A Life Interrupted Nothing Is As It Appears

February 22, 2014

Die! Die! Die!

In my last post I provided a description of what hearing voices can be likened to for the uninitiated’s apprehension of the experience. In this post I would like to further discuss hearing voices by focusing on a specific voice that has haunted me since the voices became more intense in 1994. Specifically, I refer to what I call the die command.

The die command is a voice that commands me to die. The command is the essence of simplicity.  The voice simply tells me, or a part of me, to die. The voice says nothing else to me, just the word “die,” and I hear the command in the same way I hear other voices.  The voice wants me dead and, as mentioned above, began in 1994.  Since then the die command has been with me off and on for 20 years.  Sometimes I go for weeks or even months without hearing it and then I go through days and weeks where I hear the command throughout the days on a regular basis. The command seems directed at a part of me that I am not always aware of but is usually received with a literal physical response in the form of a despairing snort that escapes my mouth that I cannot control.  In the past, the command has prompted me towards suicidal thoughts, thoughts which obviously I did not in the end act upon. read more

February 17, 2014

The Voices. The Voices. They are A’Calling

In my experience of schizophrenia the active symptoms are or were delusions, voices, hallucinations, and, to a much lesser extent, suicidal thoughts. While the voices and hallucinations persist to this day, the delusions were perhaps the most difficult to grapple with but were the first to go, and suicidal thoughts that were brought on by despair passed when the feelings of despair passed. The hallucinations proved to be of little or no consequence in my experience being similar to the hallucinations brought on by the street drugs I ingested in my youth, but the voices continue to be a part of nearly every waking day to one degree or another. I would like to talk about the voices here and leave the rest to another day. read more

February 10, 2014

Yorkton: A Fallen Man Dreams Of Redemption, A Starving Man Dreams Of Food Pt. 2 of 2

And so I strummed and I sang and I strummed and I sang.  An hour went by. People came and people went but almost nobody paid me any mind and showed me no appreciation.  I began to wonder if this being thy brother’s keeper thing was going to pan out. My stomach growled. I looked in my case.  I had a couple dollars. I would need that for gas for the car to run tonight for heat while I slept. Business was slow.  So I switched it up and dove into a rendition of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot, which had proven to be a crowd pleaser in the past. Sure enough a preacher, a leader and representative of the community, walked up wearing a collar, a solemn smile on his pious face, and towing a small child by the hand, the good book and some pamphlets in his other hand pressed against his hip. He stood impassively for a moment or two looking on and listening while the child peered up with a look of curiosity from beside him. Mid song he let go the child, extended his hand, and introduced himself saying rather stiffly, “I am Father Tom.” read more

February 2, 2014

Yorkton:A Fallen Man Dreams Of Redemption, A Starving Man DreamsOf Food Pt. 1 of 2

With nothing but the bare essentials of life packed in the trunk, which included an amount of camping gear, about $400 in cash, no credit cards, an assortment of cassette tapes, and a guitar along with a small amount of sheet music stowed in the back seat, I backed out of the driveway one last time and pointed the nose of the Mazda in the direction of the nearest highway with no clear idea where I was going or what would befall me. As it turns out, I would end up traveling not only across Western Canada by car but also in far away lands on foot and would return six years later a different man than when I left. For the first six months of that journey I would keep myself fed and gas in the car by busking, that is, performing in the street for money, at various stops along the way. In the heat of summer and the chill of spring and fall I sang for my supper, literally. read more

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