I’m not certain of the implication I’m giving being understood, but I get the impression some aren’t aware of thoughts as an affective input, just like a sense; smell, sound, heat, vision. During madness there’s a failure of the division in these thoughts. They become—are—just as truthful as what you see and hear (although those are in no way necessarily factual.) There’s a theory that schizophrenia, at least the ‘voices’ in hallucinations, are simply the person’s internal monologue appearing separated from the person themself. This was, in some ways, true to me. My ‘hallucinations’ were always in my own voice. It was a me separated from me speaking to me, a me I had no control over, and that tells of the matter at hand: thoughts as experience of perception.
If these ‘voices’ are simply a form of perception, one where our thinking becomes manifest, then we need to see that they exist to be reckoned with.
Speaking with a doctor they may ask you about intrusions on your life, and you might respond, “I think someone is accessing the webcam on my laptop to watch me.” So the doctor will (I’m not sure on this) write about paranoia and delusions. But to me the question is of what type of thought the webcam-watching idea is. I do not know the person is watching me. I do not believe the person is watching me. I may fear someone is watching me. The thought, as presented to me, has a perception-like quality. It is an occurrence for me to then think on. “I think,” becomes, “a thought came to me,” and not all thoughts that become apparent are thoughts you ascribe to a reality. Yet, for me, those thoughts became combative. They came frequently. They were difficult to ignore. I would reason with them, argue against them, dismiss them yet they would always find ways to return and reject my control over them. They would give me reasons why logic was incorrect, why someone really was watching me.
The question becomes which thoughts have value. And that sends you to a place where all thought creates even more. I imagine the ‘autistic’ schizophrenic, locked in a chair, unmoving, not responsive, but the world to them still exists, they are simply preoccupied. Everything they perceive, including their thoughts, becomes a test. They must consider what this particular thought, this momentary perception means. Then they must consider what the conclusion they’ve reached on that thought offers. It’s never ending, especially when the conclusion you reach inevitably contorts, through doubt or fear, to make your view of yourself incorrect or hateful. The schizophrenic in the chair has not left the world, they are considering it deeply.
This is what these notes-to-myself are. A considering of myself. At some point I hope others will read this book, buy this book. Looking over it now I realise it was beyond my ability to match the flow of my reality—what a reader would consider reality, what they would see as a character moving through a story—with the reality of someone whose thoughts are constantly creating. My notes, now, appreciate this dichotomy. They may be separated by months in the writing, but by placing thought on internal-novel-thought, on direct-character-action, it allows me to convey the forever up-and-in, down-and-towards that is the mind-space that occupies me (rather than that which I fill.) My mind becomes to me, for me, as me. It is not something created by me, yet I am always creating.
Who is this story for? The person, me, who-I-was-that-is-no-longer-me, Natalie-as-the-character-within-it. It exists as her life. I, months-later, maybe you, a reader, years-later, have an opportunity to experience Natalie. By looking at your thoughts, as thoughts, on her thoughts you’ve become more like her than you realise. You have lived her living but more are considering her living: much as the thoughts she/I considered were not necessarily thoughts I brought to myself. I am living through considering my living, removed and yet in-the-moment. I can only wonder if it’s enough for you to do the same.