A pretty 20-something girl had thought her Co-op was compelling her to buy things she had no use for, and she couldn’t walk within 100 meters of the entrance. I once sat in on a hearing voices class where people are encouraged to articulate their voices, talk back, and negotiate with them. Only you hear it as a constant outside noise. It is like your inner monologue, the weird one that insists you’re a twat, becomes self-sufficient-it no longer needs you to exist, and like a coke-fuelled, motor-mouthed rant it goes on interminably. Auditory hallucinations are very persistent-like small children, telling them to be quiet or threatening them just doesn’t work. One in a hundred people will have an episode of schizophrenia-you see people walking around with earmuffs in summer or headphones unplugged and often these are coping mechanisms. It was utterly tragic and part of me wished that we had scraped her shit into a little jar to take home with her. She desperately tried not to shit, becoming toxically constipated, but eventually her bowels would explode in protest, so she would scoop it up and smear it over her body trying to preserve every last pellet of her husband. Her husband had died six weeks previously launching her into a psychotic episode where the voices in her head convinced her that her husband was not dead, but inside of her. Still a little stinky, she was inconsolable about no longer being covered in her own feces in the examination.Įventually, we learned what had happened. We had to sedate her to clean her up because every time we tried to wipe any of it away she would flail and scream, agonized. I was thinking about insanity after a 30-year-old woman came into ER last week covered from head to toe in her own shit. The voice in your head becomes so overwhelming that it requires action. I realized that must be what it’s like to be mad. I was having a moment of self-loathing on the train yesterday as I recalled a particularly drunken misadventure and without meaning to I groaned and hit myself in the head a few times with my book, saying: "Idiot, idiot, idiot." Everyone in the subway turned and starred. Enjoy my column!īOLLOCKS TO THE HIPPOCRATIC OATH - THE VOICES IN MY HEAD ARE TELLING ME TO BATHE IN SHIT
Don't feel bad for me, though, because it means I will always have a job, an apartment ten times bigger than yours, and the right to tell you what to do simply because I will always know better. Obviously, that is not my real name, but I am a real doctor. Hey, you rapidly decaying protoplasmic sacks of calcium and shit, my name is Dr Mona Moore.
0 kommentar(er)
