I hoped that tonight I might be able to record an incident, properly. I type faster than I write, so it would be far better than trying to write down the experience while it happened.
However, when I got to the Computer Science building I found that plenty of people were there. For some reason the voices are shy of company, and prefer to beset me while I'm alone. I have no doubt that if I had went through the woods I would have experienced an incident proper.
I don't know if anyone else has any idea what it's like, the knowledge that if you go walking by yourself you'll soon hear them, demons, talking about you. For now it will suffice to record the onset.
There's a sort of build up to it, like a dam somewhere is filling and filling. You can feel them clawing their way through to reality, trying to escape whatever spiritual prison they usually occupy… The night around me feels like paper being slowly rended, and – sometimes – I'll see a few tiny sparks or a vague aura, like some sort of discharge. (It's relatively rare for me to actually see anything; usually I'll 'sense' something, like the creeping feeling you get when you're aware someone is watching you.)
It's rather a generalisation to say this is always how it happens. Sometimes – especially when I'm in bed, or ready to go to bed – they'll just be there, whispering and eventually talking.
Some questions the psychiatrist asked me. Do I actually hear them? Yes, most of the time. Sometimes they're quite insidious, these demons, and they can make themselves sound like they're my thoughts; but there's always the knowledge that they're not part of me, that they're something artificial inserted into my consciousness. And other times – their dialogue is perfectly normal, real voices that sometimes confuse me. Sometimes they take the voices of people I know, sometimes of bizarre and miscellaneous characters. Regardless, they have distinct tone and nuance, just like any real voices.
Are the voices a mental phenomenon or an external influence? Well, it's obvious: they're not part of me. Very soon after they started I was painfully aware that this wasn't something I have any control over. If they're the result of some mental processes, they're not my mental processes. They're nothing I own or produce. I conclude, therefore, that either they are an external process or that, if something within me is causing them, that they are a totally alien presence. Sometimes, I'd even regard them as conscious – and a consciousness distinct from my own, therefore a separate consciousness.
There's another reason I write here: I have no one to tell. My friends would be freaked – I observe that the few I've actually informed are skeptical or taken aback, entirely to be expected but not something I want to encourage. Since almost no one reading this blog has any idea that I exist (in fact, I have less evidence for the existence of readers than I have for the existence of these demons) I can be completely anonymous.
I don't mean to be harsh on my friends when, in the last post, I declare any knowledge they gain here to be 'the price of curiosity.' It's simply that I don't think anyone here is particularly interested in me, certainly not enough to go looking for me here, and even if they find me by accident it's unlikely they'll be bothered to look. Perhaps that's my depressed state of mind talking (I hate Warwick, I'm quite miserable here and can't wait to leave), perhaps innocent friends will find their way here and be shocked. Well, I'm sorry if that happens. This is catharsis, and they probably shouldn't be a part of it if they're very distressed. I've dealt with this alone for nearly five years, so no one should worry about trying to help me now. (That about covers any potential readership!)
And I have no worry about someone using this information for anything less than scrupulous. I trust that people are intelligent enough to know when someone's trying to cause trouble, and they'll probably only succeed in making themselves look foolish and underhand. And if anyone does pay them heed, it only confirms my suspicion that people do a lot of gossiping that I'm not privy to.
I'm a very loving person. I don't want to get people involved in my psychosis. Perhaps through here I can find other people who are experiencing similar problems, and that's great, perhaps we can get together, form a support network. Perhaps ordinary people will read it and feel good, in a 'thank goodness I'm not like that psycho' sort of way. We'll see. Most likely no one will read but the excitement of possibility is there, and there's a sort of pleasure in secretly baring yourself to the world. Which is, of course, why so many people of a romantic bent find themselves leaning out of windows expounding poetic laments/praises/wonders.
Tonight I'll see what happens. I'll record it if it does, and I'll type it up as soon as I get back from Blackpool; otherwise, I'll continue in my drawling, introspective kind of way to account trivia concerning my illness.
Heaven knows, I feel a lot better. Perhaps there really is something to be said for cathartic blogging?