These days, though mostly the nights, have become a blur. I hear the walls in my sleep, stirring beneath a tent of comfort, hoping they'll quiet. I rarely talk about my mental illness because I don't want this journal to become just another angst ridden diatribe on what ails me mentally. I realize people come here from schizophrenia.com wanting to read about my illness, though. Sorry to disappoint. I would rather tell stories of the people I encounter in my life on a daily basis. I want to write about the little joys I have despite the horror that can be my mind.
Common symptoms these days are extreme panic attacks where only the comfort and help of another can quell. These have become alarmingly frequent as of late. My heart races. The extremities go numb. My mouth becomes unquenchably dry. I start to see things in my peripheral vision. It is very scary. I want to run crazily into the night as if I am losing my mind. I am losing my mind. The difference between now and then is that I don't self medicate with alcohol and compound the problem. I do smoke excessively though. One cigarillo after another is smoked as I try to muddle through the symptoms of late -- the nicotine having calming effects upon my malfunctioning brain.
Other things bother me. Lactating breasts. Loss of drive and competitiveness. Lack of libido. A ravenous appetite and alarming weight gain. The constant feeling of being stir-crazy. All part of the experience of schizophrenia and the medications I must take to squash this beast within. And the medications aren't perfect -- sometimes causing as many problems as they cure. I often want to quit taking them -- wishing to flirt dangerously with my schizophrenia rather than having to live with the side effects. My support group of my family and Rosa would wail in protest if I were to do so.