the death of Steve Jobs

I took several photos for Instagram and Twitter. But as I took the photos, an unsettling awareness lingered throughout my body. In the near future, this uneasy discomfort would evolve, intensify, and become a part of my daily existence. It was one of the first samplings of what it feels like to live with acute psychotic delusion. Nevertheless, I carried on with my project. And as I photographed the mourners, I was certain that someone else was watching, photographing and following me from store to store.

stealing an ambulance for a joy ride

And there I was . . . all alone in the passenger front seat. . . keys left in the ignition. My manic mind an overpowering competitor against my ability to maintain reasonable and rational thought. The possibilities were overwhelming. The temptation too powerful. And without pause, I leapt over the console into the driver’s seat, wrapped my hand around the keys in the ignition, and gave them a forceful turn. I threw the gear into drive.

my first diagnosis

Psychotic tendancies didn't appear in my early twenties as they often do with the many that find themselves waging a mental war fretted with hallucinations and delusions during that age. My constant deliberation with the the probability that I might be hunted at large by an underground sex cult didn't reveal itself until into my mid 40's. But my late twenties bore tell tale signs of possible trouble ahead.

the day psychosis entered my life

Later, the psychosis would evolve to include my recognition that I was a test tube baby created in a government lab. As part of the CIA’s clandestine MK Ultra program, I was classified as a top secret military weapon. In order to hide the operation in plain sight, secret codes and symbols would be my only means of communication. All messages and directives would be delivered by embedding symbols and code into casual English language, public signage, lyrics to music, television shows and commercials, movies, and frequencies that transfer information through voices inside my head. I accepted and understood they could not and would never speak with me directly.

art overload at 12 years old

But now, in my darkest days of living with psychosis, this bittersweet memory provided the fuel to substantiate the conspiracy. Now, I could only reference the forced study buddy system as clear evidence. It was all the proof I needed to confirm my belief that my mom was part of a clandestine government initiative to create a private citizen that was covertly engineered and conditioned for the greater good.