Previously, I was hanging out at my aunt's house in Seoul, Korea, more or less living completely out of my head. Everyone was concerned that I'd never recover. At about March of '95, my aunt, on the advice of my parents, put me away at a rehab center — mostly recovering alcoholics. My constant companions were Rosanna Arquette and Jesus Christ, both as monotone cartoon images in my head (Arquette was light blue, Jesus was yellow).
Man, I hated that place. It was like a prison — I mean, there actually were bars outside the windows — and no one spoke English, so I was mostly walking around the couple halls I could, talking to Arquette or Jesus in my head. Now, let me tell you what Arquette did to me. This is why I believed that I had schizophrenia, and not manic depression, which I had previously been diagnosed with: the cartoon Rosanna Arquette kept me from pissing. I mean, she would reach down, grab something down there (according to my mind's eye view), and I couldn't piss. I mean, I had to struggle. Struggle to piss, fail to piss, leave the bathroom humiliated, whereupon Arquette pulled some strings in my head so that I would feel like I wanted to go again, go to the bathroom, struggle, fail, and again. Of course, I finally would go (struggling the whole way), but there was this one night when I tried to piss unsuccessfully from 10 pm to 4 am in the morning. This went on for like 2, maybe 3 months. Psychological torture, if not physical.
And oh, yes: the War in Heaven. Really, nothing much to it. Jesus in my head covered up Jim Morrison (he was Lucifer, remember?) and his pair match for about a month, so he was good and fuming. I set up a trap, like a body suit which they would fall into if they curled up into the fetal position at all. Then, on the appointed day, Morrison and company were let loose, whereupon Arquette (on my instruction) repeated to them, "Your time is short, your time is short...", and they, their anger giving way to weakness of the heart, succumbed to that fetal position which was the trap, and they were out of Heaven permanently. Like I said, not very exciting, but it was one of the high points of my stay at the rehab center.
This was the place. This was the place where I had gotten to the point that I couldn't turn it on and off anymore. I was too used to living in my head. I had to struggle with that, too, my appearance of sanity. By the end of August, though, I convinced my aunt that I was okay again. I stopped myself grinning that mad grin, which came from no source that anyone in the real world could see. You don't know how happy I was to get out of that place. And that was the worst of it, though the last part of my long episode came close. After that place, I started reconnecting with the human race. Story's not over.
Nemesis
2:17am wednesday, 21st november
Phsychological torture, the worst to endure, may sometimes be seen as the one true test of one's mind. The more you can withstand, the better chance you have of living.
daz
9:33pm sunday, 25th november
a breakdown maybe? When u have schizophrenia u wont know know no now know about it
Nemesis