A Benedict Arnold in the war against sanity

In an alternate reality, I find insight into my schizophrenia. I continue to see shit, hear shit, feel shit––my experience is the same––I’m presented with “the other side”––it’s sensory overload––but I no longer believe in it. I start telling ghosts they are not real; when they make me feel them, I simply reject my senses; I believe in bad biology; I believe conclusions of God is evolved wound licking, in my condition. I start blaming sleep paralysis on my brain. When a spirit possesses my voice, and starts speaking to me, through me, (which happens all the time)––I chalk it up to dopamine––a mystery of the undermind. I believe that I’m literally haunted by/companioned with a subself that has developed conscious command over a piece of my secular soul. (Honestly no big deal in the sense that it’s real, but fuck society for robbing my pride: what I have in real life. In this alternate universe––it’s not like that.) I forsake myself, and society tells me I’m fine. I eat a crow with grace. In fact, I become a champion of atheism––a critical piece in something bigger than myself––all the while living with Dalkter Bub in my mind. What a fucking crazy world if you ask me. Real schizophrenics would hate me. I’ll stay in the world I got; perception and belief is the balance of life.

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