Schizo || h.s

one

My life was perfect during high school. Perfect grades, perfect girlfriend, perfect group of friends.

Those four years were and always will be the best years of my life. They were the years of peace, as it was before they came.

Before I was forced to do things against my will.

Before I was verbally abused by the voices only I could hear.

Before my sanity was withered away until I was no longer mentally present.

When it had first started, my girlfriend and first love thought that it was just a phase; that I'd go back to normal after a bit of sleep.

But that's not how it works.

Instead, the voices forced me to stay awake. To never eat. If I disobeyed, they got angry, as if I was their puppet on strings.

While everyone else was out partying, enjoying their college years, I was inside the small confines of my dorm room, pacing and shaking my head, trying and failing to silence the continuous tumult. I was only 20 years old, expected to have plenty of sex and to drink on every opportunity that arises.

I used to be able to do those things without a care in the world, but if those voices taught me anything, it's that sanity and freedom should not be taken for granted.

Before the voices made their appearance, I lived what I would consider a happy life. My girlfriend, Eleanor, and I had a normal relationship. We were high school sweethearts, having been dating since sophomore year. I was happy, she was happy.

But the voices weren't.

When I had heard them for the first time, I had become confused, looking around the room for the person who had spoken, but finding no one who had spoken. My thought process had been synonymous to Eleanor's: I just needed some more sleep.

Though, the next morning, not only were the voices still present, but their words had become savage; sadistic.

You don't even have a purpose.

Useless imbecile.

They would mock me every chance they got. Their words would belittle me, as if they control me. My self-control slowly started to diminish as they convinced my to stop eating and sleeping. My friends were concerned at first, confused whenever I would randomly utter incomplete sentences, but would shrug it off anyway.

No one tried to help me. I was trapped in my own body with no escape.

I started to shut people out, and after time, they moved on and forgot about my existence. I was convinced that it was better that way, anyway, as I didn't deserve such a privilege.

It became a rare occasion when I would eat more than a few bites or sleep more than a few hours. They wouldn't let me do anything more. Every glance in the direction of food would make them sound. Despite being exhausted, my brain could not shut off for more than the voices allowed me to.

Eleanor would always visit. She would ask how I was doing but I'd lie and tell her that I was fine. That couldn't be further from the truth. Though unconvinced, she really didn't seem to care enough to look any more into it. I will always wonder what would have happened if she did.

My grades started to drop, which would be expected from a student missing classes days at a time. Whenever I would show up, I could never concentrate on what the professor was saying, making it useless to go in the first place.

At this point, the thought of mental illness had never crossed my mind. I was never given a chance to think about such things. My time was usually spent pacing in the small confines of my dorm room, or hugging my legs while I sit on my bed, pathetically attempting to silence the constant speaking.

This all became a cycle I could never grow used to. Even after a few weeks I was positive enough to think that one day I would wake up to silence.

But that day never came.