People are always surprised when I tell them I have schizophrenia. They even go as far as to argue with me as if my doctors have no idea what they’re talking about. “You can’t possibly have schizophrenia,” they say. “I know schizophrenics; you’re nothing like them.”
“What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person.” -John Green
In contrast to my post yesterday, wherein I talked about a man who believed you had to walk the line of sanity to be successful, today I’m going to talk about a guy who doesn’t believe that at all.
Last night, I attended the last stop of the Turtles All the Way Down book tour. Turtles All the Way Down is John Green’s latest book, a beautifully accurate portrayal of mental illness in all its terrifying glory, high school, friendship, and love. If you don’t know by now that John Green is my modern hero, you don’t know me very well. That’s okay. I will tell you all about it.
Do you hate Mondays? If you do, you should know that there are factors involved, such as sleep cycles, weekend “choices”, and a general negative outlook about our jobs. Personally, I am just as guilty at sharing those sad Monday memes on Facebook as the next person, but the truth is, I do not hate Mondays as I once did. I work with a great group of people who make me laugh. I really do enjoy seeing them every day.
Do you have a habit of staying unimaginably busy? I do. I do this thing when I’ve spent any amount of time doing nothing (watching TV, relaxing) where I feel guilty for not being productive. I tell myself could have been writing or doing homework (I’m working towards my Bachelor’s in Journalism) and I make myself feel bad about it. My doctor recently asked me if I hallucinate (I have paranoid schizophrenia) when I’m doing something I like like running or reading, and I realized that I don’t really do much of what I like anymore, so I couldn’t answer his question. I told him that I’m either working, doing. homework, or sleeping. He said that I really need to try to give myself at least one hour a day of something I enjoy, to see if this helps me unwind enough so that the stress of my life is not affecting my brain disorder. I really have been trying since then (hence my new goal of posting to this blog more often). Do you feel guilty about those moments of self care, or do you practice self care at all?
His balls. My cat lost his balls. (Some people are sensitive about this kind of stuff. Trigger Warning: BALLS)
Since I adopted Ronan in the setting of a drug deal gone horribly wrong – dark parking lot by myself, didn’t get any drugs but got a kitten! – he has served as the gentlest, most nurturing animal that ever existed. It’s been a stressful year since the man I love had to move to Hawaii for three months (just a couple weeks after I got Ronan) and many other stressful things happened that don’t necessarily need to be said on the Internet, but Ronan has never complained. I had to give up his kitty friend Gansey (who I also adopted at the time) because he didn’t play nice with my four-year-old Ella (another cat, not a kid) which started the endless fights between Ronan and Ella, not because Ronan is an asshole, but because Ella is kind of an asshole (I love her dearly but she is), but Ronan never complained. He laid* with me every night as I cried because The Man was however many miles it is from California to Hawaii and he perched on my shoulder like a meowing parrot when he was a baby and when we moved instead of freaking out and hiding like Ella would he jumped into the window and looked at Kona The German Husky in the backyard and squeaked, as he does, as if to say, HOLY SHIT MOM WTF IS THAT.