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“destruction of the self,” may 2017

acrylic on canvas

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“my brain is sick,” acrylic and oil pastel on canvas, February 2018

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They’re not monsters, they’re not “out of control”, they’re people. These misconceptions are big problem that surround people with psychotic disorders. 

Be kind, be understanding. Stop spreading misinformations.

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“demons in my head,” acrylic on canvas, February 2018

(don’t remove my caption!)

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Serial Killers & Art

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About me by me. • please leave caption on

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Not a threat, they're such troubled souls.

This is what I’m fucking talking about… If this post had said “depression” instead of schizophrenia I’m positive this person wouldn’t have perceived it as threatening. Psychotic people are not dangerous. Being around psychotic people is not a threat to your safety. This is why we face so much mistreatment by medical professionals and social alienation. Because people see us as an inherent threat, you people seriously have to fucking read a book. What an absolutely pointless and rude thing to add to a post about awareness for a severe disorder.

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Care-less

Sometimes you take the most important parts of your whole life and existence for granted and eventually, some invisible God decides to smite you and rips your definition of perfect apart completely, almost like divine punishment. A swift kick to the calves tripping you over so your eyes smart and never quite stop smarting, a 'ha ha ha' to mock you into misery and melancholia. Try as you might you will never get that perfect part of your life back, maybe if you try hard enough you might get fraying scraps and tatters that tease you with memories that will only make everything hurt.

He was kind of like a whole package; my mum when I needed one and a dad when I needed someone to do boy things with, who encouraged me to do anything I could possibly desire even if it meant something like climbing a tree in a dress or writing in my own blood in snow...

He was tall, 6'5 but walked with a very fluid gracefulness possibly enhanced by the fact that his mum sent him to dance lessons as a kid. He had a long, lanky body with alabaster skin darkening to circles under vivid, big, wide green eyes fringed by thick lace-like eyelashes. He had high, sharp cheekbones with a long, thin nose and full lips. He had covered every expanse of his skin apart from his head and face with intricately inked and meaningful tattoos that looked like a second skin covering his original skin. There were however the things no one knew about him; the fiendish monsters lurking inside his head that fed him madness and led to his 'criminally insane' label. He was a 'surprisingly high functioning yet very severely paranoid schizophrenic, bulimic' and people were so easily intimidated by him that nobody dared do anything to stand in his way. He was also known for bedding most of Europe quite possibly and we had learnt from quite early on to turn a blind eye if we saw one of his many new one time conquests scuttling out of his room dressed only in humility at daybreak.

I was probably the only person who had forced my way into his life, who he had taken under his wing and adopted in a way and it almost felt like some absurd, invisible umbilical chord attached me to him in the weirdest ways. He had a twin who was all emotions and nerves, a complete contrast to her oft expressionless brother who rarely expressed even the slightest emotion though there were the rare moments when an eerily unsettling mischievous little spark would alight in his eyes, taunting everyone around him at the danger within. The constant purging from the bulimia meant he had permanent dark circles instead of the usual chipmunk cheeks that are a bulimic trademark and he always had something minty in his mouth. His long fingered, big, boney hands almost entirely covered in tattoos were also covered in veins that pushed tight against his skin. His skin seemed pulled shockingly taut over his cheekbones and hollowed out cheeks, becoming dimples and smile lines softly etched around his mouth and all of his bones in general but he carried himself with a self-aware sense of sass, sarcasm and no regard for what people thought of him. It sickened me that people loved fawning over him and failed to realise they would only end up in bed with him because he was fighting so hard to run away from who he really was.

***

He held out the box of mints for me to take, it looked ridiculously small nested in his very long fingers.

I reached out to take one, listening to the muted clack of the one he was already rolling around inside his mouth, against his teeth.

He caught the tatty wrapper I dropped like a torn butterfly wing and flicked it to one side.

I realised my brain had stopped screaming at me as I calmed down when I focused on things like the strong, somehow soothing scent of his strong cologne. He somehow had the ability to calm me down no matter how scared or anxious I was. I focused on the hard smoothness of the mint and pushed it against my teeth, sucking the sweet but sharp, strong minty taste of it.

"Should we talk about what happened today?" His voice was all smoothed over soft, ever so slightly raspy notes of deep poshness edged by a delicate highness.

I stared at the sun that had perched itself to watch in between two grassy hills.

"We should talk about what happened today."

"I had to say something."

"Silence is a great tactic."

"You weren't there, you have no idea what they said."

He took his time, leaning back into his seat before turning his head in my direction. "Humour me."

I struggled to figure out how he was feeling, he sounded thoughtful.

"They said that you were a monster and should be locked up somewhere-"

"And what people often say happens doesn't it?"

I almost squirmed. "No but you don't understa-"

"Well unless I was a speck on the floor..." He mused, looking thoughtful with his head cocked slightly.

I looked at him. "I just don't like it when people say bad things about people I care about!" I spluttered.

"Yes because what they say has totally left me quivering in fear with my heart atop my tongue."

I almost expected him to sarcastically roll his eyes. "You might think it's COOL to distance yourself from people so nobody cares about you but I'm not about to just shut up and listen to people spout a load of rubbish about someone I care about."

"And now they're absolutely quivering in fear at your distress and frustration in my car."

I almost nudged him and resisted the urge to pout.

"I don't want you to fight for me, I never asked you to, never expected you to, you need to realise that people like talking, I am used to people talking, I don't need to be saved and stood up for, chances are I have already heard the worst of what was said and I don't care in the least about it."

"But I do care!" I felt my voice rise. "I don't know why you can't just accept how much you mean to me and how much I care...how much all of us care! And nothing is going to stop us caring about you no matter how flippant and sarcastic you are about it!"

He was looking straight ahead, the sun speckling his green eyes will gold, his face a blank mask.

I wished I had the ability to read his mind or shake him until he expressed himself.

"Stop caring." He was barely audible.

"S-sorry?" I spluttered, blinking dumbly at him.

He looked around him before he started the car and started driving, shrugging once matter of factly. "Just stop caring."

I stared at him in bewilderment, even as he failed to understand how impossible what he was saying was.

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Adhd culture is (#327)

saying ‘I don’t know’ when people ask you why you did something they didn’t want you to do b/c you know why but explaining the fast-moving logic train that got you there is too complicated

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People who have a mental illness may not be in the habit of paying attention to emotions, and it eventually causes an explosion.

Therapy teaches people to pay attention to emotions, manage them, and prevent explosions.

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duskdust

I was thinking earlier today on my way to work that she sky is just a lot of swirly tie-dye cotton candy with sharp black word-birds scattered and caught in the sickening sweetness. Someone accidentally poured some oil onto it but they managed to soak it all up so now the dark black inkiness has come pouring out and excitedly presses itself against the tautly stretched windows, peering in and keeping watch over those who keep watch over the others.

Self hatred is a scalpel you can find quite early on in life and use to chisel away at your heart. As you grow up the eventual weakness will weather to tears and then become frayed and tattered edges and they wonder why you are so passionate about the seductive sting of pain as the red oozes out of you and the dark decaying ink of weakness pours in through the holes, rips and tears left behind.

It is so hard to stay alive when life itself is tearing you apart, relentlessly tugging and pulling you in two different directions while expecting you to stay put where you are. There is a lot happening in that dark head of yours, the graveyard of dreams with ghostly ideas swaying in the wind like white flags of surrender. It seems there is no way out of out, when out is the only way out, maybe there is no change or stop or end. Just continue.

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cant stop thinking about overdosing.

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“I don’t know how to make it all stop, but I’m not sure that I want it to.”

-a book that’ll be too hard to write (via 2amthoughtss)

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Reason to Live #2030

When cats lay on your chest and purr.– Guest Submission (Please don’t add negative comments to these posts.)

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Schizophrenia: A Masterpost

What is schizophrenia?

What is schizophrenia?

Symptoms of schizophrenia

Busting schizophrenia myths

What is disorganized speech?

What is hallucinations?

What is delusions?

What is negative symptoms?

What is disorganized behavior?

An illustration of life with schizophrenia

Coping with schizophrenia:

How to cope with delusions

How to cope with hallucinations

Coping mechanisms for people with psychosis

Alternatives to self harm

100 self-care ideas

100 grounding activities

Grounding techniques 

Tips on coping with executive dysfunction

Tips on studying with executive dysfunction

What to expect in a psych ward

How to choose a therapist

How to reduce psychosis

Supporting someone with schizophrenia:

How to help someone when they’re hallucinating

How to help someone when they’re delusional

What reality checks are and when to do them

What to do when your schizophrenic friend talks about delusions and hallucinations

What to keep in mind when dating a schizophrenic

How to support a schizophrenic loved one

How to react (and how not to react) when someone tells you they’re schizophrenic

Why you should let your schizophrenic loved one talk about their psychosis

On schizophrenia and recovery:

Why recovery doesn’t have to mean “becoming neurotypical”

Why recovery is less about hard work and more about privilege 

Compassionate positivity vs empty platitudes and why the difference matters

Why “it won’t cure me” doesn’t make doing it worthless

Ableism, chronic illness and the just world theory 1

Ableism, chronic illness and the just world theory 2

Why you can’t do everything you put your mind to and why that’s okay

On schizophrenia, stigma and violence:

Why it isn’t necessary to add “but some mentally ill people are violent!”

Why mass shootings can’t be blamed on mental illness

Why you shouldn’t armchair diagnose killers and other bad people

Why you can’t stigmatize all schizophrenics as violent killers

Why you can’t blame all violence on mental illness

The stigma of depression vs the stigma of schizophrenia

Why schizophrenic people are actually unusually vulnerable to abuse

Blogs to follow if you care to learn more: @sweetschizo @physichotic @psychotic-psypport @psychosispsositivity @schizosupport @snakes-in-my-head @schizomnom @actuallyschizophrenic @thoughts-of-a-schizophrenic @schizospec

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Dust-ink

Trying to convince myself to put what is happening in my head in to words because the loudness and the consistency and the noise, all of it can become overwhelming after some time. I have tried this so many times before but feel like I might finally be getting somewhere at least tonight.

We have a full ward.

I have always felt like a hypocrite telling people how to be, helping them feel, explaining what is happening to them and reassuring them that they are safe when the inside of my head is like a screaming pit for mirthless rage and distress that has become intoxicated and hysterical with urges to self destruct that rise higher than waves. I live in a world where there are two different parts that are held together by a thread that has been stretched taut and could snap at any second, when it does everything, the ugly blackness is all going to come pouring out and whoops! All of that sickening ugliness is just going to burst into the world and I will be shunned how I deserve to be shunned.

Why is he dead?

Behind this adult mask that I am wearing is a very distressed and unsettled upset child who really badly wants things to be how they were in the past. Some part of this child knows that can never be again though she clings to this weird futile hope and ends up drawn to weird spirals of thought and ideas that could be helpful or destructive depending on how dazed or disoriented she is feeling at the time. Part of it sparks her passion for destruction. Maybe a part of her thinks that it is the only way she can blur that line between then and now so things can become smooth and normal and acceptable.

Ugh, body why are you?

I spent the whole expanse of my very bumpy little life slowly detaching myself from this fleshy chasm that is my body. I wish I could undo the zip, wherever it is that is holding it tightly shut and forcing in the scrabbling and screaming soul that has been helplessly scratching and scraping at the innards that have bloated and become ghastly, bubbly and wretched due to years of abuse and misuse. How can you want to nourish or care for a being that feels impossibly alien and lost, confusingly absurd and painfully not yours, that bleeds relentlessly monthly and dips you into huge, vast oceans of embarrassment and shame time and time again with no end in sight.

He is.

So special, precious, pure. I want him to love himself how my heart loves him; with those sweet, soft eyes framed by glasses that magnify them and increase their warmth and the comfort that they radiate. The nose so snub and sweetly holding up the frames through which his world-weary pupils watch a world askew trundle and stumble by day and day again. The soft mouth pursed for some reason against excellence because shyness and nervousness has hung itself like a scarf around his neck. It should never have been there in the first place but it is. I want to get rid of it in time and watch him blossom fully into who he really is, who he deserves to be.