Schizoaffective

  by Jay Paul To all my fellow schizophrenics— Fuck it! Fuck it, all— you are fine as is— some idiots made you this way— they are the nutty ones, not you. My advice is this— if you have been made schizophrenic, think schizophrenic all the way, think the way bequeathed to you by idiots you cannot control, but who tried to control you, and succeeded, but only for a time— until you seized the glory they accidentally handed you— Sanity is the side effect of schizophrenia, carpe diem , sisters and brothers,             carpe diem— the day has always been OURS

  by Jay Paul [A quick note on what to expect on the blog in the coming months. I will continue to post the second and  fourth Thursdays. Today, I will have a second post, "On an Escarpment Above the St. Croix River (The Ear)," a recent poem of mine. In two weeks, I hope to have finished an essay I have begun, "On Avoiding Bitterness," which details how I escaped from feeling bitter when confronted with the diagnoses of my daughter's autism and my bipolar. Long-term, I am researching and working on an answer to Deleuze and Guattari's Anti-Oedipus and A Thousand Plateaus , their two volumes in the capitalism and schizophrenia series. I want to read them as a schizophrenic and see what I think. That essay probably won't appear until September or October. Before then, I will continue to post occasional pieces.] Today, I am going to list a whole bunch of good things going on in my life right now. But, before I get to that, I want to address trauma briefly. O...

by Jay Paul (Neurotypical people have no cognitive or mental health issues, such as autism or schizophrenia. They are "normal." Neurodiverse people can use their conditions to create unique possibilities for human culture that they alone are capable of doing. Yet, their conditions are usually seen as only disabilities.) This story is about triumph, at least for now. I say that because portions of it may be harrowing to those of you not familiar with what people diagnosed with serious "mental illness" go through. For us, it's par for the course. I've heard much, much worse stories. But this is mine. Before I get into the story, let me address some misconceptions about schizophrenia, a condition I have, correctly, been diagnosed with. It's nothing to be afraid of. For me, personally, it means that, every few years, I go through a bout of psychiatric delusions for a few days. These usually take the form of thinking some acquaintances of mine, who live near ...

by Jay Paul They were volunteers for the day at a community center I go to for people with mental health issues. I was giving them a tour before they started their tasks. One woman seemed twitchy and nervous and looked at me with wide eyes. She knew I was a member, which meant she knew that I had a diagnosis of a mental illness. At the end of the tour, I asked if there were any questions. Apparently, her fear overcame her courtesy. She rudely asked me what my diagnosis was. I considered her for a second, and then decided to tell her, if for no other reason than to show her a schizophrenic can be calm, reasonable, and together. I told her. Then she continued to be rude. She asked about the threat of violence at the center. I considered going into a long-winded explanation about the harmful myths connecting mental illness and violence. But I decided a little shock would be best. I simply said, "Once, a few years ago, I saw someone give another member a little push. That's it....

 At my most rational, I approach being diagnosed with a mental illness as a chance event that happened to me. Based on what I know of current research, it had a lot to do with genetics and with something in my environment—perhaps a virus, perhaps stress, nobody knows for sure. But what is clear is that it is not my fault. I hardly intended this, and I have been trying to deal with its arising in a responsible way. So far so good. But I, like most people, am not always rational. Since having a bad bout of delusions and hallucinations five to seven years ago from which I've recovered, I have moments of searing shame. They are usually triggered by a memory of some minor rudeness or inconsideration on my part from years ago. I first cringe at my minor failing and then think, "Everybody hates me." I may partly think this from paranoia, I don't know. But then I need to work myself out of the hole. I was talking to my therapist about this last time we met. We concluded that ...

by Jay Paul   At the end of a book I recently relished was an interview with the author. She mentions her divorce in passing with the explanation that her husband had mental illness—nothing further was said about it. I was devastated. I thought so highly of this author, and I learned that she felt so little of people like me. Giving mental illness as the only reason for a divorce is to assume that people with mental illness all make poor spouses. That’s the only way such a remark can make sense. Plenty of people with mental illness make good spouses, and plenty of neurotypicals make for poor spouses.   It’s called stigma.   A few years ago, I was talking on the phone to one of my best friends from childhood. He mentioned that his sister was seeing a difficult man “who has BIPOLAR.” He said the last word with a heap of disdain, apparently forgetting for the moment that I had been diagnosed with just that and with a condition considered even more serious. I decided not to s...

by Jay Paul Four diagnoses of me or someone in my family have defined a large part of my life. In 1995 my ex-wife and my oldest daughter sat in a doctor's examination room. A nurse placed some wooden blocks in front of my daughter, who sat on the floor. My daughter was uninterested. She looked around the room. She made eye contact with nobody. The nurse gave the doctor a look, picked up the blocks and quickly scurried out of the room. The doctor faced us. He wore a white lab coat over a dark shirt and a tie. He said, "Has anyone used the word 'autism' with you?" I put my arm around my ex-wife. All I could think to do was protect her. She seemed to crumble. Early on, we thought that the autism was probably mild and that my daughter would have to deal with some major social difficulties. But we were wrong. As the years went by, my daughter did not meet the usual milestones. Most significantly, she lost the few words she knew and was unable to speak. She is now 27. S...