So, I haven’t been on here much. Lately, my medication has been doing me a disfavor. I hope my doctor listens and decreases the amount of fluphenazine I’m on. That’s the shot. Of course, I’ll upset my grandma, but I can’t feel anything.
Something has to give.
I’m limited. Plus, in the hospital, they took me down to 37 or whatever. I’m on 50 now.
Also, I’ve been trying to write with little success. I did receive a spark of inspiration from a Yahoo news article on sleep paralysis, however. I used to suffer from it quite frequently prior to being put on medications for schizophrenia.
I haven’t thought about those hypnagogic hallucinations for a while: material.
I can honestly say I don’t miss it, don’t want it to happen again, the waking Hell. My life used to revolve around my dreams and spirit guides. I had to follow so many rules in the dream world, like having to run to a closet if the dead things came after me, and the boogeyman, known as the “hanged man,” would grab me and wake me up or take me to another dream.
I don’t believe in the supernatural anymore.
I’ve had enough therapy to realize dreams are dreams and my old paracosm wasn’t real either.
Someone must have told me about the “hanged man,” the man who committed suicide at the Rolla house. Rolla is an average sized town in Missouri where my grandparents have a creepy house, and someone committed suicide on a tree in the backyard, which made it worse.
Damn basement.
There are so many facets to my dream world, and rules. I’ll try to compose stories from there. I’m at a safe distance with my medication. I used to stay up for days and scream.