Suddenly my psychosis seems warranted and the world less crazy. Perhaps what happened to my mind seven years ago was not simply ‘schizophrenia’, but rather an actual vision of the future. I saw the evil behind banking institutions.
‘Religious Delusions’ are diagnostic criteria used to distinguish the schizophrenic from bi-polar or manic-depressive, Axis I, classifications. Many, like me, with true Schizophrenia believe we are specially chosen by God or some higher power to lead the lost home. I’m as proud of my schizophrenia as I am of my homosexuality.
I feel like $700 Billion Bucks!
A manic person is simply crazy, while a schizophrenic follows patterns that those before on paths of righteousness have traversed upon while here on this Earth. We are the leaders of the universe, the souls who see through the mind’s eye– spirts, demons, angels, tin foil hats, encoded markings in sidewalks, an inter- connectivity of all things that is realized only by the ‘sufferer’ while everyone else seems lost– left walking the earth as mere suckers for the concept of contentment and a nice home.
My visions were true– my ‘religious delusions’ seem not so delusional today. The beliefs that caused my incarceration were on the mark.
Like John, I was placed in prison for causing turmoil and rebelling against wealth and the ways of man and for speaking my mind– just yelling at the top of my lungs at them. They chopped off my thought process. There is no torture more cruel to the soul of a prolific writer than to be injected with dopamine medications. They tempted to silence me, but here I am, the ‘I am’!
I was crucified.
Psychiatrists didn’t consider me bi-polar. My diagnosis was schizophrenia– the same personality trait that prophets like Daniel likely encountered during his tenth incarnation.
I was relieved to go to the hospital. I tried to go numerous times on my own– to check myself in; but always there were lines at the emergency room, and insurance information needed and forms to fill out. There was so much that I needed to say to the masses before finally going back to sleep, so I kept running around, walking everywhere– telling them of what was to come.
My trip to the desert.
“Do you want to harm yourself?” the physician asked, after eventually, CIA agents caught up with me.
“Are you trying to harm others?”
“Then what is harming you?”
“I want nothing. I want everyone to know what I saw. It is so beautiful at the end, but one must realize, that in order to enter eternal life, one must have served selfishly, otherwise, it ends with just this and it starts all over again.”
“Then why are you here?” She asked.
I wanted to tell her about the cell phones that were hurting my head– but I knew that sounded silly and crazy, so went on to say:
“For my health, I suppose. I just wish I could sleep.”
“Oh, I am going to give you something to make you sleep,” she said.
And I did. I slept. But it wasn’t a dream. It was like an economic crisis of the soul that I was dreaming, yet somehow, I woke up in the dream and made the world as my own and lived to write about the experience as if I were Daniel.