Entry 19

So this week I'm sick.

Like as in the actual sick again, where I have the flu. I've been throwing up a lot and I really just sort of want to sleep.

Murdoch is a douche. I'm sick and he just keeps coming over and asking me about this stuff I don't want to talk about. Like he comes in and asks me "Have you ever wished death on anyone?"

Who even asks those sorts of things? Especially when the person you're talking to is leaning over a bucket and so sick she can barely sit up in bed.

Asshole. I don't wish death on people. It's not like that sort of thing is synonymous with schizophrenia. I always feel worse when he's around.

Peg and Miss Millman have been talking about talking me back up to the lake when I get better. Murdoch has been telling them that taking me out of my usual environment could make me explode or something, whatever, he's an idiot so I don't care what he thinks. Millman seem to think it might do my some good so I'm going to stick with the therapist who actually seems to know what she's talking about thank you.

Peg doesn't seem all that hyped about the idea and I assume that's because Murdoch has been poisoning the well. She says she doesn't know if being up there would do much good psychologically, but I think she agrees with Millman for the most part.

When you have a sickness like mine, everyone treats you like you're a loaded bomb. It gets pretty old. I'd really like to go back to the lake. I miss it. Might be fun to get away and stop having to be me for while. Although there's the chance that being me might ruin the whole thing, and I'll spazz out again. Break another window and get lost in my own head again.

I hate being me. I really do.

Entry 18

Hi.

So, yeah. I've been gone a while.

I guess all that stuff with Trent was gonna catch up with me sooner or later.

I suppose the best way to put it is that last week I had the worst episode of my life.

Now, let me clarify here, most of the time when I have an episode I tend to black out. Well, not really black out, but I lose focus. After I have an episode I usually have a hard time remembering it afterwards. It's all very fuzzy and Freudian reason, I just can never access it like other memories.

Except for this particular episode.

Oh no, I remembered everything. Every solitary detail.

And it just kept going, and going, and going...

I was sitting at the kitchen table and I was carving this dumb pumpkin Peg brought home for me from the store, and I just...I don't know.

All of a sudden it was like the floor and the kitchen and everything just melted away and I was knee deep in the bog and there was this thing like twenty feet away from me. It wasn't human whatever it was and the two of us just stared at each-other. I don't think I've ever been so scared, not ever. It felt like I couldn't breathe and I finally just started running and calling for help and it felt like I was running for days, and I never got anywhere. Just mud, and water, and trees, and the thing behind me and I knew it was reaching for me, and it was so damn real.

And then I woke up. I was lying in a hospital bed and Peg was there and God I can't even.

I've never once in my life been catatonic like that. According to the everyone else I just collapsed and froze up with my eyes open like I was having a night terror. I was like that for almost three days too. They've had me in the ward ever since. I just got home today.

I now have this other therapist...person, besides Millman who's been asking me questions and bugging me. His name is Mr. Murdoch, (And seriously Millman the guy is a creep. What is his job again? Stare at me in an uncomfortable manner?) Yeah...He's a piece of work. Don't know what he did to become a therapist, because not one thing about that guy makes me want to cozy up to him and talk about my feelings. 

Speaking of feelings it feels nice to be blogging again, feels familiar. Everything has been pretty weird since I snapped.

It's really scary, because I know that for a while there I was completely gone. It was like I was dead.

Well, looks like I'm not going to get to go to college any time soon, if at all.

It felt so real though, everything. I even knew the Bog it was the same one in the park just ten or so miles from my house.

I don't know Millman, and that's the thing, I'll never know. As far as I can tell I may still be catatonic and this is all in my head. Maybe it was always all in my head, and maybe somewhere Peg or my parents or someone is sitting with me while I'm wrapped up in a straight jacket in an asylum somewhere, and I'll never know. That's what scares me about this. I just don't know...

Entry 17

I went looking some stuff up. I think Trent might have been a fan of this independent horror game called Slender, according to the vast knowledge of the internet. It seems like the sort of thing he would've been in to. It has this big following. I've never heard of it, but it hey, Horror's neat. Not that I would know anything about that.

And yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Millman's in my ear right now telling me that looking up scary stuff on the internet is a great way to wind up back in the ward but it's not like I'm not already thinking about it so I might as well put my worries to rest. And to assure you that all is well I've got another prompt for you.

Describe a Recipe for Happiness

*Insert audience laugh track here* I picked the most ridiculously perky one of them all just for you. :)

Start by preheating the day's temperature somewhere around seventy degrees, and be sure to arrange for a slightly spring cloudy day.

Do not under any circumstances add worry, stress, or schizophrenic related anxiety to any part of the recipe.

Begin by waking up bright and early to the smell of Ego Waffles in the toaster, (blueberries in the waffles are optional.)

After cleaning off the dishes, go out for a stroll around the park. Remember to bring bread crumbs for the baby ducklings.

Next you must stop by the garden shop and, for a change of pace, buy flowers instead of pots.

Hurry home and begin planting.

For Lunch use only the finest nutella and crackers you have in your possession and set up a small outdoor picnic.

After that, curl up with a good book. Preferably a childhood classic such as Peter Pan, or Winnie the Pooh (Or Frankenstein, ha ha ha.)

Cook elaborate fancy pasta dinner for beloved aunt before she returns home, (points for every witty remark the two of you make when it goes up in smoke.)

Order pizza.

Retire early to the den and watch Singing in the Rain, whilst sipping some fancy Lipton tea.

Fall asleep on the couch, preferably with someone you care about.

Serves one Milla. 

I gotta say Millman. Being a mental invalid can be the most awful thing some times, but it has it's moments. I wish I could make days like this happen, but the worry and stress bit never seems to go away. It's tough not being gloomy sometimes, but I'm doing my best. Peg always says you should rest your worries on the floor before bed and then deal with them in the morning. Maybe that's all I need to finally get some damn sleep.

Maybe I should go back to the ward for a while, I don't know. I need to talk with you about it on Wednesday. I'll see you then. 

Entry 16

This week has been one long dark tunnel of sleepless suck; sleepless being the worst thing about it. According to Ms. Millman it's a natural response to death and most of this week has been spent on relaxation exercises that are supposed to help me deal with the grief or stress or whatever it is plaguing my psyche. I went and got a facial. A damn facial! What was that even supposed to do? Are my pores filled with neurotoxins?

Ughh...Sorry, I'm supposed to be talking about my feelings, but there isn't really anything interesting or unprecedented there. I feel tired, and guilty, and upset, and lots of negative things.

I had another episode this week. I don't even remember it because I was sleep walking, but I was flipping out and somehow I managed to smash the majority of my flower pots, which isn't a huge tragedy because I didn't really like them anyway, but still. I've had a couple other night terrors, and Ms. Millman's suggesting I go back to the ward for a while. It feels like I just got out though.

In other news, I finally went through that box Trent's mom gave me. It was...interesting, and by that I mean completely one hundred percent creepy. Sure there was my ratty old jacket, and some cards I'd sent him, but then there was this shoe box with my name on it. He had medical files in there! My medical files!

What. The. HELL?

How did he even? It doesn't make sense! The only thing I can imagine he did was copied them at some point when he was at my house, which would have meant he had stolen them at one point. This puts an entirely different spin on our relationship, and once again, I feel no remorse for egging his house. I don't know if that makes me an asshole or what but...How dare he! HOW DARE HE. What did he even want to do with those? Why would he feel the need to take them? Did he just want to see how much of a nutball I was? Verify that claim? Was that why he dumped me? It doesn't make sense.

He had other weird stuff in there too like one of my better pots, (which for some reason did not get smashed in my sleeping escapade,) and about a pound of paper he had scribbled all over. It was messed up, with all these circles with X's in it. It's like something right out of one of those thrillers I don't watch, and it is freaky as hell.

I...just, I'm so angry about the whole thing, and I guess I have a right to be. Peg told me there's not a lot I can do about it now, and she's right. I called Trent's mom to ask about the papers and while we were talking about it she started crying so I let it go. That's the right thing to do, right? I shouldn't go around stirring up things I can't change, but now what happened to Trent is all I can think about anymore and I just

I need to calm down and get some sleep is what I need. So yeah. Whatever. 

Entry 15

Here's a nugget of knowledge that I feel needs to be shared.

When you're angry at someone, for any reason whatsoever, you shouldn't go out and try and get revenge. Like egging their house for example. That was the last time I think I ever really saw Trent, and I was at my absolute worst. And now that he's gone it's really hard knowing that, that was how things ended between us. It's awful that his death was all it took for me to see that it was a bad decision on my part, and maybe that's why I felt obligated to go to his wake.

I didn't want to spend a lot of time there because again, everyone present already sort of knew about the egging. I guess I also just don't like the general atmosphere of funerals, but then again, who really does? There were some kids I knew from my High School there, and we talked a little. I think most of them were surprised I came.

A couple of them were speculating on how Trent died and one of them mentioned they thought it had something to do with drugs. I did hear he was cremated, which is a little odd because I was almost positive his family would have wanted to bury him. It was when people started getting into the details of how his body looked when it was found, that I decided to go. But not before paying my respects to his parents. I wanted to apologize for the eggs and make it clear I really was sorry for their loss.

They seemed glad I'd apologized, or as glad as they could seem. His mom said that she had some things for me that he had kept, like on of my sweatshirts. I got them came in the mail two days ago but I'm not exactly in the mood to go through them.

I don't know why Trent broke up with me, but the more I think about it, I suppose I must not have made things easy for the two of us. Whatever it was, that was his choice, and I should have respected it, rather than trying to get back at him. He didn't deserve to die.

I haven't been able to sleep this week, I really need to try and put this out of my mind.

Entry 14

Wow. So. Yesterday something really awful happened.

A couple of times on this blog I think I mentioned my ex. I probably called him an asshole because, yeah I'm not going to deny it he was a pretty big asshole. His real name is, or was Trent.

He was murdered yesterday.

Yeah, I just found out yesterday evening, in kind of a freaky way. The police came over to inform me, which is a nice way of saying they wanted to make sure I hadn't flown off then handle and murdered him in cold blood. Can't blame them. If I found a dead kid, the first person I'd talk to would be the angry schizophrenic ex also.

Don't worry though, I haven't gone farther than across the street since I got back from the hospital, and I was helping Peg take inventory last night so my alibi checks out. They weren't all that happy though to hear about my recent relapse. Like I said, can't blame them.

Apparently what happened was he didn't come home a few days ago and no one knew where he was. Then this morning, some park ranger or something found his body floating in the swamp. I don't know all the details but apparently however he died it wasn't exactly...pleasant. The police said something about mutilation, which I guess is part of how they know it was murder.

This whole thing. I guess I feel kind of numb. I just, I didn't want that to happen. How could I? I've been so mad at him for the last couple of years over what he did, but now I feel like I should really awful about that, but I don't. I feel sick.

I met Trent back when we were fifteen, and we started dating a little after that. He was cool, and sweet and really nice and he was one of those rare people didn't treat me like a time bomb. I really liked being around him, it felt easy. I don't get along really well with other people, and not just because of the schizophrenia thing. I've never been able to relate well to the people around me, not to mention never had much time with them to learn how, but him?  It just felt like the two of us hit the same wave length. There never was any drama between us or misunderstandings, not even a lot of fights. He was never hard to be around. Not ever. I mean...I thought he really liked me.

Then one day he started acting really weird. It was sporadic,  but everyone now and again he'd get really clingy and possessive, or he'd give me the cold shoulder. I couldn't figure out up was up with him, and he never wanted to talk about it when I asked him. Then one day we were at his place and we were hanging out and watching baseball or something and out of nowhere he sort of lost it and he called me a psychotic bitch and told me to get out. Then he just stopped talking to me all together. He didn't say one thing to me, just acted like I'd never existed. I wanted to ask him why he was upset but he just ignored me, and the entire thing was this big emotional mess I did not respond to with the grace I probably should have.

And now he's dead. What do I even do with that?
I think a part of me still wanted to be with him, at least the him I knew before he became an ass. I don't even know.

There's a funeral on Monday. Peg doesn't want me to go, but I think I probably should.  I don't know, I'm going to call Ms. Millman and see what she thinks.

We'll see how things go.

Entry 13

Happy October!

Here's a picture of a drunk pumpkin to set the mood.





 
Gotta love Halloween.

Last year I dressed up as a Salem Witch Trial victim, and this year I was thinking about maybe recycling that and dressing up as a Disney Princess. I could pull off Belle. Hell, my French is probably better than 99% of everyone who made that movie.
   
Anway, so the prompt list has been getting a little more abstract, which is why I'm not eager to come back to it. However, I asked for it so I might as well take what I got.

List Ten Things You Like About Yourself


I really hate these kinds of things. Not because I'm one of those people who can't even manage to come up with ten things I like about myself, but because they imply a person can separate themselves into individual qualities they do or do not like. I feel numerous things about all of my qualities, like I'm kind of a laid back person, and I like that about myself, but at the same time I feel like that can make me dispassionate. I am me, and all the qualities that make up my being have blended together into a gelatinous mush and there's no way to separate them into, "I like this," or "I don't like that."

To be honest, I think most of our opinions on ourselves are dependent on other people's opinion of you. If you're constantly being told that you are a bad person, whether it's your parents or God or your friends telling you, after a while you're going to believe it aren't you? That's why I think people get really hung up on what others think of them. You can tell yourself you're a good person, but if the majority vote says otherwise, who are you to argue?

And maybe that's just me who feels that way and maybe you actually can develop a real opinion of yourself, but for me, it's like the way your house smells. It smells weird and different to everyone who doesn't live there, but you don't notice it at all, so how can you judge it?

Also, finding things you like about yourself seems like a piss poor way to build self-esteem. Not that I really think I have any self esteem issues. I exist and it's what I do with my life that counts, not what I think about it.

So take that prompt! 

Entry 12

Today I am going to take a break from my gloomy disposition to talk about something I actually like.

OLD MOVIES!!!
I managed to catch a cold while I was wandering around the psych ward and I've been livin' it up in sofa city this week, so what does that mean? It means I get to crack open that dusty old movie cabinet and enjoy a good ol' movie marathon.
Now according to a number of people, watching gratuitous amounts of television isn't really good for anyone, especially a person with a psychosis. There's a few rules about what I am and what I am not allowed to watch. Like, I can't watch anything too violent or anything that could be considered psychologically or emotionally disturbing, (yeah that's easy for you to say therapists, scary movies are the best.) Still, in light of recent events I decided just to stick to some nice old films.
I didn't really grow up on a lot of the more mainstream films that a lot of 90's kids did. Most of the movies we own are all from about thirty years ago. In fact, I'm still watching all these movies on a VHS player. (Cool by me, VHS is where it's at.)


But anyways back to the movies! Because that is what is truly important here!


A lot of these films are Movie Musicals, like Singing in the Rain and the Sound of Music. Those are the best kind right? Mary Poppins is probably my favorite out of these, because how can you not like Mary Poppins? She's practically perfect in every way. It's one of those films where it seems to get better every time you watch it.
When I was a kid I only watched it for the parts with the penguins or the farm animals, but as I've gotten older I've really realized just how great of a movie it is. I think my favorite character, (besides the obligatory Dick Van Dyke,) is the Dad. The story is really about him reconnecting with his kids, but they never really shove it in your face, and I like that. I actually get kind of choked up at the scene where he's walking through the town at night and contemplating his actions. That's pretty deep stuff for a Disney film aimed at children. Disney films can be dark, just look at the Brave Little Toaster, (also an awesome movie by the way.) My all time favorite scene in this movie though, is the second lullaby, where you get all the pretty shots of St. Paul's Cathedral and the bird woman. I could watch that a million times.

However, the best of movies I watched would have to have been To Kill a Mockingbird. I've read the book, and I knew the movie was lying around I just never got around to watching it until today. Holy crap. Best movie, hands down, everyone else go home. I'd sort of forgotten why I liked the book, but this reminded me. All the characters are so interesting, and the story is well done. The actor they got to play Atticus is just perfect. Just the entire movie works so well, it's probably the best adaptation I have ever seen.
The best thing about it though was how true it stayed to the themes of the book, about tolerance and seeing things through other people's eyes, and doing what is right no matter the cost. Most people don't usually think of To Kill a Mockingbird as a very uplifting story, but it always filled me with a kind of hope. Sure, it shows humanity's capacity to do terrible things, but it also shows humanity's capacity for great acts of love and kindness. After watching the movie I think I may go back and re-read it again.


So other than that, not a lot accomplished this week. Didn't even get very much finger weaving done. Maybe I do need more arts n craft projects. However I'm happy to keep on with some of these cool movies. Maybe next time I'll pull out some Alfred Hitchcock and watch Psycho, I've been dying to see that one, (Kidding.)


I'll keep you updated.

Entry 11

Right. So. Last time I was in a bad mood and I took it out on the blog, which was wrong of me.

I'm sorry, I was acting like a kid.  I just really thought that I was getting close this time. My hallucinations have been getting worse too. Yesterday I looked outside and I'm pretty sure I saw a Jason standing outside. I guess it's only a matter of time before Freddy Cougar gets me with these surreal birdcage dreams.

And no Ms. Millman, I was not watching that movie. I was dutifully sitting through a discovery channel series on the human brain, (and finger weaving like a boss.)

I'm still a little bummed out, but I'm going to be alright. Got to take them as they come, am I right?

I think me and Peg are gonna bake some brownies tonight. The amount of baking we've been up to is insane. Seriously, Millman, we're sending you home with a few pecan pies next time you come over.

Oh, just another thing Millman before I forget. One of the dog's on our street has been acting up. The other day it got out from behind the fence and tried to bite someone, so just watch out for him when you visit. I think the owners are taking him to the vet, but you can never be to careful.

I know I'm not supposed speak directly to you through this thing, but just know I am doing it because I care.

That's all I have to say for today though. Milla out.

(Nope, my conclusions have not grown better with time.)

Entry 10

Yeah. Blogging. That's still happening, I guess. God forbid in these times of crisis I abandon the blog, right Ms. Millman?

So today we are once again taking a break from the prompts and overall journaling to write about an important event in my life at this time. Four days ago I had my first episode in three years and got to spend a couple of days in the hospital.

Yay me.

That's what I get for not knocking on wood. I can't even believe it.

What happened was I was up late a few nights ago and I thought I heard something downstairs in the shop, and so I went down there, and I saw this tall guy standing by the door and he attacked me. Of course he didn't really attack, me. What really happened was I started screaming and broke a type writer by flinging it at the wall. And now I have to sit through more therapy and take more pills and

You know what, screw this. You already know all of this Millman and I don't feel like repeating it.

Entry 9

Guess what? Someone commented on this blog!

Don't get too excited though, because as it turns out that comment was from my computer.
A few days ago I got an email from gmail that said my account had been suspicious activity on my account.  I have no idea what qualifies as suspicious activities, I'm guessing either Peg has been tampering with my account again or gmail really doesn't like my new blog. Seeing as how blogger has been acting up too, I'm going to go with the latter. You see? This is a perfect exampled of why me and blogging don't mix. Barely even three weeks into this thing and already the website is glitching.

Anyway, who wants to hear about my problems when you could be reading about my juicy, angst-ridden, intimate problems.


This week I filled up my dream journal, (it's like I'm a record keeper,) and so instead of a prompt I thought I'd just write about the dream I had. This particular one has been reoccurring over the last several years.

It starts out and I'm in this oversized bird cage, and all around me are these birds flying around, and in the center of the cage is this giant tree where all the birds seem to be congregating. I walk up to it and start peeling the bark off the tree and while I'm doing this the birds start dropping, like they're dead. It doesn't really bother me though, and so I keep peeling the bark and the birds keep dying and finally the tree opens up and there's this little white bird sitting inside. I'm not sure if it was a dove or what, but it's sitting in there curled up like it's asleep, and I reach inside and grab the bird by it's neck and start yanking the feathers off of it. Then the bird starts screeching and pecking at my eyes and that's about the time I wake up.

So yeah, I guess the moral is I shouldn't mess with birds and trees? Great, a pretentious environmental dream.

Hm...You know for some reason that seems a lot darker when you put it up there for the world to see. I'm quite the piece of work ain't I?

That's about all I got for tonight, I'm not feeling too good. Plus my eyes are killing me and staring at this screen is going to make them bleed, I just know it.

Catch you later.

Entry 8

Did you know this was supposed to be a daily thing? Ha.

I'm way too busy finger weaving nowadays to write if you hadn't noticed. God damn this is addicting. I was working on it yesterday all through this documentary and I actually ran out of yarn. By the time I'm allowed to rejoin society I bet I'll have enough to teepee a house, (uh oh, better watch out Ms. Millman, the yarn is coming for you!)

Finger weaving is my anti-drug. That and blogging apparently.

So continuing on with our prompts, let me just spin the metaphorical wheel of prompting over here.

Who is someone you consider a role-model?

Batman. Seriously kids, if you ever find yourself in possession of a ridiculously large sum of money as well as super genius skills and years of martial arts training, go be Batman. The world will be a significantly better place.

Nah I'm just kidding, Batman's all angst. Go be Iron Man.

Anywho, in all seriousness my real role model is someone a tad less fictitious.  (Also Ms. Millman I am going to preemptively warn you about my French in this one so you can prepare yourself before you start clutching your pearls.)

So I'm one of those lucky kids who had asshole parents. Like, pothead hippie asshole parents, (which are the best kind.) Daddy dropped off the radar after he knocked up mommy, and mommy well, apparently she was never all that there to begin with. I don't know but I think she was kind of like me. Where as she was a few shish short of a kabob. She had me, but for whatever the reason, be it that she didn't want me or that she couldn't take care of me, I ended up with my aunt Peggy.

Now let me establish this. Peggy never went to college. Peggy never got married and never had any kids. Peggy made her pothead hippie sister look conservative. And here she is, living in the back of a antique shop and someone drops her crazy asshole sister's baby off on her doorstep with a please and a thank you. And what does she do?

She doesn't eat for a week so she can go buy a crib and a bunch of books on raising children. She goes and finds some nicotine patches. Quits a job she really likes for a terrible one that pays more. She made that baby cookies after school, and coached her through hardship after hardship. She drove the little tyke out to her asshole boyfriends house in the dead of night and helped her egg it. She visited her everyday she was in the psych ward. She even saved enough to put her through college, and a mildly decent one too.

She did more for me than anyone else would of, even my own parents.

I don't know why she did it, and that's not just me being ignorant, because she has literally said time and time again that kids are little shits, (speaking of me specifically or just children in general.) Yet she must of cared and awful lot about me because she's stood by me all these years and has given me more love than anyone.

Plus she's just awesome overall...most of the time. As she's gotten older she's lost a bit of her edge but she still manages to get up each morning and keep on kicking. Words cannot describe how much I adore her.

I remember I came home from school one day, and I was sobbing because a boy had hassled me about voices in my head and had called me retarded along with a few other niceties.

I came home, and was sobbing in the kitchen and explaining the ordeal and at first she seemed pretty empathetic but then she hugged me and told me to get over myself. I know right? This came as a bit of a surprise, because up until that point whenever I was upset about being a nut-job she always used to dote on me more than usual, however this time she just sort of said enough is enough. She told me that she didn't raise me to cry over pieces of crap like school bullies, and that she certainly wasn't going to let me grow into one of those people who whined about the slice of life they'd been cut. She told me she wanted for me to grow up to be happy, whether or not I was crazy, and that the people who sit in the corner and say 'poor ol' me,' will never be able to do that. Looking back on that, I don't think I've ever received better advice.

Life is life, and you do the best with what you have whether or not it's what you wanted. That's the code Peg lives by, and it's become the one I try to live by too. I know she's got her oddities and her life choices are ones the After School Special Organization would frown upon, but she's one of the most decent people I know, and believe me when I say I look up to her more than anyone else. She is my real mother, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Now if only I could just figure out how to end these prompts.

Entry 7

So today Ms. Millman encouraged me to stray from my prompt list and instead asked me to write about my hallucinations and how they have affected my life over time. You know, I remember this blog starting out on the dream that "It can be about whatever you want it to be about." I guess The Lake and Pussyfoot were interesting and all, but it's high time we return to talking about my own insanity.

Whine, whine, whine. Moan, moan, moan. Make life hard for your therapist.

So let's start from the beginning. When I was about four or five years old, I started getting really jumpy. I didn't like going outside, I would hide under chairs and tables and cry for no obvious reason, and at night I would always throw these huge fits about having to sleep alone in my room. I used to tell Peg I was afraid monsters were going to get me, and while that worried her, it's not really unusual for a child at that age. However, by the time I was about six, it was apparent that there was something a lot worse going on. I would be sitting at the kitchen table or something, and then just suddenly begin screaming bloody murder. I'd lose it if Peg ever drew the curtains in my bedroom or popped a window open in the apartment, and if we ever went out I was always checking to see if we were being followed.




Peg took me to see a Doctor, and after a couple of visits he diagnosed me with Paranoid Schizophrenia, and I've been taking medication for it ever since.

As far as schizophrenics go, I'm considered pretty high functioning. I'm not the best at social cues, but it's nothing manic, and I haven't had an actual episode in years. It's been nothing but a bunch of random hallucinations every now and again. It's kind of hard to describe them, but imagine a really dark figure in the corner of your vision and knowing that it's after you. That's about how it feels when it happens. Sometimes I look out the window and I'll see someone standing there, looking in at me. It's always the same person too. It looks your average person, but he never has a face. It's like my mind can't put that part in.

I know he isn't there, but it freaks me out none the less. It's all apart of the sickness, you never feel quite safe or at ease. You're always worrying about that thing in the corner of your vision. Guess

Like I said though, you learn to live with it. And hey, I have been making my way down recovery road you know. It's better now than it's ever been. Hopefully it'll leave me alone for a while so I can go back to college. That would be wonderful.

Alrighty then, I'll leave it at that. Next time I am for sure continuing on with these prompts.

Until that time I suppose. Good night. 

Entry 6

LAST TIME ON STAR TREK...

CAMILLA GOT A LIST OF WRITING PROMPTS TO HELP HER WITH HER BLOG BECAUSE IN ALL HONESTY, SHE REALLY SUCKS AT BLOGGING. NOW IT IS TIME FOR THE SECOND WRITING PROMPT.

Yeah, so I managed to drag my ass back to the computer for prompt number two.

What is your favorite childhood memory?

When I was five years old, I got a calico kitten for my birthday.  It happened exactly like you would imagine, where there's this really big special box in the corner where you wouldn't notice right away. Of course you find it though, and when you open it up low and behold; a cute baby animal who makes a cute baby animal noise right on cue. For me, the kitten wasn't much more than a glorified cotton ball, but he latched right on to me. The second I reached in and pulled him out of that box he settled down in my lap and went right to sleep.

And just like that I became his mother. I fed him, I cleaned his box, gave him baths, and I loved every second of it. I was that kid who would bottle feed her stuffed animals and cut up cardboard boxes for them to sleep in. You know, that kid who would visit pet shops for fun. I think almost every kid has longed for a pet at some point in their lives, and I was sort of a lonely kid anyway so my longing was more like an unhealthy need. When we got him I was so excited I could barely speak. I remember being afraid even to just reach down and touch the little guy, like I was scared he was going to spontaneously combust. I don't think I stopped saying thank you to Peg for a week.

We ended up calling him Pussyfoot, (which was Peg's idea of a joke, don't ask.)  He was such a good cat. The time we had him was right about when I started getting sick. My hallucinations were a lot worse back then and I was spending most of my time at the doctor's or at home. I was pretty down most of the time, and he always knew when to come and sit down on my lap and play with my hair or something, (my hair was his favorite toy.)

I spoiled that cat rotten, to the point he was practically sitting at the table every night and eating with us. Between me and Peg he became less of a Pussyfoot and more of a Fatty Lumpkin. He was such a baby too. He used to make a racket and nibble on my toes if he felt like I wasn't paying attention to him and he'd pout for hours if I ever went out. But I'll be damned if he wasn't smart. He knew just how to work the customers who came into the shop. He'd rub up on them and purr and if they had kids he'd let them play with him. I think all of our regulars were sneaking him food. He was a total diva, but he was friendly too, and personally I don't think I would have had him any other way.

So if you haven't been able to tell by the past tense, Pussyfoot isn't around anymore. He got run over about five years ago. I know right? Camilla? Don't you have anything happy to blog about? Well it's been my experience in life that you can't have good things without sad things mixed in with them. Pussyfoot lived a good life, and while I'm still pretty sad he's gone that doesn't mean I can't reminisce happily about the good times we had.

He was a good friend, and I hope he's sitting up there in cat heaven eating a hot dog or something. Maybe dead cats can eat chocolate in the afterlife. I'm sure he'd enjoy that.

So the next prompt is "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" Oh that's going to be fun. "I see myself as a paranormal investigator for the F.B.I."

Alright then. Until the next time.

Entry 5

After yesterday's embarrassment of an entry, I talked to Ms. Millman and now I've got myself a list of writing prompts.

I know this is supposed to be a free expression thing, and it works best when I write about whatever it is I'm thinking about, but if we don't want this to spiral downward into gloomy accounts of how boring my life is, then it's for the best I am being told what to write about.

So today's prompt is, My Favorite Place in the World.

See, look at that? I know exactly what to write. Easy peasy.

There's this tiny lake that's about an hour drive outside of Baton Rouge. It's in the middle of wilderness, and Peg used to take me up there for something of a family get away back when I was little. We'd have picnics, she'd show me the old house she grew up in, we'd bring tackle and try to catch fish. Buckets of fun. Then every night we'd wait for the sun to go down and the stars would come out. It never seemed real to me, how big and vast it looked. Peg knows every constellation there ever was and she'd go on and on and on, showing me the planets and telling me stories about how stars got their names. It was when we were down there I felt like we connected best. Usually I tend to be the chattier one out of the two of us, but whenever we were at the lake it was like she just let loose the floodgates, and I never got bored of listening to her like I tend to do sometimes now. Peg can be silly, but I forget that she really is pretty wise.

I've been there with a few of my old friends sometimes too. I had my first kiss down there; with an asshole I might add, but at the time it was awfully romantic. I haven't been able to visit much since the accident, but I've really been missing it. For me it's always been an oasis. Nothing bad ever happened up there. No fights, no hallucinations, no nightmares. It's that place where you childhood exists and nothing can ever take it from you, because that's just how it is. It's untouchable.

Ha ha ha! Take that prompt! One down and hey, it was a pretty decent entry if I do say so myself. Looking forward to taking on the next one.

Á la prochaine.

Entry 4

So today's entry will be a prime example of my inability to keep a diary, seeing as how I just spent forty five minutes sitting in front of my computer thinking about things to write and still have nothing. Shocker I know, because we've established that this is one of my favorite things to do, right?

Look, I wouldn't call myself a shabby writer or anything, but diaries? The only reason I would ever even consider buying a diary is because it would be cool to open and close the lock. Even then I'd probably just lose the key.

I mean what do you want to know about? Do you want to know about the Ramen I am currently eating? Or the laundry I folded this morning? The most interesting thing that happened was that perfume salesman who came into my aunt Peg's antique store today. Kept asking me if I'd even smelled Scent of Brittany Spears. The stuff smelled like piss but I bought some anyway and gave it to Peg. It's all over the house now and I find myself missing the incense.

I know that I'm the one who bought it so I shouldn't be complaining, and if I didn't want the stuff I shouldn't have even bothered to pay for it, but the guy selling it looked sick. Like, head sick. Sometimes I see people like that on the streets around here, and I wonder if that's how I'm going to end up in a few years. Sick, homeless and trying to sell piss on street corners. Peg can't take care of me forever.

This got depressing pretty quickly. I don't want to think about this kind of stuff right now. It's too late in the night and I don't need anymore nightmares.

Entry 3

 Dear internet diary that Ms. Millman can read but likes to pretend she can’t anyway,

I am now supposed to write to a non-specific audience, as per request of my aforementioned therapist. Seems a little pointless though. I don’t think anyone reads this besides her. I guess it’s just a matter of principal. If it’s on the internet I have to address everyone on a whole.

Hello, non-existent audience, my name is Camilla, and this is my blog.

In case it wasn’t clear from my convoluted posts prior to this one, I am an emotionally disturbed individual. For a while now I have been suffering from brief episodes where I hallucinate and see things that aren’t there. It doesn’t occur very often, but it’s enough to make people worry.

It sucks, I’ve learned to deal with it, and there’s not much else to say about it.

The therapy and the being poked and prodded by doctors is old news for me. I’ve been through this song and dance before. Recently however I was in a bad car accident, where I over-corrected myself into a streetlamp to avoid hitting something that wasn’t there. It’s one thing being a teenager who can’t drive, it’s another being a psychological basket-case teenager who can’t drive.

So I took a mandatory break from work and pulled out of college. Now I can spend my time concentrating on maintaining my mental health…and painting flower pots…and blogging.

I don’t mean to come across as bitter, but yeah, I’m bitter. I’m not going to whine and say it isn’t fair because fairness has never been a real factor in anything ever. Just don’t expect me to be thrilled my life has been constricted to reality television and arts & crafts.

Oh well, you do what you can to keep your chin up in these kinds of situations. I’d much rather be bored and antsy as opposed to dead, so I shouldn’t complain. In fact, since the accident the hallucinations have all but gone away. I’ve been almost normal, with the exception of wiggy nightmares but I am willing to pin those on stress.

That’s all the major things you need to know about me. What else is there?

My favorite animal is a buffalo. I happen to be bilingual, and I really like French music (especially if we’re talking 40’s French music.) I’ll watch any animated movie you can throw at me. I pulled out every baby tooth I ever had and never cried. I don’t know what else to say.

Ms. Millman said I should talk about what I was planning on being once I got my degree, but to be honest I don’t know. Probably something a bit more hands on, like glass blowing, or designing.

Other than that, there’s not much else to write about. Today was largely un-eventful, so I’m just going to end it here.

I’m sure I’ll think of something to write about by tomorrow.

-Camilla

Entry 2

Dear Ms. Millman,

I’m sorry for yesterday’s post which was admittedly too brief, and a pint rude on my part. I’m also sorry for the way I acted on the phone yesterday, as I was under the assumption I could half-ass this project. From now on I’ll try and come up with something a bit more juicy so you can talk about it with your buddies at the office tomorrow.

Today was lousy. You know how people get cabin fever? Where they get all tense and pissy because they’ve been stuck in one place for too long. I couldn’t even get out of my PJ’s today, which is fine because jammies are cool, but it makes me feel sick if I can’t get ready. I mean, sicker than I already am at least. I’ve got plenty of these distraction projects you and Peg keep coming up with, but there’s no point in doing them other than to keep busy. Why can’t I just lie around and watch X-Files? It’s accomplishing just as much as this blog is. (And before you start lecturing me that was just an example, I have been keeping away from the T.V.)

I get what you two are trying to do, but it’s more depressing than anything else. I’ve painted how many flower pots now?

Speaking of which, I need to get rid of some of these. You interested in buying any? I could use the money.

Anyway, I had another nightmare. This one was intense, for lack of a better word. I already put it in the dream journal, so don’t call and ask about it. I’ll tell you about it on Wednesday. 

Peg’s making a dream catcher for me now, so I can add that to my pile of other magic charms. I keep waiting for her to come with a dead bunny, “Sweetie, help me cut this little bastards foot off.” I don’t think I’d even be surprised. Between her and me we could open our own nuthouse. At least she’s stopped with the incense.

Next time you come over, please ask her about getting my keys back. It’s been a month, and besides the dreams I’m fine. Except of course for that clown standing in the corner, but he is harmless right? (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.)

There. Almost two-thousand words. That should hold you over until tomorrow. Hopefully this was more along the lines of what you were looking for. I need to get started on some course work anyway. I’ll talk to you later.

-Camilla

Entry 1

Dear Ms. Millman,

Today was fine. I had crackers with nutella for lunch so that’s always a bonus. Bye for now.

-Camilla

Dear Ms. Millman,

Alright, I got it working. Yeesh, I consider myself pretty tech savvy but apparently not. This is impossible. Went ahead and named it after a quote from Hillhouse. Awesome book by the way.

I'll start posting tomorrow.

-Camilla