How would you describe your voices? Are they friendly or mean?

I have a big dog. She is really big. She is a ferocious looking demon hound to some. She is a big cuddle puddle of loose skin covered with crushed velvet to others. However people judge her before getting to know her, they inevitably ask, “is he friendly or mean?” I am going to skip the automatic human gender assignment to the animal this time and just tell you that she is a neapolitan mastiff. She has presence and is hard to ignore, even if you wanted to.

My answer is basically as follows: The way my dog reacts to you personally, is largely determined by how you approach me. Are you friendly or mean? The environment this animal is presented with, in conjunction with her experiences, will determine how she behaves towards you. There are a wide range of possibilities here. And within that range, there are further ranges. Lets take one behaviour for now…

She bites you. Why? Because she is mean. No. Because she in hungry? I can also rule that out, but it’s still a worthy question. Was she scared, nervous, angry, being protective, or confused? Lets take angry. Was that just a display of dominance, rage, a warning, annoyance, or distrust?

I think if I were to simply answer the question of whether my dog is friendly or mean, would be doing her a disservice. And I respect my dog, so I would likely assess your demeanour and approach and ask if you would like to meet her and get to know her. That is if I felt you were safe.

Getting back to the title of this post, are my voices friendly or mean? Neither. They react to the environment around me, in conjunction with my experiences. But I am also human, with only so much capacity for insight (especially when actively hearing) that other factors, like my mood, come into play. And many many more. I am trying to identify them and I know many of them. So…if they aren’t friendly or mean…what do your voices sound like…?

Angels whispering, blood thirsty devils from a hell deeper than hell, incoherent singing, cell phone buzzing, my name being spoken by people looking at me, like someone is following me, sexy babes, rage incarnate, whiny little fucks, laughing ladies in the kitchen, chanting, bang bang, wise words, attacks, sirens, commands, all manner of horror still unwritten, poetic, teeth clenching, panicky, nonsense, numbers, breathing, growling, thumping, too quiet, epiphany, interruptive, absolute power, guilty, shameful, unappreciative and appreciative, my name from afar, my mother who isn’t my mother, music, worry, drug seeking, glad, bad, mad, witches, and The Fifth.

But it’s more complex than that, however, I’ve lost my train of thought in my insomnia as I started listening to Penelope humming…

Love is the best way to understand the mind of a Voice Hearer.

Despite the media sensationalizing violent acts committed by marginalized people with documented mental health deficits, and the public safety panics it creates, many actively caring people remain unfazed by the gruesome hype.

These are people who are not interested in the gory details of highly rare occurrences or the online orgies of macabre retribution fantasies shared in dastardly detail by medieval torture enthusiasts. No. These are people who are interested in genuine and sustainable solutions for their loved ones, whether they be family members, colleagues, co-workers, or just simply members of their larger community. There are many people who do not hear voices that are seeking understanding of the voice hearing experience. These are people looking to help other people.

I have seen such people ask on forums or support groups dedicated to voice hearing, “how can I help so an so…how can I understand what they are experiencing?”

The answer is simple.

You already are helping. Your love for this person you care for, that person who hears voices that others cannot, is evident in your question. Loving a person beyond their gift or curse, that is however the voice hearer claims to experience their extra sensory activity at any given time, is a helping act. It is actually more than that…

Loving is the most helpful way of being present in this world in relation to any other person. Love is an understanding between two people. It exists on multiple levels of our existence: logical, emotional, an spiritual.

Love can embrace each one of these planes and even supersede it. Your loved one may query you as to why you may be feeling a certain way, and likely has. Sometimes you can’t explain it, because you aren’t sure. You are feeling a certain way but reason cannot sort it out for you. Other times you may be confused and simply choose not to give a reason. Whatever the case, you are loved and that does not change suddenly in the face or disappointment, illness, stress, or even anger.

Love is first and foremost an understanding that is helpful in attaining a stable and manageable state for the person you care for.

Everything else flows from it. And everything else is what mental consumers and many medical professionals conceptualize as Recovery.

Recovery is largely symptom management. This may entail recognizing triggers and avoiding them, coming to terms with the past, learning to accept the future as a welcome achievement for simply being present within it, a lifestyle based on healthier choices, and combinations thereof!

I may not always understand why my lover, or kids, or partner, or friends behave the way they do. It is pretty much guaranteed that there will be times when this is to case. And vice versa.

Start with Love. End with Happiness.

Keep on helping your loved one through the understanding that already exists between you.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Stigma in one sentence.

The shame of a schizophrenia diagnosis should not be greater than the symptoms of the illness itself.

(Borrowed from a local advocacy group for mental health consumers)

This is The Fifth, on a good day.

Have I relapsed?

Yes. I definitely have. After 6 years of not being on anti-psychotics. I can’t ever be on them again though. Or see a doctor. I don’t want to be a slave again. I’ve accomplished so much in the last six years. As I did before in the years before my five year zombie sleep on meds…

… They came for my child. They take away my family. They take my friends. My money. The things I like to do. They restrict my movement. And who I can be around…

…This all results from seeing a doctor, enemies use it and enslave you with it. They exploit stigma and prey on you. You need to recognize these predators. You are the hunter…

…But where does that leave me then? With nothing?

Better dead and well lived than enslaved and humiliated and mocked and stripped down the core like a naked animal.

You are right, i escapes that against all odds. I fought and won. I will remain free. I will also stay true to her. She will help me. She loves me. She too is a hunter.

I know because I have seen it in her too.

I also have.

Me as well.

You are excited by it. You are excited by power. You deserve a powerful ally. A free woman. A true witch of this world. And the next.

I wish…

…for fish!

who knew?

The snail did.

I recently set up a fish tank in our living room. It has four residents. Two of them are little albino catfish named El Toro del Norte and Little Pearl. There is also a tiny African Dwarf Frog named Jean-Francois. Last, but not least, is Atlas. He is the snail. He carries the weight of the world on his back. I wonder what he hears echoing and bouncing back at him in rapid succession within that shell he sports. Probably nothing. I am not even sure that snails hear. I believe they just ‘sense’. 

 

It must be liberating to just be a sensor in this world, as opposed to a hearer. Yet hearing is one of the five senses, or the Big Five as I think of them. Hearing is like the fifth sense, the one i could do without. I often feel that all good things come in fours. If there is a fifth, then it is a parasite. It creates nothing but chaos and brings about death. It latches on to what is pure and good, and sucks away everything. Strangely, this is what the snail does to every last microscopic thought of a life form that challenges the community that exists…

It is probably best that i keep this little aquatic community to four members. If i add a Fifth then the community may face the same peril that I do at present. I feel that delving into my aquatic community has distracted me from the danger The Fifth brings to me daily, and hourly. Why risk upsetting it?

“You have become superstitious all of a sudden?”

*No. Kindly shut up.*

I always look forward to checking in on Atlas when i come home from work, outings, or even waking up! The Fifth nags, pesters, infiltrates, and invades, but i focus on my little Atlas. He is bigger than The Fifth and more real than that fucking locust swarm it brings. Atlas doesnt starve me of rational thought but centres me on his constant consuming nature. 

“You think you are exempt from the living? You are a fool. An idiot. And fat. And lame. And weak. People deny you even exist by their actions towards you.”

After much debate, tiresome debate from the witches, Nora declares, “you cannot think of yourself as a god. We are not the four horsemen that you suspect us to be. You are the one consuming yourself. You are the cannibal. You are constantly consuming. You will consume yourself. Stop.”

I know this cannot be true. At the very least this must not be true. 

“It is not true and those bitches are just that. Bitches.”

I exercise the discipline I have known to be tried and true. It is the only truth i know for certain. I wonder if I am already The Fifth member of the aquarium. I wonder if The Fifth is actually me…

…I need something.