I'M UNSURE IF I COULD RECOMMEND MARIJUANA.
A snapshot of the 24/7.
I walked across Sydney Harbour Bridge at 2.00am on a freezing winter's night. The harbour winds numbed my bones, dressed as I was, in a bath-towel. I made it across the span from my apartment in Kings Cross to Kirribilli House, the Prime Minister's residence, at 3.00am for my meeting.
The guards, mistakenly, hadn't been informed of this meeting and I was, without a shred of politeness, sent on my way.
As I returned over the bridge, towel flapping in the gale, a car slowed, inspected me, sounded it's siren briefly and crawled off into the icy night.
Schizophrenia is an unabating mind-set. And too much paperwork for the Law.
I arrived home and warmed myself with a 700ml bottle of Jim Beam, neat. I finished it as the sun rose. I walked back to North Sydney and swam 100 laps of freestyle of the 50 metre Andrew “Boy” Charlton pool. I was disappointed I may have miscalculated and only swum ninety-six laps. But I was buoyed by the power of mankind's temple. It's ability, we only get a glimpse of in exceptional situations, can achieve so much; this human form.
Back home I walked, stumbling occasionally but unconcerned by the constant threats that were voiced in my head. I passed the recycling truck collecting the empties from overflowing bins outside nightclubs whose driver yelled I would bleed to death inside the crusher if I didn't move out of the area.
One thing that is hard, having schizophrenia , isn't stubbing live cigarettes out into the palm of your hands, but knowing that of every person you pass, one will step forward and pierce your flesh with sharpened metal, or splinter your spine into toothpicks, making good the threats against your abnormal behaviour.
I made it home, climbed into a bath and watched the soot of my incinerated sister puff out from the next door chimney, as had been promised by the constant, threatening voices. I passed out in the bath. I found myself trapped in corridors of high, ancient stone walls accompanied by an industrial, metal soundtrack. Schizophrenia does not abate in sleep.
I awoke and picked up a shiny coin to study for hidden messages. I scrutinised every line and scratch for hours, carefully rotatinging it under the light until all the blood vessels in the whites of my eyes had burst. As I bled tears, the devil returned my look in the mirror.
They say marijuana can lead to schizophrenia , and although I enjoy the mind's meanderings when stoned, I would never wish schizophrenia upon anyone. So, I'm unsure if I could recommend marijuana.
But, as we afflicted know, we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, make peace with the echoes of horror and throw ourselves back into battle in the holy name of love.
Please accept my gift to you, these songs, in said fashion.
M. Chippa Donegan,