mind fuck ·
5 March 07

I’m going bananas. I know I have issues of the mental health variety, but these past few days have been really shitty for me. That feeling of being sick has come up again, possibly because my mind is still occupied by thoughts of severe self harm, or the opposite: harming others.

My mind has been all over the place, and I can’t seem to focus nor have an appetite for anything. Everything seems to be a monotonous effort on my part, and pretty daunting in execution. There’s a major consistency of repetition in my behaviour. I’m lost on TV, I’m lost on music, lost on writing, and completely lost within myself.

I don’t know how to explain the feeling. If I was to describe, I would say it’s that feeling dead inside, emptiness, the want for nothing. I have no desire or motivation to do anything. It’s very depressing as up until a few days ago, I was keen to start writing regular reviews again on my site, and on another public site. But honestly I just feel so weak and dead that I can’t push myself to move forward and take action.

The feeling is horrible. It’s not creepy, but it is irksome. Trying to define what I am feeling is so draining, as I am not in touch with my feelings. I don’t want some crap about getting in touch with my inner self, I’m quite aware of my inner self, or have learned enough to last me quite sometime. The constant tedium of expressing emotion is such a chore that I wish I could simply cut out the part of my brain that feels emotion. It would relieve some of the deadness I’m feeling. I’d be forced to use rational arguments to deal with the voice, and would probably fair better than how things are at the moment, which is relatively the same.

I feel like pulling out my teeth, ripping off my scalp, driving a knife deep inside of myself. I feel out of control, out of touch and out of phase with the things and people around me. The voice has made me feel worse lately as well. It’s been nagging at me, laughing at me, belittling me as usual. There’s never a good word said. This is in contrast to how the voice dealt with me when I was younger. The voice knows that I know who’s voice it is, the answer being mine. I know this now, and knowing it has not made things better. I’ve tried to confront the voice by challenging it, and questioning its role. But the voice just laughs, and puts me down, telling me that it’s pointless being treated, that confronting him would be an exercise in futility. The more I confront the voice, the stronger the voice will get. This is what he feeds into me. It’s partly true, as the more I try to rationalise the voice, the closer I am to an emotional outburst, the sicker I feel physically and mentally.

My skull has been pounding for a few days. It’s becoming more difficult not to hear the voice when he’s talking at/to me. It’s almost as though I confronted the voice too quickly with my evidence that it is my voice. I feel awkward now, and still confused. The result of this has been that I’ve been seeing things that aren’t there, hallucinations if you will. I see shadows or movement in a room where no one is. I get worried sometimes, that I’m being watched, stalked or being manipulated by another presence. When I look to face the hallucinations, they disappear.

The voice is starting to convince me of his strength and control over me. Yes, I haven’t harmed myself yet. Yes, I haven’t harmed anyone else yet. But, I feel that I’m losing this battle, and that urge is beginning to grow and may manifest itself in an action. I don’t want to harm the psych, or anyone that’s been helping me, but the desire to do harm to others in particular is developing within me. I’m becoming confused as to who’s making the decisions: the voice or me, unless we are the same thing and the voice is my subconscious in which case I’m even more confused.

I don’t fully understand how my brain is working. I’ve given up drugs for quite some time now, we’re talking months rather than weeks or days. I’ve given up nicotine too, which is again months rather than weeks or days. Alcohol I may continue to drink on a social level, rather than to use it as a coping strategy as in my past. I’ve given up these indulgences, and yet I don’t feel better for it. I’m healthier, but I’ve put on weight. My mind is clearer but still fogged with violent images, thoughts and hallucinations. I haven’t seen any real gain in giving up vices – I find it hard to believe that giving them up has provided any real benefit for me mentally.

My thinking on all this is that I need to be pushed harder, and further in my treatment, I don’t feel it’s aggressive enough. I want to be treated to breaking point, up to that point where I will snap and just lose it completely. Self-destruction is an inviting idea, and one that probably plays in the hands of the voice, but I also see more aggressive methods being something that could relieve me of much of my anxieties and stress.

I don’t even know if that makes sense, I’m thinking out loud I guess. I don’t want electro shock therapy – unless by electro they mean they’l be playing electro music, otherwise I’m not interested in having my brain fried to cooking point. I guess it’s the last resort and most extreme cases that need such treatment.

It’s an example of how culturally I am an outsider within my own culture, if that makes any sense. For example about a month a go my step-father’s brother came to visit and asked how I was doing. I tried, with great difficult to explain what was wrong with me. He told me that the Dr’s are probably using me as a test subject, that I am not mentally ill, but am in fact perfectly fine and the Dr’s are making me ill with the medication and treatment they provide. All I need to do is go out with friends and get out of my room more often. The latter is good advice, but to insinuate the Dr’s have made me ill is a sign of the stupidity and ignorance that Asians treat mental illness with. There’s no logic to their argument, and mental illness is an issue not fit for discussion. Don’t talk about mental illness because then you will start to become mentally ill. Or some backward, inbred theory like that.

Fucking pisses me off when people talk like that, and I fucking hate it when the Dr’s ask me if I could explain the situation to my own family so they have an understanding of what’s going on. THEY WON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND BECAUSE THEY REFUSE TO! Don’t make me waste my breath explaining to you why my parents won’t understand, it’s a cultural thing, and I wish the Dr’s would stop treating me like I’m a fucking moron by suggesting I talk to my parents. It’s a barrier that cannot be toppled with just a fucking conversation, you would have to reprogram these fucking idiots to help them understand what it means to be mentally ill. I mean being depressed is bad enough, but then to tell them that you suffer from psychosis too – you’re going to send them to Land of Denial, where nothing is accepted.

Well, I feel better for writing, it’s brought some motivation back, but I still feel fucking depressed as fuck and I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe I need to smoke, take drugs and drink again.