Wounded King

Swords of the soldiers cut into flesh and bone. Deep wounds, when the arrows fell. The crown made bloody. A coward cries. An army yields to the enemy.

Dark ages, when a King becomes a peasant. Humbled by his injuries, anger grows and spite is unleashed from his tongue. He is not who he thought.

A scar develops where Love once lived. Empathy knows no bounds, and yet it hides at the thought of death. A growl will replace laughter when danger looms.

Further and further the King wanders through pitch black darkness. He sees no light but somehow he is never blind. A voice calls to him and he moves ever closer to the sound.

He stumbles over something hard, impenetrable. Reaching down, he brushes off the black stone. Green light explodes from the jewel that lays under layers of soot. The King weeps.

His pockets now lined with riches, the King carries on. Though hobbled and weak, he smiles, once, twice, and no more. For the green stone asks him to disrobe and walk through the frost. He obeys but he spits on the stone.

Years and years. An eon to the mind. The king carries the small burdens of treasure that appear on his path. It is heavy and he curses out at the gods. They do not answer. His guts spill out from the wounds that have not healed since the war.

Though his kingdom has fallen, his Queen and his Captains remain. They carry him when he falls unconscious. They see something perhaps he does not.

A white hot sword of truth manifests in front of him. He is cut in half, the flaming blade searing his insides shut. Two Kings now form, The Judge and The Evil One. His eyes now see that they were always a part of him, intertwined in a disgusting heap with a golden veneer.

The Gods finally act. The king is blessed with vision that can see beyond horizons he once conquered. A stone is engraved with commandments and placed in his heart.

Love slowly creeps into his veins, it has not left him. It was only in hiding, biding time. It is fragile still, and does not have the strength yet to take him over. The King Smiles again.

The Evil One will contend with The Judge, and indeed it will even triumph on occasion. But the Judge is the true King.

Responsibility falls on the King, he must rebuild what has been taken from him and what he has tossed away in ignorance.

Standing on stilted legs, the King announces his Kingdom to come. His Queen raises her hands to pray, a sign of faith. His Captains give their salute and begin forming the Golden Army.

The Wounded King fills his chest as he looks out to world. He knows now that he may fall endlessly again. He is exalted beyond his former self. Fractured still, he raises his voice to the clouds and exclaims,

“I was, I am, I will!”

New Beginnings

Artwork credit: @leaptheman

I came across a picture today that I think represents how I feel about my life lately. I really love this drawing done by an artist who also has schizoaffective disorder. It’s almost as if I could have manifest it myself, if I only had the same skill of expression through artwork.

As I saw it, the picture shows a face that is fractured, torn, suppressed, insane, malfunctioning, sick. There is a flower that grows out of the top of this face, its roots intertwined in the dilapidated illness of the mind.

And the more I looked at this drawing the more I felt I could relate to it. I felt it because I’ve been through the muck and the mire and I have died and been reborn. That flower, to me, represents hope, change, ambition, rebirth. It is rooted in the mess that is my mind. From a distorted bed of lies rises something new, something beautiful.

My life before the illness was without passion, ambition, direction. And it remained like that even through many years after the diagnosis. I have no doubt it would have stayed this way until I died, had it not been for the most traumatic thing that ever happened to me.

It’s hard to believe it happened six years ago, it still feels fresh as if it was a month ago. I was at the mall with my family, browsing in a jeans supply store. A man approached me and began asking strange questions. Even as I write this it is too much for me and I think I am not ready to go into details. I will just say that in the moment I thought he was there to murder me. I truly believed this to be true. I told my brother, who was with me while this man spoke to me, that I loved him, and goodbye. I accepted my coming death and waited for the gunshot.

My dad, who was waiting outside the store, saw that something strange was going on. He intervened and told the man to leave us alone. Even to this day with medication and perspective, I still think that if my dad hadn’t stepped in that this man would have murdered me.

In what seemed like my last moments on earth, it wasn’t just fear of death that shook me to my core. I mean, sure, death is fucking scary and it was most definitely a reason for me to be afraid. But it was the knowledge that I was going to die having never accomplished anything that really settled into my mind.

After this incident, I ended up holing up in my room, terrified of even going outside of my house. But there was this new fire in me, something that fought back. Something that said I have things I need to do with my life.

And so I began to venture outside of my comfort zones. I would go out into the yard for 5 minutes. And then I would go out in the driveway. And then I would go or a quick drive around the block. So on and so forth I built up my courage to go out for longer periods of time.

These days, I go out in public by myself for long periods of time. The fear is still there, and I don’t think it will ever go away. I have learned to be brave and to test my delusions. I’m still not perfect and I still have days when I cannot bring myself to go out in the world. But I am not stuck in my room, which I very well could have allowed myself to be forever.

I have learned so much about myself and my limits. Where I am weak and where I am strong. How to cope with hardship. How to survive depression. How to have hope when all seems to be falling down.

At the moment, I am building a business plan with a friend. We started over a year ago and had planned to open shop in 2018, but I had a minor relapse and things had to be postponed. This year we are back at it and our plans are stronger than ever. Soon we will be going to a workshop to learn how to make a professional business plan. Then we will be presenting that business plan to an organization to seek funding. We can start even without the extra funding, but it would make a big impact on getting going. So that is where our focus is.

Today, 9 years into having schizoaffective, I am the best version of myself that I have ever been. I have ambition and drive. I am passionate about becoming a better person. I am changing the things that have kept me down even before the illness. I am no longer nihilistic. I seek to make a difference in the world. I see growth in myself every few months. Even looking back at old blog posts I have made here, I know that I have changed as a person.

I still face depression and I still want to give up some days. I am quicker to respond to that negativity than I used to be even a year ago. I use life to inspire me. Just eight hours ago I was feeling hopeless and useless for the hundredth time this month. But I do not let those feelings sit with me for very long. I always push back. I find a way to overcome them. I look at how far I’ve come and that reminds me that there is still more left in me to fight. It will always be hard for me, and I accept that when I can. This is the adventure that is my life.

Be reasonable

Nothing really meets my expectations

I wish I could lower them

Perfection is just so godamn addicting

Be reasonable

How many more thoughts do I have to trash

Before I’m impressed enough to hold on to them

I’ll admit I’m pretty afraid

That the things inside aren’t precious enough to mean anything

I really miss when I was more attached

Nothing means anything but everything matters

If there’s even an answer out there I don’t know that it would help

Maybe it would solve all of my problems

But maybe it would just make me more aware of the flaws

I am grateful for many things

I feel guilty when I complain

In the end it leads to frustration

Because others starving doesn’t make my depression feel any better

I want, or maybe I need, to express myself

But I am so afraid to do that

I especially don’t want to be hated

But I guess in the end somebody always hates you

A lesson could be taken from our shallow pop stars

To ignore the hate and just be yourself

If only I could do that

Rhythm

I like to get dirty words in there sometimes

Because they’re so ugly that it doesn’t matter

The hardest part is finding the rhythm

Anything sounds pretty good with the right rhythm

Action!

ACT I

 

If I have to live with myself for one more disgusting moment

I think I’ll end up puking

Because I’m not perfect

And if I’m not perfect I’m no good for anything

 

ACT II

 

Every word reaches for something but in the end they fuck it all up

The word “beautiful” isn’t good enough

I like the word “perfect” more than most other words

“Fuck” is probably devine

 

ACT III

 

So I made something

And I think it’s mine mostly

I guess I don’t know whether to give it all away or not

Because I could ruin what little faith I have in myself

 

Epilogue

 

I hated the chaff and so it was cut off and burnt

I hated the fruit but I was hungry

And so I ate

Now I am only hungry again

Tame

Squirm with it

Fuckin eat it

Black mass, ugly

Shut down

Locked

Hard shell, won’t break

Work hard, less hard

Fuckin gross

I just want to be in the movies

Yeah

Yeah

Fuck

Fuck it all up

Write it on the wall

Fuck it all up

Let

Let

Let

Fuck it’s not beautiful

Fuck it’s not what I wanted

Shadowed without

Plastered within

Godamnit

Depression

Empty

It’s not dark

It’s not suffocating

It’s not like anything

There’s even laughter

Sometimes I sing and dance

I’m just simply not there

Some one to hold

Cold and alone

Clinging to the rumor of hope

We all need some one to hold

 

Sometimes we don’t get enough

Of the love we dream of

 

Disowned

Distraught and unclothed

We all need some one to hold

 

It’s those we judge

Longing for skin to touch

 

Innocence sold

The same story gets retold

We all need some one to hold

 

*Thinking about those living on the streets tonight*