberish, but that's okay. The words you write are not that important. It is act of writing things down which helps your mind start processing your experiences in a more organized manner. With this, you can gradually add order to the chaos.

I also have a little advice for helping your loved ones. These are a few things that might help, which you will not find in any clinical books:

Never coddle (pamper) unless necessary. Sometimes it is very necessary but it should not be the norm, it will make your loved one feel like a baby, not as an equal.

If your loved one wants to be alone, consider that there may be reasons for it other than being antisocial. If they are in a quiet room doing very little, they might be mentally lost, overwhelmed, confused, mentally exhausted, or simply have a stomach ache. If they need you, hopefully, they will know how to find you. Usually, relaxing is what they need instead of being taken to a crowded mall or having them sit on the couch to be stared at.

Clinical books say it is better to never argue with someone over a delusion as it will always ends in disaster. I will bluntly tell you exactly why contradicting is pointless. If my brain tells my mind that everyone on Earth had been replaced with androids, I believe my brain. The more someone tells me I am wrong, the more my brain feeds me with additional (false) information so it is right and the person arguing with me is wrong. That is why you can never convince, threaten or beat a delusion out of someone. Like I wrote in Chapter 03 ('The Lost Girl'), delusions are an untamable beast.

The same books state that it is best to tell your loved one, 'It was real to you,' instead of arguing with them. True, but from my personal experience, statements like that are the same as vomiting in a toilet and someone behind you asking, 'Are you OK?' Sometimes, it is good to hear, but usually, it is better not to say anything. Put another way, outright saying 'That’s not real' or politely saying 'Bless your sweet little heart, it is real to you' is not good, it actually fuels the delusion with gasoline. Instead: say 'I see you’re really stressed right now. Can I help with anything?' without mentioning the delusion or event directly, or just say nothing at all.

In my case, my wife says the same thing, like a routine: 'What do you need me to do?' That gives me choices—I can place my finger over my mouth so she knows not to speak while I sort things out, or I can speak what I need (like to leave the area). If I do not respond, from what she has told me, she knows to lock her arm in mine and start walking.

I am not your loved one, and obviously some of my symptoms will not match theirs, but many will. At least, you now know more about the shared symptoms than when you started this book.

The goal of this book is to show you what schizophrenia is like the best I could through my personal journal entries. It was never designed to be a tips and tricks guide. Why? Schizophrenia is not a cookie-cutter illness, and without personally talking to someone, I fear I would give the wrong advice. It is that simple.

The chapters you read 'show' what schizophrenia is like for me, and hopefully you have learned from them. 'Just snap out of it' is not possible. At best, you can get your loved ones' attention, but their mind is going to do what it wants to do.

I like to be thorough, and if you'd like to read even more about my specific symptoms of schizophrenia, I have many personal notes on the subject in my book ‘From My Perspective.’ This book includes descriptions and a few personal workarounds for everyday problems, from life in general to how I can drive solo trips around the country or manage conversations with others. It is dense with information, not journal entries in story form like this book is.

Your loved one cannot change what they have, but they can certainly do anything they want to do (within reason). They may not be able to become rocket scientists, but consider Councilwoman Angela Bachiller with Down syndrome, Stevie Wonder who is blind, comedian Steady Eddie with cerebral palsy, and math genius John Nash, who was famously open about his schizophrenia. Those are famous people I never met, but I do know my good friend Amy, like me, she has schizophrenia but is an absolute expert at laundry. That's what she does, and she loves doing it.

It may surprise you, but I have only read three books in my entire life. Tech manuals and news articles, yes, just not books. I am certainly not bragging that I wrote this book. Instead, think of it this way: if an old man with no college education and language problems can write something, the sky is the limit for anyone. As I've repeated many times, people with schizophrenia may go through additional hoops but we get there. We are equals.

What schizophrenia ‘is’ like from my perspective

This is the second book of a three-book set.

Coexisting With Myself - What schizophrenia ‘feels’ like from the inside

From My Perspective - What schizophrenia ‘is’ like from my perspective

Controversial Subjects - What I 'think' about - Cognition and philosophy

Halfway through drinking a cup of warm coffee, it started tasting strange, like raw meat. I knew that the taste of raw meat could not possibly be yet it was. My brain came up with a solution, so that was the end of the raw meat tasting odd. The taste became normal as cavemen eat meat. The coffee in my cup just needed to be cooked over a fire for a minute and it would be fine. — That was a solution, but it was a logical error.

My brain tried to solve the meat taste again. Coffee cannot taste like raw meat, therefore I am both Jim in the kitchen drinking coffee and also a caveman in prehistoric times eating meat that he did not cook long enough. — Not a complete logic failure, so I can live with that.

A few moments later, my brain decided the coffee was just coffee and that I was simply Jim with coffee. The caveman scenario vanished. Soon afterward, the entire bizarre event was forgotten. Usually, trivial events resolve themselves in working memory and are not saved to long-term memory.

Part of my coping system is that I can have more than one reality coexisting at the same time without my head exploding.

This book offers a raw, unfiltered glimpse into what schizophrenia is like from my perspective. Nothing more, it is not a clinical guide on schizophrenia.

It is written specifically for the friends and family of someone living with schizophrenia who have already read the book ‘Coexisting With Myself.’

This book, ‘From My Perspective’ will show what schizophrenia ‘is’ like for me. It may not translate well for your loved one as schizophrenia varies greatly. This dense book is very much optional reading.

It is absolutely not intended for the curious or casual reader. It is not that type of book.

You will not enjoy this book, but you will not forget it either. You will learn many things about schizophrenia that even psychiatrists do not know.

This book is extremely dense but is broken into understandable segments. Unlike ‘Coexisting With Myself,’ there are no relatable stories. Instead, this book is descriptions with a few personal workarounds for everyday problems, from life in general to how I can drive solo trips around the country or manage conversations with others.

This book is about my specific experiences with schizophrenia. I have many personal notes on the subject, but schizophrenia is not a cookie-cutter illness so keep that in mind.

Of course, schizophrenia affects people differently. Some are lower functioning, while others are higher functioning; many hear voices and likely have depression. I could go on, but overall, what I go through is not that different from what they go through at some point with the hallucinations, confusion, bizarre thoughts, and actions. Fortunately, I am able to explain things rather well after my mind settles back down.

My notes are dense and messy. Although I've eliminated some rambling and cleaned up the sentences, ‘they are what they are’.

Basically, these are notes I’ve written over the decades. They are not for doctors or textbooks, but for me to understand my own mind better. Some of my sloppy notes will be confusing; some may seem silly but all are true to me (and only me). If you’re the friend or family of someone with schizophrenia, some of them might help you see ‘why’ your loved one acts the way they do. Most likely will not.

A quick intro

Most people assume I am a quiet but rather serious person, a person with some quirky mannerisms and a person who is a bit forgetful. Few people know I actually have schizophrenia. This book should help answer how so few people know I have a mental illness, let alone schizophrenia.

Viewpoint...

Many years ago, I took two IQ tests and both showed that my IQ was rather high. I am not stating that to brag, just stating this so you can use this information from my viewpoint of someone who was/is fairly smart. Sadly, over time I have lost both memory and cognition so my IQ is not remotely what it once was.

Insight Plus...

I question everything: why the Sun is mostly hydrogen but Mercury is not, or why I have mental issues while others do not. Most people accept the ‘what’ the Sun is and stop there. I need to know ‘why.’ Like a loan officer who ignores a client’s small talk and simply asks for the profit-and-loss statement, I strip away clutter to see what actually matters. Put another way, I am fortunate enough to have the ability to step back and observe specific things I think or do. I ask myself ‘why.’

Disclaimer...

I have been adding entries to this for over a decade and have gone to great lengths “not” to remove any outdated content. Where applicable, I have added "in the past" or “occasionally" disclaimers to the outdated entries. Keep in mind that some of the entires in this book may not be considered abnormal but I assumed they were and determined they were worth documenting as such.

What My Wife Looks For

I have daily psychotic symptoms. Usually, the symptoms are visual hallucinations mixed with eccentric/eclectic thoughts. Every few days I will experience problems with reality (well documented below). Monthly, I will have a few delusions (which I can detect). Every few years, I will have what I call a "long" psychotic episode where I will have a prolonged break from reality that lasts for about a month.

Warning Signs...

There are early warning signs I am mindful of when a full-blown psychotic episode may be in its initial stage. For me, these include hearing audible, 8- to 10-second musical audio clips, looped and repeated for days at a time. I also mutter the word "OK" either upon visualizing a task or after completing one. Since I do not talk to myself, this muttering is very uncharacteristic of me. Additionally, I may engage in actions that are completely out of character. My spouse knows me well and is usually the first to let me know there is a problem.

Mid-Cycle Warning Signs...

I find myself compelled to perform unusual "important" tasks. For example, acquiring all necessary hardware to install solar panels in my yard and then installing them. Having solar power may seem like an important task at the time, but it's unusual for me. I also start mispronouncing or slurring words. There are noticeable pauses and delays in my thought patterns. While reading, I frequently misread words. For instance, "Horrifying" might be read as "Honor," and progressing, complex words like "visit wonderful Redfield, Indiana" could be misread as the single word "piano." English letters are letters though, they are not illegible symbols to me in this phase. - I also question my surroundings in bizarre ways, such as not believing that liquids exist anywhere in our universe (thinking they are superimposed material from an alternate reality). Such bizarre associations are typical warning signs.

Short Duration Episodes...

The duration of a mini episode is around one to two days. There are warning signs preceding this type of episode. Hallucinations and delusions during these episodes are more memorable (easier to recall later). After the hallucination/delusion phase, my memory becomes much murkier. The symptoms of short duration episodes are very similar to "long duration episodes" with confusion, fantasy merged with reality, countless hallucinations, etc. Oddly, language seems intact during a short episode; I can understand simple language and assume I speak intelligibly. Note: This is based on my memory fragments from the episode and may not be entirely accurate. Although unpleasant, these short episodes can usually go undetected by others if I am isolated and do not engage in anything foolish.

Long Duration Episodes...

When a "long" psychotic episode is in full force, reading becomes impossible for me. Individual letters become unfamiliar symbols. Speaking is difficult to impossible. Fantasy, reality, and alternate realities are all merged together. For example: Stereotypically, monsters might be out to get me, so I must be cautious of everything. In a grocery store, I may wonder why milk is sold there or question if I am actually in the store or just imagining it. Those examples mark the beginning of my complete immersion into psychosis. During these episodes, everything becomes severely foggy and what little I remember is heavily fragmented. - These "long" psychotic episodes appear to last about a month.

Spontaneous Episodes...

If I am in an extremely stressful environment, I can potentially have a spontaneous and rather serious psychotic break. Fortunately for everyone, instead of becoming a babbling mess, I become more like a ‘zombie,’ both inside and out. My language comprehension (both verbal and written) as well as my ability to speak coherently degrade. Soon after, my ability to perform tasks and even entire thought processes deteriorate. If I am able to extract myself from the stressful environment, I may do so unpredictably with poor judgment. If unable to leave, I enter what I call my “limp mode, where my thoughts exist but are minimal.

My Mental Scaffolding

I have my moments when I am a babbling mess on the street, ignored by people, but overall, I think I navigate life quite well. I do better than most of my friends who struggle with mental illnesses.

There are reasons for that; it’s not that I am smart. It’s how my mind works. More importantly, it’s how I trained my mind to try to make sense of the chaos. By no means is this a guide, it is just what has personally evolved within me.

My religious beliefs are the glue that holds me together. August 28th, 1987, marked the start of my religious journey. It is a polytheistic religion with many Gods and Goddesses. It is my mental scaffolding. It gives me a rigid structure. In my religion, there are rules to follow, and I do not deviate from those rules.

Also, I am not as attached to reality as most people are. If reality were a bubble, you would be at its center. I don't have one central bubble, instead, I have several bubbles, none of which I am in the center of.

My worldview is a patchwork of facts and exceptions. For me, I fluidly live among three realities/worlds: the world you call 'normal' reality; the world of schizophrenia, where everything is lies or distortions; and a religious world which is neither normal nor schizophrenic. It is a world of magic and mystery.

Put another way, I have the ‘physical’ reality which handles facts like gravity or traffic lights. I have the ‘schizophrenia’ reality where things just happen and ‘in the moment’ I think are real but are actually fake. I have the ‘religious’ reality which not only adds meaning and rules but also works like a place where things go which do not fit neatly in one of the other realities.

I live in three worlds, not one. For example, if I am walking in the forest and see a lone tree moving since my religious worldview has forest spirits and a lone tree moving may be from a forest spirit, that explains the moving tree to me. If I see all the trees moving in the forest, I know the physical world has wind and wind can easily move many trees so that explains it. If I see a purple tree hovering upside down, nothing explains that so it must be a hallucination. Depending on my mental state, everything in my world usually fits into one of those three worlds.

To summarize that part better for you: Instead of living in a single reality where things are destined to fail, I live among three flexible realities. Everything usually fits into categories of real, fake, or other. I am never fully attached to any one world. Being fluid like this means my mind does not explode.

What is also important to know is that I compartmentalize things while living among these three worlds: the religious, physical, and schizophrenic.

Ultimately, I sort things into their respective categories and continue with my day, usually without stumbling. As a result, my reality is fluid and switches around a lot. I can scan that example forest, see a forest spirit moving a tree next to a purple tree in a windstorm, and my head does not explode; instead, it processes everything into the proper order, and all is well. If someone is standing next to me, I am smart enough to keep quiet unless they mention the trees moving.

Put another way, I am suspicious of everything I see, hear, or even think. To me, what I perceive is like email: I look at the subject and either throw it in the trash or read it. If I read it, I put it into the most appropriate folder (real, false, or other). I am cautious (skeptical) and try to always think things through. When I am unwell, that process does not work so well, but that's the general idea.

I am motivated not to slip up and it is fear and responsibly which drive me. The fear of being locked up and the responsibility of helping my family as I believe they need me.

I realize this was a lot of information to absorb, and it may not have been explained well and I rambled a bit. It's perfectly okay if you don't understand most of it. This is a framework unique to me. The end result is that I found a solution for myself that keeps me alive and out of prison. I learned to coexist with schizophrenia rather than fight against it.

My Personal Notes on Coping

Insight...

A part of my personality is that I always want to know "why" things are the way they are. For me, I analyze "how" I am different from other people and theorize "why" these differences exist. The point is that I cope with schizophrenia without ignoring or refusing to accept it. Like someone who is blind or deaf, you work with what you have and make the best of it.

The Big Picture...

I live my life with the philosophy of "post-it note" solutions. I believe all problems and all solutions can be condensed to fit on a standard-sized post-it note. From basic solutions we can enact today to help out the human race 10,000 years from now, to explaining the concept of infinity, to everything in between, I believe everything can be condensed. For me, always seeing the "big picture" helps keep me focused and on task. It also aids with language and motivation.

Worldview...

I view the world differently than most people I've asked. Apparently, many people spend their lives purposely interacting with the physical world (from watching TV to digging ditches to traveling from point to point). For me, I give the physical world much less importance. The physical world exists as I interact with it constantly but for me, it is secondary to my own existence. Put another way, the internal world my mind generates comes first while the outside world comes second. I assume wheelchair-bound physicist Stephen Hawking shared a similar viewpoint. Somewhat related: I see the world for what it is—an arrangement of atoms. Similarly, I see my inner world as nothing more than some amino acids and electricity moving about.

Paranoia...

I do not consider myself stereotypically paranoid. My religion teaches me that cowardliness is forbidden. I expect bad things to happen at all times but do not cower in fear like others might. If bad things were to happen, I would fight or die trying, knowing I cannot lose since I already know about my death. While I try to avoid confrontation, I will not show cowardliness if bad things occur. The result is that I expect bad things to happen but have a plan if they do, and that plan does not involve cowering in fear. I admit that I am paranoid but not fearful.

Trust...

I cannot fully trust anything I see or remember, nor can I fully trust my thoughts. Although this sounds terrible, it's actually manageable. My lack of trust may be due to my experiences with hallucinations and delusions (a learned trait) or a variation of paranoia where I've become leery of all people, places, and things (a physical condition). This lack of trust is obviously an issue but has a solution. For me, unless it's an "over the top" thought or "false" visual information, I assume many things are real and act accordingly for the given situation. If I'm wrong about the situation, it's not the end of the world.

My ‘trust’ technique does not work with delusions. For example: Once I ‘knew’ that the 22nd floor of the Empire State Building is actually a giant fish aquarium, it's impossible to convince me otherwise because I have zero trust in any video evidence or eyewitness accounts. I would need to go to New York and see the 22nd floor for myself, though even then it might be questionable as what I "know" could overpower what I see. On the bright side, I've learned that whether something I "know" is a delusion or not does not matter in the big scheme of things. Therefore, if something I “know” sounds outlandish, I do not disclose it to others in general conversation.

Anxiety...

I don't become fearful but can get anxious at times. This usually happens in places with unpredictable movement like large stores, crowds, or driving in traffic. To counter anxiety, I try to focus on the task at hand. If necessary, I can always walk away from the situation to disengage myself. Additionally, I try to compartmentalize things that make me anxious.

Panicked State…

There have been times when an overwhelming feeling of "I should not be here; I should be anywhere else" envelops and completely overpowers me, leaving me in a nearly immobile state of dread (the best example I can provide). Envision the last few seconds before sliding off a snow-covered cliff. Maybe it's a "panic attack," but I don't want to label it as such. This has only happened a few times in my life, and my solution was to first recognize that I'm in this overwhelming state, then try to change out the chemicals responsible for it by thinking of "happy thoughts." While not a medical professional, it makes sense that "happy thoughts" would flood the brain with different chemicals than those causing the feeling. If my solution wasn't chemical replacement, then "happy thoughts" served as distractions. Either way, this is what I've used to break the panicked state and it worked.

Frantic State…

More frequent than the rare panicked state is becoming confused about what to do. This happens when overwhelmed by choices or information. An example would be going to the store to buy a box of cereal; soon, the choice becomes overwhelming as there are too many options. The ratios between cereal sizes and prices become meaningless then unintelligible. In a frantic state, I eventually decide to leave the aisle but the decision is also unintelligible. I'm truly stuck for a while.

My somewhat reliable solution has been to repeatedly issue an "disengage" command (I assume my visual command sequence is similar to speaking to myself to "leave" repeatedly). It takes some time, but eventually I understand to walk away from the aisle without the cereal. My mind returns to normal except for a lingering, less severe frantic state and some embarrassment/shame.

Focus...

If I'm having a conversation with someone, I have to focus on it or it quickly disintegrates. If I'm alone and find my attention is not focused or I've lost concentration, religious methods help me possibly regain focus but also I can internally command myself to focus. 50/50 chance it works. This is a frequent problem for me.

Mirrors...

I have an aversion to mirrors due to religious reasons. My face should be a mirror image, but it doesn't appear that way to me. Whether someone on the far side could manipulate the reflection or my mind is confused by the 180-degree difference, I avoid them or if necessary, don't trust the image at all and only look at a portion of it. For example, shaving, I make quick looks and only focus on a portion of the mirror when I do. Similarly, I do not remotely trust vehicle mirrors either and physically move my head to check everything behind me.

The Eyes...

I learned long ago to maintain eye contact with others to ensure social equality. While this makes me uncomfortable when I know someone well (they know or I think they know that we are equals), I look at their lips instead, ensuring what they say is from them and knowing it's my turn to speak when they stop.

An exception are people with blue eyes, I do not ever look those people in the eyes. Why? The lighter the shade of blue, the less alive they seem. Also, my mind tells me not to look into their eyes so I do not. Blue, brown or green eyes, they all weird me out but I manage to fight it (except blue eyes).

Relatedly, I have an extreme aversion to telephones and avoid using them unless absolutely necessary as I cannot be certain people are speaking what I'm hearing, even friends and family. They respect this boundary, only calling with extreme emergencies.

Stress...

I try to avoid stress whenever possible. Sometimes, however, it is unavoidable. Not getting into a religious rant here, but an example of dealing with stressful situations would be in a crowded store full of motion and sound. Two religious entities usually guide me through the chaotic environment by focusing on what they instruct me to do. If they're not there to assist, I try to block out the extremely distracting motion and sound as best I can. If possible, I'll use "tac bars" (visual overlays) to help break down the chaos into something more manageable.

Sleep…

I usually fall asleep easily enough but sometimes it's a problem. In a dark room with my eyes closed, I can see monsters in my mind like recalling a memory. I hear them shuffling about as well. While used to this, if I begin to feel anxious or experience the "fight or flight" response, I know from past experience that sleeping will be impossible at that point and just get up for a few hours.

When In Doubt...

I have a system for objects which I'm unsure if they exist or not (potential visual hallucinations). In the past, I would play the percentages but now use the rule: if I don't need to interact with the questionable object, ignore it. For example: In the past, if I saw a $20 bill in the parking lot, I'd play the percentages on whether or not it was real. Now, as long as I do not interact with the bill, its reality does not matter.

It Does Not Really Matter…

Objects (real or not) are one thing but complicated human interactions are another. A long time ago, I gave up always needing to know what is real and believe am better off for it. For example: If having a conversation, don't really need to know if it's actually happening in the big scheme of things, I only need to be present. There is a slight chance it's with a hallucination; much greater chance it's real. The point is that regardless of its nature, I did my best and gave it full attention. If later discovered the conversation was not real, didn't lose anything significant.

As for hallucinating objects during conversations, safer to ignore them than discount the entire interaction as unreal. One of many life lessons learned being around others. This "it does not really matter" technique works well for me.

Listening In…

Long ago, I thought powerful religious entities could read my mind if I let them in. I was always trying to block them from coming in. It became tiring to constantly block them out, so I came up with an ingenious solution: I found a way to block all attempts at reading my thoughts using a magical talisman I kept with me at all times. That was long ago, though, and maybe it was actually schizophrenia. But the point is that I found a solution and it worked, whether it was religious in nature or not. That stopped 'others reading my mind' dead in its tracks.

Anti-Social...

I force myself to be ‘social’ but prefer solitude. In crowds, feel uncomfortable but go in crowds anyway. I prefer not conversing with strangers but will if necessary. Enjoy alone time more. Some of it constructive, much of it not. Admit there is laziness but the point of being alone is having a choice.

Motivation...

Fear of becoming the stereotypical babbling mess on the street or the crazy person yelling at himself in prison motivates me quite a bit. The streets or prison life are not for me. Additionally, motivated by religious and family reasons to do my best each day.

Tiring...

Sadly, effort to act normal every day is tiring. Mentally exhausting to keep track of everything with a smile. An example: if you were pulled over by the police for drunk driving, you would do whatever possible mentally to fight off alcohol's effects to avoid arrest. This is what I deal with daily. Methods work but are taxing.

My Personal Driving Solutions

I drive a lot when I'm well enough to do so. One reason is to have some alone time. Another is that it's a challenge. Yet another is to prove to myself that I am independent. To prove to my family that I am independent is in there somewhere.

For anyone, most of driving is mental 'muscle memory', just like the mental 'muscle memory' for walking. Driving itself is incredibly easy. The problem, at least for me, is everything else besides that. It's the distractions, the stress of traffic, the multitasking, and oddly, the forgetting that I'm driving (while I am driving).

I drive well, and I just have to go through hoops others do not see.

The Golden Rule

I do not drive if I do not feel mentally up to the task. I certainly do not "fake it and hope for the best" like drunk drivers routinely do.

Stop Lights:

Perhaps my greatest challenge is with stop lights. I pose no danger navigating them but at times, I cannot determine which light is active. In this (occasional) situation, I either wait until someone behind me honks their horn or I check for other vehicles and eventually drive through the intersection as long as absolutely no cars are potentially a problem. If I am in heavy traffic or see a surveillance camera, I instinctively go with plan B which is to make a right turn and eventually position myself directly behind someone else at a later intersection where I can use them to guide me into a left turn. Problem solved...

Tracking:

Another issue I have is something I call tracking where I see an object (yellow road line, a car's mirror, a lamp post, etc) and follow it with my eyes and disregard following the road. I am well aware of the dangers of tracking and try to catch myself doing it. To minimize tracking, I constantly move my eyes as not to focus on any one object.

Blinders:

I wish every driver would do this out of politeness but I must do this to be safe. When driving, I have tunnel vision and focus only on the road. I do not allow myself to be distracted by anything not on the road.

Pattern Breakups:

I hate tar filler (lines of black tar roughly three inches wide used to seal concrete road cracks). I hate the shadows of trees crossing the road even more. To me, anything I see on the road which is not a straight line is potentially an object or more likely a deep crevasse. Since every potential object can be dangerous, I have to identify each potential object "individually". Example: If I am driving on a paved road in a National Park but there are tree shadows on the road, I will have to slow down and examine each and every tree shadow just to make certain it is safe to cross over it. - i.e. I cannot risk an accident by blindly assuming all shadows are simply just shadows. Just one of them might be a crevasse from an earthquake or meteor strike. The mind is a funny thing…

After The Fact:

After running over a shadow (something flat) or even a bump (something not flat), fairly often I mentally replay what I just ran over and make a quick decision whether I hit something or not. - It is also common for me to open the garage door, drive into the garage then stop and mentally reply what just happened as I am not completely certain the garage door was open or not when I drove into the garage.

Misidentification:

At times, I do not know what objects are on the road. An example would be seeing either a plastic bag or a possum cross the road in front of me. At times, I do not know what the object in question is. It gets worse though, imagine seeing either a plastic bag or a car cross the road and not knowing what object in question is. - That is the world I live in but my solution is sound, I simply treat every object on the road seriously. If a potential plastic bag is in the road, I safely avoid it entirely as it may very well be a car and not a plastic bag.

Hallucinations:

I mentioned misidentification of objects, I also have outright visual hallucinations but almost always, they do not impede my driving. An example is seeing cow on top of a rooftop. For me, the cow may or may not be real but in the big scheme, it does not matter as the cow cannot not interfere with my driving as it is on top of a house and not the road.

Realtime:

It is extremely rare but at times, I have been driving and every vehicle on the road vanishes. From my perspective, I know there are cars out there but I do not know where they are in realtime. It is an extremely dangerous situation so I immediately stop driving.

Traffic:

I try to avoid traffic if I can. It is extremely taxing for me as I have to keep track of all of the vehicles on the road as well as potential pedestrians, tar lines, shadows, traffic lights, hallucination, etc etc etc plus I have the burden of actually having a destination to reach which involves changing lanes, turning on different roads, finding street addresses, etc etc etc. - I much prefer to avoid population centers and traffic when possible.

Rules For Non-Traffic:

Driving is easy if there is a vehicle or two in the distance. If the road is completely deserted, it could be an issue but fortunately, I have a few work arounds. - If any solid object is in the road, treat it as through it is a big car. - If a solid object is beside the road, (since the road is deserted), I give the object a wide berth. - I never stop to aid a stranded motorist as it may very well just be a rock or a cow. - There is the adage that “deserted roads play with ones mind” and my mind is no exception.

Rules For Heavy Traffic:

In heavy traffic, I do not believe I am dangerous due to the rules that I follow: I try to stay behind the largest vehicle I can find and stay there. That vehicle is my guide through the chaotic traffic. - If I see a person standing in the road, I will drive right through them as the likelihood the large vehicle in front of me missed them is almost zero therefore the object in the road must not exist. - I never trust mirrors but I actually use them for one purpose, if I see any object in the mirror, I blindly assume “something” exists. If the object in the mirror is important to my driving, I will physically look to verify if the object exists or not. - I use my vehicle’s “heads-up-display” if possible and follow exactly what it displays. - My main problem is the fear to change lanes but I am working on it. - Heavy traffic is extremely exhausting and stressful for me so I try to avoid it.

Race Car Mentally:

Driving in high-speed traffic is challenging for me. I must track all vehicles in all lanes and predict their future positions. I’ve always mapped my driving environment in 4D, not 3D. Driving in 4D is much like how race car drivers drive, where we both are now and where we both will be a few seconds from now. It works but is very mentally taxing on me.

Mr Plow:

I use a technique called “Mr. Plow”. If I see anything larger than a small refrigerator anywhere and in any lane, I assume it is a vehicle, regardless of what the object looks like. If it is smaller than a small refrigerator, if no other vehicle swerves or uses their brakes, neither do I. - I use the "Mr Plow" technique only in heavy, high speed traffic situations.

Accidents:

If I were to be involved in an accident, I would ask the police what I needed to do with insurance, etc as honestly I do not know what to do. The only time I was ever in an accident was in 1997 when a truck crashed into a car which then crashed into me. That is undeniable proof that my evolving driving techniques work.

My Imaginary Co-worker

At times, I talk to thin air, thinking it is a person. I cannot distinguish this hallucination from a living, breathing person. This happens and I don’t know why.

Until recently, I thought of Greg as separate from talking to thin air, but I see that they are related in some way. Greg is not an imaginary friend; rather, I think of him more as a co-worker. Sometimes, (stressing sometimes) I talk to him in the car or at home when no one else is around. In my mind, if I have a problem I cannot solve, it just comes to me to talk to Greg about it, as maybe he can help. He is there and I bounce things off him; he gives me his perspective, so he is good to talk to. I learn from him over the decades.

I have never seen Greg, but 'in the moment,' I do not even question that logic. -strange, I know.

How Greg communicates with me is that I speak out loud, and he responds as mental thoughts. I have tried but cannot speak to him in any other way.

It's good that we only talk about these things when no one else is around (or at least, I think that's true). It's extremely rare that I ever talk on the phone, and I know Sarah has never asked me who I'm talking to when I am alone.

'In the moment' Greg feels as real as a flesh-and-blood person, even though I do not see him. He is just Greg, the guy who talks to me. Of course, not ‘in the moment,' he is an embarrassing schizophrenic symptom I have. It is weird how my mind works; 'in the moment,' it changes silly things into very real things.

My Language Workarounds

Speech In General…

I speak each word I say slowly and with the correct pronunciation. My words are monotone. When that is combined, it sounds like I have a unique accent. I try not to talk too much as it is easy for me to lose track of what I am saying. To combat this, I count sentences and try not to go over five sentences. It seems to work well and allows me to blend in. Unfortunately, if I am pressured, I can easily lose track of the conversation so I try not to say too much at any one time. If I really lose track of what I am saying in mid-sentence, everything goes blank and the thought is completely lost. I have to resort to “Can you repeat that?”. The person thinks I misheard them but in reality, that is not the case.

Analogies…

I often speak using analogies but I am told that the majority of my analogies are not relevant to the subject matter. An example would be talking about “the frog and the scorpion” parable into a discussion about fishing or giving an analogy about a Transformers movie when the discussion is clearly about purchasing a used car. Fun fact: Errors or not, using “pre-canned” analogies and parables allows me to speak longer and breaks up my self-imposed five-sentence barrier for some reason. Basically, I can talk longer.

Unused Speech Paths...

In conversations, I calculate my sentences and map out how the conversation should go. I also prepare future sentences I plan to say depending on the direction of the conversation. This "future sentences" part of the speech maps is a problem for me as I often confuse what I actually said with what I wanted to say. Ultimately, I can never trust that what I remember is accurate.

New Words...

Several years ago, I stopped being able to speak new words I hear as easily as I once had been able to. I can memorize new words I hear but cannot speak them back. - I found that out in 2008 when I mispronounced a strange town named Houma, with another person. They told me I was saying it wrong. When I could not speak their version, I experimented alone and found this was an actual problem.

My Personal Notes On Brain Issues

Outright Disorientation...

At times, I have been so disorientated that I do not know when or where I am. Neither do I know what task I am currently performing. - Put another way, I do not sense I am someone else but other than that, everything else (time, space and current task) appears completely alien to me. Side note: Besides loosing the ability to read, I do not understand the concept of language itself. Ultimately, I exist but am lost in time, space and even purpose. - From my estimation, this problem has only lasted a few seconds to possibly a minute. The average being close to but under one second of total disorientation without any stress in my environment and up to a full minute in a stressful environment. -keep in mind that it is difficult to judge the time duration while in a disorientated state so actual times my vary.

Date And Time...

I have a serious problem with dates. Although I frequently look at calendar apps displaying the date, when I am out in public (writing a check in a store, for example), I simply do not know the actual date. Upon reflection of this issue, I always seem to know what season it is and from there, I can usually guess the correct month, with about a one-in-three chance of being accurate. Ultimately, I either ask someone or look at my smartphone or cash register display for the day of the month. Looking at the smartphone or cash register is extremely helpful as I can verify the month and sometimes even the year without looking too obvious. I have written countless checks with the wrong month or even wrong year, but they almost always accept them.

Urges And Compulsions...

This may or may not be PTSD: I have daily compulsions which I usually suppress. Some of them are spontaneous and silly. For example, standing up in a room of people and announcing to everyone a long string of numbers because everyone needs to know that number sequence. Many of the compulsions involve geometric lines. For instance, if I see a mountain in the distance, I may have an urge to rent then use a bulldozer to carve out geometric lines because the lines are missing and need to be there. On walls or even my own body, many times I want to draw geometric lines in specific places for miscellaneous important reasons. I also have issues with mirrors; I want to either spray paint them flat black or remove them entirely. I never have the urge to break mirrors, only change them or delete them.

Values and Flags...

In my visual field of view, every object has a value that I assign importance to much like price stickers at a store. Sometimes, besides just values, I also assign names to objects or locations. For example: "Bob the fly" or “location 423”. I also assign "flags" to objects, thoughts, ideas, etc. An example would be "that spider is a hallucination; flag it as 'ignore' and continue on." Going further, sometimes I also assign multiple flags to the same object. For instance, a cloud that initially looks like a bunny rabbit: I first flag the white blob in the sky as a bunny rabbit but after realizing it's just a cloud, I don't delete the first flag but instead assign a second one. Thus, I have two realities for the same object: to me, the cloud is both a cloud and a bunny rabbit. That was a silly example but it explains flags simply. Flags can get overly complex, and I rely heavily on them for many tasks or observations. Fun fact: I am extremely good at pattern recognition because I can usually cheat and shuffle data around using temporary flags instead of actual data. I started this long before social media existed, but it's much like multiple hashtags on photos—instead of photos, it applies to other things.

Familiarity...

This may or may not be PTSD: If I am on my computer, it looks familiar to me; I know exactly what the desktop and file structure look like. If I am inside my vehicle, it feels somewhat familiar, but I sometimes double-check to make sure it is mine (just being honest). If I am at home, I know where everything is, but it always "feels" foreign to me. An example of the "foreign" feeling would be seeing my kitchen counter: I know I have one, but the feeling is more of "so that is what my kitchen counter looks like," as opposed to instantly recognizing it. Put another way, the kitchen counter looks new as though contractors just installed it. That "newness/foreign" feeling is 24/7 with me and until recently, I assumed it was normal for everyone but found out this feeling is not normal at all, so it's documented here. Semi-related: I sometimes go through periods where I do not recognize objects as being mine, which is different from the "newness/foreign" feeling for things I know are mine. An example would be sitting in my vehicle and looking at the steering wheel without connecting that it is mine. I do not know whether to even touch the steering wheel or not.

Multitasking...

I cannot read a text message and watch television simultaneously; I have to focus on one or the other. As a side effect, I rarely listen to music because either I can listen to the music or perform a task, there's no in-between.

Music has recently become a problem for me. It is no longer just a seamless blob; instead, it consists of distinct tracks playing simultaneously. The issue arises when I focus solely on the vocal track. In that case, I find myself wondering about its purpose—whether the singers are telling a story or conveying some other message. Then, the chorus comes in, and everything together becomes confusing. Additionally, if the tempo changes, my focus shifts to that as well.

Memory...

This may or may not be PTSD: I have forgotten several events in my past. I do not remember my marriage, the birth of my child, and many other significant events. I know they happened but cannot recall them actually happening; I just retell what others told me. For example: I have photos of me at Stonehenge and can tell you all about it, but I omit that part where I don't remember ever being there. Certain events I do remember are completely out of sequence. The result is that I have forgotten many people, places, and events in my life. My view of time is also distorted as a result.

Delusions...

Nothing is absolute in my world. Reality and delusions are so mixed in my mind that I will never know which is which. Ultimately, past delusions do not matter because they happened in the past, and my religion teaches me that every action or inaction has brought me to where I am now. Therefore, I do not obsess over what was real and what wasn't as both have contributed to who I am.

Messages...

Some people with schizophrenia believe television and newspapers contain secret messages directed solely at them. For me, it is not television or newspapers but occasionally message do happen. Most of the time, I logically know these directed messages cannot exist, but sometimes, I truly believe they do. Even when logic takes over and I realize the messages are not real, I still don't discount the messages themselves (just the delivery method). Ultimately, this is a known issue I have, but it does not hinder me in any way; I treat these messages as delusions, but with the understanding that the actual content of the messages may very well be relevant. Why should I believe the messages when I know they might be delusional? But just in case, they are not delusions but rather of a religious nature.

RealTime...

A problem I had in the past but has not occurred recently: Occasionally, I felt as though I was switching from a dream of what was happening to what was actually happening. Currently, I have an issue somewhat similar to this. For example, I would remember preparing to go on a trip to the store to buy milk after finding myself looking at a gallon of milk in the milk aisle of the store; I know I should not already be at the store yet I physically am.

Out Of Frame...

On a fairly regular basis, I have something I nicknamed "out of frame." Sometimes, I believe I am in a different place than where I actually am. For example: If I am in my house, I may believe I am in a newly constructed apartment complex somewhere in Europe. Another example is just not being able to determine where I am at all; I feel lost even though I know I should not be lost. It gets worse; for brief periods, I may believe I am either in the past or in the future. For instance: A simplified example would be if I look at an old lamp and "think too hard" about it; my mind determines that because the lamp is old, it belongs in the 1950s, so I must also be in the 1950s. Another clearer example: I took a long driving trip and was currently in the mountains but a few days earlier, I was in the desert. If I "think too hard" about my desert experience, my mind concludes that I am in the desert, not the mountains. Logically, this leap back in time made sense (at the time) as I had memories of the desert within easy access to my reality-generating consciousness. Being honest, I have a concern that one day, this "out of frame" effect will become a problem and I will become permanently stuck somewhere.

Time Stalling...

This may or may not be PTSD: Unfortunately, at times, my internal timing system gets heavily skewed, leaving me not knowing where things are in real-time. More accurately, I know where objects were in the past but do not know where they are now or where they will be in the future. For example: Seeing people walking around in a park but not knowing exactly where they currently are; I know the scenery and the people but cannot put it together in real-time. Essentially, I know there are people but do not know their exact locations. Another example is driving up to a stoplight and not knowing what color it currently is. - It gets worse: Twice so far, I was in a condition where all motion around me completely stopped.

Forgetting Objects...

Sometimes I see things I do not recognize. For example, I saw a train but did not know what it was; I watched it for a short time, wondering what it was. It felt as though I had never seen a train before or knew its purpose. I have also forgotten what trees are and watched them in fascination because they seemed new to me.

My Personal Notes On Processing

Random Thoughts While Active…

When I encounter a random thought while active, for the most part, I can usually either process it or discard it. There are obvious exceptions noted throughout this book, but ultimately, I believe my mind is quieter than most, except for those specific instances.

Random Thoughts At Rest…

When I am resting and a thought comes into my mind, I can either process it or disregard it immediately. Sometimes there can be a barrage of thoughts, but I can handle them individually. An exception occurs when the thought or thoughts rapidly increase and decrease in intensity, similar to an earthquake for thoughts. Sadly, my usual mental techniques (such as stop commands, envisioning nothingness, or visualizing myself flying) do not work on these types of thoughts; only time seems to help. For example: while resting, I might think about going to the store later in the day and start envisioning travel (motion). This thought increases and decreases in intensity a few times per second, lasting for minutes to several minutes. Another example is looking at a wall and then closing my eyes to rest; my mind envisions the wall before I closed my eyes, and the thought of the wall rapidly fluctuates in intensity.

Autopilot…

Like most people, I sometimes go into autopilot mode while performing mundane tasks such as walking or driving. For me, ‘autopilot’ has become a true division of tasks. I would estimate that I spend over half of my day in "autopilot" mode where I perform tasks without fully being aware of them. An example is going to the kitchen and pouring a glass of milk; although I do not particularly like drinking milk, my subconscious apparently thinks I need calcium, so it performs this task automatically. I have found myself in different parts of the house solely because I was not truly there but this is okay.

Environment…

Compared to others, I perceive my environment differently. They tend to pay attention by focusing on objects they feel are important and disregarding everything else. For example: in a busy office, they no longer notice or think about a desk lamp as it doesn't seem significant to them; instead, they focus only on the actions occurring there. In contrast, I look at all the objects around me. Everything has value and meaning for me. I will frequently check a simple desk lamp to ensure it hasn't changed while I am in that space. The office itself and its activities are of equal importance to me.

Audio Overload…

This may or may not be PTSD: If I'm in a loud, crowded area with many conversations, something kicks in and converts all the muffled sounds into ‘best-guess’ words. Unfortunately, this is done on a word-by-word basis rather than sentence by sentence, creating a confusing mess for me as it results in clear and distinct words every second. Since this converted audio is artificially generated in my mind, the volume and importance are the same for all conversations regardless of distance from me. I can't distinguish between someone talking directly to me and another person muttering 20 feet away; I have to quasi-lip read the person speaking to me so I know which words belong to them. It's a chaotic nightmare in a crowd.

Tracking…

When driving, I try not to focus on any single object for too long as it leads me to track that particular object and ignore everything else. For example: tracking a yellow divider line or another vehicle's side mirror can cause me to lose awareness of my own vehicle's location in space and time. That's why I move my eyes around frequently while driving and mentally map my surroundings instead of relying solely on visual cues. This seems to be an effective workaround for the issue. On foot, I sometimes experience the same problem; walking through a door frame, I may continue tracking part of it until my neck nearly bends out of place.

Repeating Patterns…

Not to be confused with flashing lights triggering seizures in epileptic people, I have a different issue with blinking lights, such as car turn signals or power bank charging status LEDs. If they blink in a repeatable pattern, I definitely have problems. It's not that I don't know the lights are flashing; my problem is that I don't know ‘when’ they're flashing. My working theory is that it's due to a timing difference between the outside world and my internal clock. Regardless of the reason, my solution is to assume a car's turn signal indicator is still on if I've seen them use it in the past. For status LEDs, I simply look away from their blinking and remember (in my mind) what they looked like last.

Burn Out…

Over the years, my focus has diminished, my thoughts contain more errors, and I have serious long-term memory problems. Constant stress chemicals rotting my brain from the inside little by little... The Roman saying "seize the day" is relevant for me as it was for them, given their shorter lifespans. This old motto serves as a useful tool; I need to stay in the present moment rather than dwell on the past or future. Cellphone reminders are my 21st-century post-it-notes, and I use them constantly. I rely more on family for organization now, focusing on doing my part without worrying about the broader purpose. This approach works well.

My Personal Notes On My Hallucinations

Visual Hallucinations...

My visual hallucinations have progressed over the years from simple bright shapes to very realistic ones. Some obvious hallucinations involve objects moving rapidly until they blur. Sometimes, if I question whether what I see is real, I will look to see if the object in question casts a shadow. I've found that hallucinations do not cast shadows, emit heat, or give off light. Many hallucinations likely blend in and go undetected, so I can never truly be certain what is real and what isn't.

Not always, but when I see something and know too much information about it, that's a flag that the object is probably not there. For example, if I am in a park and see a woman walking a dog, it might be just that. But if I know the woman's birthday, the contents of her purse, the name of the dog, and the last thing the dog ate was kibble from a metal bowl, I know almost certainly that the woman and the dog do not exist; it is a hallucination.

Hallucination Overlays...

Some hallucinations are delusion-based. Overlays are things I physically see superimposed with something that isn't really there. For example: looking at my index finger, I clearly see it but also know it's additionally the Matterhorn mountain. I don't visually see the gigantic mountain but I know in my mind that it is there along with my index finger. It gets stranger; I may clearly see my thumb but also know I am in free fall off a cliff. Overlays work in strange ways.

Other Visual Issues...

In the past, occasionally my depth perception would change to exaggerated 3D. Everything was intact, but some objects were expanded and others compressed. For example: seeing a milk carton on a kitchen counter that appeared three times its normal size compared to everything around it. Exaggerated 3D was rare but a minor nuisance.

Update: I thought ‘exaggerated 3D’ was a thing of the past, but recently, the effect returned. Since I wasn't driving due to mental issues, I was in the passenger seat of a vehicle. In front of me, all incoming headlights appeared as small metal needles at the same time as starburst light beams. That wasn't problematic for me so I was fine. However, taillights were an issue; they went in and out of exaggerated 3D for the entire ride. Fortunately, I don't get motion sickness or car sickness.

Tac Bars...

This may or may not be only schizophrenia: I frequently see something I nicknamed 'Tac Bars.' Everyone has regular vision, and everyone has mental images. For some reason, I often have both combined, but only when they involve geometric shapes, not with typical mental imagery. For example: if I look down a hallway, I might see the hallway along with unnatural lines on all of the sharp corners. Additionally, entire sections of an object can be replaced by a geometric shape. An example is a large semi-truck trailer appearing as a large rectangular block (with no wheels, just a block towed by the truck). I have a personal theory that many people with schizophrenia hear near constant voices; Tac Bars might be my visual equivalent to their auditory experiences.

Alternate Reality...

I sometimes envision an alternate reality. Unlike simple hallucinations or delusions, I occasionally perceive two events happening simultaneously. For example: unexpectedly triggering a motion sensor light, seeing the bulb was on and realizing it had been activated by movement. At the same time, I recalled that nuclear blasts produce unexpected light, so I thought both events occurred at once. In my mind, the light bulb was on due to the motion sensor, but I also needed to prepare for a potential nuclear blast wave.

A simpler example might be pushing a shopping cart down an aisle in a store and simultaneously thinking I ran over a customer while also avoiding them. Unlike simple hallucinations or delusions, I envision two distinct events happening with my shopping cart in real-time. Fortunately, my mind doesn't explode when processing these dual realities; I'm accustomed to it.

Stacked Realities…

Some of my delusions have gradually merged into a structured, separate ‘reality’ layer in my mind. A very simplified example: I know the sky is blue. In this structured reality layer, however, I know the sky is yellow. When I look at the sky, I see that it's blue, but for some reason, the reality layer activates on its own. This ends with me knowing the sky is yellow while understanding it's blue. I perceive all of this as a single sky, not exclusively blue or yellow. One reality does not invalidate the other.

To compensate for stacked realities, I've adopted the practice of recognizing that whether I see the sky as blue or know it to be yellow doesn't matter in the long run. These pooled realities forming their own layer is currently a minor problem. Hopefully, it will not reach the point where one reality overpowers the other. - My local grocery store can be both a grocery store and a dance hall. That's fine. It never needs to be only a dance hall. If it were to become exclusively a dance hall, that would be devastating.

Audio Hallucinations...

I hear music or voices with a fan running in the background and occasionally experience audio hallucinations without another source of sound. It's very common for me to hear doorbells, knocking, or animal wrestling outside type of noises. I have these types of audio hallucinations fairly regularly and have even installed security cameras outside to keep from getting up so often.

It’s rare for me to hear ‘voices in my head.’ Sometimes I do, and they are loud and spontaneous. Sometimes they’re in English, sometimes not; sometimes male, sometimes female. A few voice examples I fully remember are ‘Of course, there are four’ and ‘It is the same as last time only different.’ In those cases, there was no context to the sentences. Rarely, but sometimes, the voices are normal-sounding, trivial, and forgettable. Like walking in the parking lot of a store and a voice would state, ‘I think the pavement is grey.’ I do not think I ever had destructive, stereotypical voices, loud or otherwise.

I do have a delusional entity (named Greg) that has conversations with me at times. That particular voice interacts with me audio only.

As a side note, I will not classify religious guidance as schizophrenic hallucinations, but to be thorough and clear, I do often hear distinct voices of a religious nature, always when I am under duress. Two distinct voices give me information about my environment, guiding me safely through it.

Some Things I have Seen And Thought…

Delusions and hallucinations vary and are not all the same. For example, hallucinations may range from something as simple as a glowing orb to something as complex as a skyscraper.

This is short and contains one example per category. While psychiatrists might use different terms, these are the categories I use.

I included this solely so you can get an idea of the strange and bizarre things a mind can generate. I am not remotely ashamed to share them with you.

A Long Duration Delusion…

For many years, I ‘knew’ the secret to becoming invisible. The effect would only last a few moments but I ‘knew’ I could disappear if I got into serious trouble. I had a concern (not paranoia) about rogue factions and decided that becoming invisible in a crowd would be a smart thing to do in order to evade them. - I realize invisibility sounds silly but that is how delusions work. Reminder: Delusions are fixed, false beliefs.

A Normal Duration Delusion…

Some delusions take a few days to figure out and rationalize like when I just ‘knew’ for certain that an old SUV I recently sold tried to crash into my newer SUV because it was jealous of it. I ‘knew’ that no one was driving my old SUV but in my delusion, that blaring fact did not matter. What was important to me was that there was jealousy between the two vehicles and one took it personally and drove around without a driver. My relatives attempted to convince me otherwise but it took days for me to agree with them and acknowledge that SUVs never drive themselves (out of jealousy or otherwise).

A Conceptual Delusion…

I had a delusion where I thought nothing existed higher than my eye level. Specifically, anything below my eye level was real and anything above did not actually exist. i.e. If I saw anything above my eye level, I flagged it as a hallucination. At the time, it made perfect sense so I accepted this split reality as an absolute fact. The duration of this delusion was a few hours.

A Very Short Duration Delusion...

Thirty-second delusions? I was driving behind two motorcyclists for about twenty miles. During the course of following them, three or four times, I hit a large bump in the road. Each time, I just ‘knew’ I had run over one of the motorcyclists. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw only a bump in the road but that did not matter to me. I looked forward and saw both motorcyclists in front of me and realized it was only a delusion. Each time I hit a bump, the exact same process in my mind initiated. I repeatedly fell for the same delusion over and over.

A Variant of a Hallucination...

I was driving and saw a large, brown, rectangular object on the side of the road (off in the distance). I initially identified the object as a brown road sign. Oddly, the object moved further to the side of the road so I assumed it was a semi-truck as it was rectangular in shape. As I moved somewhat closer, the object did not have any sign lettering nor did it have any wheels. I assigned the object as both a road sign and also a semi-truck and stopped interacting with this object. Note: The only reason I remember this hallucination and/or illusion is because I happened to record the event during an unrelated project. Otherwise, it was a rather trivial incident to me and would have quickly been forgotten.

A Cartoonish Hallucination…

I saw a spider-like creature. It was about one meter high, it was dark-colored and looked like a cross between a spider, a willow tree and a palm tree. It was clearly cartoonish in appearance. When I see cartoonish objects like that, I almost always look away. For some odd reason, the creature never disappeared even when I changed focus.

A Realistic But Pointless Hallucination…

I saw something which resembled three dark-colored wooden posts. They were about 1.5 meters in height and formed a U shape. I assumed they were real wooden posts until they vanished while I was looking at them. I did not change focus, they simply vanished while I was looking at them. Weird…

A False Positive…

I saw a rough-looking (most likely homeless) man in a store checkout line but the man vanished. Soon after he vanished, I began to hear sounds similar to a horror show. I heard raspy, deep, very unnatural breathing close to me. No one was around so I assumed it was an audio/visual hallucination and flagged it as "ignore". Later, I moved my position in line and saw the same rough-looking man sitting on the floor. He was apparently there the entire time but my view was obstructed. Unfortunately for him, I still held the ‘ignore’ flag and did not ask if he needed assistance as I assumed he was simply a visual hallucination at that point. He did not exist in real life or so I thought… I know this incident was a false positive because later, someone mentioned the rough-looking man sitting close to me in the checkout line. Had no one mentioned this man, I would have forgotten all about this incident.

Potential Hallucination...

I saw a sky blue colored trailer parked in my neighborhood. When I took a closer look, the trailer was actually a horse trailer with black horse grazing next to it. I continued on and actually considered texting someone about seeing a horse in the neighborhood but ultimately decided against it. The reason being that maybe the horse was real but keeping it to myself kept me from potential embarrassment in case there was no horse. - FWIW: There were no "flags" which gave the horse away as being a hallucination, the horse looked perfectly normal, it just was completely out of place as our neighborhood is not a place for any sort of farm animals. On a slider scale, I would give the horse and the sky blue trailer a 25% of being real.

Time Stalling…

This may or may not be PTSD: I was driving through a rural section of the country on a fairly straight road. I was not tired nor was I deep in thought. It was a boring stretch of road. I do not remember where my gaze was focused but I remember having a feeling/sense that something was wrong. I looked at the vehicle gauges but did not see any warning indicator lights. For some odd reason, I shifted my focus to the right side of the road (through the passenger side window) and saw that that side of the road was motionless. note: Looking back, I do not remember any of the details of the side of the road other than it was not in motion. I looked forward (through the windshield) but do not remember if I saw motion there. I looked back at the side of the road where it was previously stationary and it was in motion once more.

Substitution With Interaction...

My hands were wet so I decided to dry them with a paper towel. I walked to the paper towel roll holder but instead of a roll of paper towels, I saw something resembling a black, horizontal hockey stick. In my mind, I decided that the black, horizontal hockey stick should be able to dry my hands the same as a paper towel so I used that instead. I found that the black, horizontal hockey stick was just as effective as the paper towels. - note: This example of substitution sounds silly while explaining it but you would have to be there to understand. It was certainly not silly at the time.

Body Morph...

I was at the dentist with my eyes closed as I was focused on the work performed. I could obviously feel the dentist moving around my face. The rest of my body was a different story, it morphed into something resembling dense bread dough. My body height was significantly shorted but my width was seven to eight times its normal width. I could feel my body but it was highly exaggerated. - Oddly, I accepted my new physical condition but was in a near panicked state with a desire to get up and leave before the dentist figured out I had changed. Also, I did not know what I was going to do in my new physical state. - I let the dentist continue his work and after some time, I physically returned to normal.

Hallucination Overlay...

I was outside and saw a bush in my yard. Due to the angle of light, it had a grey hue to it. I quickly decided it was a bush until I overthought it. I decided it was not a bush but actually a chaotic spiderweb. The delusion part came as I instantly knew everything I needed to know about the type of spider (a grey and black spider approximately a foot across) who lived in the spiderweb. I even knew not to get too close as that type of spider usually attacks people. FWIW: I was not overly fearful but felt I needed to use extreme caution. At the time, that spiderweb was something to avoid at all costs.

This book may imply that my life is a chaotic mess however that is not the case. I simply wanted to be thorough and document every symptom I have ever experienced, most with examples. Some of my symptoms are common while some are extremely infrequent or even non-existent now. That said, the top three issues I currently have are: visual hallucinations when they are intermixed with delusions, keeping track of real time and the numerous problems associated with fast paced, fast action environments. Overall, my life is far from being a chaotic mess, well most of the time.

Audio Verses Visual…

I feel not having constant, stereotypical ‘voices in my head’ helps tremendously but at the same time, I do not think I could handle normal people's standard ‘internal monolog/dialog’ either so I am lucky in that regard for not having an inner voice at all. - For me, I would rather have excessive visual artifacts than excessive audio chatter. Others may disagree though.

In The Moment…

I want to instill that although some of the things I attempted to explain may be silly, they are all very real to me 'in the moment.' My mind presents reality in such a matter-of-fact fashion that I simply go along with it. 'In the moment,' I believe even silly things to be true, whether they are visual or obscure trains of thought. - Afterwards, I could always dissect the event and maybe sort things into real and false, but I rarely do. It happened one way or the other. Something silly like seeing a bird and instantly knowing its name is Bob 28 does not matter in the big picture.

Blending In...

For me, my life is not easy but is clearly manageable. I just have to go through additional ‘hoops’ which hopefully few people will ever see. - If I am talking to you face to face, I may be perfectly fine or I may be hallucinating a rectangle next to your face or have an urge to spout out a long string of important numbers to you but my short term goal is for you not to even notice I am having issues. My long-term goal is to appear perfectly normal to everyone, at all times.

What I 'think' about - Cognition and philosophy

This is the third book of a three-book set.

Coexisting With Myself - What schizophrenia ‘feels’ like from the inside

From My Perspective - What schizophrenia ‘is’ like from my perspective

Controversial Subjects - What I 'think' about - Cognition and philosophy

It is written specifically for the friends and family of someone living with schizophrenia who have already read 'Coexisting With Myself' and 'From My Perspective,' and want even more information.

It is absolutely not intended for the curious or casual reader. It is not that type of book.

‘Controversial Subjects’ does not offer comfort or any solutions. Instead, if anything, it reveals the relentless, chaotic reality I navigate every single day. Much of it will be demoralizing to you, but know that I am obviously still here. I am doing just fine.

Be warned: nothing in this book will be useful for your loved one. It is very much about my personal thoughts on a variety of topics. This scary book is definitely optional reading.

This book is a collection of personal and controversial ideas I’ve been thinking about so much they’ve become obsessive. I’ve written them down to make them easier to understand. Once I put them in words, they might seem strange or odd to others, but what I’ve written is what I truly believe. If I’m wrong about anything in these chapters, at least they give a glimpse into the mind of someone with schizophrenia who often thinks in very different ways.

As mentioned in the first book, schizophrenia is disabling. However, like someone who is blind or deaf (or both), you work with what you have and make the best of it. This is what I personally have to work with.

My office is not some sort of safe zone for me, it is not a place where I can enter and everything is great. Instead, it is the computers which are inside my office which is an actual safe zone of sorts to me. Maybe that is a poor choice of words so I will rephrase....

A Better Explanation…

When I am in front of my computer system and no one is in close proximity to distract me, I feel quite comfortable. By comfortable, I mean that I can let my guard down and believe that everything I see and almost everything I hear is "real" i.e. not hallucinations of some sort. - A long time ago, I found that I do not have as many mental issues while interacting with computers and have incorporated this as my “safe harbor”. Although, not a perfect solution, I clearly have less sensory issues while interacting with a few monitors as opposed to interacting with the outside world. I also have the ability to focus on a single task and am not dependent on the chaotic, outside, "real" world. I can start, stop or pause tasks at my convenience.

Outside The Computer System…

As for my office and my house in general, I have four security cameras monitoring the outside of my house. The video output is neatly displayed on one of my monitors in my office. I have considered the four cameras as potentially being linked to mental paranoia but have discounted that angle. - If I was truly paranoid in such a manor, I believe I would have several cameras inside my house as well. - In real life, their purpose to is discourage thieves and solicitors. As a bonus, if I hear something outside (doorbells or distant voices), I can simply look at the video output and not walk outside only to find the doorbell was audio hallucinations.

The Real World Is A Navigational Mess…

A little context is needed to put the concept of “safe harbor” into view for those who do not know me. Those who know me know that I do not ever play the victim card but regardless, here is a somewhat embarrassing taste of what I deal on a daily basis and why a “safe harbor” is appealing to me.

Visual Distractions…

I have daily visual hallucinations. Of course, some of my hallucinations may appear as over-the-top scary or cartoonish but those are actually somewhat rare for me. From a recent test by an outside observer, I was surprised to find that I rather frequently hallucinate normal, mundane objects or even people. - Perhaps more dangerous than that is that I can also "not" see physical objects which absolutely 100% do exist. Not to bog down this brief summary but it is also important to mention that I can also interpret “real” objects in distorted ways. For example, I may see a pencil on a table and recognize it as a pencil but also know it is also a large waterfall (a waterfall the size of Niagara Falls). The pencil becomes two objects at the same time to me. Of course, that pencil could just as easily melt into the table as well but I know something like that would be an impossibility so ignore those types of melting hallucinations but that lowly pencil being both a pencil and also something the size of Niagara Falls seems perfectly legitimate to me at the time. -weird I know but I seem to fall for those types of visual hallucinations each and every time…

Auditory Distractions…

I also have audio hallucinations but not the stereotypical “voices in your head” type. I usually hear doorbells or repeated non-existent noises, occasionally I hear distant voices or rustling animals. Nothing serious at all unless... Unless I am in a crowded environment and many people talk at the same time. To me, the voices can change so every voice from every person plays at the same volume and I cannot determine one person from the next. Even worse is that if the audio processor inside my brain does not understand individual words, it uses best guess and makes something up to give to my mind. Note: That last part is important to mention as it can sometimes happen in normal conversation with only one person. Although the person says something to me, my brain processes something different. An example would be someone saying the word “windshield” and I process the words "grassy plain". In my defense, my mind only receives what my audio processing system (of my brain) gives me to go on.

Time Itself Is Confusing…

Finally, I have issues with “time” and not in a good way. I have written about this challenge elsewhere but basically “time” is something I combat more frequently than I would like to. Am I in 1950 or 2050? Is half of what I see around me in the past and the other half is in the present? Not complaining but the “time” errors I deal with (or more likely ignore) distort reality itself, sometimes to dangerous levels. FYI: I fear that one day, this single issue will put an end to my driving days.

The Point…

I could go on whining like a victim about my “whoah is me” problems but ultimately that is a summary of some of the issues I have which I mention now to re-enforce the main point of this document. - The main point being that the sensory areas of my brain are faulty but I deal with it well enough. Those issues coupled with delusions and everything else I have to deal with on a daily basis make the concept of a “safe harbor” appealing to me. - My computer system is a welcome break and is a place where things are real enough to me and I can trust what I see.

Productivity…

What do I do on my computer system? I do not listen to music (long story) but I do frequently watch 5-10 minute YouTube videos. I also research "things of interest" but usually, it is at a slow rate. Slow research and comprehension of whatever I find is both good and bad but at least I am thorough and the activity itself keeps my mind exercised. Ultimately, there may be little actual productivity but at least I am doing something and not staring off onto a blank wall or from a prison cell. I am doing something which is in a rather stress free without second guessing my environment or questioning if what I see is real or not.

Just Rest…

It is logical to assume that I could simply take naps or even stay in bed all day to benefit from the “safe harbor” effect my computer system gives me. That may work for some people but for me personally, lying down and closing my eyes is not exactly stress free. If I take a nap, it is either due to drowsiness or due to me realizing I need to stop whatever I am doing for a while. Ultimately, naps are something I actually dread and I will leave it at that…

Time To Write Safe Harbor...

I spent around 15 hours composing the Safe Harbor entry. That may seem like an overly long time for a single page of text but for me, I composed it entirely at my own pace and within a peaceful environment.

Many people know I have visual issues where I see objects which are not there. Some know that I can misidentify objects (a real finger misidentified as being a mountain) or that I can see two objects simultaneously instead of one (a real finger which is also a large mountain). Few people know I can also “not” see real objects but I will add that to the list here. Additionally, my audio issues fortunately do not involve stereotypical “voices in my head” but are also faulty with hallucinations of doorbells, knocking, repetitive sounds and of course, animals rustling about.

I have known issues involving my mind interfacing with the outside world (interpreting my surroundings correctly) and not to brag but I believe I do an above average job.

There Is A Problem…

I view the above audio/visual interfacing issues as nuisances for the most part. I have much worse things to contend with and this document is about a growing problem I have. For several years, I have been having an occasional issues with “knowing” the time was different than it actually was. Recently, that has also included “knowing” I am in a different location.

Possible Fate...

Someone I once knew disintegrated mentally due to several strokes. She became immobile and in a nursing home hospital bed until she died. Before she died, from what limited words she spoke, it was clear to everyone that she was having a great time dancing in a ballroom, sometime in the early 1960s. - It is a horrible thought knowing that I might end up like her one day. I doubt it would "blissful" ballroom dancing though. I could see myself spending the rest of my life being chased by dinosaurs.

More Likely Fate…

A much more likely outcome is that one day, this issue will become permanent. Knowing myself as I do, my mind will give up as there will be no possible solution. It will end up in a shutdown mode called catatonia. -yeah me, no dinosaurs to worry about…

Time And Space...

What if you could go back in time or instantly transport yourself somewhere else? I do exactly that and although I have documented this issue elsewhere, I will go more in depth here. - Believing you are in a different time or place than where you actually are may sound like fun but keep reading…

The Root Cause…

From my research, evidence points to my problem being a merger between perception and imagination. i.e. Everyone’s mind is designed to perceive their environment correctly however, for some unknown reason, my imagination adds details to the environment in such a way that I cannot separate the two. “Knowing” you are in a different time or even a different place is just an extreme variation. Of course this is just my personal theory but whatever the cause, I believe it will be my undoing in the future as I have not been able to find a viable work around for this problem.

The Other Place...

At times, I have found myself somewhere else. For example, I may be "physically" in America yet "know" I am actually in Europe. So far, my work around has been to focus on whatever task I am performing and live in the present while ignoring whatever location I am in. Put another way, if I find I am in the "wrong" place, I ignore whatever location that I "believe" I am in and in a short period of time, things go back to the way they are suppose to be.

The Other Time...

I assume normal people at times, have past memories and if they dwell on them, temporarily believe they are in the past. - For me, I do not need to dwell on anything, it just happens. Randomly, I may simply "know" I am in the past yet "know" I should be in the present. - I can also “believe” that I am outright in the past. - Seriously complicated but at times, I can "believe" I am in the future and that am only remembering past events (those past events being the actual present). - Even more bizarre than that is that I can also "know" something is incorrect so I flag that thing as being in a different time. A bizarre example would be that I can have a conversation with someone and "know" their hair is several years in the past. I somehow "know" the rest of the person is in the present. I may "know" that some of the objects around me are in a completely different time.

Outright Disorientation...

At times, I have been so disorientated that I do not know when or where I am. Neither do I know what task I am currently performing. - Put another way, I do not sense I am someone else but other than that, everything else (time, space and current task) appears completely alien to me. Side note: Besides loosing the ability to read, I do not understand the concept of language itself. Ultimately, I am lost in time, space and even purpose. - From my estimation, this problem has only lasted a few seconds to possibly a minute. The average being close to but under one second of total disorientation without any stress in my environment and up to a full minute in a stressful environment. -keep in mind that it is difficult to judge the time duration while in a disorientated state so actual times my vary.

Work Arounds...

To date, my attempts to correct this time issue have been the neuroscience technique of rapidly shifting eye glances and the standard grounding techniques many psychologists have discovered. Sadly, those techniques do not work for me. To further this problem is that I can only (unsuccessfully so far) attempt work arounds “IF” I know the time issue even exists. There are many times where I do not detect that I am not in sync until after the event is over.

Side Note...

Somewhat related, I doubt this issue is catatonic schizophrenia as I believe that is a completely different condition. For the record, I have been catatonic a few times in my life (that I know of) and for me, I would describe my catatonia as equivalent to the mentality of lowly, wooden post. i.e. there was no thoughts at all as I was in total shutdown mode. There was no thoughts to even be aware of having thoughts. I was 100% gone.

Current Plan…

There are periods of time where I "know" I am somewhere else or in some other time. My mind either blindly accepts this reality change as fact and I continue on limping until it passes or I outright fight the disorienting circumstances. Either way, in time, I sort myself out well enough.

I am not against anyone who decides to commit suicide. Be it the elderly, the incarcerated, the disabled or even the girl next door. Of course, it is seriously problematic for their loved ones but my option is that "no one should be forced to live just for the pleasure of their friends and family". I believe that it is selfish on the side of the loved ones to force him/her to live on like a hamster in a cage. On the other side, I think most people have a strong will to survive at all costs but sometimes people would rather not live. It is a cost verses benefit thing.

My Personal Story…

I am no stranger to suicide and even assisted in one once. - As a teen, I even tried it myself. I attempted it once via an overdose of pills and a second time with a revolver (Russian Roulette style with an incredible 6 spins). The third and final time, I was in my 30s and it was again via the Russian roulette game (4 tries). Between the overdose attempt and a putting a loaded gun to my temple and pulling the trigger a staggering 10 times, I finally accepted the fact that the Gods and Goddesses or fate or destiny determined I would live and that I had no choice in the matter.

A Conversation...

The reason I wrote this chapter is that I was recently asked by a psychiatrist if I felt suicidal. I told him it was complicated but then elaborated as to keep me from being thrown in a psych ward.

I explained to the psychiatrist that I was obviously dealt a bad hand in life. Each and every day is a literal nightmare for me. I can never trust anything I see or hear, nor can I even trust my own thoughts. What I do see, hear or think is (to put nicely) disturbing. I added that I have emotions but they are muted compared to everyone else around me. Life is a total rip-off so yes, I do not want to live. However, I know that must live.

I went on to explain that I feel my family needs me.

I continued with the angle that the rest of the world needs me as well. Although I may not have the emotional range everyone else around me has, I can do what I can to ensure they are safe and happy. Even muted, I feel good inside knowing others are so better off.

I closed with telling him that I would have no problem "doing" a measly 100 years, especially against the scale of infinity. No sweat…

I did not tell the psychiatrist about embedding memory fragments into DNA but I do believe it is possible that if I do something memorable (like helping a pregnant woman cross the street) that my act of kindness might be passed down to one of her offspring. In 40,000 years, maybe all people end up nicer to each other. It is wishful thinking but if there is even the slightest chance I could make a positive different to the future human race, it is worth it for me to hang around and not commit suicide. -I decided telling that angle would be a bit much for him to digest...

In the end, he very much liked my concept and moved on to another topic.

Of course, if I was the last man on earth or was marooned on a deserted island, I would quickly climb up the highest mountain and jump off. For starters, my mental problems make life challenging but from a purely biological standpoint, I do not remotely have the drive to live. I know the drive exists and I see it around me but the survival instinct "to live" is something either muted like my emotions or is outright lacking. - I am however, very task oriented and have no problem living even 500 years if there is a purpose to it.

On the other hand, I may or may not be dead already in real time. That sounds strange, but it is very possible. About a decade ago, I was stopped at a stop light on a bridge. A truck behind me may have crashed into me, killing me. I assume that did not happen, but I have always had that feeling that it did. It is possible I am not in real time but some sort of expanded time, so it is still a decade ago mid-crash. If true, I only think I am living on.

Conventional Mirrors...

Those who know me well, know I do not trust normal mirrors or reflections of any type. I tell people who ask that it is a religious thing but that is not entirely accurate. In real life, I have serious issues with image distortions in general. - I theorize it is the "reverse" image which my mind has a problem processing (the reflection is wrong therefore everything I see is certainly invalid). Since everything is incorrect, I assume that my mind liberally reconstructs what the true image "should" be and goes overboard with distorting objects, melting objects or outright inserts objects to make the "reverse" scenery more realistic. Mind you that this is just a theory. - From the religious angle, I was taught that standard mirrors and reflections are doorways to another world and is something I should never be involved in. Ultimately, I never trust anything I see in a mirror and the reason is mental confusion or religious reasons or a combination of both.

Black Mirrors...

Specially constructed "black mirrors" allow very little light to be reflected. In one particular religious practice, I use "black mirrors" to traverse great distances. It is a religious thing so do not mock me... The point is that (to me), mirrors or reflections of any type are never what they seem.

Windows...

If you ask me how light passes through a car windshield or through a house window or even through water, I can easily bore you with established theories about photons not interacting with atoms of certain structures. I could even give a lecture on photon / light wavelengths and basically blah, blah, blah you until you fall asleep. I could also give a similarly detailed class on photon creation, transmission and termination for that matter. I am a bit rusty on the established reflection theory but I could give a proper lecture on that subject with about 20 minutes of preparation time.

The Window Problem...

Although I can give a high level class on transparency, I absolutely do not believe that light can possibly pass through transparent glass. To me, science is wrong and in reality, transparency is due to magic or perhaps light does not pass through glass at all and it is simply a hallucination or (most likely) it is by a mysterious, unknown mechanism unknown to science. It is one of those three options despite all of the research I have put into the subject to persuade myself otherwise.

Why Transparency...

The point of this document is that in my world, I view things dramatically different than most people. I used transparency specifically to show a basic "real world" example but I could have chosen flat surfaces or walking down a hallway or greeting a stranger for the first time. Glass was just something I decided on while looking out my vehicle's windshield one day.

In Sync...

I understand "reality" in a vastly different way than most people yet no one would ever know unless I specifically told them (or they watched me drive and noticed that I always look behind and never use car mirrors). I go through life with a vastly different understanding on how the world works. This is because in my mind, I do a lot of translations to appear in-sync with everyone else.

Concepts...

I am certain I have concepts which are out of sync with the norm. But at the same time, I believe everyone else does as well. It is logical to assume that everyone has known societal concepts but individual concepts as well. One simple example I know is not mainstream is one which I have no words for (thus a concept). In its basic terms, two equal but opposing forces are balanced in the center. I use that concept frequently.

Ultimately…

If I lived on a deserted island, this would not be a problem but instead, I live in a world with many other people and of course, socially interact with others. Just because I count each step I take with my right little toe (logical method to me) does not mean others do the same. For the record, from my research, your act of walking is a fully automated task of some sort. - I understand my "world" and try to understand other people's "world" and translate as necessary.

I assume my dreams are far from unique but believe they are unusual / out of the ordinary.

What Is Unusual?

I can read and write in my dreams. I can even correct spelling errors.

I dream in color.

I can feel textures however I do not feel actual pain.

I am rarely if ever myself. Out of all the dreams and nightmares I have ever had, less than ten have me as a character. Instead, I have been a man, woman, child, animal, space alien and well... sometimes, I dream I am a color and float around along with many other colors. Sometimes, I am a sequence of numbers in which I interact with other numbers to form a larger value.

Most of my dreams are actually nightmares, and the majority follow an identical theme where I am placed in an impossible-to-win situation, and everyone dies as a result of my actions. I am the last one to die. I realize that this is PTSD from Pam’s death, but that is what happens when I sleep.

If I do not die in a dream or nightmare, I can usually (but not always) rewind the dream to a point before I die in an attempt to survive. If I do die, it continues on from a third person perspective. - kind of like a video game in a way but is actually called lucid dreaming.

The vast majority of these nightmares are brutally graphic.

My Pagan Religion...

I am extremely religious and August 28th 1987 was the start of my journey. Everything I do in life is based on my religious beliefs. With my beliefs, there are rules to follow and penalties for noncompliance. It is a polytheistic religion so there are many Gods and Goddesses. Some are good and some are not so good.

Discredited...

I could get away with stating that I believe in creatures called the Haltija (small, "shadow people") and that I get secret instructions from a powerful deity. I could also add that I have two "helpers" who are unseen but always with me to direct me. Well, if I was a christian televangelist I could get away with it. The sad fact is that I have schizophrenia. Just the word "schizophrenia" instantly discredits any faith I believe in (in the eyes of society). "He sees things which are not there, he has command voices telling him what to do, blah, blah, blah...".

The Glue...

My religious views have been the glue that holds me together. My religion not only dictates my actions in society but also helps to keep me from being a stereotypical, schizophrenical, babbling mess.

Three Worlds...

I live in three worlds, the religious world, the physical world and the world of schizophrenia. For example, if I am walking in the forest and see a lone tree moving since my religious worldview has forest spirits and a lone tree moving may be from a forest spirit, that explains the moving tree to me. If I see all the trees moving in the forest, I know the physical world has wind and wind can easily move many trees so that explains it. If I see a lone tree hovering upside down, nothing explains that so it must be a hallucination. Everything in my world fits into one of those three worlds. - Psychiatrists say my religion is a form of reality compartmentalization. Shuffling reality around or something like that.

How Big Am I???

Regardless of what neuroscientists theorize, I believe my conscious mind occupies a surface area roughly the size of a standard U.S. dime. My conscious mind consist of some amino acids and a little electricity interwoven within my overall brain structure.

What Is My Reason For Being???

I view my conscious mind much like a rider on a horse where I steer the horse where I want it to go. From an evolutionary standpoint, I am conscious and can make decisions to ensure my engrained instincts of: "eat, not get eaten and reproduce" are accomplished. - Fortunately for me, I am intelligent enough to be self aware and understand my evolutionary purpose.

What Is Out There...

The mind is completely blind but it does have access to post-processed visual information my brain has decided to give me. Put another way, for almost all life on Earth, the eyes are simply sensors which detect light. This visual information is passed to a portion of the brain which acts like a buffer/processor. This buffer compares the visual information to known memories and makes a "best guess" as to what those images are. The processed visual information is then available to the conscious mind. In my case, this buffer/processor is actually faulty. Real life example: there may be a long shadow cast across the road caused by a telephone pole on the side of the road. My buffer may inform me there is a shadow across the road cast be the telephone pole. My buffer could also fail to inform me of the shadow at all. My buffer may decide to associate the shadow with a deep crevasse and inform me there is a dangerous crevasse ahead. My favorite (sarcastic) is that my buffer may inform me that something "unknown" is on the road and releases adrenaline so I can deal with this potentially dangerous situation I am now in. - Ultimately, for the visual and also audio information my conscious mind receives from my buffers/processors, it is always suspect. Despite the problems with the uncertainty factor I have though I doubt I would know how to handle the world if everything I saw or heard was 100% accurate. That "absolute" world seems like an unending nightmare to me... -just being honest.

Sweet Memories...

Normally, memories are stored across the brain and the conscious mind can access them on upon request. For me, I can recall memories but never in chronological order. Some of the memories I have are fragmented. For example, I may know a complicated 30 character keyboard command I used in the past countless times but now I do not what the keyboard command actually does. I also have many memories which are inaccessible or outright lost forever. Having normal memories would be great but it is not possible for me.

Command Instruction Sets...

Performing a task is simple for anyone. Simply formulate a plan to accomplish the task then follow the command instruction sets your conscious mind determines is required. In my case, the command instruction sets my conscious mind conceives are at times flawed. A silly example is that a light bulb in the living room needs to be replaced, the solution my conscious mind has devised is to walk into the bedroom, rotate the bed 90 degrees to the right then walk into the living room and replace the light bulb. Finally, put the burned out lightbulb from the living room in the bedroom trash can. Of course, I can override command instruction sets if they are silly however, what defines silly? There was some reason to rearrange the furniture after all or it would not have been listed as a command instruction set. Ultimately, it is a balancing act with standard command instruction sets in order to accomplish the task. - FWIW: There is a certain type of "high priority" command instruction sets which cannot be overridden and must be performed "At All Costs". Those are rare but do happen and are a known issue for me.

Mark It And Move On...

I do not believe this is normal so bare with me... I assign mental flags to most things. If I see a cloud in the sky which looks like a fluffy bunny, I assign a "fluffy bunny" flag to it. Later, when I find the cloud is actually just a cloud, I assign a "cloud" flag to it. I end up with two flags assigned to one object. It may be a weird concept but that is how I usually process known objects. If I see Godzilla stomping on the mountain side, I assign a "hallucination" flag and move on. Flags have many practical uses but it does not end with visual objects as usually I also incorporate flags into my thoughts. For example, I may envision planetary orbits and add/remove additional planets, black holes, etc to my running scenarios. I assign flags instead of envisioned (mentally constructed) objects and it works for me. In the past, I would quickly review hundreds of pages of computer logs each morning. I would review logs in paragraph sized chunks and assign flags to them. Once everything was "fed" into my brain, I would review the mental flags and seek out correlations. The actual log entries were important but secondary to the flags and the values the flags contained. - Again, I do not believe this is normal behavior but if flagging is commonplace with everyone, you understand how efficient and useful they are.

Psychotic Rules...

So far, everything I listed is what I believe the differences are between you and I. I cannot trust what I see or hear and I may formulate impractical solutions to standard tasks but I obviously function well enough. - When it comes to severe psychotic episodes, although my speech becomes highly degraded, I am still able to walk and perform tasks. Logically, I do not know how this is possible though but I have a theory that I go into automated tasks mode (i.e. muscle memory everyone uses to walk or drive a car). Any tasks I feel I need to perform are loosely bound between my brain and my conscious mind. That is just a theory though. During a severe psychotic episode, my speech is degraded along with my memory of that timeframe so further investigation is pointless. - Maybe the overall mental state is similar to someone who is severely drunk?

With ‘Controversial Subjects,’ they were some of the things I think about and wrote down when I was well enough to do so. Each chapter began as an idea that I thought, if I wrote it down, I could understand the topic better. After that, I wanted to know how different the topic is from what other people think. Then it became almost a mission to detail the topic enough so others would understand it. Fun fact: These chapters were twice the size they are now. I spent days removing most of the rambling and further clarifying ideas.

I ended up with several chapters that few people would agree with, but that’s okay. Whether I am right or wrong about these controversial subjects, at least everyone can see my thought processes and, of course, understand how I view the world from my perspective.

I think everyone, regardless of having mental issues or not, has bizarre beliefs they keep to themselves. I just happen to believe you cannot see through solid glass. I am also smart enough to keep that fact to myself. Ironically, it is in this book but you get the idea.

This is the end of the three-book set.

Coexisting With Myself - What schizophrenia ‘feels’ like from the inside

From My Perspective - What schizophrenia ‘is’ like from my perspective

Controversial Subjects - What I 'think' about - Cognition and philosophy

The title of the book set is 'You Can See Me.' If you made the journey to the end, you certainly saw me. My memory is not great, but I did have many notes I wrote over the years, which were the foundation of this book set. I simply had to make it understandable the best I could, and that only took a few months (working at my own pace). It was a task I felt proud to do for my psychiatrist's nurse, and it evolved into something for complete strangers to read as well.

Like I wrote at the beginning, I did not sanitize anything or add flowery words in an attempt to publish these three books. It is simply something I did to maybe help people understand schizophrenia a little better.

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