Infernal Deity of a Psychotic Mind – The Silence Within

THE SILENCE WITHIN

By

Lucianus Mauricius

One thing can be said about being treated for depression and other personality and mood disorders, it is highly educational. The same time you are being tested and evaluated by many so called ‘specialists’, you also are rediscovering your own ability to endure and heal when possible. Endurance through hard times, when life seems to be slipping away and nothing or no one can help you get through anything at all, is what makes you feel powerless and prone to anger outbursts as well as suicidal ideation. As you are being evaluated and your prognosis changes, you realize that there are several different changes needed to be made, starting with new medications which may or may not help, and continuing with other medications and therapy in order to reclaim your life, or at least parts of it. You feel so empty inside, and that void is like a hungry mouth which never gets full no matter how much you feed it. Your mood swings take you on a roller coaster which is devastating by day’s end. And finally you’re alone once again, abandoned by those you though were friends, family members, confidants and so on. You feel as if no one cares, and also no one understands you, you seem to be the only person on earth speaking a bizarre language which is incomprehensible to others in your life, and your surroundings seem to be always morphing into some abstract photoshoped picture with dreadful hanging edges and color strikes so acute, would make Dali bitch slap someone for it. You walk the streets trying to find a reason for being, and of course there is none, or at last none you can find. You keep asking the same question over and over again in hopes that you will finally have a “Eureka” moment and get that answer; why am I here? Most times you blame it all on others, the world, the universe, God and so on, but some of us blame it on the inside. The guilt of being the way we are, the shame of bitching about our aches and pains and emotional death, as we realize we’re making people feel uncomfortable. Other times we want to scream till blood comes out of our mouths and ears just for that same reason, how can no one understand and abandon us? Sometimes we walk that fine line between reality and dream, and we’re not quite sure which one is which. We try to make sense of what others say and do, and we’re quite capable of doing so in a very professional manner, yet others have some sort of Down syndrome while trying to understand us. There are moments we would like to choke the life out of every one who’s hurt us with or without intent, yet we do not, it is that self-control that keeps us from going to jail yet eats us alive as rage is internalized. So long sleepless nights, trying to find comfort in strangers, trying to connect to some fictive person somewhere for the sake of having a conversation which you’ve long had had not with your friends or loved ones. Those nights full of anguish and nightmares, as you wake up screaming from what you were trying to escape, and once asleep again you realize there still there waiting for you. It is a spiral down hell’s mouth and back out again. It’s like being yo-yoed from one feeling to the next and it’s all unrest. How many different medications have any of you been on, ten, twenty, thirty, forty? I have stopped counting long time ago, and now I find myself no better than 13 years ago when I first tried to kill myself. That night, as I walked on a red light hoping to get hit, I remember nothing more than just the feeling of being underwater, some gurgling and distorted voices, and I could see nothing but blurred light ahead of me and the occasional honking of the cars

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