The Road Trip

In May of 2008 I had a sudden, acute psychotic break. Very few people know their own risk of psychosis, and that it can happen at any age, regardless of prior history. Given my circumstances (age, gender, no prior family history, no notable prior mental illness, etc.) this constitutes something like a .04% statistical probability (4 in 10,000).

At the peak of my career and the onset of the worst economic crisis in nearly a century, I quit my job believing my co-workers were set to distribute videotape of me being sexually assaulted. Driven by delusions and hallucinations, I bolted from my comfortable surroundings in fear and hit the road in an attempt to reach my dad’s home in Ohio. I drove 17,000 miles before I found my way back home to Colorado. I was reported missing by my family.

With no intervention from family or friends regarding my strange behavior and completely debilitated by my own condition, I spent the next two years suffering in ways I never knew imaginable before I was able to seek help and begin the long road to recovery.

This blog encapsulates my journey from May of that fateful year to present day. Many of the early posts are pictures for I lost my ability to write and could only communicate in an abstract visual sense what was going on internally.

Chevy, the order

we don’t know you
we don’t care about you
we don’t think you like us
we don’t like you

Thats how they come to us, this is how they do their dance with me. At first, they pretend to not know me, then they don’t care about me, follow that by them thinking I am not giving enough, then they smoke me when I start to try and draw boundaries. Chevy is terrible about taking over your life. Their impact reverberates in my hygiene; I don’t shower or brush my teeth for days on end because everything I do is wrapped up in their antics. How I pour my coffee is an issue, sitting down at my desk now it is about what is on the desk. I can’t think for myself, for they hear my thoughts. They see my day dreams, my reveries. I get distracted and loose track of the conversation thread because my memory is so bad. They take advantage of all of this and talk code over me.

Some guys in Chevy take special interest in me. They want me to prove myself, proof I have magic in addition to having an ocean of spirits who are magic. They want me to repeat it over and over again, so they can see, verify, then consume my magic and take it from me. Chevy really wants to use me as an empty shell. They don’t want me to have magic of my own, no defenses, no obstacles. But they like my magic and they think the things we do are cool. Sadly in competing with each other, these Chevy reps have destroyed me once and for all.

This time I went down on meds, 10 mg of haldol and 100 mg of lamotrigine. I was feeling so tired I slept my days away. I keep track of my dosage in a calendar. I didn’t stay on 10 mg of haldol long–one, maybe a couple of days, then I went back up to 20mg. It was enough to open the door and a group of Shamans visited me. They were fun and cool and we were taking up their time just being broken. They fixed us up, or tried to, then I showed them how I operate, but I operate (at least at that time) for Chevy.

If you imagine a train switching station, where each train is directed to their route, sometimes being turned or move onto new tracks, that’s how my head operates. Spirit adds people for me. I have no control. I just talk to who is there. Under normal circumstances, it is just my ocean of spirits, those that are there for me every day. I can tell a new voice right away. Sometimes the new voices are spirits, sometimes they are people (or people and their spirits). I don’t really say telekenis, but I guess that’s what it is. Anyway, this shaman group was pretty cool, but I pulled in Chevy trying to show them what I can do. That started off a whole series of events from which I am now trying to recover.

First Chevy took me over for a few days with their handoff meetings, then spirit kicked them out. We tried again and got Chevy yet another time. Spirit put the shamans back, and Chevy tried doing another hand off, then chevy tried me as a smoker’s lounge, where spirit was trying to say, “smoke for her” because I can’t smoke on my own.


They are here as soon as I wake up. I can’t open my eyes without hearing them. This time it’s my enemy, a former co-worker that has it in for me. They take my people and try to smoke me. I smoked them the other night, oh wait, that wasn’t me. That was the frame job guy smoking in this group to forge an alliance against Chevy. They won’t tell me their name. Apparently the working guys didn’t know what being smoked in meant and they turned on me, thinking I was Chevy. Chevy kicked me out because they cant smoke me anymore I cant be added back in.

I’m not being very linear about this.

I wake up and Leverage is there. (I’ll call them Leverage.) This grand master of magic who makes other people magic just by walking by them it seems. He vomits magic and his minions strive to keep their magic by doing weird and wonderful things. They hear voices in their heads, too. They suck up spirits by the bucket load and most of mine are gone now because of this. They are emptying my ocean. This suits Chevy just fine, for they want me as a empty shell so they can use me as a communication hub for their nefarious endeavors. They can whisper to one another while I work, but to me the silence is deafening, and I know something is wrong.

Last night was weird. A shaman I was working with came to me for help. He was being attacked by Chevy to, but for him it manifests as a religious delusions, so I had all sorts of god-like things in a come-to-jesus meeting or something.

If you believe in conspiracy theories about black magic being leveraged to control politics and global economics, you may wonder who travels where to meet with whom to make this happen. Well, it doesn’t happen on the ground, it happens in the air, in our heads. People “join” my headspace and can talk to one another, sometimes they talk out load, so all can hear them, sometimes they talk to one another in since as others are talking, and sometimes they use my back channel speakers to whisper to one another. I can hear them murmuring on the side, otherwise, all is silent. But I still listen. There are other like me for Chevy, talking rooms. I imagine we’re all disabled by the seer volume of people we process, the number of voices we hear.

Of all the people I have spoken to, no one really know what Chevy does anymore. No one really knows who is in charge. The old guard is dying off but they refuse to handoff their power to the younger generation. They want another round of golf. They don’t need a handoff, but a hand up– which I don’t know the code. We tried doing liftoff meetings, where we determine who’s next in line for magic, but the old guys don’t like they. They want their final hurrah, their kisses and their prayers before they die. They want to be thanked for their years of service, and they want to know they were loved.

Like I was saying, though, no one knows for sure who Chevy is or their purpose anymore. I guess they used to drive commerce. They made my childhood friend a magi and he helped to manage the work. He is older now and has a life and career of his own, so he wants no part of it. He’s powerful enough that he doesn’t need to hear the voices–he can shut them off. Because I keep saying I am schizophrenic, I keep getting smoked and they leave me open to burn. I’ll never work again, but they’ll use me. Are they the Illuminati? The New World Order? I don’t know. I just know I am tired of being smoked.

I take a decent dose of medication and it is two weeks before I notice that things have gotten out of hand. I call my doctor, get an increase and a iris appointment. The psychiatric nurse cant do much but push more meds. All I can do is take more meds and hope for the best.


I have to get this off of my chest.

I am stuck in a small town because my mother got us evicted from our home in Denver. I didn’t forget that detail, but I forgot some others.

Mom was living with my two bothers and my niece and she kept telling me she was going to move when Hannah graduated. She meant to the day. She up and packed her few things, and got an apartment. She was still working, and she needed a car, so she bought a new car. She had previously sold her Jeep because she needed to make rent–my brothers weren’t bringing in enough income to sustain them all. Sad situation, my family is so fried.

Anyway, mom up and moves and she is hardly ready. With the new car payment and her income, she cant make rent, so she got evicted. Right about this time I got my settlement money, and I think mom was expecting me to save her. I wouldn’t, but I should have. At the time I was working, but psychotic. I was living in a studio apartment. I decided to buy an RV and spent the better part of my settlement on it. I was happy, but I was supporting two places, with the RV and keeping my studio.

So, mom moves into my studio and I am in the RV. The RV place says I didn’t pay them rent one month– $345– and I got pissed and left. I moved my RV to my property and moved back into my studio, with mom. Now, mom has never been one to be humble and simple. I think she knew I was happy enough living in close quarters and I wouldn’t move. I think mom is manipulative–she got Kelsi, my other niece, to ask me to move into a bigger apartment with the two of them. And I did. And what I had forgotten is that to get into that apartment, because it was at the same complex where mom had gotten evicted, is that I had to prove my income. By now I wasn’t working, trying for full-on disability because I was so sick. I had to prove my income by showing my savings, which at that time was still pretty high from the settlement. So, the three of us move in.

What I don’t realize is that Kelsi has her own wind, and her own mind, so not long after, she moves out, and it is mom and I in this odd-shaped apartment where the furniture doesn’t even fit. We stay there for years.

Then, suddenly, one day I get a call from the office. They see mom is having packages delivered to my address. She is not on the lease. They tell me to make sure it stops. I tell mom, and mom says, “What are they going to do?” Well… about a month later I get a call from the office and we’re evicted. They have a judgement against mom for unpaid rent and I have a tenant not on the lease.

By now, my settlement money is gone and I am on SSDI, bringing in roughly half of what I was bringing in while employed. I cant get an apartment anywhere. I don’t have the two-and-a-half times income to meet the requirement. So, I can move to Grand Junction and live with a friend, or I can follow mom to Iowa. Guess where I landed. Iowa is where my mom’s best friend lives, she married a farmer here after her marriage in Denver failed. Mom’s friend, Denise, has always rescued her. She and her husband did move us, I gave them $1000 for the move, always trying to pull my share.

And that is how I ended up in Iowa.

Real Lonely

I’ve been alone so long I cant really think of what it is like to have a mate, or friends even. I went to Denver recently to visit my family, and that helped, but I am really feeling my isolation, especially with the restrictions of COVID.

It has been a long time since I’ve had anyone interested in me, anyone to care enough to ask what matters, how I am day to day. I miss checking in with someone, having a few words just to keep on track.

When I was in my 20s I started dating a man in his 50s and he wasn’t so much interested in my emotional feels. I liked getting intimate through talking, saying “You matter to me.” Don’t get me wrong, we had good conversations, they just weren’t emotional. I think it was then that I began to shut down. Then I was raped in my early 30s. That really shut me down.

It wasn’t just the trauma, it was the stigma that was so hard to deal with. I didn’t feel I could confide in anyone and I had to keep my experiences a secret. I don’t feel so much that way today, but even the mere mention of having been raped will change the tenor of a conversation. I was so suicidal for so long, and the weird thing is that I think it was mostly a spiritual hit, though it was also physical and emotional violence.

I guess I feel the same about schizophrenia–it is the stigma that keeps me silent. That and the general lack of understanding. Though all of my close friends and family know, they don’t relate to my struggle. My best friend does, and she’s a treasure. I miss her since we’ve moved so far apart.

As I’ve aged I feel I really need a companion. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. I’ve squandered time, money, love. I’ve wasted effort. What am I doing? Where am I going? What do I want from my life? Even my spiritual studies have waned and lost their meaning. I want to be in the city again, I think. If I could move now, I would. Sometimes maybe just being in the right place helps. I miss Denver. I miss my hometown. And moving back is going to be such a huge effort.

Maybe I’ll find love. Maybe if I had love I would be happy where I am, in this house, in this small, rural backwards Trump town. I was going to go to the gay church to try and find some progressive friends, but COIVD has put the kibosh on that. Now it is just me and mom, and mom is dying. I feel like I am trying to claw my way outta hell and nothing is moving fast enough.

“Home,” Again

They’re here. They’re gone. They are back again. I’ve been quiet in the day time with more activity at night, but I am still not hearing as much as I was before I went to Colorado. Colorado was quiet except for the last day or so. We didn’t want to leave. We wanted to move back. I even almost signed a lease. Two. I just feel like I am never going to get out of this small, rural town. It sucks, in so many ways.