Oh, how far I have come. Through dad’s help, I take my medications religiously. I haven’t had a drink in three years. The pieces of the puzzle of wellbeing have just fallen in place the past few years. You know what makes me hesitate to write about this? Social Security. I occasionally get hits on my site meter from government types. I worry they think I am “cured” and can go back to work. There is no cure for schizophrenia, just management of the symptoms. I don’t know if I can handle the stress of a job however small. I guess that speaks little of me. I should get some derision from my anonymous commenter for writing that. lol
Some current symptoms I am having are extreme paranoia about the drug dealer next door. I have never seen so many strange and familiar cars in my life. Being obsessive compulsive, I constantly check my locks in the house and on my car. Last night, there was a huge party next door and a vicious fight erupted. I could hear screaming and hollering. “What you gonna do homeboy?” one fellow kept saying. I’m afraid to call the police for fear of repercussions.
Dad, the eternal optimist, says he is just getting lots of “pussy”. He’s got lots of girls visiting and is a Don Juan of sorts. I keep my mouth shut as there is no arguing with dad.
“What about the police detectives car that keeps showing up at various times?” I asked dad.
“Oh, that is just his police force friend. He’s just coming by to see him,” dad replied.
I let out a muffled laugh.
“You’re seeing things from your grandmother’s point of view,” dad added. “She always thought her neighbors were up to no good and were dealing drugs. It was a sickness. You’re acting like that.”
I sighed. “I guess so,” I said giving in.
“Look on the positive side,” dad told me. “He’s getting some pussy, drinking some beer, and having a helluva time!”
I didn’t bring up the fact that he drives a 2010 Jaguar, an extremely sharp car, with $2000 chrome rims and he doesn’t work.
I guess paranoia can best be summed up as excessive, excessive worry. It is also hard to tell what is reasonable worry and what is not. You get so caught up in the process that you lose focus with reality.