Personal Narrative: I Am A Victim Of Mental Illness

I’ve always been passionate about understanding others; stepping into their shoes and seeing, thinking, and appreciating the lives they live. I think it is important to take that extra step and see things from a different point of view. It is the only way to achieve a true understanding. I believe in this philosophy so much so, that it’s one of the main reasons I have this blog; to give others a glimpse of a life with mental illness. I’ve been in treatment for 2 months and 26 days and I think it’s time for another peek into my brain.

I have schizophrenia and I live with schizophrenia. This is my story. I remember being a teenager and loving every bit of life from school work, my family, my dogs and my friends. I was always known for my positive attitude and energy and being the life of the group. This all started to change around the age of 13 or 14 for me. The voices began one late afternoon on my way home from school. At first I thought it was just my imagination until I realized there was no off button for them. The voices continued to appear from this day on and I gradually lost myself within them. I started to shelter myself from my family and friends and believed I was slowly losing my sanity. I was scared to share my experience with anyone so I kept to myself withdrawn from the world I once loved.

It’s a struggle to get out of bed sometimes, I often just sit there struggling to comprehend the sequence of events which have taken place over the past year. I mean, I’m used to this now, its normal to me, but the fact that this has happened and that I am now ‘disabled’ as people would put it is hard to get my head around. And every time I look down I’m reminded of the pain and the struggle I faced, it’s a physical scar which links me to my grueling past, a physical and emotional journey.

I am Simone Alexander. I have severe schizophrenia, but I take my medications regularly. I have been through a lot. Even in my condition, I still try to help out my community during the rough time I have been through. I care a lot about Hollywood, California, because I was raised here. I am such a high spirited, generous, and kind woman. I have been going through a 5 year hardship relationship with my on and off again boyfriend Lucas also known as Paw-Paw. Last night was horrific. The unthinkable was spoken. I was traumatized.

If you were to see me walking down the street you would never guess that I was in foster care. I dress and act like your everyday 17 year old, and in a way I am. Except I was placed in foster care when I was 15 years old. Scratch that I put myself in foster care when I was 15 years old. I bet you’re asking “why”? “Why would you do such a thing”? Well my mother was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia also known as disorganized schizophrenia. Just in case you don't know disorganized schizophrenia is characterized by incoherent and illogical thoughts and behaviors, so when you are 15 that's not a good situation to be in. My mother couldn't keep a job therefore she could not support us.

Bob is in a cop car going to the mental hospital for the 100th time. Bob is asking the police officer Aleck.

No one considered that Schizophrenia was the ailment that tormented my brother. We assumed it was just stress and anxiety that stole his nights, his sanity, and his joy. We all believed that it was just a phase my happy, go-lucky, comic brother would get over. After all, doesn't everybody go through these rough patches of their life, and like a phoenix tried through a fire, rise triumphantly? That was my hope for my brother. But as the days progressed, fatigue mixed with delusions consumed my brother’s thoughts and disrupted his ability to function. As a sister, I felt helpless watching my big brother, my hero, and my confidant going through the greatest battle of his life - mental illness. Episodes and psychiatric breakdowns were constant,

If you saw me how most people saw me, you would be too. But you don’t because you’ve only seen a part of me. You see what I mean?” That killed me. I thought about all the people I used to know. I thought I always did a pretty good job at being myself but I don’t remember at all, I really don’t. If I was less of myself and more of a phony then maybe all the other phonies would like me more, but I didn’t want to be a phony. I wanted to be me. Just then, the girl’s phone rang. It startled me and I nearly fell out of that goddam window. No kidding. She answered it and it turned out her sister and D.B.’s flight wasn’t as delayed as they thought it would be. I could hear the whole conversation because it was so goddam quiet where we were. When the call ended, the girl turned to me and smiled really nice and wide, which amused me. I was never really one to smile at all, but some part of me decided in that moment that I should smile right

Ever since technology was introduced, there had not only been a transformation in the people around me, but myself as well. It had not only innovated my personality, but also changed on how I view my friends and family. After all, i was always different than everyone else considering people often look at me in weird ways. Not about what color my skin was, but instead the way I’ve acted around others. In the end, I am a eccentric White-Cuban American who doesn’t act her race nor age, likes to play video games that are mostly violent or are psychological horror indie rpg maker games, who watches anime, binge watches YouTube way too much, and hates carrots.

When I heard that these disorders could also affected me resulting from major depressive disorder, I was still in denial mode. Then I came to realize that having MDD was only affecting me, but also affecting my family and my friends. I became a bother to them and also came to realization that I needed help. So I asked my parents to help me seek treatments to where I can get back to my normal self. My normal self was a person that was cheerful, always making jokes, happy, and just lived life to the fullest. I miss my normal self. The treatments that I had were very affective. The disorder that I was treated for is psychotherapy, where I talked about what is making me think negative thoughts and it allow discussing how I can improve on thinking

My first victim was my only victim. At the time she was only sixteen. She was a petite blonde child. You could see the fear reflecting in her eyes. She had no clue what was going to happen and to be honest I didn’t either looking back now. It started at school, walking the halls filled with teenagers but it felt as if I was completely alone. Then it spread to my splatter painted, dim lighted room. I would come home lay down and sleep all the way to the next morning never moving an inch out of place.

Numerous time I have “remodeled” my personality for others, all the while trying to be everyone’s everything. More often than not this led to disappointment and discouragement when I was rejected by the very individuals I wished to please. I am still covered in packaging, but personal freedom is real to me. Pieces of my personality shine through gaps in the paper. I have found people develop concepts of me, and no matter what I do they will always be there. I’ve come to accept and use these to identify myself. And if you conceptualize me, your perception will transform me into anyone you want. At the other end of the spectrum lies the complete chameleon: individuals anticipating the next request from their most popular patron. The personalities which are requested become companions. Lost in the abyss of packaging cultivated over they years, complex chameleons struggle for personal freedom. Genuiness doesn’t exist in such a

Sometimes I miss being sick; The grimiest part of me wishes I had stayed in that familiar city of gray and mental illness and whatever the opposite of healing is. Where there was nothing to laugh about, but plenty to write about. I've considered myself to be recovered from my eating disorder for three years, but I still write about it in present tense. And for once, I don't want to write about this. For the first time I am embarrassed, instead of proud of all of the mad things I've done for happiness. When a friend at dinner makes a casual comment on calories, the scoreboard in my head illuminates with numbers again. Once, I cut a ribbon the size I wanted to be and wore it around my waist like a bracelet. Bathroom scales make me feel nostalgic,

I have depression, OCD and other physical health problems, and, to be honest, nothing much good has come from the relentless struggle of every day. But I do feel that the one good thing that can come from it, is that I can truly and deeply emphasise with people going through very difficult and dark times, because I’ve been there, and often are still there. There can be a perception with some Christians that Christians shouldn’t have mental illnesses. The sense of shame people are made to feel only compounds all of their problems. So I can let people know that you don’t need to feel guilt about something that isn’t your fault. Some people are healed straight away, some over time, and some struggle with it for the rest of their lives, just like

A decent portion of my younger life was spent chasing after the great unknown; perhaps if I could experience the things that were a complete mystery to me, I would encounter that one moment that would change everything. I would have some insane adventure and waltz out the other side a completely different person; a better person. I guess that it can be said that I did, in fact, encounter that situation. However, it was in no way great and it lasted a lot longer than I thought it would.