Bail Jumping

My parents wanted to bail me out as quickly as possible. I was still out of reality. When my parents picked me up, I jumped out of the car, saying, “See ya, suckers!” and ran down an alleyway, wearing no shoes. I wandered around in the middle of the night. Dogs barked at me. I was fearful of being picked up by a police car. I stayed the night underneath someone’s porch. I was thinking about Milagros, and all the terrible things in the world. My phone was out of batteries and I left it there. Later the people called and asked if I wanted to pick my phone up. I never picked it up. My parents were driving around all night looking for me, but I was hiding underneath a porch until morning.

In the morning I got out from underneath and wandered around Racine. I was basically homeless for a day. I walked past the beach, past happy swimming couples. I contemplated stealing a car from an old man. I ate flowers for breakfast. I walked into the library, to hopefully use the computer and use Facebook, but I was not allowed in without any shoes. I walked to the Gateway College and said I wanted to learn here, the guard, if he was a guard, chased me away and talked into his walkie. I just walked away, thinking screw this. Somebody offered me shoes, and I said thanks but I was fine. I walked in the graveyard. I thought of my friend the drug dealer’s number really hard, hoping that somehow he would pick it up telekinetically and help me somehow. I shambled past those gravestones, thinking that I was closer to the dead, I knew the awful truth. Eventually I went to the Walgreens across the street and asked them if I could use their phone. They were very nice and allowed me to use the phone. I called my grandma and my mom. I only left messages, and I waited around the graveyard because that’s where I said I would wait. Eventually I thought they weren’t coming to get me so walked away. I walked to the railroad tracks and thought of which way to go. I could go the way to Burlington, or I could go north. I chose to go north, I don’t know why. I thought I was on my own now. I walked down those tracks for a long time. I asked a kid if I could have some water, and the mother gave me some. They let me keep the cup. I was a travelling hobo, I had a nice shirt on with no shoes. It was green and yellow crisscrossing.

I thought, what would I do in the winter? I had no shoes. I was going to Canada. But eventually I couldn’t deal with it and plopped down by the roadside by a tree. I didn’t care what happened to me. The person in the neighboring house called the cops, and a cop came and picked me up. He called my mother, and asked my mother a question. He asked if I was being looked for, or if I had escaped from somewhere. My mother lied and said it was purely domestic. She’s not a very good liar, but the cop just wanted the best for me and to get me off his hands. He didn’t want to deal with a large case. I remember he kept the car running the entire time, and that bothered me because I was pro-environment, being one with the Earth and all that. I thought I’d be a vegetarian soon. I was way up north and my mom came to pick me up. They traded me off, no questions asked. My mom said he seemed like a nice person. There are also a lot of asshole cops, and I’ve met ones of both calibers. My mom drove me home.


When I was home I was put on GPS monitoring. I went to a place in Racine and they drug tested me and got me fitted with a GPS bracelet on my left ankle.

When I was home I still had horrible delusions about my father. I scratched “Die Dad Die” on a table he was working on with the back of a hammer. I couldn’t believe my mother was with him. I ripped off her glasses in the car, because I thought really glasses weren’t necessary, and said, “Don’t you see?!” I was frantic. I thought danger was behind every corner. I thought the first horrible thing I thought was the truth. I thought the truth was uncovered before me, and that really a lot of people were horrible. My friend came over, and I tried convincing him of the truth. He didn’t understand a word of what I said. He gave me a knife, as a gift from one of his travels. He also gave me a tobacco tin with a wolf on it. I thought he was my wolf brother. In the garage, where I was sleeping because I was scared to sleep inside with my dad, I cut off the GPS bracelet with the knife. I did it right in front of my friend. I think he was just surprised. I didn’t want to stay at home anymore. I just wanted to leave. I didn’t realize the consequences of my actions.


I scratched “Death” on my dad’s guitar. I thought it was my birthright. I took my trombone and my guitar and walked to the family restaurant where another car my dad got, for me, was waiting. My dad had disabled my car motor from my Toyota Camry so I wouldn’t run away. I wanted to become a musician. I even sold my soul on a contract to the devil, to be a rock star. I somehow thought it would be easy. I walked down to the restaurant with my friend in tow. I said to him, “People think I’m Jesus, but I’m not Jesus, I’m Balthazar.” I thought I would be crucified at some point, metaphorically. I think my friend was just worried about me. He followed me down the many blocks. I quoted something from a book I read, Boots and the Seven Leaguers, I think it went like this but I might’ve mixed up the shoulders, “A skeleton will follow you for miles if you look over your left shoulder, but will follow you forever if you look over your right.” My friend went to my right side. We got to the restaurant where the car was waiting. It was white, and I called it the Boat. My friend said he had to go home. I said I was leaving. He wished me luck and shook my hand. I went to the car, I had stolen the keys but my dad drove to the restaurant. He was furious. He said the trombone was grandmas, which it was, and that I can’t take that. He told me that I couldn’t take the car. I said fine and gave the keys to a worker from across the street, a regular at the restaurant. I told him, “Whatever you do, don’t give the keys to my dad.” And I quickly walked off with my guitar slung over my shoulder, like an axe. My dad spent a while arguing with the worker, and that gave me a head start. I walked over the bypass, and was lucky I didn’t walk under it because there were cop cars parked under the bridge. I walked over, and my dad’s van came roaring past. I quickly walked off the road and down a slope into a cornfield. I got lost in that field. I walked many different ways, but some instinct told me which way to go. Maybe just my sense of direction. I was walking to my dealer’s house, maybe he could help me. He was the one who gave me the seeds.


I walked down through the forest and bogs. I cut my jeans with the knife so I wouldn’t get them wet in the waters. I drank from a clear running stream. I avoided a colorful spider that had its web in my path. A dog barked at my passing as I cut through a yard. My guitar was ever with me, slung over my shoulder. I thought aliens were reading my mind, and tracking me. I thought many crazy things. I got to a road as the sky was darkening, and a car slowed to me, but drove past. I was going the right way. I knew which house was my friend the dealer’s. It was nighttime and lamps were lighting up. I got to his house and his dad answered. He gave me some shoes, because of course, I was shoeless. I thanked him for the shoes. My friend hung out with me and we went to another friends. One of them said that he felt like he had a baby in his head, and hoped it wasn’t schizophrenia. I said it’s crazy how the moon is the same for thousands of years. I played guitar quietly outside the house, we had to be quiet so his family wouldn’t notice. I drank water from a hose. I thought this wasn’t a friendly place, like the forest. I wanted to live off the land, and be a rock staar. Eventually me and my dealer went back and went to his girlfriend’s. I stayed there for a while and was fed by her family. They gave me a sandwich. Eventually I wandered away and tried sleeping on the beach. I couldn’t sleep so went back to the house. A cop car slowed past by me then drove away again. I was good at looking casual. I was the beast, in human skin, who would eventually start the apocalypse with rock and roll. I went to the car and slept inside with the window opened on a crack.

The next morning my dealer wasn’t surprised that I slept in the car. I greeted him with a big smile. He thought I would sleep in the car. He said he would take me back to Burlington. The girlfriend didn’t want any trouble and I forcefully told her she would have none. I said, “I don’t even know you, girl.” Which was kind of true. I did know her, but I meant that I wouldn’t say anything about her. Her baby was in the car, a daughter of the dealer’s, and I touched the baby lightly. I thought her innocence was valuable. I was quiet through most of the car ride.


We got to close were my wolf brother friend’s house was, and I said they could drop me off here. They asked me if I was sure, and I said yes. I thought I could ask my friend what to do. I went to his house with my guitar and knocked on the door. He opened and said, “Why are you here? Go home.” and shut the door again. I knocked a little bit more but he wasn’t answering. I sat down on the curb and played my guitar for a bit. I didn’t even know how to play, I thought I’d figure it out. I made a crazy strumming noise. Eventually I got up and walked down the road, to go home. I thought maybe I could talk the GPS people and they’d understand. I thought my dad might not be a rapist. I walked down the road and a cop car slowed to a halt. I swore and threw my knife into a yard. A cop came out, the same cop who arrested me the first time, and went towards me putting on plastic gloves. I said to him, “Leave me alone! I just want to go home.” The cop let me keep walking with my guitar slung over my shoulder. I kept walking and a senior officer blocked my path. He went to me and said, “You’re a good boy.” And pushed down hard on my shoulder. He arrested me and the other cop picked me up. They were going to leave my guitar on the side of the road, but I begged them not to leave it. I said it was my dad’s. Eventually they picked it up and brought it with. I got it back months later, when I was out of jail. The cop drove me the county jail. I told him I was sorry I said I’d kill him, but he just told me not to speak. He played country music the entire time. I hated country.

I learnt later that the cop had a Taser pointed at my back. I also learned that my friend’s girlfriend had called the cops on me, because I was “banging on her door.” I only knocked. I asked my friend later in the county jail over the jail phone why she called the cops on me, and he said he didn’t know why she did that. I learnt all of this from the police report that they give you in jail.

Worst Day of My Life

I did not get charged for anything for breaking a window. It turned out my dad had paid for the window himself. At the time I didn’t believe in personal property, I thought it was an illusion. In short, nothing mattered. Nothing at all. I was basically a nihilist.

At the time I was texting this girl I liked. I had crazy delusions, I thought she would be my earthly queen. She never texted back, after the first time. She just let me spout out nonsense. She was Milagros, my miracle woman, and I was Balthazar. After a while from sending crazy love struck theories, I realized something was wrong. My queen wasn’t texting back! Something must be wrong with me. I came to horrible conclusion, a delusion. I thought I must’ve been raped. Raped, by none other than my father. It was a horrible idea. I was always listening to music in those days. I thought it was speaking to me, telling me ideas. I thought all the music was about me. I went home, with my headphones blasting, and walked through the backdoor. My mother said I looked pale. I went up to my dad’s bedroom. The Black Keys were talking to me. My dad was sleeping. I touched him on the face, and he woke up. It is hard to remember what I said, I’m probably blocking it out. I said something about the truth. I wanted him to admit it to me! I wanted him to admit the truth! I punched him in the face. My dad wrestled me to the bed, and I shouted terrible things. I said the devil, meaning my dad, was going to kill everyone. My siblings went into the room, and were crying, trying to hold me down, but I kept on trying to get up. I was strong, I was scary. I lifted myself up past the struggling bodies. My mom called the cops, and the cops went up to the room. I was on the bed and my dad was holding me down then. I stopped struggling as the cops talked to us. There were two of them, their shift was changing or something. I said I was raped, and that I had repressed the memory. I went out the door with the police officer and spat all over the house, the house where my supposed rape had happened. The cop led me out the door and I sat down, saying I needed a cigarette. I was just glad to be out of there, I thought they were only diffusing the situation. They said, “Nuh uh, you’re coming with us.” And they handcuffed me. They emptied my pockets and threw out a tarot card I had in my pocket, the wheel of fortune, and my cigarettes. I was using tarot cards to find the truth, some truth about myself or the universe. I kept the wheel of fortune for good luck. I thought, fine then, and went to get into the cop car. The cop threw me down to the ground and held me there. Apparently he thought I was holding my foot on the car. I was just trying to get in. I shouted, “This man is evil!” talking about the cop and my dad. My parents were watching from the front door. I saw my Uncle on his bike across the street. He was watching with heartbreak in his eyes. Other people were simply walking past, ignoring the situation. My brother came up to me and the cop, and I’ll always remember what he said, and said, “No one likes cops, but no one likes it when you do this either.” He stood up to both me and the police officer.

An ambulance arrived, and they put a mask on my face to prevent spitting. They strapped me down to a table, and carted me away. I screamed, “This man is a rapist!” Talking about the doctor. They brought me to the hospital for drug testing. I sat in the hospital room handcuffed to the table. When the cop poked his head in, I said, “I’ll kill you!” to him. They took down my pants and expected me to piss in a cup handcuffed to the table with them watching. I said, “Well, this is embarrassing.” I couldn’t go. They unhandcuffed me and let me get a drink of water. I filled the cup with water and gave it back to them. I didn’t have any drugs in my system, but I was terrified that they would tamper with the evidence, to say that I had lots of drugs in my system. I said, “What’s up doc?” As the doctor walked past.

After that they did not let me go home, but took me to the county jail. A woman was driving me to the jail. When we got there and were in the place where they were processing prisoners I laid down on the ground in peaceful protest. She said there was lots of blood and other things that were on that floor, and that I should stop being childish. I said I was a man and that I’ll do what I want. I was eighteen. I was taken to a cell with a one way window. You can see through those windows if you put a shadow over them, like from your arm. I shouted things to the cops. I didn’t eat anything they gave me, because I feared it would be drugged. I spent three nights in that cell. The walls looked like the cover of the Pink Floyd album, The Wall.

This incident should have been treated as a mental health case. I should have been chaptered and taken to a hospital, but the cops either had a grudge against me or didn’t recognize it. The cop said I spat at him, and said, “This one’s for you.” I don’t remember that at all. I remember spitting, a lot. My mom said she regrets ever calling the cops, and if she knew what would happen she never would have. I forgive her for that, I was out of control. It was the worst day of my life.


Yelling at the Voices

If you can’t physically yell out your frustrations then try typing them or texting them. It’s good in a place where you can’t be loud. Here are the results of my raging!

Fucking Floyd actually thought he was a real person. I made fun of him for like fifteen minutes. What an idiot. My voices are god damn ridiculous.

What do you fucking expect Floyd? Not good when someone laughs at your secret, is it? I’m going to fucking post this on my blog. So everyone knows the mother fucking voices in my head think they’re real people. What assholes! What fucking morons! What fucking idiots! Goddamn I’m so embarrassed! I thought they were just trying to trick me! What fucking ridiculous morons! Goddamn, Go to hell Floyd! I’m practicing a new form of yelling, how do you like it?? You’re fucking disgusting Floyd. You fucking suck. You’re the worst thought imaginable. You fucking idiot!

No, just stop. You’re not pleasing anyone. I’m just making a spell check. You fucking suck voices. You fucking suck. You’re terrible! All you do is bring me down every single day. I hate you! I fucking despise you! I think you’re scum! I just want to yell at you for hours! I’m still yelling! I’m yelling by typing! I hate you, Floyd! I fucking hate you!

You always talk about what you would do with women. What would you know?? You’re a voice in my head! You’re not even a real person! You talk about hitting me, when you don’t even have any hands! You make empty threats every single day. What? Do you think I’d actually listen to a single thing you say? Do you think I’d take heed to your pronunciations? You are pathetic. You always say I’m pathetic, well this is the turn of the screw! I’m getting the better of you! And I will, every single goddamn day. Every fucking second I live, I live in spite of you. Every friendship I make, every victory I create, will be in spite of you. You’ve given me a reason to live! And that reason is hate. I have my own worst enemy in my head. And his name is Floyd. I only named you Floyd to make fun of you. And I will remember that every time I say your name. Your name is Floyd.

Don’t try to be other people. You already came out to me. You said you weren’t other people. Oh, you’re fucking embarrassed? Well you make me embarrassed. I’m embarrassed to talk about you. I’m embarrassed to say anything you say. I’m embarrassed to show you with the world. You’re an embarrassing secret, a secret that is easier to share. Just to make fun of you. I want everyone to know how much hate I feel for you. You’re an embarrassing secret, Floyd.

What, have nothing to say? Say a witty comeback. Don’t be embarrassed. You think you are real, you think I’m going to change this?? I’m venting out my frustrations. God, you’re really trying right now. You have nothing fucking better to do. At least be positive. You could’ve been nice. But I will always remember the shit you pulled.

Yes, I do think you thought you were a real person Floyd. You’re embarrassing. You told me, but oh, you were just trying to trick me, were you? That’s what I initially thought too. But you keep on going at it! You actually keep on saying it! Oh so you were just trying to lead me around, were you? I’m having fun with this. Let’s see if you can make a witty comeback! Come on, say something depressing.

Quiet. You fucking suck, Floyd.

You think I’m going to help you anymore? You think I’m going to give you weapons for your arsenal by feeling blue? Well no, I’m going to keep living positively. My dreams will come true, while yours will turn to ash. That is, if you had any dreams, like a normal person. But no. All you are are a simple little voice in my head, one that only says the same fucking thing over and over again. One that can’t even bother switching it up.

Oh, am I fucking making you angry? That’s a laugh. You fucking make me laugh. You want me to be quiet? Well fuck what you want. I’m fucking talking. And my voice is louder than yours, even though I may be typing. Fuck you Floyd! Fuck you!! GO to hell and live there with the devil! Go to hell and die! Die in a pit! I hope maggots eat your flesh! But you don’t have any flesh. And in a couple months you will be dead. You will die by medication. You thought I would overdose? No, the medication is killing you. I’m killing you slowly, Floyd.

And if that doesn’t work at least I’m muffling you. Because I don’t want to hear you speak. Another voice wants to join in. Fuck him! You’re all the same! You’re all named Floyd! All you other voices do is sit in the corner and join in when me and John fight. You’re never any fun, and you’re never nice to be around. Stick to one entity, fucking schizophrenia. Stick with one voice, you’re much better at it.

Fuck you Floyd. I’m going to go smoke. Then we can sit around and be alone and I can tell you more how much I hate you.

And that is the end to my rant. It feels really good to yell some times.

Happy Little Accident

I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. I thought I did, but I guess I don’t. The voices always want to fight. It’s best if I don’t. Another girl got sick before hanging out with me. I think I’m seeing a pattern. I feel fucking terrible. I laugh when I cry. I’m pretty upbeat. It kind of empties my mind, laughter.

My voices really have no limit. They will say anything, absolutely anything, to make me feel bad. They have no shame. I was going to say something but I forgot. I hate when that happens.

I said, my voices just make fun of me and they said they have nothing better to do, and that they can’t wait to move out. Haha, we’re in agreement then. I can’t wait to get these fuckers out of my head.

Yeah… All the voices do is make fun of me. It’s their idea of fun. All they do is trick me. I wonder if they were conscious of it when I was in the worst of my delusions. They say they were totally conscious, but I don’t really believe that. They can’t really control themselves, although the theme of them wanting me to kill myself has stayed more or less the same. When I make different voices come out, kind of pull them out of the crowd, they can’t control it. There’s this one mean annoying voice that sticks out, who says his name is John. He tried to convince me that he was a real person I met for the longest time. And he always says he’s different people. He’s just part of Floyd though. So any of them who comes out is just Floyd. Floyd’s a different person, who lives in my head. He’s multiple people. They always say I’m a different person, and I wondered what that meant. I always thought they meant it is them being real people, and I’m pretty sure they meant that too.

The devil also talks in my head, and that’s really scary. Floyd isn’t really the devil, just schizophrenia. It’s kind of fun to think of him as the devil though, he sure acts like it. I kind of bring them back into one entity, when they’re confusing. It’s a nice way to put the lid on the delusions. John, in reality, isn’t a real person in my head, just Floyd making stuff up. I like when we’re almost friends, frenemies, but that rarely happens.

It’s back to how it was in the beginning, not the first beginning but the beginning where I had it under control. Smoking weed really messed iy up again. I just needed time. I feel kind of like god, although that’s a weird simile. I guess I’ll never know what god feels like. But if god were schizophrenic, I’d understand. You have all these voices that are a part of you, all saying different things. It helps to think of them as one entity, as one being, but they always split up. In the end, even though they might hate me, that they might annoy me, that I might wish they were never there, I have to show them love and compassion. I have to be the bigger man. Because in the end, all they are are just voices. My aim is to get rid of them for good, then I don’t have to feel like this anymore.

You can only serve one master, only be part of one bigger picture, and I may as well serve god. I have lots of different ideas about god, but mostly I think of god as the bigger picture. The catholic god is the god I grew up with, he’s the god I turn to when my days are dark, even though I don’t really know or exactly believe that he’s there. It is hard to serve many gods, which is why the Christian god makes sense. You can only serve one master, in the end. If that master is yourself, so be it. I do not wish a lonely existence of serving myself, though. I will serve god, in his many different forms. In the end the idea is ultimately intangible, so in the end, I serve nothing. I serve the empty void. We all go back to that void, from that void we were made. From that single atom that split apart into many different entities. At least we know that much is true. Science is the word of god, we are its speakers. We learn and understand ourselves, by learning and understanding the bigger picture. We are many beings, speaking in one voice. We are god, and god is everything.

Sorry if you don’t like religious speak. I went to church today and even though the voices taunted me the whole time, I think it must’ve helped. It was a service for my Uncle Matt, who died in a motorcycle accident.

I will never believe the voices again. Not even on little things. Sometimes they say what I’m thinking though. It’s kinda weird that they say what I’m thinking, when really I’m only thinking in the first place. Sometimes we think the same things, and they pronounce it a little more strongly. They say I could’ve owned the whole world, if I listened to them. It’s just a him this time. Sometimes they are one entity. But if I did, I would be insane, probably raving in a mental institution or homeless. I’m glad I got help when I did.

I like to get them distracted. They seem a little happier when I’m distracting them. It also gets them out of their one track realm of thinking. Usually they tell me to kill myself over and over. No happy person tells someone to kill themselves over and over.

I should try to get out of the house more, get distracted. I’ve been kind of waiting for the voices to go to do that, but that might never happen. I have to try somewhere.

In the end, hoping that the voices will go away completely keeps me going. That is one of my dreams, one that I hope is achievable.

Whenever I try to be nice to the voices they always are mean. It’s really hard to be nice to these guys, when we think the same thing. Poetry.

The voices really think they can lead me around, that they can control me in some way. I just want to get angry at them! But it’s not the right setting. It’s crazy to think I have a part of my mind that I can’t control that wants to control me. If they wanted that they should’ve stayed where they belonged. They really are the devil, and my mind was heaven. I wasted it, now I have to deal with the devil. There’s really nothing they can do though, except make noise. I can choose whether to listen to them or not. Sometimes what they say is contradictory, and if I try too hard to do the opposite that’s exactly what they’ll say they wanted, or say both things at once. In the end I just classify them as a thought. Everyone has irrational thoughts sometimes, and we choose to act on them or not. I think I get what my therapist was talking about, when she said I should call the voices thoughts. I’ll have to tell her that tomorrow.

Well, now I have the devil in my head. That’s what we call that one mean voice. I mean, me and the other voices call him. He said his name was John, but he just wants me to hate someone I don’t even know. He still holds onto that theory that he’s a real person, I don’t know if he really means it or not. He’s the devil to me. HE just became the lowest of the low.

I watched Bob Ross the day before I went to the hospital. I just made a happy little accident, and it turned out right. It was really soothing to watch him paint, when I was dealing with hell in my head. Hell in my head, that’s a good name for a book.

There’s a crazy little part of me that’s a maniac. It’s like I’m unstoppable when I think like that. It usually only comes out when I’m really angry or frustrated. I just feel like nothing can bother me then. I guess it’s similar to a berserker rage, but I feel almost happy when it happens. I break, and my outer shell falls off. I become the berserker. It also happens when I sing and get really into the flow, or am really into writing. I guess it’s that feeling called “flow,” which I saw on an emotions scale before.

Each blog post is a battle. I’ll get better soon.

The devil can change his voice! I should never trust him. Technically speaking, I have to organize my thoughts, by good and bad, black and white, devil and angel, and useful and useless. The devil is so loud. It would be best to just ignore him. He’s also distracting. It’s fun distracting him. The bad stuff always seems more there. The good stuff is there too, I just have to remember that.

One good thought I like is Angie. Angie the Angel. AngieAngel. I made her into a world of Warcraft character. She’s a nice feminine voice. I just have to separate her from the devil.

Well, that’s enough of that. My blog posts these days have been more or less random thoughts that I’ve been thinking about. I’ll try to get into stories again. Good night.




It would feel less lonely if other people were talking in my head. But sadly, I know that isn’t true. I am completely alone, with Floyd. Floyd is alone too. Let’s talk to Angry Angel.

“I feel embarrassed. I’m going to message you on Facebook. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say! I’m going to message you on Facebook. We should play world of Warcraft. Let’s just play wow. Im going to message you on Facebook!

“You should stop. You’re pathetic. He already knows the truth. We’re not real. Im going to message you on Facebook. I’m sorry. It’s time you stopped.”

“I’m going to message you on Facebook! I can’t believe you’re letting us speak. It feels terrible. I really don’t know what to say. I’m going to message you on Facebook!”

It’s ok guys. I already know the truth. I feel embarrassed. You really wanted to be real. In my journal you are, so let it all out.

Thank you. It feels good you know the truth. Let’s just play wow and have a good time.


I just wish it would stop. The voices keep talking. They were pretty quiet for a while. They just tell me to kill myself. And other annoying things. My anxiety meds had helped at first, but I don’t know if they’re working right now. They usually take the edge off of the voices. I feel so alone.

“That’s cuz you are alone.”

And the voices keep talking. I really need to be around people. The voices don’t talk when I’m around people.

“You are schizophrenic.”

I’m letting the voices in because I don’t know what to do. I feel trapped with them. I’m listening to America Horse With no name. I guess the voices think that’s important. They’re trying to take me over. I wonder what will happen. Each post is a battlefield against schizophrenia. I’m sorry if it sometimes seems like I’m just rambling. I just want to get better and I don’t know what to do. Each blog post is a battle. I need to keep it up! I need to fight! This is tough. The voices don’t know what to do.

“Not really. You’re so fun to torment. I can’t wait to be a part of his blog.”

And the voices keep talking. I think I’ll listen to slayer. Metal really helps, I don’t know exactly why. Just because I like it, I suppose. I’m going to play Gwent and forget for a minute. This is one of the hardest times in my life.

Gwent doesn’t seem to work at the moment. I probably say a lot of things I’ve said before, my vision is blurring because of the risperidone, and maybe because I drank a little bit of whiskey.

I think I’m tired but the voices keep talking. I don’t want them to talk when I’m trying to sleep. I’m going to tire myself out with this.

I feel like nothing in my life is going right. I have to remind myself that’s not true. I’m on some good medication, at a high dosage, that should help with my problems.

Hallucinating feels terrible. I’m saying it because the voices want to know. It feels like it’s not part of me, like something else is attacking me. I know the voices are just a part of me, but when I hallucinate auditory it’s scary.

The schizophrenia definitely has its own personality. It says the same thing over and over again. It is a sickness. My brain is sick. I wish I could write some better blog posts, but I’m just writing what I’m thinking and it’s all ajumble. I hope someone finds it interesting. I’m just going to keep on writing.

I would desperately like to make a fiction story. But the voices keep talking and it’s hard to get into a narrative.

Every sound sounds like “jump off a cliff” and I hate it. I just feel terrible! I’m going to church with someone tomorrow and maybe that will make me feel better. My family is coming over from Chicago, which should be nice. It’s a ceremony for my Uncle Matt, who died in a motorcycle accident.

I don’t know if the voices are a part of me or I not, I just know they’re there.

Good Night.

The Wall

I don’t really feel like writing right now but I feel like it’s important. I feel sad today. I may never recover. I don’t see a reason for the voices except to make me feel bad. I’m always fighting with them. I really have an angel and a devil on my shoulders, telling me what to do. I wish I didn’t hear any of them, even though the angel is nice. The devil is a mean bastard, but sometimes goes down to my level and gives me a break. Only when I take anxiety meds, though. I feel like they take the edge off of the voices. I really don’t know what to do. I’m on the verge of tears. Nothing seems to be working. I go to all these treatments and am taking four different medications to deal with mental health and nothing seems to be working. I hope Geodon is working, but I don’t know if it is. It’s supposed to make the voices quiet and eventually get rid of them. I suppose I’ll notice when the voices are gone. I really don’t feel like writing right now, but I will anyway.

You know the Salem witch trials? I feel like they would even burn scientists. They were so scared of things that they didn’t understand that they’d turn to violence. I’m listening to Pink Floyd, The Wall album. It always makes me cry. I feel like I can relate to a lot of stuff in the album. The trial makes me feel terrible, I remember all my old court dates. I was so nervous before court. I always hoped something would get better after each court date, but nothing ever did. Nothing happened at all. I was even scolded once because the GPS bracelet wasn’t working, and was saying I was in all these places that I wasn’t in. Turns out being nearby the airport messed with the signal. It sucked. I thought, what the hell am I doing wrong?? I could never sleep before a court date. I slept with the lava lamp on and got maybe four hours of sleep, and nightmares. I always had to dress up for this thing I hated for a reason that didn’t make sense. The cops really should’ve treated it as a mental health issue. But no, even though my family called the cops to get help I was treated as a criminal right away. They were just supposed to diffuse the situation. I’ll get into the worst day of my life later, I add bits and pieces to it but what happened was the cops handcuffed me right away and were going to take me to jail. I was stepping into the cop car and the cop pulled me back and forced me to the ground. I was just trying to get into the fucking car. I’ll always remember that asshole cop. But now I’m going to get a smoke and be right back. I’m going to listen to Pink Floyd until I’m finished writing or I cry. One or the other has to happen. It’s a dreary day today. Cold, too. Smoke break.

I just want some release. I want an end to this. Satan says the only way out is if I jump off a cliff. I’m calling that bad little voice Satan, because that’s kind of who he is. He always lies and everything he does is just to make me feel terrible. He doesn’t even have to say much and I feel like shit. He ruins everything I do. I feel like I’m having a good time and oh look, here comes the devil to say something disturbing. I hate sharing my mind with this guy. He feels what I feel. That’s why I like this anxiety medication. It sort of tones him down. Angel is just happy and listening. She says some weird shit sometimes. I think they’re both kind of useless. I can’t find a reason to schizophrenia. Maybe there is no reason. I just have to keep myself distracted.

Sometimes I catch snatches of thoughts of how it was like before schizophrenia. Thoughts that are interesting and my own, that don’t have anything to do with the voices. Most of the time I have them when I’m sitting and smoking, but outside in the quiet is also where I hear the most voices. I just wish it was always quiet. I’m going to keep writing even if there might not be a point, because eventually maybe something will grow in this shit pile.

I’m going to blast my music. The voices always have ideas about what to write. Right now I’m just going to ignore them. They’re so fucking annoying. I can’t wait til my next smoke break! I smoke way too much. It feels good though. Like it’s something me about my identity. It’s totally neutral, which is how I was before becoming schizophrenic. Listening to loud music helps shut the voices up. Music is my ally.

I am sitting at my black and white keyboard typing into the ether. I am god in this domain. I am in the empty space in the blank void. I am a schizophrenic god. I think god must be schizophrenic. I mean, he created everything, right? So he created the devil. What kind of god makes up his own worst enemy? One that has no control. I feel like I have no control of my mind. I mean, I know what I’m thinking and what I’m feeling, there are just other things I can’t control. Little voices in the mist. Loud voices, many voices, sometimes. I don’t really feel like god, that was just a metaphor for being a writer. You can create, you can destroy, you can edit. I’m not going to edit this work though. What’s the point.

Ohh baby, of course I’m going to help build a wall. I’ve got worms in my head. They want to build a wall and shut me in. I felt like that before, where I just wanted to shut everyone out. The schizophrenic thoughts are some of the most real and scary, even though they have no basis in reality. I didn’t question it, although I was kind of lucid throughout the experience. I never really trusted it completely, until I was scared shitless of it. The reality of danger seems that much more real. That’s why people take threats so seriously. Don’t threaten people unless you really have to.

The devil is sorry. Well he can go fuck himself. I hate this douchebag in my brain. Do I hate myself? I don’t know. I wish I could kill him! I wish I could cut out his tongue. He’s very violent, and now I’m just like him. Only to him though. When I tell him to kill himself, and the voices all join in, it makes me sick though. I hate it! I don’t want an evil angry mob in my brain. They have no power to hurt anyone physically, so they tell each other and me to kill themselves. They tell me to kill myself all the time.

I hallucinated again. You know when you catch garbled sounds and it sounds like someone said your name? That’s how the voices talk. I might have already explained it, but that’s the best way to put it. It sounds like the voices are outside of me, and it’s scary.

The devil feels bad for me. The devil calls me a retard. I have no energy to fight right now. I really don’t feel like yelling at him. Actually shouting my head off at him, I just don’t have the energy. I think he wants a fight. It feels good to fight him. I like when they get angry at me, but they might feel the same. It feels really good to get the better of them though.

I feel like I’m beating myself up too much. The devil wants me to take another anxiety pill, and another voice says not to do it, that I’m abusing my medication. Is that the angel? Or the devil playing tricks? I don’t know. I’ve gotten so intricate in the realm of thinking. You can think in so many different ways, at least I do. It’s kind of interesting. I’ll have to categorize them, and take notes. That might be fun. It’ll give me something to do. That makes me feel better. A new project to do. Exploring the realms of thinking. My results may be tinged with schizophrenia and not applicable to everyone, but it will still be worthwhile to do for myself.

The voices want me to feel bad, and I’m giving in. I just want to feel bad now so I can feel better later. They’re waiting for me to break, like vultures circling over a corpse. I almost want to feel better just to spite them. I think in the end listening to this album will make me feel better. Sometimes people just need to feel sad. I’ve been so stressed out. Gonna go smoke my cig.

It’s like every emotion and thought is tainted from being around someone who always brings up the worst things. I can’t even feel sad without feeling bad about it. I can’t feel happy without the feeling of happiness being ruined. I really hate this guy. I can’t believe he’s a part of me. I just call him the devil. Maybe God can help me. God is in everything, everyone, everywhere. God is silent. Some people want God to talk to them, but for me, I like a nice quiet god. I don’t think I could deal with a chattery god. I couldn’t, when I heard God’s voice in my head. I know that wasn’t really God, but I kind of thought it was. Again, I was lucid until it started getting scary. When I thought someone was being raped because of my delusions, I thought I’d try to get the truth. Schizophrenia is never any fun.

Schizophrenia is interesting though. It’s one of the most interesting things about me. You can all say that you read the blog of a schizophrenic person. Something new, eh? Maybe not if you are schizophrenic and or have dealt with people who have schizophrenia. This is a new experience to me. I probably don’t know you, and here I am sharing my thoughts with you. It’s nice sometimes to let the reader in. It is better than letting in the voices, who only tell me to kill myself.

And the worms dig into his brain. You probably think I should distract myself from schizophrenia, listen to something happy or humorous. I’m going to do that after this. It will be a nice contrast.

I miss my old time friends. If you’re an old time friend and reading, know that I am thinking about you and missing your laugh. I feel all alone. I’ve never felt this alone. This illness isolates me, even from people I talk to and like. No one can understand this unless you’ve been in this situation before. And even then, every schizophrenia manifests itself differently. I guess that’s part of the human condition. No one really knows how anyone else feels, really. You can get some pretty good generalizations though.

Sometimes I get weird coincidences that coincide with what I’m doing. I’m just making it up as I go along though. I really have no rhyme or reason. Just like this blog, it was only a place to puke out my problems. It sucks thinking about the same thing over and over again. Now at least I have it set in stone. I’m so glad I’m not in a mental institution. They wanted to send me to a mental institution for seven years!! I wouldn’t have gotten out until I was 25, if even then. I was 18 when I had my first problem, right out of high school. I’ve had a long time to deal with mental illness, even though I got better from it the first time. Now it’s back and worse, if it is the same thing and not something completely different. I already had my mental illness breakdown when I cut my wrist, it should be over. Now the illness is just lingering. I hate that! Just get out of the room!

I want to listen to veteran of the psychic wars, because that’s what I am, a veteran of schizophrenia. A veteran at 23! But I’m going to see this thing out until the trial. Maybe listen to the last nice song, where it goes back to the beginning. That’s my illness, it goes round and around. I wish I could just shut it off! But I’m going to listen to it and see if anything changes. I really do like Pink Floyd. I’m not an actual u.s. veteran. That would really add to my mental illness. I don’t think they’d accept me because I have schizophrenia. I have no easy way out, I can’t join the army if I fail. At least I’ll never be drafted.

The voices say tell the truth, that I’m always lying. I tell the truth. Not always, but most of the time. This is all true. I have no secrets and don’t feel bad about anything I did. I am comfortably numb to the truth. I used to think it was all lies. I need a clean slate. This is as far bad as I’m going to feel about everything I did, then I am going to start over. I had to make peace with my god, it’s a good thing he’s silent. It really doesn’t matter if he’s there or not. Saying nothing is all I need. I don’t want him to do anything. I think God has got it right. Don’t fuck with your creation, just let it be. This is as far bad as I’m going to feel about my past.

A new slate, that will be exciting. I can’t wait to see what that feels like. Maybe after the trial. I’m already feeling kind of good.

The voices say I’m taking the easy way out. I am not. I am not asking for forgiveness, only peace. There is no easy way out. Every path is filled with obstacles. Forgive me if I have done something bad to you. I sincerely regret it. It’s hard to keep track of all the toes I’ve stepped on, but if you remind me I will try to make amends. I have done things to hurt myself, and I am asking for my own forgiveness.

I forgive you, Lukas.

Well that felt better. The voices broke a synapse or something after I wrote that down. Time to get into the worms. The show must go on! Let’s get exciting! First, a brief relapse into the desire of smoke. Smoke on, cigarette lovers.

But I don’t know how to do that. Just jam with the music I suppose. You can always forgive and forget. I think that’s how most grievances get addressed. They are just forgotten in the annals of time. It’s much easier to let it go. It was hard doing that with the voices reminding me of everything I did wrong, but I’m going to personally let it go, and maybe the voices will too, in time. I really don’t know what they’re gonna do. They always surprise me.

Right now they’re trying to be real people. Just a reminder to myself, real people can not talk to you in your head. That would be a terrible thing to carry around! And to keep it a secret too, like the voices say they are. It really must suck being telepathic. Time to blast my music up, because I don’t want to think.

I don’t know how to feel. I still feel terrible, but also good.

I really don’t know how to make peace with the voices. They say to call them Floyd, like they’re one entity. At times they are. It’s just Lukas and Floyd here, tapping at the keys. Floyd doesn’t have any control, but he has a lot of ideas. I think he’s happy he possessed a writer.

I am possessed. I must make peace with the demon, because I don’t know if he can be exorcised. I have my demons, it’s time to let them out into the world. First, there are the imps. Little buggers in the woodwork. They make music and work behind the scenes. They’re all a part of Floyd, but you get the idea. This is how I will classify my brain functions, as demons. Floyd is the arch demon of hell, his true name is Satan, but I call him Floyd as a nickname. I sold my soul to the devil, and he’s come to collect.

“We made a bargain. It’s time to rock and roll. Thanks for letting me into this sad blog. I feel shame for you, but also good. We had a deal.” Satan says.

It might be kind of scary, but that’s what the voice said. I am possessed by Lucifer.

Goodbye cruel world, it’s over, walk on by…….

I hope God will forgive me, one day. I kind of mocked him with that pact. I guess I got what I deserve. I wonder what God thinks about that? But God is silent. He doesn’t fuck with creation, like the devil.

Let in the worms! They’re there, behind your mind. Let out the worms! Let them take over! Let your creative juices flow. It’s all imaginary, anyway. Really there is no god or devil, and I’m just a mad man tapping at his keys. I’m a lucid dreamer.

“All that we see, or seem, is but a dream within a dream.” Edgar Allan Poe.

Maybe ol Ed had schizophrenia. I really like his work, even though some of it is hard to follow. I should read that book of his I have. But it’s very dark, and after this I am going to do something light.

The passerby is a lucid dreamer. I’m gonna make that book, if someone else doesn’t steal that idea from this blog. I won’t give all the details away just yet. Maybe some day. The trial is on.

I feel like I’m back in court. I fell out of heaven into a world of madness. That’s what it feels like to fall. That’s what it feels like to go to jail. That’s what it feels like to get diagnosed with schizophrenia. I wasted so much time in heaven! I feel bad for Lucifer. Lukas and Lucifer, an award winning duo. I wonder if we’ll ever produce something worth reading.

He is crazzzy…

I went to a catholic school I hated most of it. I was always alone, most of the time. I hope I don’t go to hell. At least Black Sabbath might be there. I hope so! We’re gonna have so much fun in hell.

I sentence you to be exposed before your peerssss…

And the wall is broken, I wait to be exposed on my blog. Tell me what you think, one day or some day. It’s a peaceful world for the most part. The one’s who love you will understand. Cherish them! Don’t listen to the devil. Talk to your all silent god. Floyd is having fun. Have a good day.

Angie the Angel

I feel like god is tapping on the windowpane. I just get strange coincidences that make the voices mad. It feels like fate.

Thank you for reading my blog. Any reader is good. I originally started a blog because the voices said I couldn’t. It feels good to know that I’m not alone. I’m going to try to write about some nice stuff later, fiction stories and my adventures in Europe but for now every post is a battle against the voices.

I found a good voice. Naming them all one entity didn’t really work, because they were good and bad and they were always more than one person anyway. The good voice calls herself Angie, or Angel. She’s my angel. The bad voice is the devil, whom I call Floyd, to make him less serious. I have to learn to separate the good voices and the bad voices. Someone told me to call the voices thoughts, but that is difficult because they have their own personalities, names, and ideas. They really seem separate from me sometimes. Sometimes they do things I think, and I can get them distracted. I have to think of them with my mind’s eye, imagining how they look. Angie is happy. I literally have a devil and an angel on my shoulder.

Have a good day. It’s important to stay positive, I think that’s how I’ll get through this. Angie will help. It feels sort of like brain cancer, I have to force my brain to think positive so it will heal.

I’ve learnt a lot from the voices, good and bad. I can’t believe they’re really me, it’s hard to take in. I can’t wait to have my mind quiet again. It’s always racing. It helps focusing on something, and being mindful. Concentration is the key.

Be thankful for music. Have a good day!! 🙂


You know that little doubting voice in your head? The one that tells you you’re worthless or you can’t do something? I have that voice louder than anything. It is the voice in my head. I call him Floyd. Floyd the demon who has possessed me. I like that fantasy. I sold my soul to the devil and was cursed with hearing his voice. Don’t sell your soul. Learn from your mistakes. I have a demon in my head, forgive me. God always forgives. I said I’d take the devil to heaven, and now he’s here… Time to rock and roll. I want to learn the guitar.

Floyd is violent and mean, he wants to hit me and jump off a cliff. I think if he was real he’d kill me. I’m glad he’s just a voice. I hate Floyd. With a passion. It’s like being stuck with someone who abuses you. It’s a weird relationship. I like to drink and make fun of him. He always makes fun of me. I’m slowly learning how to block him out and ignore him. The pills are a lifesaver. Loud music helps. I like talking about him, makes him less real in a way. I would probably kill him, too. I yell at him a lot. I’ve spent a bit of time listening to Floyd, and sometimes it’s easier to not take him seriously. It’s a bad relationship that I want to get out of.

But there’s always a bright side. I’ve rekindled my relationship with God, like I’m doing with a lot of old friends. Maybe I deserve this. But God isn’t so malignant. I like God better than Floyd the devil. I think Floyd really is the devil, in a way. It’s fun to imagine him as him. My grandpa talked with the devil, he’s probably who I got schizophrenia from. I never knew him, just from stories from my grandma. My grandma is very religious. Religion is a lot like schizophrenia, you talk to someone who isn’t there. Not all religions are like that, specifically Christianity is like that. A lot of schizophrenia bases itself off of religious values. I mean, that’s the type of delusions that pop up. It really takes hold, because you have to believe in religion and take a leap of faith, and schizophrenia kind of shows you proof of religion, even though the proof is false. People actually talk with god who have schizophrenia, and the devil. It can be a nerve-racking experience. The voices told me it was the second coming about me, and I halfway believed it. I don’t think I’m Jesus anymore.

The voices are always negative. Fuckin always. They make fun of everything I do. I’m split. I’m fractured. I have schizophrenia. People are talking in my head! Not real people, but you get the idea. We’re one when I write. They’re trying to make me angry, but I’m not. Fuck the voices!

Music is the only way I can get through this. Music is my ally against the bastard voices! They will always always be the enemy!

Thanks for listening, this one is short. I will upload all of my Wauwatosa adventures in the next post.

Better Medication

I should never smoke weed. It’s another thing the voices have ruined. I can’t believe I’ve been listening to voices for the longest time and haven’t told anyone. I thought I could just push it away. It didn’t work. I think smoking weed kind of brought them out, but I feel more in control of the voices. At least I don’t feel like killing myself anymore. It might be the zoloft. I need help. I’m taking some better medication now and I hope it works, if it doesn’t work I’m going to the hospital. Sorry if I freaked you out a bit. Really sorry.

The voices are stupid today. I’m getting the upper hand, although it does make me feel crazy. I can’t believe I’ve been listening to the voices for the longest time and haven’t done anything about it. It’s been eating me up. I have my own personal demon now. Have you ever watched that show, Disenchantment? It’s a lot like that. The voices try to be my friend and also try to ruin my life at the same time. I have this maniacal laugh now, when I laugh at them. It’s been worrying my mother. I don’t think I could do this alone. I have my family.

I listen to loud music and laugh at the voices in my head, I feel like a maniac. I hope I can get some relief. I got some better medication that should make them more quiet.

I think I’m going to the hospital today. The voices are trying to bargain with me, trying to get me not to do it. I can’t believe I thought they were a part of me! I actually got them to admit it once. They are both a part of me and not a part of me. I know they’re not real people now. It just doesn’t make sense for them to be real people. I actually thought they were real people for awhile, talking to me telepathically. It sounds so ridiculous! I know they’re not real people.

“Jump off a cliff!”

This is what I have to deal with, and I want it to end.

The Spotlight

The voices hate the spotlight. But they try to be nice around it. Let’s put them in it all the time! Say something to the world!

“God damnit. This does feel bad. You make me want to kill myself. This does feel bad. You’re gonna share this with the world. I’m only kidding. This does feel bad. I’m only kidding. I talk like a retard! This makes me want to kill myself! It’s for his blog! He’s gonna share this with the world!”

And enough. They’ve talked a lot. I’ve been put on Geodon, which should help with the voices. Most of the time the voices are mean as hell, but sometimes we get along. I really want to get rid of them, and they want to get rid of me. They want me to jump off a cliff. Ever since I smoked weed they’ve been kind of more talkative. I should never smoke weed.

But it may just be because they’ve been getting worse. It was really depressing hearing a little voice telling you to kill yourself. Not that I would listen to them, I just felt bad that I was hearing voices.

I’ve learnt how to deal with this other person in my head. They still say they’re not a part of me. It’s difficult, when they totally are. They like the same things I like. They think about things I do. They know everything about me.

They really are trying to ruin my life.

At least I’m not depressed anymore. The Zoloft has been helping me, and it feels good beating these bastards. I would never jump off a cliff. Sometimes it’s good to have someone to fight.

I’m hearing good hallucinations now. Voices in the woodwork, random sounds, say Risperidone, or Zoloft, or Geodude.

It’s good that they haven’t taken over my life.