Dead or alive

Angry words do not ricochet off a child. A belt, a wooden spoon, dissenting tone of voice do not just roll off. Running up the stairs to my room as I had been scolded, and banished. Who knew for how long or what exactly for. There was no discussion. No debriefing. It was angry chaos, disappearance of the child, then supposed back to normal when told.
Hallucinations feel the same way to me. It’s angry images, words, writings directed at me, my character, my value. They come unannounced and unwelcome, do their damage causing internal chaos and then they are gone. Til they resurface again. Whether it be in the car, in the bathroom, at a friends house the message remains the same. You must die. You do not belong here. The devil always on my coat tails and by good measure on my mind. Where does the truth fit into this?
True I have bipolar disorder w psychotic features. This gives my episodes the added flair of delusions and hallucinations. This means my brain is…? This is a key question for me. Why would my brain be so cruel, so backwards as to create images that torture and disturb me. How can there not be a message to be found within the images? My psychologist says the brain is ill. My symptoms, my illness, comes with these sorts of distorted thinking. No message, but rather a task. My task is to believe the opposite of these evil images and words. To fight back and in essence refute what they say or the message I think I am receiving. Also, I am to try and engage my brain in a task be it working out, washing dishes, writing. I am to not sit and believe much of what my brain is saying or doing right now. Recognizing I have an illness.
I’ll share that I was at a friends house watching the World Series. So, not only was I engaged but I was being social. They have a small house and my vantage point allowed me to see into their dark bedroom just off the living room. I saw words being written on the wall by an invisible hand. Could have been chalk or crayon, not sure. In an arc facing downward the words..you are worthless.. were etched. Conversely, below that in an upward arc the words..you should kill yourself.. were forming. The words were bright and large, almost glowing. They were then wiped away in one fell swoop to have the statement..you do not belong here.. arrive in bold. I just excused myself to the restroom. I looked in the mirror. I did not want to make a scene and cry. I have just recently adopted a mantra of..is this real? Trying to bring myself back to reality. Trouble is I didn’t disagree w the messages I was receiving, but they are still so painful.
As I’m older now and think back to the ways of my childhood, I don’t agree with how things were handled or sometimes not handled yet it is still somewhat painful. You have to call it like you see it. I face these psychotic symptoms when I’m in an episode. As they continue to linger I begin to question what I am missing. What perhaps I should be paying more attention to. Am I really supposed to be here?
Some may argue, well since I am already here it must be so. I am not convinced. I do stay. I stay for my husband mostly. My brother too. But plenty of undeserving people leave this world everyday. Maybe it’s a premonition. Maybe I am being prepared to exit. It’s not very nice or holy or pretty. But no one knows. Science doesn’t know.
The images and words are brutal. Disturbing. I become hysterical. I am lured, enticed, bullied by the hallucinations. The devil and I are dancing once again. It doesn’t feel fair. But I am open to whatever is supposed to happen. Dead or alive.

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