Relaxation by Familiarity

I’m used to it, now.  I’m still the same guy.  Len’s usually in bed, anyway.  I’m alone, but never alone.  You never are with schizophrenia.  While that sounds like a bad joke, and it is, it’s also a deep truth.  I’ve got feedback voices giving me some inkling of company.

The beer’s going down a treat.  I’m watching YouTube gaming tech’ videos and contemplating my next move.  I could stay up all night, and I just might, but I’ll fill my time with enjoyment.

While Len’s getting poked, prodded, and scanned, I’m here drinking John Smith’s and learning about the difference in performance between an Xbox One X and a gaming PC.  I’ve renewed my enthusiasm about getting an Xbox One S for christmas.


In the hospital, I started thinking about finding something in my body.  I watched myself, in my mind’s eye, going through chemo’, and I wasn’t that scared.  I’ve changed my view on it.

I’m not going to quit smoking, unless nothing short of divine intervention comes into play.  I’m relatively healthy.  I’m processing a fear into an understanding, and an acceptance.

I’m just talking shit, really.  It feels better to write to my ever so captive audience than sit here thinking I have nothing to do.  I think the last time I spent an evening alone, truly alone, was over two years ago.

I wanted a break from people when I first moved into supported accommodation.  I’d been living the psychiatric hospital life, and, alongside windows in your bedroom door, and the foot traffic of forty other patients, you never felt like you were free to be alone.  I thought I had my break, marathon-watching Game of Thrones, and drinking my stubbies with my own fridge.  My own fridge!


Edit:  I trailed off, after writing a scathing paragraph about other people.  I’m not about that, anymore.  I’ll keep it clean.  Summary:  I think I could grow to like my own space.  Going out and exploring could be an adventure.  Drinking beer’s giving me pleasure.  I’ll dive back into YouTube, only coming back when there’s something meaningful to write.


Well, this is new.  Len’s in hospital overnight.  I’m at home cracking a cold one open.  I look around.  This place needs organising.

The surgeons say there’s little chance it’s cancer, at Len’s age.  She’s having her scan as an in-patient, now.  We’ll find out soon enough what the problem is with her liver.  She’s in a lot of pain.  Hopefully they can remedy that.

Somewhere between secondhand smoke, medication overdoses, alcohol consumption, a bad diet, a sedentary lifestyle, and smoking cigarettes, Len’s developed a problem.  I could feel partly to blame.  I do.  I shouldn’t have let her breathe so much smoke.

I’ve been smoking passively since birth.  I feel I’m almost immune to cancer.  Time will tell.  I’ll go and visit Len tomorrow, take her some things, make the stay that much more bearable.  I can’t wait ’til she’s home.

The flat feels empty, even though there’s shit everywhere.  Don’t worry, I haven’t barricaded the door, and I’m not clasping my biggest kitchen knife, not yet, anyway.  I could grow to like this sense of solitude.  Maybe it’s good for me.

As the day began it became obvious to me that I was attracting chaos.  Little did I know we’d be in the hospital again.  I enjoyed it.  It’s that much more of a familiar environment, now we’ve been there three days in a row.

I’d hate to see what would happen if I lost Len, my Mum, or my Nan.  I don’t know how bereavement would affect me.  I like to think I’d be strong.  I’m sure it’d go either way.  I’d end up broken, or I’d try to hide my indifference.

I’ve felt it’s time to begin the rituals again.  Maybe I could do with guided meditation, some EFT, and some powerful affirmations.  I’ll play that by here, as I see it unfolding.  All I’m doing right now is drinking beer and chain-smoking myself into focus.


“You know you’re dreaming, right?”  The man spoke directly to me.  I stared, without the desire to blink.  I was on a train.  I wasn’t sure if the train was moving, but there were people all around.

I remembered something from Stephen LaBerge’s book.  You could prolong a lucid dream by spinning on the spot.  For the first time in my life, I knew I wanted to spin inside my dream world.

As I spun in the middle of the train carriage I expected to feel something.  The only thing I felt was the niggling thought at the back of my mind that lucid dreams were fleeting in nature, and that I didn’t want to lose lucidity.

I thought about what I could quickly do, before I lost lucidity.  In my younger years I’d grope women and have sex with them.  I remembered a time where walking inside the dream world and taking in the fascinating surroundings took precedence over carnal desire.  Right now I was losing my lucidity swiftly.

I woke up with a clear memory of the dream.  It seemed like I’d never recreate that feeling of being free to walk in the dream world, free of the constraints that knowing I was lucid and being excited about it imposed on me.  Lucidity seemed to come as such a surprise nowadays, it shocks me out of it.

In nightmares I’ve always been able to switch on the mechanism in my brain that remembers I’m dreaming.  From there I can open my eyes, lay awake in bed, and contemplate allowing myself to fall back to sleep.

As the train carriage faded, and I tried to spin to order a new dream location, I forgot I was in a dream.  When you forget you’re in a dream, the dream happens to you, and you respond with passive will.  I’d have to wait until a later time, when I could once more be lucid again.

Carry On

I killed myself last night.  I hung there for what seemed like the longest time.  The pain turned to disorientation as my body twitched, and I fell into an uncomfortable, deep sleep.

I was engulfed by a brilliant white-yellow light.  I saw loved ones, even ones that were still technically alive.  I felt a sense of peace.  That’s when it happened.

I felt like I was shot out of my body.  My consciousness was one with a brilliant white light that seemed to permeate everything.  A man stood before me.  I don’t know why, but I felt drawn to him.  I felt like I’d known hm for an eternity.

“Do you really want to do this?”  He asked me, calmly.

“Do what?”

“Reemerge into the nonphysical.”  I tried to adjust my stance, realising in the process that I had no legs.  I tried to touch my hands to my eyes, realising there were no hands.  I tried to look down, realising there was no neck with which to pivot in the direction of my interest.

“Where am I?”  I quizzed.  The man smiled warmly.

“You’re in the nonphysical realm.  Here’s an eternity you can enjoy.  You can go into a new body, or you can choose to go back and carry on with this life.  It’s your prerogative.  Your choice will be neither good or bad, positive or negative”

“What’s my purpose?”  I felt the answer coming to me, as I realised I had no brain with which to process what was going on.

“Your purpose is whatever you want it to be.  You’re existing to enjoy.  You will be an individualised consciousness for eternity.  You will go on.”

I paused for a moment.  I tried to imagine myself not existing.  I couldn’t conceptualise it.  I couldn’t imagine nothing existing.  I thought about an eternity.  Ideas came to me but nothing summarised the thought clearly.  Forever seemed like a long time, a state void of time, in fact.


I stood there in my living room with the rope in my hands.  I laughed at the idea of hanging myself.  I’ve got it pretty good, right now, I thought.

I tossed the rope onto the settee, walked into the bathroom and smiled at myself in the mirror.  I felt cold all over, then a warmth filled me.  I looked at what seemed like a memory, but the memory only lasted a moment.  Something about a man and a joyous light.

I shrugged, looked all suave into the mirror as I made eye contact, and walked back into the living room.

Coffee and Alcohol

Life just got easier, in a sense.  I stopped trying to talk Len out of her anger.  It’s like it is when she’s shouting, or playing loud music.  I tense up and seek to control the situation.

I read an Abraham Hicks book, and she said that controlling another’s anger was selfish because that person may be using anger to find a better feeling emotional state.  That’s changed my mind.  I’ve released another aspect of control.  I relinquish a part of my struggle, in the process.

Another thing I’ve changed is the service I offer.  Len asks me to do something.  I usually piss and moan, get in a huff, and end up doing the thing anyway.  I’ve realised there’s no point pissing and moaning when I’m going to end up doing the thing, regardless.  I release more control.


Coffee and alcohol seem to go hand in hand.  I was drinking beer last night.  This morning I’m binge-drinking coffee.  I can’t get enough of it.  It’s just delicious.  My body screams for it.  I only seem to drink so much coffee after I’ve been drinking alcohol, though.


Today, Len and I are visiting Nan’s.  She’s picking us up and driving us to her’s.  We’re having a delicious sausage dinner.  We’ll chat with my Nan and enjoy some hot drinks.

I feel good today.  We both woke up at about seven, rested and lively.  Len’s taking pain-killers.  She complains, but I’d rather be drowsy than in pain.  My mind shoots back to a Vsauce documentary.  People preferred pain over boredom.  I don’t doubt it’s true.  I just can’t fathom the reason why it should be true.
Anyway yeah.  That’s that.  May the day bring you pleasure and promise.