(UN)reality

I didnt feel 'normal' from the moment I woke this morning, I instantly felt an undeniable sense of unease and axiety in the air. I knew something was abnormal when the unease actully identified itself as purple/gray mist, like a second coating of air, making the oxygen visible. I was pretty sure this was the result of failing to take my medication for the past three weeks. Ive been on anti-psychotic pills for years now and decided to conduct my own experiment without them.1

Instantly I regretted it and it was quite clear that they had been working. Its hard to determine when you are strung out on them every day, and you tend to think negatively. While they may have side effects, and sometimes make you more spaced out then before you took them.. they do, however, stop me from thinking im in between the second and third dimensions, conspiring with intergalactic god like entities which manifest themselves from my thoughts or whatevers in the proximity. or unpredictably lashing out at people because they show extra terrestrial tendencies, by the simplist movement or tone of voice. As you do. So Ive decided to take the meds again.
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As soon as the colourful air starting moving; like clouds in the sky of another planet, making faint, whispy sounds as it slithered past my ears - the voices started. Already in a daze and ever quickly losing my sense of 'what is real', the voices added an overwhelming panic to the situation. My heart was bludgeoning my chest, or so it felt, it was so intense that at one point I beleived the voices were coming from my heart. I put my hand on my chest, in an attempt to silence the rucus in my head, when I realised the voices continued, and also began to mock me for thinking that a heart could talk.3

I remember feeling a surge of wrath mixed with an out of place euphoria, pulsate throughout my whole body as if id just snorted a fat line of MDMA. I rushed with anger and shouted back, "well I can fucking talk to you cant I!? Forgive me for thinking it was coming from the heart! you fucker!". A reply came a few seconds later as if it was actully another persons thoughts and they'd took the time to think of a reply. In my head!4

It echoed softly as if it had been called down a narrow, long hallway; The corridors of the mind. "Of course you can squire! im as real or you." It then proceeded to mock me about forgetting this. At that point I couldnt perceive what was real from what wasnt and decided not to answer the voice, as it was pointless anyway. It always won, even if its argument was clearly wrong, it always just, won. 5

This was the first relapse Id had for around a year and a half now, and ironically induced by myself! Due to that, I was so unprepared, not that you can be prepared for a psychotic episode, but I wasnt as used to it as I had been in the past. The past is a relentlessly miserable blur of dream like states and nightmares. One time I had three manic outbreaks in the space of 2 months. I killed one of the flats residents dog, and I dont remember a thing. This was more then enough to land me in a psyciatric ward where I spent around a year watching my mask of sanity detatch from me. One time when looking in a mirror I literally saw my skin peeling from my face, representing, what I took as the mask itself. Paranoid schizophrenia has ruled my existance for over 6 years now. And while it still clutches me, excluding today and my foolish escapades - it is slowly getting steady, at least.6

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As I surrendered myself to the voices, I crawled from my bed and stood up, the next thing I knew I was in my living room lent against the wall in a most strange posture. I had absolutely no recollection of how I got there from my room and it sent me into a surreal spiral of confusion. Just as the confusion kicked in, so did a profound sense of pain. I turned around to see the wall dented and covered with blood. my blood. Thats when I realised I could taste it, i dont even know if i had comprehended any taste in my mouth before I saw the wall. I started feeling around my face, my fingers slid across my skin like skates on an ice rink, i think i even felt pain as if the sharp blades were cutting my cheeks. I continued to lazily fumble around for the source of the blood.8

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It was my nose, and it was broken. destroyed. There was a shattered peice of bone petruding out to the side, the skin was battered and flapped over like a blanket, and the pain was unbearable. The agony of my fingers contact with the wound spawned horrific illusions right before my eyes , and made the voices intensify. flashes of death danced before me, torturing my sight. The voices were almost screaming now. Telling me if I closed my eyes id still everything, which was true. By this point I was feeling completely 'insane', I recall saying to my self; this was just after witnessing a decapitated women squeeze her own head out of her vagina, whilst repeating pop goes the weasel in a steretype sixties movie, with an eerie.. happy, tone. "this is lunacy. Ive completely lost it". 10

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I started to laugh, and the voices joined me, males, females, voices of people I knew, or didnt even know existed, and of course the main voice, which I call 'it'. It speaks in an incredibly eerie cockney accent, but distorted. It is slow, like a song being played backwards, although completely coherant and understandable all the time, without fail. It has never specified what gender it is, because it says gender isnt real. It always has every word backed up with 'evidence', which is so convincing even if I am unwilling to beleive. No matter how 'strange' it can seem, its always overpowerlingly plausible. But strange to me is just a collection of letters that make up a word. to speak. To communicate, blah, blah.12

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Once more, I returned to the concious world with absolutely no memory of the last few minutes. This time in my bathroom. I hazily looked into the mirror, it revealed my half mutilated face. By the looks of things, in this blackout I'd pulled the torn skin from my nose down my face, all the way to my top lip. exposing scar tissue and tender, throbbing muscles, that festered with malice. There was blood everywhere, and I was feeling incredibly lightheaded but calm about the whole thing. Scribbled on the showercurtains to the left, in blood was "get it off!", over and over again.14

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It was then I noticed my medication tin on the bathroom tiles. All but three pills left. There should have been roughly forty. Suddenly I felt as if someone had put me down from above, energy seethed from me, and departed. The air went transparent and oxygen like again. The voices were quieter, and not aggresive, saying random surreal things, such as "ill pay you back next week", "what time is it on", and "Quick! they're coming!" amongst many other ramblings. Some slightly louder then others, some cohrent, others not. However Im sure I could recognise one of the voices, it sounded like one of my old friends. He died around two years ago at the age of twenty seven in a car accident, but oddly the voice I was hearing was of his innocent eight year old self, how I remembered him best. I couldnt make out what he was saying though, but Im positive it was him. I think..16

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Without warning the feeling of terror and unease stormed back, fortunately the hallucinations had subsided, visually, at the moment. Then, It, started reminding me of the pills, helping me, warning me. Which was an uncommon gesture, but raped any calmness present. I was beggining to feel pshyically sick now, and staggered to the phone where I rang my doctor, the only person I thought might be able to do something, or give me some advice. I dialled his number which I knew off by heart, and faintly felt the buttons texture turn to jelly as I pressed them. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity. I blankly stared at the wall, sub-consciously still in agony. Blood dripped down onto the floor, from my disfigured face and the sounds of the drops hitting the crimson puddle; that was building below, were as clear as the horribly slow ringing of the phone.18

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Dr.Moss's soft, almost monotone voice snapped me back to what I had been focusing on.. Him. "hello", he said in an almost expectant manner. I frantically told him everything in my most probably incoherant, speedy, psychotic state. Trying hard to think the words and then say them as fast as possible. It hurt to speak, as it stretched the wound all the way up to my nose, which stung my brain. Strangely the voices had stopped, even it. This had never happened before, ever, so I was very suprised. even in the year and a half of 'smooth living', I heard the voices murmmuring, every day. Just not as obnoxiously.20

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As I threw my last words from my mouth, I noticed the colour of my surroudings had faded to white. Everything was pure white, and everything slowly sucking away, like a film lense zooming in slowly, slowly, slowly dispersing, into the corners of the room. Creeping away into a nothingness, a white nothingness, with only me and the phone left vibrant 'inside' it. I instantly remembered I was on the phone, and more to the point that I was waiting for Dr.Moss's answer, which strangley hadnt come confidently and instantly, as usual. But after a long, dreary pause.22

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The sound of this alien silence was deafening. Along with the blinding white everywhere. Quickly and venemously, a mixed feeling of morbidity and melancholy ambushed me, swallowing me entirely. Everything in this white nothing; which was a moment ago, my colourful living room, semmed to stop moving. like a shadow in the corner of the eyes. Abruptly halting. It seemed the room had already fused itself with the present whiteness, and was now still. waiting. I noticed my arm turning white, absorbing the room. the phone was already the same. Now I completely melted into this nothingness, completely pale and white. Anxiously waiting, eventually Dr.Moss gently whispered down the phone. 24

"Your dead".25

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Reality?