My Tradition

Every night I’ve been dreaming about my death— and it’s a finality, not the beginning of an afterlife. Worse: my mind connects my death with the Apocalypse, the end of the world. Which makes sense because for me it really is the end of time. What my delusion forgets is that I am part of a whole generation likely to pass away around the same time. Delusions of reference are always egocentric, the way a toddler thinks; if it’s happening to me, it’s happening everywhere. My poor brain amplifies my personal death to a worldwide cataclysm. Some psychologists would condemn this thinking as narcissism. I disagree; the delusions of schizophrenia are the symptoms of a brain disease and not a moral disorder. I keep saying this, but nobody gets it. People generally love to get on a soapbox and judge and condemn everyone but themselves. It has always been bad logic to do so. The tradition I come from is not psychology but the much older one of philosophy. I believe that all phenomena are ultimately reducible to reason, and that logic is an essence that pervades all existence. It comes down to consistencies and contradictions: coherence and incoherence. Even religion submits to philosophy to some extent. I value reason probably because my sanity is subject to pitfalls. You don’t treasure anything until you are deprived of it, and that makes logic priceless to a schizophrenic like me. The meaning of life depends on what you lack. For my current wits I am grateful to modern medicine, specifically the antipsychotic Vraylar.