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January 1, 2014
schizophrenia? by *atlas-ficta
Featured by DorianHarper
Suggested by sincebecomeswhy
Literature Text
psychology defines schizophrenia
as an impairing, delusional disorder
borne in the person’s inexorable inability
to tell right from wrong,
hopeless fantasy from harsh reality,
or even suspicion from acceptance
but aspen is a lovely, flexible woman
with names of imperial animal races
that never belonged to them,
with the countless colors of her eyes that
she makes up with named numbers
written in cursive sharpie on her palms
she takes pills that seem to
dampen & take away those charming
things she always says to me;
the voices don’t haunt or tease her,
they’ve always respected the way she
counted with willpower & the way she lived
psychology defines schizophrenia
as a disorder in which one cannot escape
their head long enough to
stop the thoughts of self-destruction,
to halt the onset of war on their
bodies as the asphalt hits their head
but aspen is a star amid the wreckage
when she asks you to hold her
until she can’t hear the bad numbers
crunching her ears into little
poor, frostbitten pieces
& maybe she could fall asleep with her love
she has surmounted the galaxies
& has seemingly swallowed them whole,
stating they tasted like glass & the number 343
written in green like flowers eaten by
butterfly wings until the sunlight bites the dust
& nothing matters anymore (not even the bad numbers)
psychology defines schizophrenia
as a disorder where one cannot care
for themselves, let alone help out
& keep up with others who have a life to live
with the normality of the commonplace
household with such absence of color
but aspen, she knows life like no other;
she holds on like a lion to a broken gazelle’s
bones, & she knows the difference between
the night sky & the dark grass tickling her
flip-flop clad & sock bound feet
as she hums the alphabet to the national anthem
i don’t care what psychology defines
this horrific “schizophrenia” as –
there is no horror in her supposed disorder,
no fear in her diagnosed insanity,
no psychosis in her verdicts, & there is only
splendor in her insights that break set limitations
& are revised in my history, anticlockwise
until i can’t inhale under the vast
beauty of her strung-together decrees
of her discernments that just don’t seem worthy
of this indecent world that dares to define her as
“diseased”
as an impairing, delusional disorder
borne in the person’s inexorable inability
to tell right from wrong,
hopeless fantasy from harsh reality,
or even suspicion from acceptance
but aspen is a lovely, flexible woman
with names of imperial animal races
that never belonged to them,
with the countless colors of her eyes that
she makes up with named numbers
written in cursive sharpie on her palms
she takes pills that seem to
dampen & take away those charming
things she always says to me;
the voices don’t haunt or tease her,
they’ve always respected the way she
counted with willpower & the way she lived
psychology defines schizophrenia
as a disorder in which one cannot escape
their head long enough to
stop the thoughts of self-destruction,
to halt the onset of war on their
bodies as the asphalt hits their head
but aspen is a star amid the wreckage
when she asks you to hold her
until she can’t hear the bad numbers
crunching her ears into little
poor, frostbitten pieces
& maybe she could fall asleep with her love
she has surmounted the galaxies
& has seemingly swallowed them whole,
stating they tasted like glass & the number 343
written in green like flowers eaten by
butterfly wings until the sunlight bites the dust
& nothing matters anymore (not even the bad numbers)
psychology defines schizophrenia
as a disorder where one cannot care
for themselves, let alone help out
& keep up with others who have a life to live
with the normality of the commonplace
household with such absence of color
but aspen, she knows life like no other;
she holds on like a lion to a broken gazelle’s
bones, & she knows the difference between
the night sky & the dark grass tickling her
flip-flop clad & sock bound feet
as she hums the alphabet to the national anthem
i don’t care what psychology defines
this horrific “schizophrenia” as –
there is no horror in her supposed disorder,
no fear in her diagnosed insanity,
no psychosis in her verdicts, & there is only
splendor in her insights that break set limitations
& are revised in my history, anticlockwise
until i can’t inhale under the vast
beauty of her strung-together decrees
of her discernments that just don’t seem worthy
of this indecent world that dares to define her as
“diseased”
Literature
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
When I was little, it use to amaze me how colors were made. In art class I would sit and mix paint because blue and red didn't stay the same when they fell in love. Every single color found its match and danced beautifully as I swirled them together. Black and white were my favorites. I'd pour the creamy paint into a bowl and watch as black and white swirls, turned into grey swirls and owned the container holding it captive. Grey was amazing to me. Because black and white are nothing alike, and grey is in the middle. Black is dark and scary and demanding. And white is graceful, and trusting, and clean. Grey is nothing. Grey is bland. And safe
Literature
Your life is not a British television show
People on social media sites
tend to glorify things that hurt.
They brag about things
that people struggle with.
Mental illness is not a label.
It is not a badge nor a privilege
or something you have to earn.
People suffer,
they battle voices in their heads
that they do not even recognize.
People struggle to tame
their inner demons
and keep up an image
that the world expects them to uphold.
Mental illness is not cute,
being so anxious you cannot speak is not a quirk.
Relying on people to take care of you is not romantic.
News flash!
Your life is not an episode of Skins
The idea of Effy and Freddie is fictional,
no one is going to save yo
Literature
Bipolar Disorder
Dear everybody,
I’m not just moody.
I have Bipolar Disorder.
I don’t choose to have this unbearable depression,
Where I sob uncontrollably and the most unpredictable times.
A sadness that paints your entire mind,
And drips
Down into your soul.
And you don’t know when it’s suddenly going to
Change.
Change, from being a terrifying unhappiness,
To being such a fantastic happiness
So spectacular,
That you can’t even connect your thoughts with your own brain.
Where you challenge the world,
Because you feel bigger than a speck of dust for
The first time in your
Life.
And then?
It changes.
It changes from being such an
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Psychology's take on the disorder of schizophrenia, and then the narrator's. Do you see a flaw with the usage of the word 'diseased' being thrown at that girl?
Edit 1: OH MY GOSH. 39 favourites?! Gah, you guys make me want to cry. Thank you so much for all the favorites and kind comments! You have made my day!
Edit 2: I AM NOW CRYING. Thank you so much, you all! 53 favourites. Thank you..
Edit 3: A DAILY DEVIATION?! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW THANKFUL I AM FOR ALL OF YOU!
Edit 4: I just want to clarify that, for one, I am not promoting or romanticizing mental disorders. I was trying to make light of the disorder rather than just dwelling in its presence in a negative way. I realize that schizophrenia is nothing to romanticize and that's most certainly not part of my intentions. Both myself and my significant other have suffered from mental disorders for most of our lives (and hers matches Aspen's sometimes), therefore, I understand completely what I'm putting out there.
Lastly, this is NOT psychology's exact, precise definition of schizophrenia, however, parts of these definitions are in the actual definition. This is more or less society's point of view on the disorder as they like to only point out the negatives rather than promoting the fact that there is a way to soften its affects.
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As in Taoist faith, there is a yin and a yang to schizophrenia. The author clearly understands the yang of schizophrenia, in an intimate way, and is unafraid to present the yin as it reflects. A moving homage to the love of his life. The line about the numbers crunching in the woman's head is a beautifully tragic way of describing the confusion and extreme assault faced by people with schizophrenia when they're overwhelmed by more information than the human mind ordinarily processes on a conscious level. The author shows great promise, and I, for one, would like to see what the author comes up with in the future.