Ivy and Shadows

Griffin Cecil- June 15^th- On the plane.

From Asenapine to Ziprasidone I’ve taken them all. None of them have helped much. Shadows still lurk in the corners of my vision and words that aren’t mine interlace between my thoughts. My mom thinks that me going to stay at my grandfather’s countryside cottage in England this summer will help. She says it will be a good idea to “detox” before I go into my senior year of high school. Whatever “detox” means. I really don’t think she understands. Just because I go from our home to a sunny countryside cottage doesn’t mean the shadows will go away. The cottage will just fill with the shadows I carry. My mom doesn’t understand that, she’s not the one with paranoid schizophrenia.

I guess I don’t care, I don’t have anything better to do and I guess going to England seems cool. I lost almost all my friends last year anyway. When I was diagnosed. I think they all think I’m insane. That’s what the voices say anyway. One of the voices whispers seductively in my head, “Griffin, all of your friends think you’re a schizophrenic deranged psychopath. You should just never talk to them again.” I believe the voices. That’s why I’m writing this journal. I have this whimsical notion that maybe writing in this journal can take the place of my friends. At least a journal doesn’t think you’re crazy.

Griffin Cecil- June 16^th- At grandfather’s cottage.

The countryside cottage while beautiful doesn’t make me feel much better. Everything feels so odd here. People drive on the wrong side of the road, I don’t understand half of what people are saying with their accents and dinner is called tea. The only thing that remains familiar is the shadows that stalk me.

My grandfather isn’t much for talking, not that I’d want too anyway. The last time I saw him in person was when I was 5. He reminds me vaguely of the chubby henchman in One Hundred and One Dalmatians. Big nosed and bushy eyebrows. The voices say don’t trust him. So naturally, I don’t trust him.

My mom says its unhealthy for me to define myself by my schizophrenia and to spend more time doing things I enjoy, but I’m honestly scared. The voices in my head tell me that everyone is judging my every action, everyone is out to get me, and the shadows stalk my every move. My mom tells me those thoughts are “delusions” and unreasonable, but I’m not so sure. This new place almost seems to make my hallucinations and my “delusions” a thousand times worse. Like the ivy that thrives on the side of my grandfather’s cottage its only continued to grow.

Griffin Cecil- June 17^th- At the marketplace.

My grandfather goes to grab whatever groceries he desires and barter with the sellers at the market. I’m left to wander around and explore, but instead I stay put by a small fountain in the square and watch the people blabber to each other as they go about their day.

I feel uncomfortable sitting here and anxiety begins to bite at the core of my being. A voice in my head whispers “You are so out of place here; everyone sees you and wants to hurt you.” The shadows begin to creep closer slinking along the floor. I don’t understand why I had to go here. My mother sent me here to die, for the shadows to strangle me. The shadows will just smother me like the brick wall being smothered by the ivy. The shadows are so near they are almost devouring me. I’m scared…

Griffin Cecil- June 17^th- Hiding in the cottage’s bathroom.

I was practically carried to the car from the market. I had what my doctor called a psychotic attack, and my whole brain felt like everything was all at once so clear and then it felt all confusing and muddled. Voices overlapped with my own thoughts. I felt like I wasn’t in this world at all, and I panicked. I when I panicked, I apparently fell backward into the fountain.

When I got back to the cottage the shadows crept in around me threatening to reach their arms out toward my ankles. I rushed to the bathroom in an attempt to escape them and locked the door. My grandfather is knocking on the door and asking if I’m ok. I don’t respond at first. I can’t tell if he really is talking to me or it’s just a hallucination. I yell anyway “Go away! You don’t understand!”

The voices are overlapping again, and I struggle to keep my thoughts on my writing. I would say there are about five voices all arguing with each other. I haven’t told anyone this, but I’ve given them names. Veronica is the angry paranoid female voice in my head.  She often tells me that other people want to hurt me and kill me. Paul is a male voice that sounds a lot like my father. My father and my mom got divorced when I was 7 because he was an alcoholic and abusive. Paul often tells me not to trust people, that nobody cares about me and I’m nothing. Antony is a tinny male voice that sounds a lot like a game show host, he always agrees with Veronica and Paul and often says things that are very unkind. I do have two good voices though. Ruby is a soft kind voice and sounds almost just like my mom. The only problem with her is that she is often quiet enough the others speak over her voice. She sometimes sings though. Sometimes it’s annoying but sometimes it helps. Finally, we have Quentin. Quentin is… how do I put it. He is passionate to say the least. He talks like Shakespeare and often says good things about me. They often argue making it awfully hard to focus.

The cottage is quiet now, I assume my grandfather has given up and went to sleep. I should probably go to my room. Maybe the voices will quiet down for long enough for me to fall asleep.

Griffin Cecil- June 18^th -Sitting under the big sycamore tree.

Though I don’t trust my grandfather. I feel bad he’s having to deal with me. I’ve written him up as if he’s not a person with feeling and I’ve let the voices get to me. This morning he was especially quiet, and I felt nervous. Was he trying to send a message to me maybe? I brush the thought away. He’s walking out to the tree where I sit now. I wonder what he wants.

Griffin Cecil- June 20^th- At grandfather’s cottage.

I took a break from writing for a couple of days because I found someone I could talk to and express my thoughts and be understood. My grandfather came to me that day under the tree and told me that he himself has paranoid schizophrenia, and that he does understand. I was shocked, I asked if my mom knew. She did. My mom didn’t send me here to die and be smothered by shadows, she sent me here to have someone who understood me. She sent me to stay with him knowing that I wasn’t the only one who lived their life seeing hallucinations. She sent me knowing I wasn’t the only one who heard voices and he had his own voices in his head. She sent me knowing he felt the same way I did and was managing to live a semi-normal life.

Maybe if he can live an almost normal life…

I can too?