The people dealing with my outbursts of torture symptoms were patient and kind. I found out during the first year of schizophrenia just how far I could go with my actions and behaviors. While strangers tended to give me distance and respond with compassion when I seemed like I needed it my family was well aware of and vigilant in monitoring me. It was they who made the most demands about how I should behave.
My family caught quickly when I informed my mother that I was going through a schizophrenic break. When I tried to recant it they overrode me and went with their instincts. I was acting strangely. I was clearly talking and interacting with people they couldn’t see or hear. It was obvious to them that I was schizophrenic.
When I made my biggest efforts to severe the contact between me and Jakob Dylan I was forced to travel to reach him. I failed. I failed to even reach my destination but for one time. I would get a ways there and become overwhelmed with the torture I was receiving. The torture group did not want me finding Jakob Dylan. Which was good for him. He’s not involved in my torture it turns out.
Biking north in the dead of night took me up to Pasadena over thirty miles away. I ended up in a cul de sac. How telling. It was then, well that next morning, that my parents made the call to have me interviewed by a county mental health assessor. My inability to clearly speak made me appear delusional enough to need hospitalization.
I went through the involuntary hospital hold while being tortured. But the torture group again checked their inciting of my torture symptoms. I was released and then the torture group picked up again. It was more of the same.
I stole my father’s car and drive to Palos Verdes Estates. I do not have a license. Apparently I’m a great driver. I narrowly avoided arrest but was detained and released to my father. The car was fine.
My father grew tired of my antics and locked my bike up. I walked instead. Until I really wanted the bike and I sawed through the metal chain. This trip was a bad one. I think I ended up in Compton. I found a pay phone and tried to get a ride home but my sister denied me. So I called the number Jakob Dylan had given me. I cried and ranted into the phone. I was so alarming someone might have called the cops on me. They drove up to check on me and then left again. I walked all the way home. I got there by the next morning.
These were things I would never have done during my anxiety torture phase. They were outside the realm of possibility to me. The torture group acted unlike themselves. These are just a few examples of the hassles of the first year.