Health knowledge made personal
Join this community!
› Share page:
Search posts:

Memories of my old neighborhood and my old terror

Posted Feb 09 2014 12:00am
Tonight I ate dinner at a Chinese place across the street from where I once lived. I lived there sometime in 2004. If I go through that place now the memories come back. I remember fear. Terror, is probably more accurate. Terror ran my life. I remember being lost. All the time. And trying to follow cues in messages all around me to figure out what I was supposed to be doing. I remember being utterly and completely alone with nobody I could really talk to about anything.

I drove down the little street tonight, the street where my shack-like efficiency was. Someone has Christmas lights on the window now. Someone lives there. When I lived there, my life was an utter nightmare.

I had a job as a secretary in an office down the street. With no car,  I would walk to work there every day, until they eventually fired me. I would hear messages, like children in a church/school yard yelling "Die, Anne! Die Anne!" because I thought I was Anne Frank sometimes.

Other times I thought I was L. Ron Hubbard - the founder of Scientology - or that I was a human "E Meter" - a tool of Scientology that they use to supposedly tell when people are lying, in this process they do called "auditing". I used to think I was meant to live in Clearwater because it was where the Scientology volunteers and the "Flag" base was located. I thought I belonged with them, until the day I waltzed into one of their buildings (as if  I did belong there), and they eventually escorted me out the door with security.

I remember this parking lot that I could see tonight from the Chinese place, where I had once gone and lied down in somebody's car. I can't remember really why I did that. I used to think I was supposed to do all kinds of things that make no sense in the real world.

I used to go to places where the messages told me to go to work, without pay, and without actually being hired and that the way you got paid was in "winning" things like houses and cars. I went to "work" one day at the deli counter of the grocery store in my neighborhood. I walked right into the back of the store, put on an apron, and went behind the counter. I don't remember what happened that led me to leave. Another time, I went to the Avis rental car place up the road. I put on a uniform in the back room and then went behind the counter to report to work. For the poor  woman who unfortunately really did work there, somehow I was scary. She started screaming for help from her coworker and picked up the phone to call the police. Confused, and scared, I ran out and left the uniform in a trash can at the bus station across the street.

Another time, I took the bus to a mall and went into the Marshall's department store to work. In the back room, a manager confronted me and I tried to come up with a lie (because clearly she was not in on the grand scheme of how things work), to explain my presence. She began calling the police, so  I ran out of there.

I didn't get a lot of pay for these "work" days. I did, however, eventually "win" a car. I thought I was Jesus at this time. There was an auto repair shop named JC as in Jesus Christ. I was in a bus, and the voices told me to get out and go there to get my Jesus car. I found an old Chrysler with the key in the ignition. I walked right up to it, somehow knowing it was meant for me. I was Christ, I thought, so obviously I needed a Chrysler.  I can't remember how long I kept that car for. Maybe a day or two. I left it in a parking lot that used to be right next to the Chinese food place I ate at tonight. I figured someone else was going to win that car, and I had an inkling that some police officer who wasn't in on how things work could use this incident of grand theft, auto, against me, even if I didn't know it was "stealing".

Other days, I walked to the library downtown. I would scan books, convinced that my brain had super powers and I didn't need to actually know what I was reading, I could just scan through a book in a minute and know all that it said. I read books in other languages. I read Scientology books. All of the Scientology books I could get my hands on. And those, I didn't just scan all the time. I would slow down and actually read those. But I thought when I was in the library that I was on missions to gather some kind of clues to what  I was supposed to be doing for the New World Order. So I always went with that purpose, that screwed up interpretation of "messages" coming from the ether, coming from nowhere, but meaning everything to me and the world I lived in.

I suppose going back to that old neighborhood like I did tonight is not the best idea. But I wanted to write about it, because I remember that terror. That fear that I was being zapped by electricity every time I was alone on my efficiency apartment. I remember the times the messages told me to go into my neighbors' apartments - and I did - while they weren't home. I remember the night I tried to drive my mom's car off the Skyway Bridge, and  I came home in a cab to that apartment and walked into my neighbor's unit, who was a man, and asked him to help me because I was hurt. He started yelling at me to get out of there. Other times a male neighbor took advantage of my confused state. Eventually my landlord evicted me while I was in the hospital on the psych ward, after my mom told him I had been committed under the Baker Act, and apparently all the neighbors reported me for entering their apartments. So I came out of that hospital trip with no apartment.

These are not fond memories. I wish that they never happened. But they did, and to honor my truth, and to honor the truth of the lives of every person living with psychosis on this planet who doesn't know they're living with psychosis - like I didn't know for many years - I need to tell the truth. This is my truth.
Post a comment
Write a comment:

Related Searches