Enlustered

I hear voices all the time, especially as I’m dozing off to sleep, like last night I heard, “Because you were looking for her,” which I’m unsure about.

But there are two regular voices I hear throughout the day:

“You’re pregnant,” is one. I heard this as I wrote the title for this post. Sometimes this voice makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. But I think it means I’m holding in creative talent that I’ve never used, and a life story I’ve never told. It also relates to a psychotic episode I had four years ago, in which I thought I was pregnant.

Another voice I hear says “trapped.” And sometimes I feel like the life I see as real (me sitting on my bed right now writing, aware of my money struggles) is not as real as it seems. Money (a man-made reality) is an illusion, and the sense of being less than because I have little money is an illusion created by man.

I’ve considered a couple responses to the voices: One approach was to accept the voices as a socially unacceptable part of my life, like having nappy hair. As part of that approach I try to accept that the voices have meaning, but still rely on myself (not the voices) to make decisions.

A second approach was telling myself I’m not considering what the voices mean because they’re just a useless chemical imbalance that I find bothersome. Sometimes I have yelled at the voices.

A third approach may have resulted in two psychotic episodes. Things were happening to me that I didn’t understand (being awoken at night, and hearing voices and songs such as one I’d never heard before saying “More than Chance”). Eventually I believed I was pregnant with the second coming of Christ. I drove from Virginia to New Jersey to save the “baby” from someone I believed was chasing me.

My approach now is mixture of these. I disregard the voices and focus on writing my book. I believe writing my book (my baby) will solve a lot of my life’s problems, like fulfilling my purpose and reaching my soul mate.

When I write and have my soulmate the voices will concern me a lot less.

I believe that’s why I needed schizophrenia. It was my wake up call. It also let me know that to someone/something I was special, not just wierd. Sure the doctor will say it’s a chemical imbalance. But it’s more to me.

I had been living a typical American life, believing the things I wanted were too amazing to have. Then I came face to face with something I wanted all my life. And of course, I thought I was too broke and too wierd to deserve it.

Perhaps I had to learn that the most real things are my dreams and finite presence on this earth. Do I want to spend it worrying about money, or how less than I am because I have no income, no wedding ring, or flock of friends? No.

Perhaps this is how I can finally escape the villain trying to hurt my “baby,” my dreams.