People sometimes see the "shadow people", the "demons", hear "the voices"; we often post in this forum of delusions that we are interacting with spirits from another world, with aliens, with spirits.
The pdoc's and their modern enterprise come along and post below our posts, 'nonsense, there is no devil, there are no demons, this is all inside your mind'.
The phenomenon going on within our psyches here is something that's been happening to people all over the world for as long as recorded history can tell us: some people are different, the veil between the worlds is thin for them, they talk to the spirits.
The ancient Christian understanding was that we are being called, by god, to have this breakdown of our former self that is not close to god so that the full and real self can be broken through, and come to god. So it's seen as a natural process to go mad for a while, to go through the whole thing and come out on the other end, as a natural experience.
So the psychologist who denies the content of the breakdown, then, and its language, obstructs the passage from illness to conversion or escape, and is thus an agent of the Devil.
Reason was revealed to be a fraud, the world a perverted madhouse, peopled with spectral doubles, doubles emanating from a multiple and diseased, broken self
The moral psychology which Romantic duality promoted, and which, in Herdman’s account, scientific psychology naturalises through a cerebral anatomy, wants its independence - not least from psychology as its own double, its own trickster
All honest psychiatrists (and there are some) know that schizophrenia is their Waterloo;
The doppelgnger (or Spectre) is just one manifestation in the entire world of light-dark, youth-age, Satan-God, Hell-Heaven which, do what you will, is made up of contradiction
It is within Christianity that the idea first appears that madness is in certain cases educative
The startling feature of Augustine’s Confessions, by contrast with these and with early Christian accounts of conversion, was that he pictured the convert not as one entering final security but rather as one beginning a difficult and dangerous journey.
Romanticism seemed to bring to the fore’: ‘a longing for what is missing, and an attempt to supply it’.
....condensed from an article in the london review of books about these books:
TriplesMichael NeveThe Double in 19th-Century Fiction by John HerdmanMacmillan, 174 pp, 35.00, August 1990, ISBN 0 333 49024 X Romanticism and the Sciences edited by Andrew Cunningham and Nicholas JardineCambridge, 345 pp, 40.00, June 1990, ISBN 0 521 35602 4 Schizophrenia: A Scientific Delusion? by Mary BoyleRoutledge, 248 pp, 35.00, September 1990, ISBN 0 415 04096 5
yeah, guess I haven't bothered posting. Philosophy has been: allergic to thought, language bad. But I was waiting for a server to do something in the background and I got bored enough to check this website and even post a little nonsense I had put together a few days ago.
Got kicked out of that hotel, way back on thanksgiving day, for cooking a little salmon with my vegetables and getting the smoke detector to go off, not in my room but the front desk called and asked if I was ok, I explained I was just frying a little ish, but 5 minutes later bang bang bang on the door, it's the fire department, through the peephole. Well, in schizotypal personality disorder, when the authority figures arrive, the cognitive slippage begins. So I yell at them to back off, and surprisingly they do. Then I call the front desk and yell not to send any more authorities, didn't I just say it was a little fish, is that what you're afraid of a little fish? Well, yeah, guess they were, cause a half hour later, jsut after I'd finished my fish and vegetables, bang bang bang on the door, it's 4 cops through the peephole this time, and I've been through this before, so I just open up, and I'm in cuffs on the floor in the hallway, fifteen minutes later out on the street with what I thought was way too much stuff to drag on public transportation on a challenging 2 and a half hour commute involving 2 light rails, a long bus sride, and the BART subway thing at the end, and then a mile or a five dollar cab, would have thought it was too much stuff but I got it done. Then it got even worse whn I ate some graham crackers and couldn't stop itching enough to sleep, for 2 nights. Called in sick again on monday. But tuesday I got myself back together enough to go to work and try to survive day by day, so I'm using seroquel, 50 mg a night, which does surprisingly little to keep me asleep more than a few hours, but I really am insane from the trauma of being so infested with demonic parasites, and my mind won't shut down, so it's the seroquel, plus benedryl, singulair (allergy stuff), and melotonin (which I heard all sz patients could use at night), and that gets me a few hours sleep, enough to keep going. Gonna try to come off the seroquel this weekend and see what happens. MEanwhile, diet is severely restricted, it's been a week already, and I sure am hungry. It's pure raw veggies for the next 120 days with 3 to 6 garlic cloves all day every day, the only optional addition being ginseng tea I make with some other chinese herbs. Severely restricted is what I had called the diet for the past 120 days, but I let in daily oatmeal, yogurt, and a few times a week a scone, some cofffee, and even a few cheesesteak sandwiches the week everything broke. I was feeling full and satisfied, but itching till I couldn't sleep anymore. and that 120 days I let the garlic slack off after the first few weeks. So now I'm feeling the same as those first few weeks of the past 120 day diet, feeling great, the colors are brighter, feel so light, loosing way too much weight, but telling myself the reward is the thriss to be alive, don't crave those bugs, embrace my new magical post, the calling to sit up here on the glass table and meditate - no more tv, music, or reading, it all causes ghost bugs - but it's the thrill of being alive, that half hour walk in the sun along the parkway at lunch, the meditation in the car on 880 in bumper to bumper, the love, the love all around, up with the lark, rejoicing with the wren, I wouldn't have chosen this diet for the amazing effects on consciousness willingly, I would eat a sandwich and blur it all into dullness along with everyone else, for the cmfort, but it looks like I've been called to stop eating what most people eat, sleeping like most people sleep, and thinking and being like most people do, and to be a magical wizard or something. So I try. Empty, hungry, but alive and thrilled, in my own world, a little weak, slight as a flood charm, but heaven's powers fill my arms, onward now to fight I'm sent, against a demon that infests my body at the core, but I can get him, got a good shot at him, got the willpower of an anorexic little girl in me at the very least.