In the Shadows of the Mirror

A Note to the Reader

Thank you.

I've been staring at this screen for the better part of the night and I couldn't think of a single thing to say, so having anything there is helping me to remain focused and not dally off into the fantasy world of my own mind. I'd like to thank you for reading this and, if you make it to the next chapter, for continuing this journey with me as well.

I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia when I was sixteen, but I've had the symptoms my whole life. They just didn't really start to show up until then. At first, during the early stages of treatment, I never really thought that I actually had this thing called 'schizophrenia.' I thought it was a lie, I thought the government was trying to control me because I chose, and still choose, to speak out against things that I did not agree with, such as the first Gulf War, or the elections that put President George W. Bush into the Oval Office, gun violence, and all manner of other things.

Having this illness does not mean that I have a split-personality or multiple personalities. It means that I have delusions and hallucinations, I hear voices and see things that others can't see. It means that at any given moment I might get frightened of someone following me and take steps to try to avoid that person to the best of my abilities, even if that person isn't actually there and never was. It means I can't sit in a public place with my back to a window or a door, and if I have to do that because I have no other choice, I get anxious and want to leave as soon as I am able to. It means that the first thing I look at when meeting anyone, whether I've known them for years or not, are their hands, front pants pockets, and feet. I'm checking for the tell-tale signs of dangerous weapons, like guns or knives.

Schizophrenia does not mean that I am a violent person and will attack you on sight for looking at me in a strange way. It does not mean that I'll start talking to myself as though I am having a conversation with someone that you can't see or hear all the time, or that I live solely in a hospital or jail, and that I drool or froth at the mouth. It does not mean that I am the Batman comics' The Joker. Most schizophrenics live with family, in group homes, or are like me, and live on their own. We're productive members of society and work in all sorts of fields from landscaping to firefighting to the Armed Forces to anything in-between. I, myself, am an author.

This illness will not present itself the same way for everyone. My hallucinations and delusions, voices and paranoias are solely my own and no one else's. While most schizophrenics will have the same blanket 'umbrella' symptoms, those same symptoms vary wildly from person to person. I see and interact with a raven named Sparrow. She is, for all intent, my best friend and she's a hallucination. The only avian species on this planet that I am aware of that can mimic human speech is the parrot. Real ravens, as far as I know, cannot copy what a human says, let alone hold a full conversation, and certainly not with an Norwegian accent! They also don't have emerald blue eyes...

The purpose of this novel is to try to offer an insider's view of what it's like for someone to live with this disease of the mind. I'm going to try to show you the suffering, how the voices I hear react in various situations, the little things that contribute to mental collapses, the tears and breakdowns, the terrifying thoughts that race through my brain, and the hopelessness. However, I am going to also try to focus on what's really important here--how I win every day against this nightmare.

When I take a shower and make sure that I brush my teeth, those are wins. When I remember to eat something, even if it's just a small microwave dinner, that's a win, too. When I answer my phone and ignore the temptation to toss it into the tank on the back of my toilet, there's another win. It's the little things I do every day that add up as wins against this illness, because these are just some of the things I wouldn't, or couldn't, do because I was convinced that doing them would cause me harm in some fashion. I was convinced that there were poisons in the shower water that could control me and turn me into a mindless slave, so I often skipped showering for weeks at a time. It was the same with the toothpaste--I'd buy only a certain brand, tube weight, and color of toothpaste to avoid those 'dangerous chemicals'. I was convinced that there were microscopic nanites in my food that would someday activate and eat me alive from the inside out, so I often skipped eating as much as I possibly could to slow their growing numbers in my body down. I was convinced that the drug cartels had hacked my cell phone because I'd saved some senator's daughter or son, and these cartels were listening in on every conversation I'd have and recording them, so I'd drop the phone into the toilet tank to fry the circuits and thus prevent them from using that information to track me.

Defeating schizophrenia at is own game isn't something that should be considered a one-time goal. In fact, this battle is going to last the rest of my life, whether I wanted it to or not. This is a war that I have to constantly fight--climbing Mount Everest naked, without any gear of any kind, and I've only got a half hour to make it to summit or the world is going to explode. In other words, it's exhausting and scary and one hell of a nightmare, most days. But it is also not something any of us need fight on our own. I had my days where I thought, "Hey, I got this! I can do anything! I'm freakin' cured!"

And the illness comes back with a resounding, "Bullshit, asshole!" and knock me on my ass again. You see, I wasn't actually winning until I finally let go and put aside the stubbornness and fear and paranoia about letting those that simply did not understand inside my walls and let them see just how low on ammunition I actually was; how beat up and in need of repair my armor and weapons were. I had to set aside my distrust of humanity and actually ask, "Will you please help me?" It took every ounce of courage that I had to be able to say that. The dragon didn't like that much, but things got better and easier to cope with, eventually.

I am always going to be grateful to those that supported me over the years with this struggle, who were still willing to help me even when I deliberately tried to push them away as hard and as quickly as I could out fear of them or fear for their safety. I am forever indebted to the few friends that have remained at my side for trying their best to understand what was going on and for helping to pick me up when I would not, or could not, pick myself up. I appreciate every single stranger that offered an ear or a kind smile or word when I was having an epically bad day, or those that laughed at my goofiness and taught me to use this illness to my advantage rather than letting it use me.

This struggle isn't over. When I meet with my social workers, I am reminded that I broke and I've yet to find that young man I was so many years ago, the man before the nightmares, before the voices and hallucinations.

Today, I am an author. I am a lover. A friend. A clown. A fighter. I've acted quite a few roles on the stage of life and I've got more roles to play in the years to come. It's been one hell of a ride along the country lane of illness and recovery, full of broken axels and shredded tires, potholes and torn maps, lost compasses, empty canteens, but I've made it this far. And, as my Dungeons and Dragons roleplaying group once heard me say, 'Rolled a crit twenty! Boo-yah! Bring it!"

This novel is far more than simply a means of reaching out to those that suffer from schizophrenia, or other mental illnesses. It is also meant to be a guide to others wondering what it's really like to live with this hellish dream. And, it is still very much more than that. It is my declaration that, though my axe and sword and mace and spear be shattered and my shield and armor are rent and torn, I shall not go silently into the whispering night, for I am not alone. I shall stand up and take on everything my illness throws at me. This is a journey into one mind of the cursed, one heart of the broken, one soul of the feared along the rivers of their tears and blood and whispers. It is a tale for redemption, forgiveness, understanding, tolerance, love, and, most of all, acceptance.

Welcome to my story.

If you are ready, shall we begin?