Posts Tagged ‘schizophrenia’

scream

Back ensconced in ward 8 Bentley Hospital in my flytrap mind

At least I’m with my crazy people

Suicidal ideation with cold claws of depression around my throat

Empathy and cigarettes as I meet the gentle mental

Telling tales of trauma as we lurch toward medication time buoyed by companionship

Memories of their voices

‘She was born a heroin baby’

‘I took an overdose of Valium and a shitload of antidepressants’

‘I tried to kill myself twice’

‘I wish I was dead’

‘I tried to hang myself with a sheet and the nurse found me’

People rendered fragile by the viscous blender of earth

Some think us hopelessly broken

We balance madness and sanity in our brains sometimes madness wins

Medication time, medication time

Drugs are shuffled by doctors and dolled out to wild-eyed victims of the societal meat-grinder

Titration of pills and prescriptions to quell anxiety, depression and delusion

Uppers, downers, round and rounders

Anti-psychotics, anti-depressants and heavenly benzodiazepenes

Then we sit outside in the courtyard to smoke to punctuate our day

Sharing cigarettes with noble depressives or exploring thought projection with shamanic schizophrenics

We dance a devilish dance in a rain of paranoia

Until it all becomes too much

We are sad, we are sometimes shattered

Sometimes hard to love

But we laugh and we smile too

Then howl out the agony of our souls

We will keep trying

To get our heads together

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voices
He hears
He hears
Voices in his head
In his head
Voices from inside
Voices from his mental address
Not like the voices from outside
Pleading voices
Begging voices
Commanding voices deciding choices
Voices in his head
Map out his road through life
Forbid actions
Permit actions
Voices in his head
Voices
In his head
To tell him what to do
If he ever wondered what to do
Might be the spirits of dead ancestors
Or passing demons sweeping out of desert places
Voices
Voices
In his head
In his head
He hears voices in his head
Like a mystical mental radio
Like a repeating verbal collage
He hears voices in his head

When you talk
I can hear gears whirling and missing
And see misfired electricity racing to the end of burnt-out of neurons
You are talking to yourself and not to me
And you always smoke all the weed

Your world is populated by imaginary friends
A whispering, mumbling, shouting cacophony
And you’re always talking to them
But you say you’re not schizophrenic

You are convinced of your genius
But how much is pretension
And how much is delusion
And how much sanity prevention

‘Artist’ is a wall you hide behind
To avoid getting help
It’s all getting tired
Call the doctor

You need help
Like fifty psychiatrists in Jamaica bent out of their brains just thinking about your problems
You need help
Like Freud and Jung tag teaming you on a couch of marshmallows help
You need help
Psychologists, psychiatrists, psych-nurses, witch doctors everybody helping you
Then you might get your shit together
And stop being such a pain in the ass

shaman-1

Always madness knocking at the door
Unmedicated schizophrenics sucking up my time
Rambling to themselves while staring in the mirror
Muttering inflammatory rhetoric and racism
Denying that they have any mental illness
Telling me that the CIA and the NBN are reading their brainwaves
Telling me that there are messages for them in the ads in X-presss
Telling me that the whole planet is being monitored and controlled by the Masons
Convinced that their medication is poison

But these are God’s children
And we must love them no matter how annoying they may be
In tribal societies they would be shaman
With one foot in the spirit world and one foot in reality
Hearing spirit voices and interpreting them for the tribe
Going on mystic journeys accompanied by spirit animals
Speaking in poetry
Mystifying and incandescent

We used to fill them full of anti-psychotics and sit them in corner
Increasingly now they roam free
Sometimes mystifying and inspiring, sometimes annoying and repetitive
Sometimes even dangerous to themselves or others
But they definitely make the world a more interesting place

wildturkey

Spare me the Wild Turkey, brother
I just can’t handle that shit
I go dingo’s gonad crazy and start fucking shit up
And so do a lot of other people

Wild Turkey 101 is 50.5 % alcohol
It’s fucked up man
And it fucks me up like being hit in the head with a two by four or a rubber sledge hammer
Never drink Wild Turkey with an unmedicated schizophrenic who calls himself a ‘voice hearer’
Who goes hurricane loco and smashes your guitar while shouting out- ‘Your rich dad can buy you another guitar!’
He smoked all my weed as well
A real friend was there to save the television before he broke it and stopped him from drawing all over the walls
I was too pissed to know what the fuck was going on
I think I might have popped some pills too
Then next day I woke up with the house smashed up and a pulsing, mutating headache like I had a cane-toad bouncing around inside my skull and eating my brains,
My mouth was a sandy prickly desert
I wondered what the fuck I’d done the night before
Had I even remembered to feed the guinea-pigs?
My wallet was empty but I’m sure I had a hundred and fifty bucks in it the night before
My only memories were broken images of drunkenness and depravity
And moronic drunken arguments sprinkled with paranoia
Everything else was a blank
I know I’m getting too old for this kind of ridiculous bullshit
I am not Charles Bukowski and I am not Shane MacGowan
From now on I’m sticking to beers and bongs

argument
On the telephone my friends are fighting over a morphine tab
It’s fucked up to fight over drugs
Drugs should be about fun and companionship and crazy ass-shaking hijinks
About kicks, and joy and riding the highway of life at staggering speed wearing ironic trousers
She’s hearing voices and is freaking out- schizophrenia hacking into her soul
Whispers from the center of her brain that seem to come from outside
She’s kicked him in the balls
He’s hit her in the head
A squalid caricature of domestic violence and paranoia
You always hurt the one you love,
Intimately

2013-11-01-image
In ward D4 cigarettes are chain-smoked till the air is fuzzy blue dynamite and new friendships are born of shared suffering:
We have no time for social skills or etiquette in ward d4- you are who you are, however crazy that may be.
Real emotions and real language is found among the sanity-impaired, we speak our twisted truth without impediment.
Someone’s just come back from shock treatment and she looks pretty dazed.
She looks like she has just seen God and he was not amused.
Her brain has been scrubbed clean of memories with medicinal electricity- bright and shiny new.

Playing my guitar in ward D4,
A contorted kind of celebrity accrues.
Play us another one so we can sing along,
To songs about CIA mind control tornados and arcane masonic conspiracies .

My mates bring me fragrant cones in ward d4
But I don’t get caught because everyone is on such vast quantities of drugs that one more doesn’t make much difference.
Secret ganga rituals in ward d4 – bucket bongs are delivered to the fence and inhaled:
The place is pretty amazing when you’re bent.

Sometimes there is romance in the ward D4,
This is a disco for the psychiatrically disturbed and dysfunctional.
New heavily medicated couples snatch moments of amour in the bathrooms,
They pledge eternal love in the face of psychiatric obstacles and the objections of the staff.

‘Medication Time! Medication Time!’
Such a multitude of multi-coloured pills.
Who gets what?
It’s like getting a big bag of lollies when you’re a kid.
The Benzodiazapines are usually the best- you’d have to be pretty lucky to get morphine.

Chain smoking with the beautiful nurses in ward D4 is fun,
Some of us find it a luxury to have a pretty girl listen to our problems and savour each moment.
So they listen to mixture of inspired and uninspired story,
And give harmless advice because they pretend to care in ward D4.
There may be no hope but there is always advice.

My roommate says that there are messages for him in Xpress, and on the TV, and on his Steely Dan records-
He is convinced of this. The messages are all similar and tell him to kill himself.
A strangely self-centred delusion in which everyone wants to talk to him – he is the apex of a vast conspiracy.
I can’t think why anyone would want to send him a real message-
It would only freak him out.
The CIA, the masons and God are very busy sending personalized coded messages in ward D4.
Next time, I’m going to complain if I don’t get one.
A message with the key to life composed of revelatory syllables of back-masked wisdom.

schizophrenia2
Poison in the TV’s glow,
Poison in the fly spray,
Poison in the radio waves,
Poison in the bread and the beer
Poison for the son of David,
Poison on the farm with DDT and Deildrin,
Poison for the sake of love,
Poison when you eat,
Poison when you breathe,
Poison in the trenches of your psyche,
Poison in your pre-frontal cortex,
Poison in the marshmallow uranium clouds,
Poison in the macrobiotic organic health food.
Poison in your petrol fuelled, smog-pumping prophecies.
Poison because God told you.
Poison from the voices in your head.
Poison in Agent Orange or mixed with your orange juice.
Poison in the endless streets of your childhood imaginings.
Poison up a tree,
Poison in the valley,
Suck it up baby it’s all there.