#Paranoid Schizophrenia tw

[brooklynislandgirl]

@ronmanmob  {{xx}}

From the outside in, there might be more Horlicks nights than might be seemly. Some might argue that there are made up reasons for the too-long wakefulness, that they are cheating themselves out of sleep. Those people are only looking in from outside, are utterly myopic. They do not live with the every day reasons why she or Ron cannot find rest, when the mind is a buzzing hive of grief or anxious energy or a half a dozen other things. And sometimes, sitting round the table in robes and pyjamas, or sometimes just tee-shirts and boxers ~Ron's all the way around and sometimes she thinks she sees a sparkle once in a while in his eyes when she dons them~ or whatever makes them feel comfortable in terms of temperature and textures are concerned. Despite neither of them ever needing to lift a finger in their life, capable of hiring a staff that would befit the estates of royals, Ron and Beth are not the kind of people to take advantage of their situation. He opens the pub daily baring his poorly days or the odd wild hare that has him taking her away from the city, or out with his brother, attending to their other affairs. Those last times are the ones that she is usually keen to stay at home. It isn't that she doesn't enjoy some of the Kray Brothers' fine establishments, but the less time she spends around Reg the better. So after the forty-eight hour week she's put into the hospital and twice that put into the pubs and clubs, this is their moment. Their chance to check in with one another and reconnect. She isn't ashamed to admit she needs that. That she needs Ron. He is the force that keeps her grounded and holds her aloft. She hopes that it is the same for him. She doesn't mind those moments where instead of words he offers her what they call wingdings: nonsequitors, starts and stops, hand gestures and verbiage with no actual shape and purpose. Those are the things she loves more than she can tell him and she doesn't know why it should be so. Maybe it feels a little like a verbal kiss. An embrace she can lose herself in and gives her a chance to catch up with all that is said around it. She sits across from him, one sock-covered foot braced on either side of his own, a compromise she makes with herself when she'd much rather have them in his lap, head tilted affectionately. She doesn't see the dark depths of his gaze but rather watches his mouth as is her wont. She grins when he refreshes himself with his drink. Hers is mostly pulling double duty by warming her fingers as she keeps them wrapped around the cup. She isn't really prepared for his confession though she could, if asked by anyone else, tell them somewhat the same. The walls that may exist between them are so thin as to be made of glass. In ways she cannot explain to anyone who doesn't struggle within the world like she and Ron do. She knows that in many ways he has it worse off when strictly speaking of symptoms, emotionally they often fight similar but separate battles. But if Ron could be seen as a tank, unmistakeable in shape or form when the struggle became words, then Beth is a master spy. Most of the time she can pass for perfectly typical, perfectly normal as long as all she needs to do is look pretty and laugh at the appropriate time. And yet, they seem to understand one another better than any one else, he doesn't lie. There isn't the same exhaustion that could be heard in her brother's repeated pleading and nor the frigidity that comes from Reg's distance. His want for Ron to be the way he was before, an impossible and terribly painful dream. There isn't fear. Beth knows that is the name of one of his demons. He tells her of the way his mum and aunties were before. The double loss of Rose and his diagnosis has left a trench between his family and himself. Reg thrives on the terror a flat affect can have on those uninitiated. Ron's broad shoulders and his stocky frame paired with that less than strictly focused mien, the whispers of immense violence turns into something else. Something she's seen with her own eyes that Reg often weaponizes, without realising that it has a second and more insidious effect; it dehumanises his brother, turns the bright and beautiful soul she knows who loves dogs and has the softest spot for children into a unfeeling thing. Paints Ron with the brush the rest of the world already sees as justifiable. Does more damage than the disease, and feeds the phobia of every one who has to wear that diagnosis as a sort of scarlet letter. It's disgusting, and nothing about Ron's twin makes her want to flay him to the bone for it. What she doesn't understand is the why. Violet is far kinder in many ways than the Admiral. But Beth isn't blind. She sees the way Reg is doted on with love and respect, with a certain kind of admiration. As if the way he treats his wife ~like rubbish best left on the curb for the trash-men to come collect at best, and at worst...she's absolutely certain he's threatened to lay hands on the woman who is almost as small as Beth and a lot less confident~ but it is vastly different than the way she is with her youngest. Ron is coddled, yes. But aimlessly. She doesn't get quite as close. There are layers of worry in her eyes, anxious lines around her mouth and eyes when she tries to hold conversations with him. That arms-length wears on Ron until he starts to fray. She might argue with him on Pat. Big Pat Connolly is a dear man, gentle giant, a stalwart friend and champion of Ron's and she knows without a doubt or a problem with it that the man's the keeper of more secrets than she can imagine. The same could be said about Jayden Morgan, her own best friend. There might be things between them that she and Ron have forgotten, or missed details of, a hundred innumerable moments. She doesn't mind that. Ron needs a brother the same way she needs a sister, and their friends are hanai siblings. His next truth is one that hurts. She can empathise with this sliver of his inner-self. She's been honest with him about her own frailties, has built on its back some of their support of one another but she doesn't and more importantly won't speak of her own experiences. The thin faint scars along her forearms. The reason why sparks and lightning scare her into burying her face in his arm or back or chest. She has lied too, to her doctors, and only half confides in her therapist. She doesn't trust a single one of them to not be on the Admiral's payroll. Waiting to throw her under the bus for the slightest thing. She doesn't have words but nods as he speaks, reaching out and laying her hand on the table between them should he want the contact. But her heart breaks the way he says that softly. In that tone, which isn't really one, though the attendant gestures and glances do provide depth and shades, she sees a side of Ron she isn't used to. The longing for his most loved relative. Being separated unto eternity. When all your world hinged on someone and then...they were no longer there. She would give anything for one more minute with her brother. To hear his voice even if he was nagging, to hear his laugh deep and full-throated. To feel his arms around her while she dug a space for herself in his chest. Worse, she'd actually tried. Something Ron doesn't need to know. "I don' t'ink ya mad," she says finally. Of course she doesn't. "Wheddah part of ya illness or mebbe some consideration from source of all goodness...I'm glad she come an' see ya. Dat you get ya moments wi' her." She won't say she's envious, she doesn't honestly feel that way nor is she sure she could pay the exacting price that Ron does for every single moment he gains to his benefit. It would be more than disengenious for her to say so. But something that hits her hard enough to nearly steal her breath is how he talks of the changes in abstract. How that makes so much sense and provides her with the words she'd never been able to find to express how it feels, deep down. Doors between him and the universe opening. Beth has never heard silence. From time immemorial everything has been loud and she's heard every sound that isn't there, all the ones that are magnified to a point that she cannot make sense of words, of her own thoughts some times until they become too dark and too bitter inside of her head. To the point she doesn't even want to be part of that infinite chorus any longer. She squirrels the words away unil such a time when wintery deprivation make them needed. "Jus' because someone who love ya is gone from wha' mos' people can see an' hear, taste an' touch, don't mean..." Her turn to shrug, knowing he can most likely fill in the space. Her eyes sweep the rims of her lower lids and the hand on the table comes up to the side of her nose. Knuckle brushes the tip once, twice. "Mebbe...mebbe she one of ya beddah angels now, yeah?"

[neuroticboyfriend]

A lot of the time when professionals interact with psychotic people, they try to reduce our distress by getting us to stop believing things. For me, that only made things worse. It was confusing and distressing. I felt angry, scared, and misunderstood. The best way I've found to cope with delusional thinking is something I discovered on my own. I'll give an example here so, huge TW for unreality and paranoia.

Scroll away if you're not able to hear delusional thinking.

Yesterday I started freaking out thinking people could hear my thoughts. This is something I've occasionally experienced since I was a child. When this comes up, I always think there's some massive conspiracy, where everyone can hear my thoughts but they react to me as if they don't hear anything. And they're all in on it. This time, it was triggered by intrusive thoughts that I started judging myself for.

As you can imagine, this is distressing. I started talking to people through my mind, which only made it worse. I couldn't focus on what was happening around me. What I did to reduce that distress is.. weirdly nonchalant. I just sat there and thought "Well, if this is true, it's not like they're going to change how they interact with me. Everything is the same as it was. Nothing I can do about it, might as well just keep on keeping on."

That calmed me down enough to start focusing on what I was doing, and eventually completely forget about it until now. Whenever I try to treat my delusional thinking as something I have to stop immediately... it literally only makes my mind double down. But if I work within what I believe - what I "know" - I can find another way to look at it that isn't so scary.

This works with my hallucinations, too. I sometimes see shadow people; they're more like jump scares than anything. They startle me, and I start to wonder if people I'm looking at are real. But that latter part only really happens if I get fearful of them. To avoid that fear, I try to think of the shadow people as just friends watching over me, checking in. They don't do anything, after all. They just pop up, stand there, and disappear.

(Talk of unreality ends here)

So, yeah. This doesn't work for everyone, and it doesn't always work for me depending on what I'm experiencing/how I'm feeling. But without this, I'd be far worse off; it doesn't take too many missteps for me to spiral. I guess my point is, my reality doesn't have to be "normal" for me to be healthy as a schizophrenic person. It just has to be something I can live with, as happily and safely as possible.

And that's ok. Neurodivergent people are allowed to exist, and some people are helped best by finding ways for them to exist as they are without so much distress - rather than trying to eliminate troubling symptoms entirely.

[seizurestrong]

Idk who needs to hear this but someone should’ve taken care of you when you were a kid. It’s okay to have that wound if you do, and you can’t expect yourself to “move on” because you’re an adult now. Someone should’ve taken care of you. You should’ve had someone to lean on. No matter what, It’s not your fault. You can never ever ever do anything as a child that warrants adults to treat you badly, it’s impossible. You’re a good person & you’re a strong person bc you’ve done it all without the people you’re meant to rely on. You’re doing great! I believe in you :)

[b4bybunnie3]

I need to bathe but the voices keep telling me not to please help me motivate me or encourage me i think it'd help to have support

[not-fully-there]

My teacher decided to visit me at home

However, there is one thing she did not plan on-

I am refusing to open the door

[altkris]

Tell me my scars are pretty 👉👈🥺

[johnnyiscaged]

LET'S GET HARMFUL STIGMATIZING POSTS DOWN !!

tags in mind are stuff like schizocore, schizoposting delulu is the solulu and the fog is coming. shit like that and just anything that is harmful to psychotics & schizospec

the post this is referring to: https://www.tumblr.com/johnnyiscaged/746385499137179648/why-are-non-psychotics-so-obsessed-with

[felixblueprint420]

this holy ground burns underneath my feet.

[schizowitchic]

me: i want to be at home on my own :) i am mature and grown up enough to handle this :)

my parents: ok 👍

me, two hours in to being left alone: *trying to listen to music but pausing every 2 seconds bc i heard a noise* *wanders around every room to check there is nobody hiding* *checks all doors and windows are locked* *sits in a chair where i have view of all entrances to the room*

me later: *imagines my whole family have been killed in a car crash and that's why they haven't shown up home 5 minutes after they said they would*

my parents: so how was your day?

me: great! i got so much useful productive stuff done (<- i am sick to my stomach and have been shaking with anxiety all day)

[dead1nsidefairy]

talked to my therapist and realised i might have schizophrenia yay! i thought im seeing ghost for so many years...realised its just hallucinations

hearing halluc.: calling my name, or saying random stuff, or whistling or smth like tinnitus

seeing: shadows, orbs, desth ppl

feeling: someone touching me, probs could be hallucination bout bugs or smth on my skin or that my fucking body doesnt feel right

smelling: cat pee, or weird parfumes all day

tasting: every day i drink smth- water, energy drink and it all tastes like fucking blood

can someone w schizophrenia help me or write me their experience? if is it possible for me to have it? thx

[elethab3269]

i hear screaming in my head when i try sleep

[seizurestrong]

i wish he could love me and I know he doesn’t because of my head and that is something I should let go of but I just want to sleep in his bed again I just want to be enough. Living with someone you thought you’d marry and knowing you’re not enough anymore is so gut wrenching.

[b4bybunnie3]

Me with my comfort stuffed animals because they keep me safe from the hallucinations

[krysztal-gorski]

Zaczynam miec schizy, slysze glosy obcych ludzi w mojej glowie i krzyki podobne do jęczenia jakby ktos obdzieral kogos ma zywca ze skory, te glosy sa tak glosne ze wybucha mi glowa i nie moge ich uciszyc, mowia zebym „to zrobila” i inne podobne rzeczy i nie sa to mysli samobojcze, to obce glosy, slysze pukanie w moje okna o poznych godzinach i widze przechadzajace sie w cieniach kreatury, mam dosc.

[altkris]

I'm so craving slicing my arms open oh no

[clodstyle]

Spotify really said "I know what you are :)" and suggested a song about surviving a suicide attempt, a song about having paranoid schizophrenia, then a song about having bipolar disorder. ALMOST BACK TO BACK lmfao