Hard_Wired: M<ad tH-nKinG

It sometimes feels like my thoughts are wired up to a loud-speaker. They’re played out on something electrical and alien to me. It happens without warning. I’ll be sitting there, not thinking about anything much, and suddenly I notice that things feel weird. I can almost ‘hear’ what I’m thinking, and the thoughts are off in a big way. The content is fine, well … as fine as it ever is (I am mad y’know), but the quality has shifted across into a realm I’m not comfortable with.

Here in my own personal twighlight zone everything is speeded up, in fact it feels like it’s doubling back on itself somehow. It’s as if my brain’s whacked up the reverb and I’m left with a disconcerting echo.

Panic begins to rear its ugly head, immune to my efforts to stuff it back down into my gut. I feel woozy, nauseous and ever so slightly insane. I engage my deep breathing script – a throwback from the ridiculous amount of relaxation classes I attended during an 8 month admission (I knew I’d find a use for them eventually) and try to chill. I know the anxiety will just add fuel to the fire, so I go on auto-pilot for a while till I get a hold of myself. I grasp hold of some random inanimate object and brace myself – my own personal white knuckle ride (I save a fortune in theme park admission prices, y’know).

Ok. Ok. I’m Ok. Still breathing.

Phew.

I try and avoid thinking that I’m losing it completely, and that I’m heading straight back to ‘The Ward’. It sounds dramatic, I guess, but it really IS that disturbing. I’m almost ready to check myself in after half an hour of such intense weirdness.

I don’t know what this is. I don’t even know if it’s anything separate to my own bizarreness. Maybe it is something unique to me, or maybe not. It’s hard to contrast and compare when I just don’t have the words. Experiences are one of the many things that resist all attempts to stick them in a neat little box (complete with a neat little label). On occasions such as this, however, I really wish that little box existed and someone could tell me what the hell is going on with my head.

Rachel Waddingham © 2003