Sylvanna Devlin

I used to be sociable, well-liked. Easily loved and easy to love. I was kind and welcome everywhere.

But things have changed.

And my grief is compounded by stigma.

People are scared of those with schizo-affective disorder. Even those with type PTSD which you can recover from .

Ans those with mental illness fear becoming;

The isolated, paranoid, individual with psychosis and has developed really solid conspiracy theories. And could do with a bath.

Being homeless? Check that.

Living in a cramped space with too much stuff in need of recycling and garbage taken out, laundry done, clothes put away, dishes done. And a go with the vacuum!

I am even afraid to drink the water!

And give my cat bottled water.

I have aging vegetables in the fridge.

I use a commode and liners have gathered round it. And my blinds are closed. If my cat wants UV I have a lamp but need to make it my routine.

I am not only that off kilter individual. I’m the one that rarely goes anywhere and is scared to go to the doctor. Alone. With my cat.

I want to claw my way out of this. But right now I’m exhausted all the time. Real abuse that merged with hallucinations burnt through so much cortisol that now I’m a bit more grounded from perspective alone.

So I’m less stressed but damn sleepy.

And oh yeah. I even hear voices in my air conditioner!

The crappiest part? There’s a fucking logical reason for developing some of these ideas. A time it was true and I found ways to cut power or stop google plays.

I really did have a dangerous stalker who gaslighted me, driving symptoms into my mind so the madness continued without me.

And some of the neighbors really have been pissy with “Come back to reality” or “when I snap my fingers you are in reality.” And other less than helpful bullying. Their abuse just played into my fears of conspiracy.

I have even had to deal with a sticky fingers who takes small things and that sell well. It drives me crazy. Some are very sentimental. Most are irreplaceable. And in the case of a laptop? Very upsetting.

Of course I’m afraid to go out!

I’m viewed as less than. Stupid bitches think they can boss me around. I’m considered no more capable than a child.

Their threats, demands and orders also weave in to the madness.

And are obnoxious as fuck!

The condescending, controlling bitches.

There’s nothing I can say to drive into their heads that the stigma is particularly unwelcome and my treatment is non of their fucking business.

That what I know and what I do should be none of their concern.

Because now their hen pecking twists around a narrative and I think I’m in danger. So my PTSD rockets nerve pain through me.

I am that crazy person who needs to wash her hair.

And you are those assholes making me worse.