┏━━━━━━━━━┓
Marcus Din Mercer
┗━━━━━━━━━┛
It's Marcus or Mercer
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx "I don't suffer from insanity..."xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx "...I enjoy every single waking minute of it."xxxxxxxx ♣xxxxxxxx ♣ xxxxxxxx ♣
xxxxxxxxxxxx » The Basics ♥
xxxx → Twenty Years Old
xxxx → ♂ Male
xxxx → PropheticallyLost
xxxx → The Crazy Older Brother
✄----------------------------------
xxxxxxxxx » Diving Deeper Down ☪
xxxx → My personality? It's disordered. It didn't used to be, but it is now. That personality that my personality used to be still lingers. Occasionally. Well, most of the time. That personality is very calm and cool and collected and reserved and gentlemanly. And very charming. If nothing else, it's charming. With that persona in play, I'm very likable. Women practically flock toward me and I'm generally very pleasant to be around. After my condition kicked in, though, things began to change. My personality became a short-tempered, rage-infested, ticking time-bomb. The smallest things could set me off. But violence was only one symptom. I'm sometimes incoherent, and I sometimes ramble. Then there's the voices. I talk to the voices a lot, but I never acknowledge their existence to anyone who overhears our conversations. The voices don't like to be spoken about, because when they are, they get mean and it scares me. So I'm very secretive about them. I'm very unpredictable as well. I never know what I might do.
xxxx → I was normal when I was born. I was a good kid, too. My parents really liked me and took good care of me. I rarely got into trouble, so I was rarely punished. When my little brother was born, I was really nice to him. As I got older, I helped mom and dad take care of him. I suppose you could say that I had a pretty nice life when I was younger. Because I was normal when I was born.
Then, I turned ten. My life became insomnia and restlessness and tantrums and anxiety and bad thoughts. And voices. Mom and dad thought it was a phase, but the random outbursts of violence were so unlike me that they considered that maybe I was sick. So I went to see a doctor. He asked me some questions, and I tried really hard to be patient with him and be a good kid again. We talked about all my symptoms, like getting no sleep and being mean and needing to get up and move every once in a while. I also told him about how sometimes I could imagine things and they would become real to just me. This caught his attention, so he started to ask me some weirder questions. At the end of our discussion, he asked me about the voices. I don't know how he was allowed to talk about the voices without them getting mad at him, but I figured that if he could, then so could I. I told him all about the voices. They still got mad. I saw the doctor write some really long word on his clipboard before I was dismissed, and a week later, I had to go back to the doctor to pick up medications.
I was diagnosed with Schizophrenia. From that moment on, I became a secret. I was home-schooled. My parents were more strict with me, and they didn't leave me alone with my little brother. Ever. I wasn't allowed to own anything with which I could hurt myself or others. Mom and dad kept a calm environment around me at all times, hoping to keep my anger at bay; but they couldn't keep the voices away. As I grew older, the voices became meaner. I got better at controlling myself when they told me to do bad things, but accidents happen. When I turned eighteen, my parents let me leave the house every once in a while, but it was a horrible experience since I grew up secluded from society and therefore had adopted no social cues. It did get easier, though. And once I was comfortable in public, the voices started to use it against me. They would tell me to do bad things when I crossed stores and they would put impure thoughts in my head when I crossed attractive women and they would even tell me to be evil to people that I felt jealousy toward. But I was good.
When I turned twenty, I experienced my first audio-visual hallucination. The voices took shapes. Some voices looked like people--the nicer voices did, at least. The evil voices looked like monsters: deformed and terrifying. I saw them while I was out running an errand for my mom and ran into a girl on the streets. She was a friend of mine from grade school, before my diagnosis, and she immediately recognized me. It was a cool evening and she was out for a jog, and the voices kept pointing out how pretty she was and started giving me bad thoughts, but I resisted. She had a nagging curiosity as to why I'd disappeared so suddenly, and I reluctantly explained to her my condition. She gave me an uncomfortable look, and all the voices screamed, and it set off my anger.
I don't talk about what I did. She lived, and she forgave me, but I don't like to remember. I don't see her anymore. I rarely see the voices, but when I get the feeling they'll be coming around, I lock myself up. I don't want to hurt anyone, least of all my family or my brother's friends, so I do better about my treatment when I think I'm going to see the voices again. I still hate the medication, and I often times don't take it, but that's a secret. The voices wouldn't like it if I told.
xxxx I don't think infatuation comes with my disorder...
xxxx I'm an occasional smoker, although I usually resist the urge until I'm alone. Also, I speak three languages fluently: English, Romanian, and Icelandic. I know several other languages enough to hold a decent conversation, but they could still use some work in perfecting. And my worst Schizophrenic symptom is the audio-visual hallucinations: when I see the voices, that's when I do bad things.
✄----------------------------------» They make me happy
♥ Solitude
♥ Various Arts
♥ Calm Colors
♥ Food »No way!
✗ People
✗ Loud Noises
✗ Slowness
✗ MedicationSell Your Soul--Hollywood Undead
Reply
