This is one story in a long series of stories that I have experienced. It includes deep troughs of diagnosed schizophrenia and up mountains of strange coincidences and mystic ecstasy. Many have termed this as “insanity” others call it “awakening”.
Drifting Asleep
I obviously don't remember the beginning. I always wondered what all of existence was, intrinsically. The furthest memory I can think of was when I was in the crib, alone. Completely comfortable with myself. I felt a strange sensation of mystery.
Oh, I must have become conscious at that point? I don't know if separation brings it about or something else, but I wasn't particularly fearful, I just remember being totally in my senses in the dark room, looking at the hanging mobile above me and pictures within my room. The more I concentrated on any one aspect of the room, the more the mystery deepened into an ever cascading spiral of pressurized excited peace. I imagine this is nothing more than what everyone has experienced before.
Flash forward to my next memory. I am walking to school with my mom. It turns out to be the beginning of what people label “school”. I had no interest at all for its tedious nature. I believe mostly because it was the first time I was demanded to “do”, to “become”, to think and strive for an understanding of existence itself. I strongly hold the conviction that education is the reason the mystery inside me ceased to be.
Perhaps, one could say it was because I was no longer using both hemispheres of my brain in equilibrium, flowing with the full blissed out wonder of the universe. I was now in a small limited space, in a body and a brain that was next to other bodies and brains who were ostensibly competing over being “right” about an arbitrary question about one infinitesimally small aspect of the universe.
The Intermission of The Play
I wouldn't interact with people because I always felt it was more enjoyable to just observe instead. There was no interest in talking to them at all, nor to answer any question, because there didn't seem to be anything that could possibly be communicated. I don't remember what my personality was when I did talk, but I really would like to know, because the time as a child, for me, had my body feeling very light and good. I describe it as like a cool breeze that floats through the anatomy. I occasionally get glimpses of that state of being now when, as an example, I look at vast mythical green landscapes or pictures of faerie gardens, forests, and sprites. I seemed to feel this sensation all the time when I was a child, so long as I wasn't in school working on some sort of mental objective.
To make things slightly more challenging, I was birthed with an aberration. I was told that when I was born, the doctor pulled too hard on my right arm and as a result I entered the world at the start with a brachial plexus injury that limited the movement of the arm significantly (I forgive the doctor). The doctor was charged with malpractice and a large sum of money was court ordered to be given to me when I turned the age of 18. The money could be seen as a blessing or a curse depending on the point of view. As you, the reader, traverse through my story, both sides will become apparent.
It was at the time of first grade that my physical disability became more debilitating for me. Not physically, that always remained the same, but psychologically. The arm is slightly smaller than my left, as well as a bit crooked in appearance. I bought into the belief that I looked strange to the other kids and it was in part the reason why I never engaged in conversation. Not only that but, it was at this time I also formed another negative belief that I was much weaker, physically then everyone else. The belief reinforced its existence, when one day during recess, I decided to play tether ball.
I usually avoided playing tether ball or any sport during recess, because I never appeared to be very good at them. If you don't know tether ball, it is simply hitting a ball on a tether until it completely wraps around to your side while the other player is thwarting you by trying to do the same except in favor for their side. I happened to be paired up with one of the few kids that I talked to. He happened to be born on the same day as me, February 2nd, and his name was Jason which was just one letter away from my name, Jaron. A rather small coincidence at the time.
It was my turn to face Jason. In tether ball, the victor always plays until he is defeated. Jason out played multiple people before it came around to me. I thought it was possible that I could beat him, but deep down I knew it would be a long shot. I hit the ball as best I could but, often missed or only scrapped the surface. I began to notice the expression of his face. It was one of pity. He hit the ball softly to me to give me a chance to play longer. The other kids became furious, because the longer I was out there, the less chance they got to play the game.
I realized what was happening and so I created a strong intention to win, but still, it was filled with much doubt. The ball came around and I hit it even harder than I thought I could. It was not nearly enough. Jason swung it back around like he was leisurely spreading butter on bread. The children on the sidelines were yelling out “Finish him!” and “Get this over with” like they all could see how inevitable my defeat was. I felt an embarrassment that would haunt me for ages. I began to buy into a belief that would be the root cause of my schizophrenia. One of complete and utter dis-empowerment, where my place in the universe was a burden to all.
To deepen the trauma, my teacher noticed what had occurred. Believing that this event was an empowering triumph for the both of us, she made an announcement in class of what occurred. She praised Jason for giving me a chance to win at tether ball and awarded us both with a special card with a golden border and colorful words that gave praise to the reader. She happily expressed her admiration to Jason of how wonderful it was of him to give me the liberty to play tether ball without outright destroying me in the process. Naturally, this did not make me feel any better, and naturally I did not describe my point of view in anyway because I was too timid and too ignorant of what was actually going on. I felt as though my sensational experience was being forgotten. Everyone was focusing on something entirely different that I began buying into. It was one that could be described as value on prestige. Though all is forgiven now as I write, I believe that if Jason decided to simply play as he would with no consideration for my feelings, that I would have simply lost another game of tether ball and the emotional impact would have been much less.
As time went on, that good sensation I described earlier began to diminish. I actually started becoming depressed before I was even seven years old. I believe it was around second grade when I knew that I couldn't put up with the monotony anymore. Even though I was doing quite well by the school's perspective, as I was receiving all good marks on my handout sheets. That negative feeling was subtle when I was a kid, though now it seems blindingly overt. The teachers were demanding, often angry at the students for talking about anything other than the subject at hand. The kids were often quibbling about trivia or poking fun at each other when things were a lighter tone. And the constant dread of looking weird, looking stupid, or looking weak was looming around me the whole time I was there. I asked my mother how long it would be, before I never had to sit in a class again to watch the clock tick my life away. She told me the horrifying reality, of the manner. I would be in school for at least another decade.
This appeared before me as an impossible eternity when I was seven. This was the beginning of a depression for me, and I was merely seven years old. Every moment I was in school, felt like torture. Though there was a light at the end of the tunnel that I did not expect. It was the mystery calling me back home. What that light was, and if it can even be described adequately to the reader, would change everything for me. But, first I would have to trudge through the mud and bare the pointy edges of my emotions and have everything collapse before me.
