A Lost Part

I often say that I don't remember much. That simple statement actually can go far; while I do have a lot of forgetfulness anywhere from long-term to just a few seconds ago, it can also span simply whole periods of my life. I'm finding this to be more and more partially true. Why is it not wholly true? I'm finding my brain has these massive reserves of memories, stored in abundance, but largely locked away. Anything can trigger a memory. I might watch a show with a schizophrenic character talking to a figment of his imagination, and I'll be warped back in time to a memory I didn't even know I had of a similar event, where I was talking to my very own figment of my imagination. I might smell an incense burning while in a dark room and be warped back to a time when I was laying on my bed in another house, incense burning, lights off, body spread across the mattress, crying and lonely, the mini-fountain on the desk gurgling and gasping like a fish out of water. That last memory is an example of memories that I'm brought back to enough that it becomes more or less ingrained in my mind. Suddenly, a forgotten moment can be a moment I can never forget, even after years of having forgotten.

I started watching a show called Perception. For those who don't know what Perception is, Wikipedia sums it up as:

Dr. Daniel Pierce, a talented but eccentric neuropsychiatrist, is enlisted by the Federal Bureau of Investigation to assist in solving some of its most complex cases in Chicago. Dr. Pierce works closely with Special Agent Kate Moretti, a former student who recruited him to work with the FBI. Also on the team are Max Lewicki, Dr. Pierce's teaching assistant and Natalie Vincent, his best friend.

The main character, Daniel Pierce, also has paranoid schizophrenia, which is the source of his interest in neuropsychiatry.

Daniel isn't on meds and has vivid hallucinations, primarily in the form of other, imaginary people whom he even converses with. These hallucinations often guide him to conclusions and truths that most would overlook. He has his problems, certainly, but he's functioning... He shows symptoms and has episodes, but he's functioning. His life, fiction or not, is exactly what I want for myself. To be a neuropsychiatrist lecturing at a college, appreciated for your unique, eccentric mind? That sounds like heaven to me. Perhaps the path getting there isn't so heavenly, as that's often where I meet my first and greatest roadblocks. For me, maintenance isn't even really an issue because I haven't gotten to any point to maintain - I've been unable to travel the path to somewhere, someplace, that I would need to maintain.

More and more, memories started popping up. It was stunning to me what that show could dredge up each episode. By the forth episode, I was welling up with tears, thinking about how dissatisfied I am with my life and how I feel like I lost, or gave up, a large part of me. Since the first day I woke up after taking meds for the first time, I felt an emptiness. I convinced myself that, with time, I'd get used to it and the feeling of emptiness would go away. I was right, for the most part. I did get used to my 'new life,' but I also started to forget my old one. When memories would (seemingly) randomly appear in my mind, I'd feel that emptiness all over again, as well as an immense, overwhelming feeling of longing. I longed to get those pieces of me back again.

Now, just what pieces am I talking about? For one, my 8 other 'personalities' that guided me through some of my darkest days. They were compartmentalisations of my various facets and made me make more sense to myself. It was easier to comprehend myself when I was separated into bite-sized chunks. The second would be the imaginary world I invented in my head that I could retreat to whenever something to overwhelming happened. There were numerous areas in that world that each served different purposes. The third thing would be my delusions and hallucinations which inevitably brought me to greater enlightenment and spirituality - enlightenment and spirituality that, I might add, has been strained and dwindled since those delusions and hallucinations disappeared. I can see how one would simply see this as me saying, "I want my insanity back!" I wouldn't argue with that. But insanity is... subjective and debatable, as is sanity. I actually functions drastically better before I was on meds, no matter how much anguish and emotional pain I endured. The biggest difference between then and now is that I could endure more than an ounce of pain and anguish. Now, I can't endure anything even remotely 'challenging.'

With what I know now, after my respite of 'sanity,' and from 'insanity,' I've gained enlightenment with a more levelled head than before, a kind of enlightenment that I simply couldn't have gotten before I was on meds. I'm grateful for all of the years that I was more or less 'stable,' but I want to go back 'home' now. Think of my time on meds as studying abroad. Sure, it's a wonderful opportunity, and there are plenty of people who'd rather stay abroad, but I think most people would eventually want to just come back home, even if it's been years. Well, I think I really want to go back home, now. Perhaps if I were off anti-psychotics and mood stabilisers, I could maintain some kind of functionality, return to school, finish my education, and get a career and a life. Right now, no matter how 'comfortable' I might be in comparison, I'm simply at a standstill. I'm chained down and unable to face anything that could even slightly push me forward.

I certainly want to hold onto the facets of the new me. I don't want to simply return to merely who and what I was, as if rewinding.. Rather, I want to maintain who I am now, and regain who I was, and then meld them together. My symptoms have been resurfacing more and more (though not anywhere around hallucinations or delusions), and I no longer have my defence mechanisms - my self taught tools - to deal with them. I sacrificed those when I tried to get this silly little thing called 'sanity.' I sacrificed my only means of actually surviving in the long-term. People saw me as 'improved,' but it was merely a limbo for me to get some things sorted that I couldn't before. Well, that limbo is crumbling and becoming more and more useless. Keeping me in a limbo-like state without any of the benefits simply freezes me in place, unable to move forward.

Sleep was an extraordinarily rare commodity before I got on meds. If I could find a way to sleep without having to use mood stabilisers and anti-psychotics, I think I'd be just golden. Sure, I'd open the floodgates, let in the monsoons, the hurricanes and tsunamis, but I'd actually be able to weather them. As I am now, I couldn't weather a mild drizzle! I'd be miserable, but I've always been miserable, so is that really a negative? Usually, when people rise up and know peace, they dread the thought of going back to that lower chaos they knew for their whole life before. I'm not usual, and that's not how I am. I see new, better, greater things and scoff at them, preferring my older, familiar but much lower quality things. I suppose that's how I am in life in general. I'd rather dwell in the dark, muddy depths than the bright, clean heights.

I need to talk to my NP and primary doctor... try to figure these things out.