A Sense of Myself

I have had a significant decrease in symptoms this week.

Like, night and day difference.

That Risperidone that was added a few weeks ago.

Is amazing.

In combination with the Invega.


I’m shook by how much better I feel.

I didn’t know this could happen.

This quietness.

And fading darkness.

I’m so glad my NP added a small daily antipsychotic.

And not a mood stabilizer.

Like he said he wanted to at the last visit.

I’ve been on countless mood stabilizers over the years.

I think the last count I did was seven different kinds.

Seven different useless medications for me.

And that’s all I was given for years.

And years.

And years.

It’s amazing to me.

That such a tiny amount of medication.

Can make my life livable.

I feel like my survival mode is fading.

That I’m able to think beyond the moment somehow.

That the fog is burning off.

This week has felt more lonely than others too.

I guess not so much lonely.

As a feeling of being alone.

Very alone.

The voices being very distant makes my world big.

I’m having a hard time.

Wrapping my head around the moments of silence.

It’s impossible to think with the voices.

And difficult to do so without them.

Not that I miss them.

That is not happening.

I hate them.

And I’m so grateful for the increased moments of silence I’ve been having.

But it’s just odd.

It’s odd to suddenly feel so alone.


And to feel like I’m in charge.

There’s very few intrusive thoughts in me this week.

And the internal, horrible voices have distanced themselves.

I have moments.

Where I’m clear and calm.

And burst into tears.

Partly because it’s a foreign feeling.

Partly because now what?

What are the next steps?

How do I live without the constant chatter?

Everything is different now.

It’s as if I am in shock.

I can’t fathom not hearing hourly voices.

But that’s what’s happening.

It’s welcomed.

But almost isolating.

I’ve been hearing the internal voices especially.

Ever since I can remember.

The familiar and horrid tones and cadences are very distant today.

It’s like my breakthrough symptoms.

Went from every hour.

To just once a day.

And are fading into once every other.

And I’m guessing it will continue on that path.

Until I’m by myself.

For the first time in my life.

It’s daunting really.

Because with them gone.

I have a fucked up sense of failure.

Failure to get the right medications sooner.

Failure to know myself before the age of forty.

Failure to understand correctly.

I always thought I had a good sense of myself.

Of my mental illnesses.

And my physical issues.

But I’m learning that I had no fucking clue.

And I’m just now starting to see myself.

For who I really am.

Without hallucinations.

Without delusions.

Without rage.

It doesn’t make it less isolating.

Because it’s hard to explain all of this.

Some things seem impossible to describe properly.

And the feeling of being alone.

And not being near where I envisioned myself at this age.

Is right up there.

But I have to tell myself I have been dealing with my improperly medicated mental illnesses for decades.

I’ve said this before.

And looking back.

I knew something was wrong.

I knew my mental health was slowly decaying.

I didn’t understand why medications wouldn’t do shit for me.

Why my darkness was still so active. 

For so many years.

I didn’t fucking understand.

At all.

And I can’t hold that against myself.

I can’t sit here and become frustrated with my situation because I didn’t know.

That’s completely unfair.

And some of what little fairness there is in the world.

Goes here now.

Because I haven’t been well.

Most all of my adult life.

And I didn’t catch on.

I just didn’t know.

Until last year.

I’m convinced.

I was too close to it all.

My head was such a mess for so long.

It’s truly scary to think about.

But I’m impressed by my ability to reflect this week.


It’s getting easier.

It’s becoming quicker.

More efficient.

I’m remembering things.

All of these are so fucking new to me.

Truly, they are.

I have lived in chaos for so long.



So long.

It’s daunting to think of life being a complete opposite way.

And it’s relieving to have some silence.

Two things can be true all the time.

And even though it’s scary.

It’s comforting.

– Keren

7 responses to “A Sense of Myself”

  1. Oh, my goodness, you clearly described another layer of finding your way out.

    Don’t beat yourself up about living in your past. You were trusting your health care providers would solve/treat your illness.

    Blessings go to you for fighting those voices and finding your true self. You can now be your own voice, just keep telling you that you’re fucking amazing, brilliant, and caring. You love animals, music, nature, and science.

    Hang in there, you’ve got a new road to travel.

    Hugs & love Auntie B

    Liked by 2 people

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