Soundtrack to a Schizophrenic Mind :: Psychology Loneliness Essays

Soundtrack to a Schizophrenic Mind The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a stock(a) thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the sky. Jack Kerouac On the RoadTrack 1 Ryan A blocks Back beat the enounce is on the street that the fire in your heart is out...Next door and two flights up an unknown woman sings scales, melancholic and operatic, ghostlike, she vocalizes the sorrows that haunt me. Music has ever so been my salvation. A feeling rolls in, filling the empty vibration of my atmosphere. Rain, softly at first, then steadily. The universe weeps. It feels like God mocks me, showing off by vociferous when I cant. In retrospect, maybe he was empathizing, like a parent leading by example, gently nudging me to follow suit. But presently, I am bitter, totally incapable of seeing optimisticall y. Perception is inseparable from state of mind.There is a huge difference between being alone and feeling lonely. The former is bearable, raze enjoyable, when a person is actually physically alone. The latter, being surrounded by the people who care, yet separated by an invisible distance, a magnetic devote of pride and insecurity, repelling love despite closeness of its proximity and the friendliest of intentions, tortures the soul. In Thailand, halfway across the world, I missed the people I love, but in a happy nostalgic way. Alone yet never lonely. Home again, I see them every day, smile at them, converse with them, yet cannot get together psychically. There is no heart in my friendships here. Surrounded by the people I once missed, I feel only empty.58 moonstones arranged on links of tarnished silver wrap loosely around my bony fingers. I am not catholic, or even Christian, but on this night I slide my fingertips over the smooth rosary beads. Drowning. Sometimes it is just so painful to be alive. Screams, trapped with the tears somewhere inside, build a dam of hopelessness and frustration to protect society from the unsightly emotions anger, sadness, grief. Freud called it melancholy loss unmourned. Modern society calls it depression, apparently a phenomenon common amongst students returning from extended travels in developing countries. Youll readjust in a month or so, they consoled me.