Insight into my 30 years alive as a pariah, and 10 years with the diagnosis “schizophrenia”, (a word the world uses in attempt to “understand me” a bit better)
The journey to thirty carried with it a valuable lesson: why I am a loner, a social drifter, and why I am so comfortable being so. At the root of it lies the fertility of, and facts about my own subconscious. Practically speaking, the loner-ship I inherited with this type of soul seems to be for everyone’s benefit.
Certainly, it would do me good, (as people say), to attempt and attempt some more, to integrate. No man is an island, I realise that truly. Another hallmark of this life is the return of resonant energy. People I don’t like or have no interest in, return the favour, via the applicable vibe and attitude. The same is true for those I find interesting or admirable. Those two adjectives are my favourite compliments, and always have been.
Right now, in life I’ve been fortunate enough to have a degree of independence and solitude, not many would have and be comfortable with. However, I am grateful.
I mention thirty, because someone with as serious a diagnosis as mine (schizophrenia) is not typically expected to advance in years past the age of sixty. So turning thirty, brought with it a midlife crisis or what-have-you, relating to passing the halfway point! That also, is optimistic, as my diagnosis contains perils and pitfalls of its own. I could be dead by other means, in a matter of years, months, weeks, or days. Fortunately enough, living each breath as though it were my last is a magical state of affairs. Plenty of appreciation for my flawed life pours in in abundance, and joy often grows from there (often of its own accord).
I’ve been giving my best shot to better learn from and about myself, with feedback from others, since my diagnosis. At first, I protested this label because it is so very harsh a word and difficult to carry as a word, even, to describe myself. I’ve had this word, “schizophrenia” trail behind me all that time. No matter how distant in the background it seems, the binds are there. Six years I fought the label, and over those years, maybe just as many doctors and professionals held the label up, and, (without much hesitation) inspect me, the word, and stick it back, squarely, on the official-looking documents that describe me and my issues. That’s why I ended my fight of denial, and chose the road of acceptance, and self-discovery.
The Humble Rock Dove 