In relating about my "coming out" as a person who suffers from auditory and visual hallucinations (here and here) in earlier posts today, I mentioned how I had carried around this secret for a long, long time. I had inklings (since age 12 or 13) that something wasn't quite right about the way I perceived the world, but I become convinced that I had a "problem" when I was 18 years old. Here's the story.
My parents had been divorced for about 3 years and, during this time, I didn't have much of a relationship with my dad at all. This cessation of contact was by choice; I didn't want to have anything to do with him. As my dad worked to make some changes in his life, we gradually re-established contact. This led to a proposed trip to the American Southwest for my dad, brother and I.
In all honesty, I didn't want to participate in this outing, but my mom insisted that I go because -- despite the fact she had great animosity toward her ex -- she believed it was important for me NOT to cut my father out of my life. (Note: My mother was very wise and my dad & I have become very close over the years.) So, I reluctantly agreed to go.
By and large, it turned out to be an enjoyable trip. My brother and I got to see many natural wonders and elements of history: Carlsbad Caverns, the OK Corral, White Sands National Monument, Taos Pueblo, Barringer Meteorite Crater, and, of course, the Grand Canyon. We hiked in national forests and explored several Indian reservation. I also got to visit the campuses New Mexico State University and Northern Arizona University, two schools I thought I might be interested in transferring to.
While the trip itself was enjoyable, it caused me immeasurable amounts of stress, nonetheless. I was far removed from my usual element and many of the tourist sites were crawling with people. As I have detailed on this blog, routine orders my life and I am a very anti-social personality. So, I think it is easy to understand why I felt this internal tension.
It all came to a head on the first day we visited the Grand Canyon National Park. We were hiking down one of the trails on the south rim (side near Flagstaff). There were a lot signs that warned people to stay on the trails, lest they get to close to the edge and fall down into the canyon.
Of course, I paid little heed to the signs! I consistently left the trail to peer over the edge. At one point, I was in a very dangerous spot. My brother and dad were yelling at me to move back from the edge. I ignored them. At about the time it looked like I would fall into the canyon, my father reached out to grab me and pull me to safety.
"What in the hell were you doing?" my father screamed at me. I passed it off as mere teenage curiosity -- I wanted to get a closer look at the natural majesty. After a stern lecture and a harangue from dear 'ol dad, the rest of our stay at the Grand Canyon was uneventful.
What I didn't tell him then -- I only admitted the truth to him last week -- was that I was so close to the edge because I was getting ready to jump to my death. The reason I was prepared to commit suicide was because a voice kept whispering, "Jump. Jump. Jump."
I think I had heard voices before this juncture, but I had always passed them off as being tired or something. I couldn't pass this voice off. It was very clear and distinct. It was a lot like the voice in the movie Field of Dreams which wouldn't be filmed for another 15 or so years.
It was the kind of voice I couldn't argue with. Whatever it directed, I felt compelled to comply with. So, on that summer's day when it told me to jump, I was prepared to do just that. I really didn't understand WHY I was supposed to jump, I just knew I was supposed to. Were it not for my dad grabbing me, I'm fairly confident I wouldn't be penning this post right now.
As I've aged and matured, the voices have never left me, but I am now better equipped at drowning them out or resisting them. They often say some really disturbing stuff, but I've never physically harmed another person -- other than myself (nothing serious) -- because of them. I've broken a few things over the years, but that's about the worst of it.
Still, they plague me. Some days they almost seem to drive me certifiably crazy. I guess I am fortunate that I don't hear them every hour of every day. They come and they go. I can go for long periods -- like several months -- without hearing them, but they always return eventually. When they do return, they return with a vengeance, like I've been neglecting them.
I would really like it if they would leave me alone.
My parents had been divorced for about 3 years and, during this time, I didn't have much of a relationship with my dad at all. This cessation of contact was by choice; I didn't want to have anything to do with him. As my dad worked to make some changes in his life, we gradually re-established contact. This led to a proposed trip to the American Southwest for my dad, brother and I.
In all honesty, I didn't want to participate in this outing, but my mom insisted that I go because -- despite the fact she had great animosity toward her ex -- she believed it was important for me NOT to cut my father out of my life. (Note: My mother was very wise and my dad & I have become very close over the years.) So, I reluctantly agreed to go.
By and large, it turned out to be an enjoyable trip. My brother and I got to see many natural wonders and elements of history: Carlsbad Caverns, the OK Corral, White Sands National Monument, Taos Pueblo, Barringer Meteorite Crater, and, of course, the Grand Canyon. We hiked in national forests and explored several Indian reservation. I also got to visit the campuses New Mexico State University and Northern Arizona University, two schools I thought I might be interested in transferring to.
While the trip itself was enjoyable, it caused me immeasurable amounts of stress, nonetheless. I was far removed from my usual element and many of the tourist sites were crawling with people. As I have detailed on this blog, routine orders my life and I am a very anti-social personality. So, I think it is easy to understand why I felt this internal tension.
It all came to a head on the first day we visited the Grand Canyon National Park. We were hiking down one of the trails on the south rim (side near Flagstaff). There were a lot signs that warned people to stay on the trails, lest they get to close to the edge and fall down into the canyon.
Of course, I paid little heed to the signs! I consistently left the trail to peer over the edge. At one point, I was in a very dangerous spot. My brother and dad were yelling at me to move back from the edge. I ignored them. At about the time it looked like I would fall into the canyon, my father reached out to grab me and pull me to safety.
"What in the hell were you doing?" my father screamed at me. I passed it off as mere teenage curiosity -- I wanted to get a closer look at the natural majesty. After a stern lecture and a harangue from dear 'ol dad, the rest of our stay at the Grand Canyon was uneventful.
What I didn't tell him then -- I only admitted the truth to him last week -- was that I was so close to the edge because I was getting ready to jump to my death. The reason I was prepared to commit suicide was because a voice kept whispering, "Jump. Jump. Jump."
I think I had heard voices before this juncture, but I had always passed them off as being tired or something. I couldn't pass this voice off. It was very clear and distinct. It was a lot like the voice in the movie Field of Dreams which wouldn't be filmed for another 15 or so years.
It was the kind of voice I couldn't argue with. Whatever it directed, I felt compelled to comply with. So, on that summer's day when it told me to jump, I was prepared to do just that. I really didn't understand WHY I was supposed to jump, I just knew I was supposed to. Were it not for my dad grabbing me, I'm fairly confident I wouldn't be penning this post right now.
As I've aged and matured, the voices have never left me, but I am now better equipped at drowning them out or resisting them. They often say some really disturbing stuff, but I've never physically harmed another person -- other than myself (nothing serious) -- because of them. I've broken a few things over the years, but that's about the worst of it.
Still, they plague me. Some days they almost seem to drive me certifiably crazy. I guess I am fortunate that I don't hear them every hour of every day. They come and they go. I can go for long periods -- like several months -- without hearing them, but they always return eventually. When they do return, they return with a vengeance, like I've been neglecting them.
I would really like it if they would leave me alone.
Have you ever seen the movie "A Beautiful Mind" before? If not you should check it out. There are many similarities to what you are speaking about.
ReplyDeleteYes and no. I've seen parts of the movie, but I can't sit through the whole thing because it is difficult for me to watch. It strikes way too close to home.
ReplyDeleteHave you ever looked at the psychiatrist Daniel Amen's work that links these sort of experiences with under or overfunction in the temporal lobes of the brain?
ReplyDeleteMaybe a SPECT scan would be revealing.
I had frequent strange, dark thoughts, and used to be deeply troubled by them. A SPECT scan confirmed a temporal lobe problem. Initially the antiepileptic valproate controlled them- but then I had a neck problem treated, and that appeared to deal with the lack of blood flow to the brain that underpinned the problem- and it stopped. So did my fibromyalgia type symptoms. Have a look at Atlas Profilax. I found the improvement almost too good to believe.