Searing Images Sheaving Surreally

I was going through some of my writings, as I will do periodically, and came across this piece that I wrote when I was in my madness. During this time my drinking and drug use had induced a couple of episodes of psychosis. I had begun to become convinced that the feelings and emotions I was experiencing were not my own. I did not know it then, but I had been undergoing a psychic split through a dissociative mechanism. My dissociative episodes had progressed to the point of a paranoid-schizoid position (11th paragraph). Most of my writing at this time was in a stream of consciousness free-form. The handwriting is fast and jagged as if I could not write fast enough. If I was in my own mind and not in a dissociative state then my mind was racing. This disjointed and convoluted thinking was the norm for me during this time, I was as confused as it seems...yet today I see the separation and mental compartmentalization that I was experiencing at the time. My self discussion dribbles on about we, our, them and I as it were a fight for me. It is no wonder that I sought escape into self medication and anything that would numb me to the pain...

Written on 1/14/2003:..Jagged edges cut so deep, reflections on me...Searing images sheave themselves surrealy and God why can I not see? I wish it to be dark at times, out of nowhere the darkness overtakes me...There have been times when I thought things were so clear...Such clarity I have found to be a mystifying similarity, that keeps declaring its ever changing tune encasing me in a cultural tomb...Should we engage in or change, how about we element our scene? Who would I piss off, if I conformed to my own rhythm and symmetry? We fumble, founder and follow with no boundaries and shower the scene without values and pay through the carnage of complicity and venerated fear...The towering twist of futile fate, our schema sanctioning the detention that we bear...