It’s complicated this schizophrenia. I don’t want to be seen as straitjackets, lobotomies, shrill screams, or curled up naked on a floor.I also don’t want to be seen as the exception, oh you know, “You are unique” or “It doesn’t apply to you” or “Not you, of course.” Because I am all of those things or I have been, or I am capable of becoming, or the possibilities are there. I have been locked in a room in a psych ward with nothing but a bed and white sheets, a single light overhead. I have been the woman staring off into nothing listening intently while voices argued in her head. I have been the woman on the bridge ready to jump. I have been the woman who swallowed all of her pills. I have been the woman who thought she could fly. I have spoken to God and angels. I have communicated with animals. I have been a healer. I have had magical powers. I have been chosen. I have been the messiah. I have seen the future. I have seen the end of the world. I have also made coffee almost every morning for the past ten years. I have prepared simple dinners. I have done laundry. I have checked the mail box. I have written e-mail, and updated my status on social media. I have gone grocery shopping. I have managed to help build a marriage for nearly twenty years. I have gone to work. I have dieted. I have exercised. I have made and kept appointments. I am a net that captures schizophrenia; I contain it all. I am every stereotype. I am every vicious word: crazy, sicko, psycho, lunatic, nuts, wacko and whacked. I am a genius and I am an idiot. I am all of it and none of it. See me this way, or see me that way – it doesn’t matter. I am who I am, which is more than you can box up, label, or contain.