KrusH's Journal

                      I love my psychotic brain. O What a wonderful brain it is. Yes, a high IQ, and impressive common sense. Huge amounts of information on a multitude of subjects. But thats it. Thats where the posotive points end, and the negativity floods in. I remember at young ages, seeing people, animals, hearing voices. I was afraid to ever be alone. I was constantly told by these images and hallucinations that they were going to get me, to kill me. I was so afraid to be alone, or in the dark, or even alive. I would sit for hours and tlk to the only person that truly understood. She always understood and was always nice. She never left me when i needed her, and I was so thankful for that. It wasnt untill later in life that I realised she never existed. Another note on the psychologists paper. They always just told me I had an "Overactive Imagination." Does an overactive imagination for a 6 yearold boy to try and run away from it? to run untill his tiny body gives out? To find himself hours away from home alone and afraid? I remember how they hated me for it. I would be alone in my bedroom, late at night, and suddenly screaming. As far as they were concerned, I was nothing more then an annoyance. I see someone coming to kill me in the dark, and what did my oh so loving parents do? Beat me for being afraid. Oh yes, what a wonderful life.

                  I dont remember anything after that point in my life, for over 5 years. But at some point in those five years, the psychotic mind decicde to reak havok again. My journals lead me to believe that I started seing her; the girl that comforted me as a child; again sometime in 2002. The hallucinations got worse. And the paranoia started. And so did a trait, a curse most of you know all to well. For some reason, a well off 12 year old boy, decided to take up a knife and take out all of the pain he felt, on himself. Back then, it was my feet. I used the philosiphy that I was pushing my problems down, and walking right over them. I didnt know that i was smart enough to create that sort of symbolism back then. The hallucinations got worse, the paranoia grew exponentionally. I stoped sleeping. Completley. I have journal entries that tell of being awake for up to 5 days at a time, and even being hospitalised just because i could not sleep. I was 14 then. Then, one terrible night, a dream came to me. It was so vivid. I still remember the hot wind blowing sand on my face, the small, and the blinding brightness. I wrote down this one dream, or a small portion of it, over a span of 13 pages. Since then, its as if every dream I have is simply an expansion of that sname dream, allowing me more insight into something I wish i never needed to see.

                 So we had quite the combination. Psychosis, severe depression, paranoia, and self harm. Im sure if you could bottle that and sell it, George Bush would buy it and dump it across the entire middle east, because its sure to kill. Yesterday lead to a psychotic episode that almost caused some real, REAL problems. The dreams ive had over the past years, depict a war. A war that spans the entire world and touches ever person. Yesterday, at jsut after noon, for the first tiem in my life, i saw a military jet fly over my town. Today, an armed cargo plane. The paranoia bubbled up and spilt over. I was sure, that this was it, we were all going to die, and only I knew. I went home. I had all of my bare basic needs packed into my bag. I had food and money. I was missing a few things. I had my bag in my car, and was ready to drive. Im not sure where, or why, but somewhere. I needed one last thing. I called my brother and told him I needed to pick up something from my dads house. He took me down there. Luckily, when we got there. He went to talk to the niebour. I went inside. Second bedroom. Behind the fridge. A green lockbox. Amost 4 feet long, 8 inches across, and 4 inches deep. There has never been a lock on this box. I opened it. There it was. This was the last step. Take this, and i would be gone. I could get rid of anything that ever caused me problems, even if that thing happened to be myself. I took it out of the box. I had memorys with this. Happy times, despite its violent nature.

           I wanted to. I could have. But i didnt. And why? What stops a psychotic paranoid person from doing the unthinkable? From making frontpage news across a province, or even a country? something that we see mocked everyday. a simple at, that is shunned and hated by an entire society. It saved me again. It always has. And yet, i walk to school day after day, and watch kids mock it. Turn on the TV and waqtch people joke about it. Sometimes i wonder if its worth fighting. I keep dreaming that oneday it will be better. But i have no proof. Guess ive just got to pretend I know it will be ok. Its gotten me this far