I'm back in 1992 where I started off with Schizophrenia.
Last night I woke up about 9pm to the sound of what I believed was gunfire. I was then in a 10 to 1 countdown with every move I made. One gunshot per move.
The 10 to 1 was from my living room to the front door. Where I fully expected to be shot dead.
Someone who walks to go see where the shooting is coming from is either stupid or wants to die.
As I see it it was an ultimate test.
Of course it was fireworks but because I was half asleep I did not realise that.
I've got the crisis home treatment team coming to my home every day and a psychiatrist tomorrow. I'm struggling to stay out of hospital.
I'm 54 years old. And I'm seeing that number everywhere. Matthew Perry died as you probably know. He was 54. As an example. This to me means I won't make it to 55.
I moved tempoarily to my Mother's last Monday but it ended up being worse. The second day I was there I looked out her front window. And it was like a realisation that I have been on planet earth for 54 years and woke up on Mars.
I'm back home now hearing voices, noises, tapping behind my neck, next door watching what I'm doing. Implants going off on my body. The voices have started responding, the anti-psychotices, not so much.
It hasn't been this bad in 30 years. That's on top of the foot problem.
54/7 took me to this verse.
Thanks to you and everyone else.
A positive is the realisation that I have spent the last 30 years doing my best to avoid suicide not wishing to seriously carry it through. And challenging the voices now.