I woke up this morning with the words “help me” firmly in my mind, but I couldn’t get them out of my mouth.
I wish schizophrenia hadn’t taken over my brain on days like today. This morning, I searched my entire apartment for the cameras and tracking devices (“bugs”) that have been bothering me since I turned 14. That was almost six years ago. This morning, I tried to convince myself that the water wasn’t poisoned so I could brush my teeth. I skipped breakfast because the food was definitely poisoned. I went to class, but it took me 15 minutes with a combination of breathing, coloring, and repeating to myself, “I feel good, I feel great, I feel great.” (Thanks, Bill Murray).
I walk out. My head is so low I can’t see what’s in front of me. I sit in class and don’t talk to anyone. I read because I know it’s the only thing that helps me on days like today. I pay attention in class, but I keep scratching my hands because a bug has been placed between my fourth knuckle. I start hearing voices telling me how much space I take up. How I should kill myself.
I run to the car so the FBI agents don’t have time to catch me. I go home and immediately call my apartment again. I do my homework, but I take a break to distract myself from these terrifying experiences. At 5:00 p.m., I go outside to a pitch-black place. An hour of coping skills to reassure myself that no one is there. I run to my car and to class. I barely pay attention in class for fear of what will happen if I look up from my notebook. The day ends. I don’t eat or shower because of the poison. I write, draw, dance, read, etc. for three hours. Some days I try to keep them away, but they don’t go away. I go back to bed, where I lie trapped inside my own head. I close my eyes and the world goes black. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.