You Can't Fuck Psychosis

I’ve pleaded and fought with God enough times over my life to know psychosis is an unfuckable disease. There’s nothing seductive or mysterious about constantly checking the cupboards of your house or backseat of your car in traffic, certain there’s someone or something is back there. When I felt holes in my wrist around Easter because I became deluded by the belief I was going to be crucified, there wasn’t anything fuckable about that, even if there was the general idea of penetration. Because who wants to fuck a tweaker, especially a sober one?

It’s an odd thing to be crazy. It’s even more confusing when you’re able to track the progress of it. A mix of childhood imagination and a brain unable to process my surroundings led to me seeing an abominable zebra around my house constantly ailing and hurting those close to me. Things progressed in severity and changed in flavor with time, with intense paranoia as the general theme. By the time 20 rolled around, I was definitionally crazy. Manic and psychotic.

None of it appeals to others. Most of it they don’t understand.

Medication is a simple answer. Not a universal fix, but a simple answer. But it’s hard to be crazy. Sometimes it's harder to relish the idea of being crazy no longer. In my experience, at least, there’s an inherent importance to being crazy. Things have scope, I have scale, it is entirely real and entirely overwhelming and entirely important. Nothing is more important than what I am experiencing when I am in psychosis. Not work. Not family. Not friends. I am self serving and lying and conniving, guided by premonition and notions that something will be wrought.

I experience mania and psychosis and the reception I have received from others has been incredibly different from when I was younger and anxious or have my current depressive episodes. The support I’ve received is much more meaningful now, even if it is scarcer. Nobody needs to be by my side, I am not inherently entitled to it. Especially when I make it a game to see how much of my life I can destroy.

But I think it can be good to understand it. Nobody needs to watch or indulge in my fervor with me or anyone else. But it isn’t willful or malicious. When God targets me, I become a fear driven creature. Regardless of the evidence, regardless of the circumstance. It feels important, almighty. I wish I didn’t have the perceptions and thoughts I did and it’s easy to forget you’re human when you do.

It’s easy for it to run your life, I think for most people it will for a time. But there’s always a fight and a comeback point. That’s what I’m trying to understand for myself. I can’t be subject to bizarre thoughts or perceptions. They might be killing me on Tuesday, but I got work in the morning. And if I’m alive come Tuesday by some miracle, I can’t look a fool.