Schizophrenia

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Review Chain


For a contest. The mental illness is Visual and Auditory Schizophrenia. I reseached some sites that helped me understand what it is most like and I portrayed what i learned in this writing. Note
that there are many types of ways that this can affect someone. Heres the site if you want to take a look for yourself :
https://psychcentral.com/blog/ever-wonder-what-a-visual-or-auditory-hallucination-was-like/

Submitted: July 31, 2018

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Submitted: July 31, 2018

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Just sitting on my bed. Simply sitting. Listening. Yet trying not to listen. All at once.

 

 

The voices are whispering to me again. Overlapping, screaming, painful.

 

“Go away.” I whimper, clawing at my ears. But the voices won't go away. They persist even when my blood coats my hands and my nails dig deep into my head. Scouring, aching, oozing. I stumble to the bathroom. It hurts. The voices pound in my head.

 

"Get out of my head." I groan. "Just leave me alone. Please." They dont listen. I want to bash my head into a wall. I'd do anything to make the voices finally be quiet.

 

I shake my head. Blood droplets fall to the floor, then sizzle away as if the floor were on fire. I finally make it to the bathroom.

 

I turn on the faucet and splash the dirty water over my face. It's hot. Scalding. But it does nothing to nullify the whispers, shouts, moans, and groans of the voices. I look up into the mirror and scream as I see a face that's not my own. The reflection quivers as my own face replaces it like normal.

 

My face smiles back at me, blood dripping out of my eyes.

 

“Why don't you just kill yourself? The voices will be quiet if you do.” The voices roar in approval and I moan in pain.

 

I grasp the sides on my head, trying to block out the noise, but i can't.

 

They.

Never.

Shut.

Up.

 

I lift my head and look in the mirror again. My reflection is now holding a knife, its sharp edge gleaming in the bathroom light. My mirrored self is still smiling at me, slowly becoming fragmented.

 

I look down at the knife I hold in my bloody hand. Just looking at it. The voices urge me to do the unspeakable.

 

"Why cant you just shut up?! Please just leave me alone." I beg them. Tears splashing and sizziling on the floor. Im shaking. Tears mixing with blood.

 

The knife seems to grow with the volume of the voices in my head. Louder and louder. Bigger and bigger. Im shaking even harder now.

 

I throw the knife to the floor, hot tears burning my face, blurring my vision. The knife sizzles on the ground and disappears. The voices remain. Loud, persistent, overwhelming.

 

I slowly make my way back to my bed. And there I stay, just sitting on my bed.

 


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