The Oxford Dictionary defines psychotic as being out of touch with reality; a mental illness that has been tossed at me on more than one occasion. One of the issues for me however is just whose reality are we talking about? The shrinks, who are economically advantaged, privileged by their status as doctors and powerful with all the self righteousness their profession assumes. No one has ever been genuinely interested in my reality; and I can only wonder just what reality people are supposedly assuming about; not just the shrinks, but my work colleagues in the past, my so-called friends of the past, my family in the past and also the publishers who dismiss my novel as too true to broadcast in print. So much of what passes for reality can be imagination, fantasy, and even dreams; how much of what we know about each other is real? One person’s reality can be another’s fiction! But so often we cling to our own personal reality as if it is lived by others; assuming at the same time we all experience and live in the same world, without qualification, without difference. One person’s reality is everybody’s too. Of course, if you think at all about this, it is absurd; nonsensical, illogical and irrational; we all have our personal lives with our own personal and individual issues and problems; yet, too often we skate on the surface of a shared and common reality ignoring people’s personal experience and circumstances for a multitude of reasons that are often shrouded in lack of interest, assumptions and generalisations as I’ve penned in previous blogs. The truth is that we all have our own reality; not assumingly imagined or deluded or fantastical; but based on living our lives as individuals in a specific context at a specific time and in a specific place. I can only contest that no one has been interested in my own personal reality; as it affected me in my life. My reality was deemed deluded, indeed, psychotic; without question, without thought and without reason.
It’s indeed horrifying to me what occurred in ‘my’ supposed apartment last year when various items disappeared; material was written by another person in my notebook yet I’m psychotic? I know and will stake my life on it all as I’ve done, only by one female shrink to be told to increase the anti-psychotic medication I was on as if I imagined it all when I know for a fact it’s not my handwriting and I never threw out the items that disappeared. (I wasn’t even in the apartment at the time as I was incarcerated in a prison called St Vincent’s hospital) Moreover, in 1980, I was deemed paranoid and schizophrenic when I complained about my reality being UNFAIR – I was unemployed, bankrupt and my sisters and mother were, by my perspective, out of touch with the real me, believing my books were me. So whose reality was real? Is real, after what happened in my supposed ‘own’ home last year?
It is easy to assume; but frightening in the implications of those assumptions when no one but me can know how I thought, felt, believed and more to the point; why? What was going on? What is reality based on? What would be deemed ‘real’ feelings? Moreover, how am I to feel now when I know people have lied to me or not told me the truth of what went on in this apartment and indeed, why? What did they think I would do? How did they “ASSUME” I would feel? And how should I feel? What is my reality now? I have tossed these issues every which way and I believe they think I am suicidal – as they all assumed when I stood naked on the balcony too. Or do I think it’s agents as one shrink deluded as he was, is, believed of me when I never thought anything remotely like it in 1980? I know it’s the shrinks who fucked up this apartment in collusion with my sister; there are times I still wonder how far they’ve taken it all as so much of what my reality has been over the past year, and still is to some extent, irrational; wrong; it doesn’t make sense except knowing they are playing some very sick game as they were last year during my time in prison! They however are wondering how far ‘ I’ll’ take it! Out of control as my sister keeps insisting I was, probably always will be without the Stelazine? Homicidal, too? Not my reality and never has been and I’ll leave it there. I just ponder at different times how FAR they’ll take it and are still taking it! Just whose reality is it? My reality is indeed at times still horrifying as they – the shrinks, my sister, some of the people I’ve met this year, play out their sick games. At least I know why I feel sad at times too now; still horrified, and sadly, always will be.

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