Walking Behind Schizophrenic Eyes. Perry Ritthaler

over for seeing the other positive ways we can be grateful for the present moment; the meaning embedded in our lives; and the work you do on a daily basis to empower that life through the ways of transforming this present reality into the forms of a more successful life.

      It is not necessarily the reality situation circumstance that shapes us; but the lenses in which we view the world that shaped our experience of reality. If we can change the lenses in which your brain viewed the world; through education and reflection; not only can we create the positive type of leadership; we can raise our health outcomes and ripple this effect out to people around us.

      Success is not where you are; it is how far you have come since the day you started.

      All of the events in this story are true and based on experienced events that happened; and only the poetry is based on fiction.

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE HOSPITAL

      Doctor Lector; I have given the patient his medication; and he is back typing out his life story and writing poetry on the computer in the hospital library.

      The video production department has finished his video file; and when you have the time please click on the link below and watch the patient video file.

       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DnOC8ZPMOA&feature=youtu.be

      Poetry

      Insanities Companions’

      Deep in my mind; can you see them too?

      I start to laugh; I see my crazy crew

      Voices or images that come and go

      My insanity grows with the more I know

      Many voices different from the other

      One loves me acting like my mother

      While others are nasty at times

      Making me agree to horrible crimes

      I am locked away

      Watching my mind decay

      Insanity rotting my brain day-by-day

      Desire to create happiness drifted away

      A mind trained to remember my past

      A habit formed can last-and -last

      I remember being healthy and free

      I feel sorry for myself thinking of me

      I sit alone paying for my crime

      A criminal mind most of the time

      Relentless voices never stop talking to me

      Harassing me with images I can see

      Tell me where to go; who I should see

      Listen to words promising to help me

      I never speak to people I see on the street

      Lost in my mind I plan my retreat

      Feeling uncomfortable when I walk

      Feeling angry or frustrated when I talk

      I scream stop talking to me

      Fighting voices in my mind I can see

      Sexy whispers in my ear

      Anger into frustration becomes clear

      I can have any woman I see?

      I stalk dark streets hunting free

      I crave sex to vent my rage

      Voices tell me about a war we wage

      Darkness of the night I prowl into the light

      Looking for the girl to complete my night

      Ritual voices become my habit

      I hunt the girl like a white rabbit

      I scream out-loud into the night

      Sexual anger fuel an elixir just right

      A dark knight screaming to feel right

      Angry wild man howling in the moonlight

      People I meet run away scared

      Wild eyes run away unprepared

      Chasing random people looking scared

      Power to control stalking the unprepared

      Yelling I chase them down the street

      Voices cheer me on fight the stranger I meet

      Fear cast into my eyes

      I carry a butcher knife screaming lies

      I hunt the ones I chase

      With a red painted face

      My screaming face

      Creating fear my victim’s embrace

      A powerful one haunting the night

      The dark skies I chase when I fight

      Chase a woman falling down a set of stairs

      Hover over her body; a voice yells who cares

      Voices whisper smell her skin

      Scents of perfume fuel my desire to sin

      Voices yell I hunted her down

      A man looked on with a frown

      I want to run then hide

      Is she alive or has she died

      I feel trapped afraid to talk

      He dialed his cellphone; began to walk

      I try to run but voices tell me to play

      You caught her have your day

      Wonder if she is dead

      I carefully hold her head

      Lifeless body on the ground

      Voices tell me take what you found

      Two men in uniform run down the stairs

      My voices tell me who cares

      One pulls a gun I drop my knife

      Is this a girlfriend or your wife?

      Sweat covers my face seeping through paint

      She fell down the stairs; she felt faint

      He picked up my knife; I am under arrest

      Voices telling me to spit on the woman’s chest

      Obeying the habits in my mind will grow

      Police tell me I am the criminal they know

      They have been looking for a man like me

      I no longer scare innocent people walking free

      Those we deem "insane" diagnosed by our "health" professionals are merely those who have gotten caught in a loop of "negative" emotions; programs and habits of thought that from which they are unable to extricate themselves on any type of consistent basis.

      LIVING