After my last post I was still stuck on a few of the things I wrote. I felt it was necessary to clarify the region of said pants that were all stretched and skanky. It wasn't the crotch, it was the inside seams -- more like my upper thigh.
And schizophrenia isn't a disease, it's a disorder.
From Wikipedia:
Schizophrenia (pronounced /ˌskɪtsəˈfrɛniə/ or /ˌskɪtsəˈfriːniə/), from the Greek roots schizein (σχίζειν, "to split") and phrēn, phren- (φρήν, φρεν-, "mind") is a psychiatric diagnosis that describes a mental disorder characterized by abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality. It most commonly manifests as auditory hallucinations, paranoid or bizarre delusions, or disorganized speech and thinking with significant social or occupational dysfunction. Onset of symptoms typically occurs in young adulthood,[1] with approximately 0.4–0.6%[2][3] of the population affected. Diagnosis is based on the patient's self-reported experiences and observed behavior. No laboratory test for schizophrenia currently exists.[4]
I also visited "You know who I am," a site recently launched by Royal Ottawa. Good Ol' Alfie is the poster child, and the media storm that took place at it's launch really brought some attention to the confusion and stigma that is mental illness. Unfortunately, it left me uninspired.
This bare bones site, where readers share their experiences, was much more insightful:
http://www.mentalhealth.com/books/scz/scz2-05.html
Showing posts with label mental illness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental illness. Show all posts
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
What you lookin' at?
Just in from a morning run (finally able to pull myself out of bed and the bizarre REM dreams that come with the snooze button!), and I've got to say, I'm feeling a bit paranoid.
While it wasn't the 17 degrees we saw yesterday in Ottawa, the air was warm and thick, with a fog that reminded me of Trois-Rivieres. That usually means paper-mill stinky, but I have good memories of TR, so for me it was nostalgic. Maybe it was this reminiscence that, as I quickened my pace and made for the Library and Archives (my new locale for stairs and hills) brought the creeping sensation of paranoia.
And then I remembered that the pants I'm wearing are cheap tights circa 2003, which means they've fallen apart at the seams ... right around the crotch. Last night it seemed inconsequential, as I made my way like a ninja through the dark streets. But now, under the increasing glare of slick bureaucrats making their way to their well-put-together offices, I felt a tad ... nasty.
When I meet red lights I usually do a few crucial stretches. Now I only roll my ankles.
The people I expect to be admiring my gait, not to mention my dedication to run outside, in the morning, despite the cooler weather ... now I see as mean-spirited gawkers, ashamed for me and my skanky pants.
As I made my home I remembered something I read about schizophrenia. That paranoia, the feeling that people are whispering about you behind your back, is common for these folks struck with a most misunderstood disease. And I remember that sensation as a small, brown, not-particularly coordinated or confident person in public school.
Usually runs leave me feeling on top of the world, like I can do anything. And while this was somewhat true of this morning's run, I feel this one did more -- it gave me newfound empathy.
While it wasn't the 17 degrees we saw yesterday in Ottawa, the air was warm and thick, with a fog that reminded me of Trois-Rivieres. That usually means paper-mill stinky, but I have good memories of TR, so for me it was nostalgic. Maybe it was this reminiscence that, as I quickened my pace and made for the Library and Archives (my new locale for stairs and hills) brought the creeping sensation of paranoia.
And then I remembered that the pants I'm wearing are cheap tights circa 2003, which means they've fallen apart at the seams ... right around the crotch. Last night it seemed inconsequential, as I made my way like a ninja through the dark streets. But now, under the increasing glare of slick bureaucrats making their way to their well-put-together offices, I felt a tad ... nasty.
When I meet red lights I usually do a few crucial stretches. Now I only roll my ankles.
The people I expect to be admiring my gait, not to mention my dedication to run outside, in the morning, despite the cooler weather ... now I see as mean-spirited gawkers, ashamed for me and my skanky pants.
As I made my home I remembered something I read about schizophrenia. That paranoia, the feeling that people are whispering about you behind your back, is common for these folks struck with a most misunderstood disease. And I remember that sensation as a small, brown, not-particularly coordinated or confident person in public school.
Usually runs leave me feeling on top of the world, like I can do anything. And while this was somewhat true of this morning's run, I feel this one did more -- it gave me newfound empathy.
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