8 December 2015
Life seems bleak and hopeless having spent yet another week in this depressing dark basement.
After months and years of battling the schizophrenic demon in me, it all goes round and round again. Sometimes disguised as a catatonic depressed manifestation, or a frenzied OCD maniac. a never ending conglomerate of endless struggles, blood and tears shed. The silvery glistening scars on my body subtly reminds me of both my triumph and defeat to the devil, who tries so hard to steal my life. He has not succeeded, and for that I am glad. But even if one day my mind slips like it does occasionally and he does succeed, I believe God and those around me ought to be proud of me still because I have fought a good fight, and I will finally be able to find peace with the Lord in eternity.
Incarcerated behind these metal grills, I spend hours and hours staring into the azure blue sky, listening to the cacophony of voices and wallowing in paranoia and irrational fear. The ill part of my mind torments itself, with bizarre thoughts and hallucinations conjured out of thin air. Buried deep underneath fragmented behavior and delusions, the sane me faintly cries out for someone to redeem me from this suffering. I fell and fell and tumbled down into the abyss and then drowned in my infinite sadness, the indescribable pain of being institutionalised, listening to the screams and wails from the other wards every other minute, while the others outside who are blessed with health and happiness go on with their life. Time seems to come to a standstill for us — trapped in a place where one witnesses the heart wrenching suffering of immensely strong individuals, some as young as 6 being tortured by demons lurking in their minds. Life goes by as usual. Yet what am I doing? Spending days and weeks and months in the ward, depleting my parent's medisave till they are in debt. I am sick just like any other with physical illnesses, yet insurance companies cruelly refuse to cover any illnesses of the mind.
Sometimes, people ask me what it is like for me to episodically live in a different world made up from my own mind. To put it bluntly, it is a living nightmare. Just like in a dream, the experiences come without any explanation and logic. And the worst part is, you don't know that what you are seeing and hearing is not real. Crippled by paranoia and paralyzed by fear, that is how I live most days, if not delusional and "insane". Examples of what I see include people's heads turning 180 degrees, blood flowing from people's eyes, imaginary people who follow me around and the list goes on and on...
It is wondrous, the complex workings of the human mind and the delicate fabric of reality. What constitutes the universal truth and "real world"? No one can say for sure. The world around me becomes even more daunting and hard to maneuver, taking into account the already established conclusion that I'm born on the wrong planet. What comes naturally for my peers is an uphill battle for me.
I wish I can complete my education in NUS High at the very least smoothly and happily, without giving the school and everyone too much trouble.
Despite persuasions and unrelenting explanations by my team, my parents refuse to accept that fact that their child is unfortunately sick and will always be different. To them, a diagnosis of schizophrenia and autism means no hope — the overwhelming stigma attached to the typically "crazy" behavior of psychotic patients and the shame and burden of being labelled as a special needs family. What they have not experienced is the support and love in this community of caregivers to special children who might never grow up to be independent and contribute to society, but are still beautiful creations nonetheless; as they strive to make the world a more inclusive place for us. (I have been to chapel of Christ our hope at St Andrew's Autism School, it was a comforting experience)
They choose to believe that I am afflicted by depression instead (might be true to a limited extent), which is to them a relatively benign condition that they reckon I will outgrow as the turbulence of the growing years dissipate. The prognosis is good for mood disorders, however in the case of neurobehavioral issues, severe illnesses that involve psychosis and personality disorders where fissures appear in the thin line between reality and illusion, it is more often than not a lifelong burden not only for the patient but for the caregivers too.
What will happen when my parents are gone and I am still sick. When the family's financial resources run out? One day I inevitably have to grow up and go to work and face the world, I can no longer rely on my parents and my medical team and the school to work things out for me. I can't just take MC every other day. Maybe one day when we really run out of options, like that KKH doctor advised my parents, they'll file BPC and hand me over to the court. Then... I don't know, I'll probably go to a children's home or BGGH.
Life is ambivalent, and I do not know if I want to continue living as such. But there is no way out lest I die.