The Lion

He comes in with one voice and changes to another. I know when he’s here because the other voices grow quiet. He’s different than the others–he’s a sorcerer in and unto himself, but he’s hurting and not unlike The Lion and The Mouse, he’s looking for relief. The fix that will cure all comes in the form his of masterful magic that would pluck the thorn from his paw.

Typically on any given day he can be heard scaring all of us with real threats of sugar that isn’t sweet. He’s a good Lion roaring his discomfort and the whole forest trembles when they feel his wrath. He didn’t used to feel like this, but he’s not himself. His domain of magic reaches far and wide, he surpasses nearly everyone with his strength.

My problem is that I hear them all, like a channeler talking to the other side and just beyond the veil lies a vast territory. There’s a history of story tellers throughout the ages, and that’s how I feel now, like a bard with a lyre. I listen to gather the tales and try to distill it down into a manageable story.

Magic is a weird affair and explaining it is even stranger; some people do have true magic and I think Spirit has brought me to this place in life to understand the inner workings of the events that brought me here. Conditional circumstances aside, I hear him, this spirit, lying in wait for this asshole in the world who has managed to get himself in the way of everything that is good.

I’ve never imagined that there are spirits, entities, beings (whatever you may call them) in the world, waiting, waiting for their chance to pounce. I ‘ve never expected that I, myself, could find myself as one lying in wait as well.

The Contender

The lights are spinnin’
I gotta get myself up off the floor

I had just been promoted when I quit my job. The accomplishment lasted all but 24 hours, if that. What I had worked so hard to achieve was gone within seconds. My boss and two Human Resource reps sat with their mouth agape as I told them why I was quitting.

My head is ringin’ 
Bet they think I can’t take too much more

“Someone at work has videotape of me being sexually assaulted.” If I stayed on, I feared, they would make it public. I asked for tissue. My boss took some for himself. The room was silent for a long time, and then I left.

The crowd is howlin’ 
Like the ocean’s pounding roar

I went home, elated. I had beaten them. Them. Those stalkers who felt they had control over my life. I, however, was free. In the face of fear, I chose to walk away, I chose the high road. It felt like a win. Ha.

In the middle of the night I left Colorado, running from them. See, they were still following me. I didn’t return home until I had driven 17,000 miles and the thought that someone was after me was long gone.

My legs are goin’ out 
Someone up there don’t like me

“You could have been a Contender,” my brother told me.

Three weeks into severe psychosis, promising job down the tubes, life up in flames, my brother shows his compassion by telling me I’ve been knocked down. Hard. It was a short conversation. At the time I didn’t know, but it would take me years to return to work, and even longer to get my writing skills up to par for a paid position. Continue reading “The Contender”

Choosing to Run

Choosing to run is not as simple as it seems. I can run in fear, or I can pick up my running shoes and one is more effective than the other in eluding the spirits in pursuit: the running woman on the trail is not the woman running in fear. I can hide myself under the guise of a new personality from the forces that haunt me.alsorunning

Hitting the trails would seemingly be more effective than running the streets in my car or sitting at home, equipped with endless amounts of coffee and cigarettes, neither of which form a potion effective enough to ward off the spells continuously cast upon me.

Motion forms its own potent potion and transforming myself into that which I am not currently is more protective and empowering than my same old routine of insane diatribes about smoking a connection between allies and smoking foes. In this world, these magical beings prefer I be smoking hawt, powerful, and strong than the fearful, cowering person I’ve become.

And here is sit in my smoke-filled room, wondeirng how I can muster the strength to try a new approach to tackling my problems and teasing out a new definition of what it means to be me.

See, the problem is that I can change, by definition, who I am and what I do, but the rub is that by becoming a new person, I open myself up to being smoked again, because the spirits won’t recognize me as being the same person who had been smoked previously.

This is My Job

Like many, I spend most of my time at the office. As a writer, my time is allocated to the desk where I practice my typing skills. Sitting before a computer screen all day has its advantages; like driving, however, one has to be attuned to scenery to enjoy it for long periods of time. My computer whirs quietly like the constant hum of the wheels on the pavement. Chatter down the aisle replaces the activity of city traffic. The cleaning crew blows past like 18 wheelers stirring everything in their wake…chairs, trash cans, people, dust. Aside from my fingers, I can remain motionless for hours at a time as I constantly glance over the peaks and valleys of sans serif. Though the text may always be black and white here at the office, color arises through the words themselves.

Health Insurance

After being turned down by at least two carriers, I finally have coverage through my employer. They will pay half of my premium, leaving about $200 to come out of my pocket. I haven’t yet investigated how much the medications will cost and with my new health insurance I may have to wait up to six months before they will cover the expenses.

On that note, the medication change is going smooth. I’m not experiencing any side effects from the new medication and the side effects I was having on the former medication are subsiding. The finer things, such as hand writing and stress tolerance, are improving. My health overall is going back to what I consider normal, though I have gained considerable weight.

Working again

I am working again and all is going well, though I am not fully myself yet. My confidence, especially, has been hit hard and it shows in my actions. Timidity and nervousness are now my primary modes of operation and when my boss locks my co-horts and me in his office for the morning round table, there’s always panic attack in the wings.

My concentration levels are down as well. A full-time job in the technical field is demanding and it takes everything I have to make it through the work week. I come home exhausted and never seem to catch my second wind like I used to before the schizophrenia. Thus, I feel the latter part of my day is often wasted as I don’t have the motivation to do anything meaningful and it is too early to go to bed.

I enjoy mornings the most, when I can sit and focus. I spend the early hours reading or writing and working toward my goals.

Third week on the job

Friday arrives which means it is the end of my third week at my new job. The first couple of weeks have been the worst, having just had an appendectomy and then fighting the stress and anxiety that seems out of proportion for myself. This is the remnants of my psychosis and the resulting PTSD.