The Luxury

I noticed that I’m starting to be aware of the weather again.

It’s been sunny.

Then rainy.

Then sunny.

Then rainy.

All week.

I’ve been noticing the shifts in temperature.

And the bright shades of green pouring out of the plants and trees.

For the past few years.

I haven’t paid a bit of attention.

To any of it.

Barely even a fleeting moment.

Psychosis doesn’t care about the weather.

It doesn’t care about the beauty in the world.

Raining equals sunny.

Night equals day.

Up is down.

Stop is go.

It doesn’t matter.

Everything is completely random.

More random than normal.

So random that everything starts to tie back into itself.

Creating layers of delusions.

For a few years.

I didn’t have the luxury of caring about the weather.

It was freezing cold.

And I was outside.

It was hot.

And I was outside.

Pacing back and forth in the middle of the night taking countless videos of the ones who had surveillance on me.

Trying to catch what I was seeing.

The fact that they never showed up in my saved videos.

Just meant they were hacking into my phone.

(Which is an entirely different entry.)

And photoshopping the videos I just took.

Or deleting them.

When I was completely and fully dissociating.

And not realizing what I was doing to myself.

It turned into an obsession.

Full throttle.

I would scream.

I mean, scream out to the people hurting me.

I plagued the courtyard at my building.

Downtown Denver.

Screaming that they’re not stopping.

I would go back and forth between the courtyard and my apartment countless times a day.

Chain smoking.

Trying to video and record my hallucinations.

It didn’t matter what time of day it was.

It didn’t matter what the weather was.

My hallucinations and delusions took over.

I don’t remember a lot of details.

But I do vaguely remember some of the things that were happening to me.

And what I was doing.

It’s spotty at best.

But I thought the people stalking me had put a GPS on my car.

I remember stopping.

And getting out to check under the car.

Around the wheel wells.

Around the license plates.

Multiple.

Multiple.

Multiple times.

Because people were now telling me they know where I am.

What I’m doing.

Where I’m going.

How I’m getting there.

What I’m thinking.

It’s too much.

It’s overwhelming.

Because everyone.

Well, dozens.

Dozens of people are talking to me and about me – in earshot, all at once.

And they’re not stopping for anyone.

Or anything.

Or anytime.

They know everything I do.

Everything I think.

Everything I want to say.

Everything I end up saying.

They tell me horrible.

Sick things.

And then they laugh.

While telling me how I started to believe them.

And how stupid I am.

They’re not this abusive now.

Thank fuck.

Today the voices are still mean.

They’re not as mean as they’ve been in the past.

But I am noticing that they morph rapidly.

And often.

It’s like they’re trying to catch me off guard.

Trying to just seriously fuck with me.

And can surface as anything I’ve ever seen, heard, smelled, felt, or tasted.

Anything.

At any time.

Anywhere.

They have no concerns for me.

No concerns for my well-being.

I’d like to say that those days are behind me.

But voices still show up as neighbors.

Or people passing by.

Even through the medications.

They’re just easier to shrug off lately.

To not mull over.

I know they’re not really there.

So I have the luxury of not dwelling on them today.

It’s a nice change.

And I know that they are fewer and further between today.

And I hope that I gain more distance from them.

But I am not going to hold my breath.

Because they’re seemingly not leaving, leaving.

Maybe one day.

They’ll be less common than they are now.

And I will not be holding any expectations to that.

I know the things that I hear.

And the things that I see.

Have the possibility of not being real.

That some conversations were never said.

And some people never walked that way.

Or moved in that manner.

Where I thought they did.

Where I could’ve sworn they did.

I know I will never live a “normal” life.

Everything will be layered with my filter for me.

But I suppose that’s true of all of us.

I hope I do get to worry about the weather more.

See more and more of the world.

Outside of myself.

Outside of my little terrarium apartment.

Outside of my hallucinations.

– Keren