Comedy is defiance. It’s a snort of contempt in the face of fear and anxiety. And it’s the laughter that allows hope to creep back on the inhale.
—Will Durst
My doctor told me not to interact with my voices, that it would only encourage them. Instead, I am supposed to ignore them. Ignore the plethora of voices demanding that I die, insulting me, and threatening people I love.
You know when you are having a bad week, everything is going wrong, and suddenly a tiny annoyance brings you to tears even when nothing else did? Well I am used to voices inundating me like a waterfall, but somehow it will get to the last drop of water and I snap.
My voices: You don’t deserve to live.
Me: Well, I don’t think I quite deserve to die either so we will have to compromise. Undead? Can I be a vampire?
. . .
My voices: We will kill you.
Me: Oh ok. I’ll give you the knife to stab me. How are you going to hold it? You don’t have thumbs.
. . .
My voices: You’re ugly.
Me: Says the disembodied voices. How do you get aesthetic attraction if I don’t? Seems unfair if you ask me.
. . .
My voices: Marie secretly hates you.
Me: Well Marie not-so-secretly hates you.
My voices: No really, she wants you to die.
Me: Uh-huh. And marrying me is part of her evil plot.
My voices: You are the evil one.
Me: Sure, the one who has a moral crisis over killing a mosquito every…fucking…time…is evil. The one with the empathy link, who feels everyone else’s emotions and has a hero complex yet no self-esteem…is evil. The one that literally three separate people nicknamed “Angel”…is evil. Ok then. I thought I was the one with delusions.
Post 37 in Socially Unacceptable: The Daily Life of a Queer Schizophrenic Wreck (2022)
This is an autobiographical series about my life, something I have wanted to do for a long time. I intend to add new content daily.
For the whole series, follow this link.
The Queer Schizophrenic 