In The Process

Hello,

Here's my story.

When I was young my parents moved from Canada to the far north of Scotland. Growing up was tough. Money was tight and the locals didn't take to kindly to 'yanks'. I never really had that many friends and spent most of my time at home. Most of the friends I did make usuallymoved away. I struggled through school with severe dyslexia and could barely read until I was about 7 years old. The teachers believed I was faking it and wouldphysicallypunish me. This was deemedacceptablein the area I lived in. Around seven or eight years oldI strayed from a social event and was molested. I'll go into that later.

After ten years of living there,my family moved back to Canada just as I was turning 13. Grade 8 was fine, learned to fit in, made some friends. Throughout the four years of high schoolseven kids in my grade passed away. Three of which were close friends I had made. I was verysociable, had a small group of friends that stick with me today. Girls were a weird concept for me. I made a little name for myself because I would meet girls, get a solid chemistry going and then break it off within a few weeks. The trouble was I had a hard time giving a shit about anyone.

Graduated by the skin of my teeth with50sin almost every class except a small photography program that I passed with flyingcolours. That summer I spent stoned pretty much everyday jumping between manic weeks and depression. After two months I quit the dope and got a job at a local pizza place. Then another one of my close friends died of anecstasyoverdose.

I took the year off before I went to college, worked full time at the pizza place and opened an analog film to digital conversionbusinessout my house. I was working like crazy, making decent money to get to college and had actually met a girl I was willing to stick with. Things were going great.

Then I started having flashbacks. Flashbacks of the molesting. Hearing voices. My manic to depressive stages which had always been there and known by everyone around me, got worse. Next thing you know, 3 weeks before I go to college, I have a few episodes and find myself in a mental ward. I spent a week there.

I stepped out with a wishy-washy diagnosis of bi-polar or schizophrenia. Funny thing is only my girlfriend knows about the incident when I was a kid.

Now I'm in my first year of college inphotography. The first month Ispent couch surfing because I couldn't find a place to stay.

The voices got considerably worse. The doctor tripled my dosage. I've beenso high that I've fallen so far behind.

I'm depressed. I don't eat. I don't sleep. I stopped taking the medication because it messes with me so much.

The original psychiatrist referred me to a family doctor, the family doctor referred me to another psychiatrist, who in turn referred me to another hospital here in the city, which due to me being without a 'proper diagnosis' referred me to the college help who set me up with a consoler, who then referred me to the schools mental help, who then referred me to the school psychosis center, that put me on a 2 month waiting list.

I almost had a place to stay with some friends from back home a few weeks ago but after I told them about my hospital experience they don?t feel comfortable living with a schitzo. I did find a place but that sure was a kick in the teeth to hear that.

All I?m saying is that I?m at the end of my rope. No one has taken the time to listen or help. My parents don?t believe anything is wrong and my girlfriend has a tendency to react to these issues with anger.

I worked so hard to get myself here and now that I am, everything is slipping through my fingers. Not one person has noticed since I?m fairly good at hiding things these days. But when I do reach out everyone turns their backs.

Lately I feel like I just don?t fit in with the rest of the world or maybe I don?t belong here anymore.

Thank you for listening
~MH