Glimpse in to INSANITY….

I penned this down about my    Schzisoeffective  disorder.
I’ve heard and seen too many delusions to add to this script .
I have lived this way for over 30 years.
It was difficult to relive and put my sickness into words.
There is no rhyme or reason.
It’s just what is is….

Mental disability, what an epigram
It bounds buried in complexity
Titter inside hysterical effectuation
Feeling electrical currents shorting in my brain

Screaming unremembered prayers in my night terrors at the devils fornication
Remaining in my presence, anticipating my sleep

    Booze to reverse the horror

Waking day dreams, lost in semi-reality
Descry vociferation yelling my name
Wanting to claw my out my eyes against nebulous  shadows lurking behind
Needing a medium to banish  all apparitions invading my space

Paranoid of all establishment

When securing eyes with others- they deciphering my every thought
With binoculars my neighbors surveiled
Me camouflaged with thick drawn shades, and sunless skin
To go out summoned my outdoor demons, safer behind the curtains
Needed to do battle , wage war to fulfill some morbid desire
Annililating  hordes in my dreams by any means

Aspiring to impossible heights, seemingly greater than God
Retiring to cureless depths, ideation of a rope

Booze to numb the madness

OCD for a little control
A million times repeated thoughts, flashing thru my tired head
Confusion… what day is this
Am I doing something wrong

A rap at the front door finds me heading for cover under the desk
Quivering in my hideout  – just go away

Not glancing in mirrors, afraid of who will be looking back, hiding from myself

Leaping out of my skin at the tiniest unexpected noise

Garbled, gutteral utterances in my left ear.   Hot breath on my neck
Permanent shadows camped out darkly, behind me – turn, and they’re not there

Bawling at any spontaneity – not in my scheme and may cause panic

Wanting to pull my skull off
        Exposing the insanity
        Just needing it to STOP

Booze to reverse the derangement

Limbs not answering brain waves
Hard to move and concentrate
On a daily basis surviving hell
On a nightly basis in true hell

Needing to shriek and explode
Afraid to sleep
Walking in exhausted dreams
Broken pain in my bones
No peace day or night…

It took years to get them right but medication saved my life ….


Excerpt- “The Evil Within” Book two of “PoIisoned Soul” series Coming soon…..

Mason put in a movie and grabbed the bottle of schnapps. His nerves were raw and he needed something to dull the pain. He drank more of the bottle than intended and soon he was fast asleep.
Mason was six. His mom was healed and looked like herself again. His little brother Morgan was back and he was two years old. The six year old did not like how Morgan got all of the attention. His incessant crying permeated the dream. Mason hated the sound. He covered his ears but he could still hear the unending screeching through his tightened fingers.
Mason was enraged and floated in to the living room where the aquarium stood. ‘So pretty’, Morgan would say in his babies voice. His mom laughed loud ans squeezed the little boy. ‘So pretty’, Mason wanted to squeeze his neck, but good mother was always hovering over good baby.
The wailing was coming from the crib upstairs so Mason knew he had time.
He got the small green metal fish net, scooped up one ‘pretty’ fish and dropped it on the floor. It flopped and struggled, its tiny fish mouth opening and closing for air. Mason knelt down in amazement and watched the fish die. He felt free and wonderful! He repeated the process; in an out of body experience, until every fish lay dead on the rug.
Mason’s chubby fingers grabbed an ink pen and began poking out their eyes. It squished and the sound echhoed off the walls, back into his enraptured ears. For a few glorious moments, he could hear only the soupy sound, instead of the fussing of his little brother.
Then in his dream state, Mason was in the dark backyard, digging up the long dead kitty. He had built a mound of dirt and he had to be getting close. The iron shovel struck something hard and he knew he had his prize.
It no longer stunkk the cat was just loose furry bones. You could see the cracks in its skull where the wooden stool had its fun. He gathered the cadaver and secreted it away in a urine soaked pillow case.
The dream had landed him in his room where he removed the fur laden bones, laid it on his pillow and carefully snuggled his head into the hairy mass. He inhaled death and tasted revenge.

Mason woke up. Feeling satisfied. This was a dream he could deal with. He remembered the dead cat and had kept it until his horrified mother discovered it under his bed. She immediately through it in the trash truck. Eleanor knew her young boy had serious mental problems but never spoke a word about them and kept the information a deep dark secret.