I Should Have Realized There Was A Problem (Pt.1)

Disclaimer- The stories in these blogs reflect the type of person I USED to be before I had started receiving treatment for my paranoid schizophrenia. I, in no way condone or approve of the type of behavior displayed in these stories I tell about my old life but rather try to simply state the idea that this is the person I used to be, and have since then learned from my mistakes and am in the process of turning my life around for the better. Part of my therapy is writing down these old stories as an attempt to take all of those negative things in my life and turn them into something positive and productive. So I want to thank you for supporting this positive cause by reading and being interested. It sincerely means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy reading the short story blogs I write about my life. -Joseph

So back in the day when I was very sick with my schizophrenia, I had many different ways of coping. This was before I knew I had a problem so as you can imagine, my ways of dealing with my illness back then were not so healthy. One of the problems with my schizophrenia was that there was always so much horror and chaos going on inside my thoughts that I had no means of escaping myself. Not even for two minutes. I was living my life in a constant and agonizing fear. It was horrible. The only escape was sleep and I never had much of that in my sick years either. I used to escape with drugs and alcohol quite often but another escape that I seemed to favor was Self-Mutilation.

Now, my theory behind all of my Self-Mutilation over the years was that, like I said, there was always so much horror and chaos in my own thoughts that I needed something else to focus my attention on to escape from it. Any escape from my own mind was bliss. Most sane people take vacations to the Bahamas to do that. Me? I used to cut myself. And trust me, focusing on the pain was way better than what was going on within the confines of my own mind. The more extreme the pain, the better and longer the escape. Weird I know. It takes a certain breed of human to be able to cross that boundary. And once you cross it, you can never be the same. It becomes a huge turning point in one’s state of mind. Looking back, it was one of the defining moments in my life. 

So besides trying to pierce my own ear in 4th grade (foreshadowing lol) I was never really into pain until I was about 15 years old. My girlfriend at the time (who was probably frightened to death of me because I was a complete nut job LOL) had finally mustered up enough courage to separate herself from me. (Smart move on her part) This was after she repeatedly told me I needed help but I refused. Anyway, this had triggered very intense and horrifying delusions in my mind.  I didn’t realize it back then but after years of therapy and looking back, I do realize it now. So I had just gotten off of the phone with her on that cold night of my adolescence. I started flipping out like I always did back then. I needed to do something because I was just so paranoid and enraged and did not know how to expel this energy! I was alone in my room at about 2:30am on this school night. I remember this like it was yesterday. It was the first time I had thought about cutting myself to calm down.  I was so desperate at this point and did not know what else to do. I had no one to turn to and no one to talk to. This was the only thing that seemed like it would help. So I took out my knife and stared at it for like an hour. Contemplating on crossing that final boundary. So many things were running through my mind at this point. I cringe just thinking about it. I then just had enough, I cracked, and in a number of quick lashes, I cut myself in the most logical place I could think of… all of my knuckles. I then proceeded to rub all of the gushing blood on the door of my room, so if anybody asked, I would just day that I got mad and punched my door. From that moment on, my life had never been the same and was about to take a huge turn for the worse. My Self-Mutilation experiences would increase and become more severe for years to come and eventually lead to my attempted suicide.  These were the early warning signs that only few people in my life at the time recognized.  And deep in denial, I pushed them away because I refused to believe that I needed help. I should have realized there was a problem.