There’s a disconnect between me and you. I don’t know if you can sense it but it’s glaringly obvious to me. I don’t know if you’re looking at me and analyzing my speech patterns. I don’t know if you can hear the wobbling nervousness in my voice but I can, and it’s all I can think about.
I don’t know if you’re looking at my eyes and the contact their making with yours. I don’t know if you’re thinking, “This guy isn’t looking at me right, I wonder if there’s something wrong with him?”
I don’t know if you can see the fear on my face as I try so desperately to appear normal to you, but I can feel it there and I can feel it in my body and in my bones and I know you’re wondering things about me. They could be bad things or they could be things that compliment me and although I hope for the latter I have a suspicion it’s the former.
When you have schizophrenia, the overarching plot of the experience is the inability to tell whether the things you are thinking are actually taking place in reality. Was that inflection in your voice a signal that I should be more friendly or more reserved? Was that laughter I heard over my shoulder about me or something totally innocuous? What are you thinking about the way I’ve smiled at you today? Does it indicate that I’m weak or that I’m crazy? These are things I ask myself on a day-to-day basis, and although you probably can’t tell, I’m kind of having a hard time with all of this, so please bear with me.
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