Schizophrenia - General Discussion

Gerald Parker3 said:I think I finally pinpointed where that paralyzing fear of losing my mind actually comes from:
1) the sheer terror of losing total control
2) that deep-seated dread of the unknown

New photo. It's not bad.

I think I know what you mean. Not long ago, I felt like I was completely losing it. My first thought was always, "Am I the crazy one, or is everyone else just insane?" It was hard to accept that maybe everyone else was fine, so I just took the blame on myself. Even then, my rational side kept trying to push the madness back onto others. A lack of courage really weighed me down.
I started running away—mentally and physically. Every single thought felt like a nudge toward an exit. "No, I can't do this anymore, enough is enough, you're right, just leave me alone..." There was just no peace to be found.
I tried blaming drugs for everything I was going through, but deep down, I knew the issue wasn't the substances; it was me. Pure paranoia had taken hold. I couldn't relax for even a second. I spent more than two years living in constant tension like that. My head was pure chaos. There was nothing left to hold onto; any sense of who I was seemed to vanish the moment I tried to grasp it.
My body didn't match how I felt inside, which made it impossible to put anything into words. My thoughts would shift so rapidly that if I actually tried to speak, my brain would drift away mid-sentence, leaving me stranded. I developed a massive fear of people, feeling like I was constantly being hunted. In every situation, I could see a hidden intent to cause me harm.
Back then, I had accepted the fact that I was totally gone. I wasn't thinking about hospitals, though suicide crossed my mind occasionally. I was just waiting to see how much longer I could endure it. Every step forward felt like a step closer to the end.
Total nervous breakdown. Physical disintegration. Hallucinations. Extreme hypersensitivity. I just kept wondering how much longer I’d have to endure this hell.

Well, time passed, and nothing changed. It was a state very similar to death—I was dead, yet somehow still alive, right here. To help you understand what I mean by being "alive," let me explain.
A person breathes, possesses an innate drive to survive, thinks logically as an individual, and maintains a defensive shield. Their actions are driven by a series of small, unconscious habits learned throughout life, like maintaining balance or delaying gratification. All of this can be summed up in one word: the "ego."
In my case, the ego died. I should mention, based on some people's comments, that before the ego died, there wasn't a single concept I couldn't grasp or any experience I hadn't tried. But no matter what version of myself I attempted to be, I could never say, "That is ME." That’s why my search continued even after the ego's demise.
At that point, however, my search went in the wrong direction. I just stopped and started lamenting: "Oh god, what have I done? What happened to me? Where is my SELF?" I wasn't capable of recognizing that those were all just tendencies from a "previous life" pulling me back. And worse, there was no going back. It’s like walking through a door that locks itself behind you; you can't return because you don't have the key.
Imagine walking through a forest—a path symbolizing your journey toward truth—and suddenly you find yourself facing an opening that leads to absolutely nothing. You are certain the path is correct and that you must enter. So you go in, the door slams shut, and you are met with total darkness. There are no trees left, no birds singing. You start wondering, "What is this? Where am I? Is this really what I was looking for?" Panic sets in, like a person falling into a hole they can't climb out of. Memories flood in—images of family, friends you left behind, the person you used to be—but there is nothing else, and you find yourself desperately wanting *something*.
Then came a suffering and misery that I can hardly describe. Everything that made me feel human until recently became impossible. I mainly mean the social component, since I consider myself quite a social person. Having a girlfriend, a friend, or simply being present with someone were just a few things I desperately craved but couldn't have. When I thought about it, the thought would arise: "But how can you, when you don't even know who you are? You can't say who you are because you aren't anyone; you simply aren't." My only solace was observing others and getting lost in their lives. I was flying on the wings of longing, much like in the Wenders film "Sky over Berlin."
It was then that I stumbled upon the "Tibetan Book of the Dead" (which happens to be my first topic on this forum), which fascinated me with its kindness. At first, it just intrigued me; it didn't actually affect me, which is exactly why it was written. I viewed it as perfect fiction that fit my current state perfectly. I thought about it and read it often, but I didn't make the effort to truly understand it, to pierce the illusion surrounding me, or to follow the guidance written within.
I found it while I was in the "Sidpa bardo" (the process of finding a new body and being reborn). Visions of my rebirth flashed before me, but I couldn't commit to any of them. Every time I thought about being reborn, I felt a sense of disgust. In every vision, I saw that same kind of filth I was trying to escape, because that was the essence of my journey. I was torn between what I was striving for (purity) and the things surrounding me that make up the world. I wasn't ready to make the sacrifice of giving up everything I had known. I wanted this world—in my case, *that* world—and for that, I needed a new birth, a new physical body on this earth. Yet, at the same time, I didn't want to return to the very world I was trying to flee to avoid the endless cycle of birth and death. That is where I still find myself. I am in the Bardo. As things stand, I will probably go back. I will be a human again. It feels like it has to be that way. I wasn't ready for the path I started. I set out very naively and very young, so perhaps I can seek Buddhahood—perfect enlightenment—in a future life.

This is my journey through the subconscious. It’s a necessary path toward liberation—a concept found just as much in Christianity as it is in Buddhism. I’ve framed most of my experience using Buddhist terminology, so I realize I might lose some of you along the way.
Everything here is true. Every single thing mentioned actually happened to me.
As one of the few travelers who has ventured into the subconscious (and made it back), I can tell you that no mental illness is truly incurable; we are all born whole. We are all different, yet we spend our lives trying to fit in or mimic someone else. We shape our behavior—and by extension, our thoughts—just to be accepted. At its core, it's a craving for belonging and love, which ultimately boils down to a basic survival instinct.
The most vital thing to understand is that there isn't a single phenomenon the mind cannot grasp. Once you realize that, you see there is no mental ailment we cannot heal. The only things standing in our way are fear and panic. That’s why it’s worth embracing the modern mantra: "just chill out," even when you feel like the Devil himself is holding a knife to your throat. 👍

Best,

I don't know what you're getting at with "up99." Is that some kind of code? A typo? Or just one of those random things people type when they've lost the thread? Honestly, I haven't the slightest clue. If you're trying to make a point, you're going to have to be a lot clearer than that. I'm sitting here staring at two numbers and a few letters like it's some kind of cryptic puzzle from a bad spy novel. Help me out here. What are we even talking about? stormylynx23 says:
Look, time just kept dragging on, and nothing changed. It was the same old loop. Honestly, the whole thing felt a lot like being dead—except I was still technically breathing. I was stuck in that weird limbo where you’re physically here, but totally checked out. Let me try to explain what I actually mean by "alive," because it's not exactly what most people think.
A person breathes. That’s the baseline—a built-in drive to just stay alive, you know? To exist. Then you start thinking logically as an individual, building up this mental armor like a shield to protect yourself. Everything you actually do is just a collection of tiny, subconscious habits you picked up along the way—stuff like keeping your balance or learning how to delay gratification. You can wrap all that chaos up into one single concept: the ego.
Well, my ego finally kicked the bucket. I should probably clarify something for those of you making assumptions: before that happened, there were concepts I couldn't wrap my head around and experiences—physical ones, too—that I just hadn't touched yet. But here’s the thing: no matter what role I tried to play or who I attempted to be, I could never actually say, "Yeah, that's me." That realization is exactly why I kept digging until the ego finally gave up the ghost.
Then I went off the rails completely. I just stopped dead in my tracks and started wailing like a lost child: "Oh man, what did I do? What happened to me? Where the hell am I?" It was pathetic. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that those were just old patterns—baggage from some "previous life"—trying to drag me back under. And the worst part? There was no turning back. It’s like walking through a door that slams shut behind you, and you realize you never had the key to get out anyway.
Picture this: you’re hiking through the woods, right? This path represents your journey toward some ultimate truth. Suddenly, you stumble upon an opening. It looks like nothing—just a void. But you get this gut feeling that this is the way. You have to go in. So, you step through, the door slams shut behind you, and you're left standing in total, absolute darkness. The trees are gone. The birds? Silent. There isn't a single sound. You just stand there thinking, "Wait, what is this? Where am I? Is this really what I was looking for?" That’s when the panic hits. It’s exactly like falling into a deep hole and realizing there’s no ladder to climb out. Your brain starts spiraling. Images just start flooding in—flashes of your family, your friends you left behind, even the person you used to be before all this. It’s just pure emptiness, and God, you’d give anything just to see something else. Anything.
Then the misery kicked in. It was this deep, heavy kind of suffering that I can’t even put into words properly. Everything that used to make me feel human—everything that gave me a sense of self just a little while ago—became completely out of reach. Mostly, I mean the social stuff. I’ve always considered myself a people person, you know? So, having a girlfriend, a close friend, just being around anyone... those were things I was desperate for, but I couldn't have them. Every time I thought about it, this thought would just loop in my head: "How can you even try when you don't know who you are? You can't say who you are because you aren't actually anyone. You just aren't." All I could do was sit there and watch everyone else. Just observe their lives. I was just drifting, caught in this endless longing, kind of like a character in a Wenders movie like *Sky over Berlin*.
So, I stumbled upon the Tibetan Book of the Dead recently—which, by the way, is my first real topic on this forum. Honestly? It fascinated me with how much kindness is baked into it. At first, though, it didn't really touch me. It couldn't. I was just looking at it like some perfect piece of fiction that happened to fit my current headspace perfectly. I’d think about it constantly and read it over and over, but I wasn't actually *doing* the work. I wasn't trying to see through the illusions surrounding me or actually follow the guidance written in those pages. I was just consuming it.
I found it while I was drifting through the Sidpa bardo—that whole process of reclaiming a body and being reborn. The visions of my rebirth were supposed to be this beacon of hope, but honestly? I couldn't pick a single one. Every time I thought about starting over, I just felt sick to my stomach. In every possible version of a new life, I could see that same old filth I’ve been trying so hard to shake off. That’s been the whole point of my journey, hasn't it? Trying to escape those deep-seated, messy impulses that keep pulling me back. I was completely torn. On one side, there was this pull toward purity, and on the other, there was the reality of the world around me. And look, I’ll be blunt: I wasn't ready to sacrifice everything I knew. I wanted this world—my world—and to have that, I needed a rebirth, a physical presence here on Earth. But at the same time, I didn't want to crawl back into the exact same cycle I was trying to run from. That endless loop of living and dying is exhausting. So, here I am. Still stuck in the Bardo. As things stand, I’ll probably end up going back. I’ll become a person again. It feels like it’s just inevitable. I think I jumped into this whole spiritual thing way too naive and far too young. Maybe I’ll aim for actual Buddhahood or total enlightenment in the next life instead. One step at a time, I guess.

This is my journey through the subconscious. It’s a trip you have to take if you want to be free. Whether you look at it through a Christian lens or a Buddhist one, liberation is the goal. I tend to frame my own experience using more Buddhist concepts, so fair warning: most people probably won't get where I'm coming from.
This isn't some fake story. Everything I'm saying actually happened to me.
As one of the few tourists out here (traveling through the subconscious and back), I can tell you this: no mental illness is truly incurable. We are all born healthy. We’re all different, sure, but throughout our lives, we’re constantly trying to fit in, trying to be someone. We mold our behavior—and by extension, our thoughts—just to be accepted. At the root of it all is this deep-seated need to belong and be loved, which really just boils down to basic survival instinct.
The most important thing in the world is to realize there isn't a single phenomenon the mind can't grasp. If you internalize that, you'll see there's no such thing as a "broken brain" that can't be fixed. The only things standing in our way are fear and panic. Honestly, sometimes it pays to listen to how kids talk today: just "chill out and vibe," even when the Devil himself is waving a knife at your throat. 👍

hey

I don't have much time right now, so I'll make this quick. For nine years, I was completely lost, though I didn't even realize it. When things finally hit a breaking point, I snapped into my first psychosis. Yeah, psychosis isn't exactly a blast, but in a way, it can be a massive "spiritual" experience—if that's even the right word, since I'm not a religious guy. In that moment, I felt like I "died inside." I basically unmade my old life and started over. It was like being reborn. But man, it took its toll. I had the first psychosis, then about six or seven months of recovery, then another psychotic break, followed by months of feeling totally numb while I pulled myself back together. About a year and a half total. It was a full-blown revolution; I did a complete 180.
Looking back at who I was before schizophrenia compared to who I am now, I'm actually glad I broke. I'd rather have gone through that than kept living that pathetic life I had before. Truth is, I didn't really have a choice anyway; that old version of me was unsustainable. I'm glad it was an "explosion" rather than a slow, drawn-out decay. Today, I'm a completely different, better person. I've been reborn within myself (I don't know if people call that reincarnation or whatever).
In my opinion, though, mental illness starts brewing long before the actual tension hits a breaking point.

stormylynx23 said:

I don't know what you're getting at with "up99." Is that some kind of code? A typo? Or just one of those random things people type when they've lost the thread? Honestly, I haven't the slightest clue. If you're trying to make a point, you're going to have to be a lot clearer than that. I'm sitting here staring at two numbers and a few letters like it's some kind of cryptic puzzle from a bad spy novel. Help me out here. What are we even talking about? stormylynx23 says:
Look, time just kept dragging on, and nothing changed. It was the same old loop. Honestly, the whole thing felt a lot like being dead—except I was still technically breathing. I was stuck in that weird limbo where you’re physically here, but totally checked out. Let me try to explain what I actually mean by "alive," because it's not exactly what most people think.
A person breathes. That’s the baseline—a built-in drive to just stay alive, you know? To exist. Then you start thinking logically as an individual, building up this mental armor like a shield to protect yourself. Everything you actually do is just a collection of tiny, subconscious habits you picked up along the way—stuff like keeping your balance or learning how to delay gratification. You can wrap all that chaos up into one single concept: the ego.
Well, my ego finally kicked the bucket. I should probably clarify something for those of you making assumptions: before that happened, there were concepts I couldn't wrap my head around and experiences—physical ones, too—that I just hadn't touched yet. But here’s the thing: no matter what role I tried to play or who I attempted to be, I could never actually say, "Yeah, that's me." That realization is exactly why I kept digging until the ego finally gave up the ghost.
Then I went off the rails completely. I just stopped dead in my tracks and started wailing like a lost child: "Oh man, what did I do? What happened to me? Where the hell am I?" It was pathetic. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that those were just old patterns—baggage from some "previous life"—trying to drag me back under. And the worst part? There was no turning back. It’s like walking through a door that slams shut behind you, and you realize you never had the key to get out anyway.
Picture this: you’re hiking through the woods, right? This path represents your journey toward some ultimate truth. Suddenly, you stumble upon an opening. It looks like nothing—just a void. But you get this gut feeling that this is the way. You have to go in. So, you step through, the door slams shut behind you, and you're left standing in total, absolute darkness. The trees are gone. The birds? Silent. There isn't a single sound. You just stand there thinking, "Wait, what is this? Where am I? Is this really what I was looking for?" That’s when the panic hits. It’s exactly like falling into a deep hole and realizing there’s no ladder to climb out. Your brain starts spiraling. Images just start flooding in—flashes of your family, your friends you left behind, even the person you used to be before all this. It’s just pure emptiness, and God, you’d give anything just to see something else. Anything.
Then the misery kicked in. It was this deep, heavy kind of suffering that I can’t even put into words properly. Everything that used to make me feel human—everything that gave me a sense of self just a little while ago—became completely out of reach. Mostly, I mean the social stuff. I’ve always considered myself a people person, you know? So, having a girlfriend, a close friend, just being around anyone... those were things I was desperate for, but I couldn't have them. Every time I thought about it, this thought would just loop in my head: "How can you even try when you don't know who you are? You can't say who you are because you aren't actually anyone. You just aren't." All I could do was sit there and watch everyone else. Just observe their lives. I was just drifting, caught in this endless longing, kind of like a character in a Wenders movie like *Sky over Berlin*.
So, I stumbled upon the Tibetan Book of the Dead recently—which, by the way, is my first real topic on this forum. Honestly? It fascinated me with how much kindness is baked into it. At first, though, it didn't really touch me. It couldn't. I was just looking at it like some perfect piece of fiction that happened to fit my current headspace perfectly. I’d think about it constantly and read it over and over, but I wasn't actually *doing* the work. I wasn't trying to see through the illusions surrounding me or actually follow the guidance written in those pages. I was just consuming it.
I found it while I was drifting through the Sidpa bardo—that whole process of reclaiming a body and being reborn. The visions of my rebirth were supposed to be this beacon of hope, but honestly? I couldn't pick a single one. Every time I thought about starting over, I just felt sick to my stomach. In every possible version of a new life, I could see that same old filth I’ve been trying so hard to shake off. That’s been the whole point of my journey, hasn't it? Trying to escape those deep-seated, messy impulses that keep pulling me back. I was completely torn. On one side, there was this pull toward purity, and on the other, there was the reality of the world around me. And look, I’ll be blunt: I wasn't ready to sacrifice everything I knew. I wanted this world—my world—and to have that, I needed a rebirth, a physical presence here on Earth. But at the same time, I didn't want to crawl back into the exact same cycle I was trying to run from. That endless loop of living and dying is exhausting. So, here I am. Still stuck in the Bardo. As things stand, I’ll probably end up going back. I’ll become a person again. It feels like it’s just inevitable. I think I jumped into this whole spiritual thing way too naive and far too young. Maybe I’ll aim for actual Buddhahood or total enlightenment in the next life instead. One step at a time, I guess.

This is my journey through the subconscious. It’s a trip you have to take if you want to be free. Whether you look at it through a Christian lens or a Buddhist one, liberation is the goal. I tend to frame my own experience using more Buddhist concepts, so fair warning: most people probably won't get where I'm coming from.
This isn't some fake story. Everything I'm saying actually happened to me.
As one of the few tourists out here (traveling through the subconscious and back), I can tell you this: no mental illness is truly incurable. We are all born healthy. We’re all different, sure, but throughout our lives, we’re constantly trying to fit in, trying to be someone. We mold our behavior—and by extension, our thoughts—just to be accepted. At the root of it all is this deep-seated need to belong and be loved, which really just boils down to basic survival instinct.
The most important thing in the world is to realize there isn't a single phenomenon the mind can't grasp. If you internalize that, you'll see there's no such thing as a "broken brain" that can't be fixed. The only things standing in our way are fear and panic. Honestly, sometimes it pays to listen to how kids talk today: just "chill out and vibe," even when the Devil himself is waving a knife at your throat. 👍

hey

I don't have much time right now, so I'll make this quick. For nine years, I was completely lost, though I didn't even realize it. When things finally hit a breaking point, I snapped into my first psychosis. Yeah, psychosis isn't exactly a blast, but in a way, it can be a massive "spiritual" experience—if that's even the right word, since I'm not a religious guy. In that moment, I felt like I "died inside." I basically unmade my old life and started over. It was like being reborn. But man, it took its toll. I had the first psychosis, then about six or seven months of recovery, then another psychotic break, followed by months of feeling totally numb while I pulled myself back together. About a year and a half total. It was a full-blown revolution; I did a complete 180.
Looking back at who I was before schizophrenia compared to who I am now, I'm actually glad I broke. I'd rather have gone through that than kept living that pathetic life I had before. Truth is, I didn't really have a choice anyway; that old version of me was unsustainable. I'm glad it was an "explosion" rather than a slow, drawn-out decay. Today, I'm a completely different, better person. I've been reborn within myself (I don't know if people call that reincarnation or whatever).
In my opinion, though, mental illness starts brewing long before the actual tension hits a breaking point.

Exactly. It’s just like any other sickness, really.

stormylynx23 said:

I don't know what you're getting at with "up99." Is that some kind of code? A typo? Or just one of those random things people type when they've lost the thread? Honestly, I haven't the slightest clue. If you're trying to make a point, you're going to have to be a lot clearer than that. I'm sitting here staring at two numbers and a few letters like it's some kind of cryptic puzzle from a bad spy novel. Help me out here. What are we even talking about? stormylynx23 says:
Look, time just kept dragging on, and nothing changed. It was the same old loop. Honestly, the whole thing felt a lot like being dead—except I was still technically breathing. I was stuck in that weird limbo where you’re physically here, but totally checked out. Let me try to explain what I actually mean by "alive," because it's not exactly what most people think.
A person breathes. That’s the baseline—a built-in drive to just stay alive, you know? To exist. Then you start thinking logically as an individual, building up this mental armor like a shield to protect yourself. Everything you actually do is just a collection of tiny, subconscious habits you picked up along the way—stuff like keeping your balance or learning how to delay gratification. You can wrap all that chaos up into one single concept: the ego.
Well, my ego finally kicked the bucket. I should probably clarify something for those of you making assumptions: before that happened, there were concepts I couldn't wrap my head around and experiences—physical ones, too—that I just hadn't touched yet. But here’s the thing: no matter what role I tried to play or who I attempted to be, I could never actually say, "Yeah, that's me." That realization is exactly why I kept digging until the ego finally gave up the ghost.
Then I went off the rails completely. I just stopped dead in my tracks and started wailing like a lost child: "Oh man, what did I do? What happened to me? Where the hell am I?" It was pathetic. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that those were just old patterns—baggage from some "previous life"—trying to drag me back under. And the worst part? There was no turning back. It’s like walking through a door that slams shut behind you, and you realize you never had the key to get out anyway.
Picture this: you’re hiking through the woods, right? This path represents your journey toward some ultimate truth. Suddenly, you stumble upon an opening. It looks like nothing—just a void. But you get this gut feeling that this is the way. You have to go in. So, you step through, the door slams shut behind you, and you're left standing in total, absolute darkness. The trees are gone. The birds? Silent. There isn't a single sound. You just stand there thinking, "Wait, what is this? Where am I? Is this really what I was looking for?" That’s when the panic hits. It’s exactly like falling into a deep hole and realizing there’s no ladder to climb out. Your brain starts spiraling. Images just start flooding in—flashes of your family, your friends you left behind, even the person you used to be before all this. It’s just pure emptiness, and God, you’d give anything just to see something else. Anything.
Then the misery kicked in. It was this deep, heavy kind of suffering that I can’t even put into words properly. Everything that used to make me feel human—everything that gave me a sense of self just a little while ago—became completely out of reach. Mostly, I mean the social stuff. I’ve always considered myself a people person, you know? So, having a girlfriend, a close friend, just being around anyone... those were things I was desperate for, but I couldn't have them. Every time I thought about it, this thought would just loop in my head: "How can you even try when you don't know who you are? You can't say who you are because you aren't actually anyone. You just aren't." All I could do was sit there and watch everyone else. Just observe their lives. I was just drifting, caught in this endless longing, kind of like a character in a Wenders movie like *Sky over Berlin*.
So, I stumbled upon the Tibetan Book of the Dead recently—which, by the way, is my first real topic on this forum. Honestly? It fascinated me with how much kindness is baked into it. At first, though, it didn't really touch me. It couldn't. I was just looking at it like some perfect piece of fiction that happened to fit my current headspace perfectly. I’d think about it constantly and read it over and over, but I wasn't actually *doing* the work. I wasn't trying to see through the illusions surrounding me or actually follow the guidance written in those pages. I was just consuming it.
I found it while I was drifting through the Sidpa bardo—that whole process of reclaiming a body and being reborn. The visions of my rebirth were supposed to be this beacon of hope, but honestly? I couldn't pick a single one. Every time I thought about starting over, I just felt sick to my stomach. In every possible version of a new life, I could see that same old filth I’ve been trying so hard to shake off. That’s been the whole point of my journey, hasn't it? Trying to escape those deep-seated, messy impulses that keep pulling me back. I was completely torn. On one side, there was this pull toward purity, and on the other, there was the reality of the world around me. And look, I’ll be blunt: I wasn't ready to sacrifice everything I knew. I wanted this world—my world—and to have that, I needed a rebirth, a physical presence here on Earth. But at the same time, I didn't want to crawl back into the exact same cycle I was trying to run from. That endless loop of living and dying is exhausting. So, here I am. Still stuck in the Bardo. As things stand, I’ll probably end up going back. I’ll become a person again. It feels like it’s just inevitable. I think I jumped into this whole spiritual thing way too naive and far too young. Maybe I’ll aim for actual Buddhahood or total enlightenment in the next life instead. One step at a time, I guess.

This is my journey through the subconscious. It’s a trip you have to take if you want to be free. Whether you look at it through a Christian lens or a Buddhist one, liberation is the goal. I tend to frame my own experience using more Buddhist concepts, so fair warning: most people probably won't get where I'm coming from.
This isn't some fake story. Everything I'm saying actually happened to me.
As one of the few tourists out here (traveling through the subconscious and back), I can tell you this: no mental illness is truly incurable. We are all born healthy. We’re all different, sure, but throughout our lives, we’re constantly trying to fit in, trying to be someone. We mold our behavior—and by extension, our thoughts—just to be accepted. At the root of it all is this deep-seated need to belong and be loved, which really just boils down to basic survival instinct.
The most important thing in the world is to realize there isn't a single phenomenon the mind can't grasp. If you internalize that, you'll see there's no such thing as a "broken brain" that can't be fixed. The only things standing in our way are fear and panic. Honestly, sometimes it pays to listen to how kids talk today: just "chill out and vibe," even when the Devil himself is waving a knife at your throat. 👍

hey

I don't have much time right now, so I'll make this quick. For nine years, I was completely lost, though I didn't even realize it. When things finally hit a breaking point, I snapped into my first psychosis. Yeah, psychosis isn't exactly a blast, but in a way, it can be a massive "spiritual" experience—if that's even the right word, since I'm not a religious guy. In that moment, I felt like I "died inside." I basically unmade my old life and started over. It was like being reborn. But man, it took its toll. I had the first psychosis, then about six or seven months of recovery, then another psychotic break, followed by months of feeling totally numb while I pulled myself back together. About a year and a half total. It was a full-blown revolution; I did a complete 180.
Looking back at who I was before schizophrenia compared to who I am now, I'm actually glad I broke. I'd rather have gone through that than kept living that pathetic life I had before. Truth is, I didn't really have a choice anyway; that old version of me was unsustainable. I'm glad it was an "explosion" rather than a slow, drawn-out decay. Today, I'm a completely different, better person. I've been reborn within myself (I don't know if people call that reincarnation or whatever).
In my opinion, though, mental illness starts brewing long before the actual tension hits a breaking point.

What you wrote there is a major secret that most people miss. Psychosis often acts as a catalyst for a "rebirth," provided the individual isn't being steered by someone competent. It’s possible for a person to never make it out, because the flow of consciousness simply stops entirely. This should be a fascinating topic for psychologists.
That sudden disruption can be experienced fatally, just as it was for me. I was terrified; I had panic attacks, I was literally shaking, and the sense of insecurity was so intense I wasn't even sure I could manage to get a spoon from the plate to my mouth!
Why?
Because a person's "normal consciousness"—which is built on deeply ingrained perceptions of reality, like "this is mine," "that is yours," "this is me," and "that is you"—starts to shatter.
Everything ceases to be what it once was, and a completely different reality opens up. It is much closer to the ultimate truth, but because a person is encountering it for the first time, they are paralyzed with fear.
We are all "trapped" by our own Ego, clinging to it tightly because it feels safe. In this situation, that safety vanishes.

Go ahead, whenever you have some free time, write a bit more. I'd really love to hear about your experiences in the USA.

When someone is dealing with psychosis, schizophrenia, or anything similar, they aren't in any state to calmly observe themselves or grasp the core of their own distress. Under the weight of those negative emotions the mind churns out, they just panic and cry out, "I'm losing my mind, help me!" And that’s how every illness goes undiagnosed—it just gets treated with medication instead.

Hey everyone... As you can probably tell, I’m new here, and I was hoping someone might be able to help me out with a few questions...
About a month and a half ago, my mom had a really severe episode, and that’s when we first realized something was seriously wrong. She was experiencing all kinds of hallucinations and extreme paranoia—she felt like everyone was out to get her, like people were following her or trying to kidnap her...
She ended up being admitted to the hospital for about 20 days. At first, the doctors thought she was dealing with schizophrenia, but they eventually decided it was actually just an acute nervous breakdown. She’s back home now and is currently on a regimen of Moditen, Prazin, Normabell, and Akineton. We're seeing real improvement; all those scary symptoms have completely vanished. She’s staying consistent with her medication and is getting back to her normal daily routine...
Her official diagnosis is Acute Psychotic Reaction (F23.0), so if anyone could share some insight or more information about what that actually entails, I would be incredibly grateful....

Anonymous said:Hey everyone... As you can probably tell, I’m new here, and I was hoping someone might be able to help me out with a few questions...
About a month and a half ago, my mom had a really severe episode, and that’s when we first realized something was seriously wrong. She was experiencing all kinds of hallucinations and extreme paranoia—she felt like everyone was out to get her, like people were following her or trying to kidnap her...
She ended up being admitted to the hospital for about 20 days. At first, the doctors thought she was dealing with schizophrenia, but they eventually decided it was actually just an acute nervous breakdown. She’s back home now and is currently on a regimen of Moditen, Prazin, Normabell, and Akineton. We're seeing real improvement; all those scary symptoms have completely vanished. She’s staying consistent with her medication and is getting back to her normal daily routine...
Her official diagnosis is Acute Psychotic Reaction (F23.0), so if anyone could share some insight or more information about what that actually entails, I would be incredibly grateful....

If those symptoms hang around for longer than six months, a psychiatrist might slap a schizophrenia diagnosis on her—but that’s not a guarantee.

My own discharge papers from back in 1999 list F-22. It was a complete toss-up; one psychiatrist told me this could happen to absolutely anyone, while another insisted it was full-blown schizophrenia. So, great! Now I'm just sitting here feeling wonderful, totally off all my medication.

Brian Moore2 said:If those symptoms hang around for longer than six months, a psychiatrist might slap a schizophrenia diagnosis on her—but that’s not a guarantee.

My own discharge papers from back in 1999 list F-22. It was a complete toss-up; one psychiatrist told me this could happen to absolutely anyone, while another insisted it was full-blown schizophrenia. So, great! Now I'm just sitting here feeling wonderful, totally off all my medication.

So, are you actually dealing with schizophrenia or what? Yes or no.

Gerald Parker3 said:So, are you actually dealing with schizophrenia or what? Yes or no.

Well, one psychiatrist tells me I do, another tells me I don't, and frankly, I say I don't. 😎

Brian Moore2 said:Well, one psychiatrist tells me I do, another tells me I don't, and frankly, I say I don't. 😎

Actually, I do have 😎 😎 😎☕ 😵 🙂

Gerald Parker3 said:Actually, I do have 😎 😎 😎☕ 😵 🙂

Oh, sure, just tell me you don't have any either—as if nothing in this country comes for free! 😉

Brian Moore2 said:Oh, sure, just tell me you don't have any either—as if nothing in this country comes for free! 😉

Look, I get it—it’s just bureaucracy and red tape, doesn't really matter. 😉

Gerald Parker3 said:Look, I get it—it’s just bureaucracy and red tape, doesn't really matter. 😉

I wouldn't say that. You're just looking for the shortcut. It's much easier to rely on pills.

Noah Sanchez7 said:I wouldn't say that. You're just looking for the shortcut. It's much easier to rely on pills.

WRONG. If I stop my meds for seven days, I'm either being rushed to the ER by an ambulance or I'm checking myself straight into a psych ward. What's your take on that?

Gerald Parker3 said:WRONG. If I stop my meds for seven days, I'm either being rushed to the ER by an ambulance or I'm checking myself straight into a psych ward. What's your take on that?

Really?!

What exactly happens to you that requires emergency services? Are you the one calling them, or does someone else call because they feel threatened?

Noah Sanchez7 said:Really?!

What exactly happens to you that requires emergency services? Are you the one calling them, or does someone else call because they feel threatened?

Someone else.
I remember one time I called them myself—it was after I’d been off my meds for seven months while staying with my mother-in-law, and I was basically suffocating her, so I called 911.
I haven't ended up in a psych ward since then.
I mean, let's just say there were times I was ready to grab some scissors and tear through a calendar.
But look, I have a history; I was admitted to a mental hospital for the first time when I was eighteen, so in people's eyes, I'll always be "crazy."
Personally, I don't feel the need to prove anything to anyone.

Noah Sanchez7 said:Actually, a better question...

What would you have done if you’d been born a hundred years ago—back when things like "lithium" or whatever else you're on didn't exist?

Do you have any idea how hooked I used to be?!

Everything seemed totally fine, until one day I just couldn't stand the thought of going to school. I realized how one little line could fix everything and put things back where they belonged.
Then I started hating leaving the house (to go downtown), so again, that little line would "fix" things.
Ugh, even family gatherings—that always drove me crazy, but the line smoothed all that over too.
Taking a hour-long bus ride? You know, it's such a long, soul-crushing trip, but the line fixes that, too—even if you end up with nothing to read later.
By the end, even walking to the corner store felt like this massive burden; the line—which is now Lindza—fixed all of that!!

That's all in the past now. My conclusion? A lack of willpower!

👍

History
scene of Bellevue Hospital from a classic American painting.
scene of Bellevue Hospital from a classic American painting.

The history of psychiatric hospitals is linked heavily with social and scientific attitudes towards mental health, and the attitudes towards those suffering with mental illness, both of which have changed greatly over the past centuries.

[edit] Cities

As city populations swelled, there was an increasingly large number of mentally ill individuals living in urban environments. Generally speaking, in rural areas, the mentally ill could usually lean on local community support or simply fly under the radar. However, under the pressures of massive cities, they faced much harder circumstances and stood a far greater chance of causing disruption or just becoming a public nuisance. This pressure eventually led to the construction of the earliest asylums.

In the US the New York County Court Judges pressured the US government resulting in an Act of Congress - The Mental Health Act, which allowed for the building of purpose-built asylums—the first of which, a US County Asylum in a major US metropolitan area, opened its doors in the early 1830s. (Src: Museums of Madness, Andrew T. Scull, Penguin 1979)

Initially these early asylums were little more than repositories for the mentally ill – essentially removing them from mainstream society the same way a jail would for criminals. Conditions were often extremely poor and serious treatment was not yet an option.

So, that's the historical side of things.

As for my willpower, believe me, I fought it. I pushed myself so hard—really, truly struggled—trying to force myself to be "normal" by the standards of the late 20th or early 21st century.
And since we're focusing on my willpower
, my current willpower is directed toward taking my medication,
and maybe, just maybe, something else will follow down the road.

You actually tried to be normal!?
I'm not exactly normal myself, and honestly, I've always been repulsed by the whole idea of "normality." Trying to fit in is just a massive waste of time. Being normal just means being a slave!