July 26th 2021: gratitude

When you are first diagnosed with schizophrenia it’s going to feel like your life is over. I’m here to tell you that it’s not. Your life is different now. It has to be. But that doesn’t mean that it’s over. As a schizophrenic myself I talk a lot about what it was like in the hospital, a lot about the discrimination I’ve faced. I talk a lot about my medication and how it makes me feel, what the side effects are like. Those are all big parts of my life but bigger still are the normal moments, the quiet moments, the low and muffled moments bathed in commonness. Bigger still in my life are the sunrises and sunsets, snowfalls, rainstorms, and thunderclouds. Bigger still are garden beds and hands covered in dirt. Bigger still are mornings lulling in bed, beneath our mound of blankets, curled up like mice. Bigger still are memories carved out of our lives and presented in pictures. Bigger and bigger still are moments upon moments when I forget there is anything wrong with me. Of course, I am always reminded, swiftly, and often soon after. I have a lot of normal moments. Carving pumpkins, hanging Christmas lights, watering the summer garden, and staring wholeheartedly in awe at all the plants that started from little tiny seeds and have grown into plants and food, and flowers. I like to watch the bumblebees and hummingbirds. I have often called myself a hummingbird in my writing, racing, racing, always racing. I have moments that sound like rain, and moments that look like sunshine, I have moments that taste like homemade mead, and moments that drip like honey.

I know that I am lucky to have these moments.

I know that not everyone with schizophrenia gets these moments.

My heart breaks for them.

This isn’t to say that I don’t suffer. I do. I do. Sometimes it is all I can do to get out of bed, to do the dishes, to shower. But these are all punctuated by beautiful tiny average moments where I have no symptoms, aside from a dull whisper that are the voices I hear. And when I am unwell, I gather in my hands all these moments, scant like seeds, and remind myself that they will grow into something beautiful. It is an exercise in gratitude.

I just want you to know that not every moment with schizophrenia is wild and roaring and raving, plenty of moments are calm, plenty of moments are basic, plenty are beautiful and you will have them too.