Little Voices: A True Paranoid Schizophrenic Adventure

By Rodney St Michael

This is the authors true story. In 1991, as a foreign student in California, the author studies for a computer science degree, excels academically, and gets along very well with his American friends. But later, five invisible voices call on him, whispering instructions for a prophetic message. The author then strives to find a rational explanation for this phenomenon, attempting to authenticate it with coded illustrations.

But, he is eventually confined in an American psychiatric hospital, diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. And after discovering the scientific communitys viewpoint--that all Biblical prophets are mentally ill--the author rethinks all his beliefs, including his faith in God.

He inevitably returns to the Philippines, where he meets a beautiful girl, who becomes his best friend. Surprisingly, in 1999, he discovers an authenticating key for his message, within an ancient writing system of an indigenous tribe, located in the girls native province. Unknown to the author previously, their writing is remarkably similar to the codes he drew six years earlier...

"I thought it was very informative and it will be very helpful to students to be exposed to it."

Dr. James E. Mitchell, M.D.
President and Scientific Director
Neuropsychiatric Research Institute

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 18, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462810383

Rodney St Michael

Rodney St.Michael is the author of Little Voices, Illuminati and the Sync My World trilogy. He worked in the field of training and development for Fortune-20 organizations.

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Copyright © 2000 by Rodney St. Michael.

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Contents

INTRODUCTION

EPISODE I

In the Beginning

Civilization

The Scientific Explanation

Autobahn City

Go, Marry Gomer!

Be an Intimidator, Like Us

The V Man

The Onset of Whispers

Is the Earth Just God’s Video Game?

You’re Just an Alien

Paranoia

Pentagon Voices

Veggies are In and Hamburgers are Out

Nothing but Air

We’ll Never Surrender

Blindness

The Way of Odysseus

Feelsoree and Inoe

Does It Pay To Be Good?

When It’s Time to Quit

The Consequences of Civilization

In the Land of the Free, and the Home of the Bacchanalians

To Err is Human But To Teach is Divine

The Greek Sea Horse Named Hippocampus

The Prophets of Old

We’ve Been Doing This For Years Because

There is NO GOD!

Columbus Day: Paradise Lost to a Great

Holocaust

Playing The Messiah

Are You Insane?

The Resurrection of the Dead

Who the Heck are the Masons?

The Den of Lions

They Chanted MEN-tal TELE-pathy

Prayer Perhaps?

You are Jonah!

Shut-Up! We Don’t Want Anymore of Your Reports

I Don’t Believe in Fate

Hallucinations

Remove the Dust from Your Trumpet

Your Young Men Shall See Visions

You’re Not Real

Schizophrenia Finally Revealed

My Analysis

EPISODE II

Locked in the Dungeon

Back in the Philippines

Back to School

I finally saw a ghost

It Takes Two to Tango Because No Man is an Island

Where’s the Friendly Ghost?

Where will I work?

What now?

EPISODE III

EPILOGUE

THE

ILLUSTRATIVE

SIGNATURE

Message Authentication (-2): There IS a God!

Message Authentication (-1):

You Were Created for a Purpose

Message Authentication (0): Life After Death Exists!

Frustrations

The Signature of God

TO AMI, MY SOUL MATE.

INTRODUCTION

Most people think that paranoid schizophrenics have split personalities, but that is a misconception, as psychiatrists will attest. Schizophrenia literally means splitting of the mind—the inability to distinguish between reality and fantasy. According to psychiatrists, it is the state wherein one unreasonably believes in the impossible or in the supernatural (e.g., angels, demons, God/gods, aliens), and one perceives danger or calamity through one or more voices (called auditory hallucinations by scientists). Or one may also see visions (scientifically called visual hallucinations). Because of these voices or visions, schizophrenics may act strangely or inappropriately, usually as a response to what the voices command or suggest.

Scientists developed the term schizophrenia since they generally do not believe in the supernatural. Everything can be explained rationally and naturally for them. For example, most scientists believe in the Theory of Evolution, which hypothesizes that humans evolved from animals. Therefore, they believe that anything supernatural is nonsensical, and thus, they coined a scientific term for it. Eventually, a Belgian psychiatrist developed the term schizophrenia in the early 1900s.

Unfortunately, schizophrenics and manic-depressives (similar to schizophrenia) today bear uncanny similarities to Biblical prophets (e.g., Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, Jonah, St. John) and Biblical leaders (e.g., Moses, Jesus, St. Paul). These men heard voices that they believed to be from God, and some of them saw monstrous and deathly visions, which are typical to schizophrenics even today. Hence, American psychiatrists such as William Hirsch and Winfred Overholser (President of the American Psychiatric Association) believe that they are all mentally ill, suffering from paranoia.

Saints such as St. Joan of Arc and St. Francis of Assisi also had schizophrenic symptoms, and famous government leaders such as Sir Winston Churchill was also a follower of his voices who instructed him during W.W. II to sit here or sit there. Moreover, philosophers such as Socrates also had inner voices. And some of them were violent, such as Joan of Arc and Moses; hence, they personally killed at least one person for reasons that they believed to be just.

In addition, schizophrenics generally believe that they have a special mission and message from the supernatural, which psychiatrists call delusions of grandeur. For instance, a typical visit to a mental institution today would allow one to meet someone who believes that he is a second Christ, or that he is like the Pope, or that he is a prophet

Unfortunately, as French thinker and philosopher, Michael Foucault, also observed, the term schizophrenia was used only recently. In the past, they were called prophets, saints, patriarchs, or wise men, but today, psychiatrists perceive them to be mentally ill.

Throughout my youth, I was a devout Christian, and it was tragically frustrating for me to discover this information after I became a schizophrenic in 1993. At first, it was difficult to accept, but somehow, religious contradictions became easily explainable when perceived with schizophrenia in mind. All of a sudden, the existence of numerous contradicting and opposing religions was easy to explain, but it still didn’t make sense. In the end, the answers didn’t satisfy me.

Is schizophrenia really a mental illness? Or is it simply the symptoms of a supernatural force working within the schizophrenic? Is psychiatry a real science or is it merely a pseudo-science based on quack theories? I believe that this question is one of the most important mysteries to be solved in the twenty-first century. And with this book—my personal experience with schizophrenia—I hope to shed some light on this condition.

Episode I of my true story started out as a long letter to my brother. I began writing it shortly after I started to hear voices, but I eventually came up with a book that I finished on January 2, 1994. Episode II was written three and a half years later, and it was finished on June 7, 1997. Episode III was then composed on December 11, 1999.

As a final note to my readers, the names that I cited in this book, including my own, were changed as a protective measure. But besides the name changes, everything else in my story is factual.

EPISODE I

In the Beginning

January 2, 1994

Robin St. Michael

Quality Assurance Section Manager

Anonymous American Chemical Co.

P.O. Box 255

Makati

Philippines

Dear Robin,

I wish I could at least say I’m fine. But until now, my mind is still confused. For the last few months, I’ve been hearing human voices in my head, including the voice of a teenage Filipino girl, shouting insults at me, but telling me that I’m a prophet. Fortunately, the voices have toned down. In fact, nowadays, the Filipino girl often turns her voice into something cute and cuddly. In a desperately begging manner, she would often say, Rodneeyyyyy, maawa ka naman sa sarili mo. Pumunta ka na lang sa MEN-tal HOSpital. Which of course means, Rodneeyyyyy, have pity on yourself. Just go to the MEN-tal HOSpital. Over and over again, she would repeat that like a broken record player.

In fact, lately, she has nothing else to say except variations of that statement. Like, mental institution, mental institution … said rapidly like a choo-choo train. Or {Your college said, Just go to the MEN-tal IN-stitution.}" {translated from Tagalog}

Or ’Wawa naman si Rodney, schizophrenic, which of course means, Poor Rodney, schizophrenic.

But sometimes, she would say, {Rodneeeyyyy, just write your letter in the MEN-tal HOS-pital.} Or she would say, {The story’s so long, the story’s so long, the story’s so long… . } Or, {What your mother’s paying is so expensive, what your mother’s paying is so expensive, what your mother’s paying is so expensive… . } And in a teener, girly kind of way, she would sneer at my remarks with a gentle, Hmphhh.

My talk is probably very confusing to you right now, but do you remember the letter that I sent you earlier? I talked about a marriage set-up, seemingly positive back then. But somehow, it turned ugly.

It probably started when I was about to turn twenty-one. That was around late February, 1993, but perhaps, it happened even earlier. Back then, my status here was an H-4, which meant that I could do anything that I wanted, except that I couldn’t work outside of school, and that I wasn’t entitled to the many government benefits given to all American citizens. However, immigration rules dictated that I could no longer have an H-4 status as soon as I reach twenty-one. So Mom rushed my application for a change of status from an H-4 to an F-1—foreign-student status.

The F-1 application required vaccinations which made me uncomfortable. News reports and rumours abounded that some doctors intentionally transmitted diseases via contaminated syringes to minorities. But eventually, I had a check-up with a doctor in a local medical center, and I was subjected to various injections, including measles-mumps-rubella, and tetanus shots.

I studied in Anonymous California College (ACC), majoring in Computer Science, but I planned to transfer to UCLA. I also had a college friend there named Tony, a six-foot, brawny, German American, in my Calculus class, where we first met in the Summer of 1992.

He had a lovely wife, a nurse, and it seemed that he was doing fine in his married life. He was also like a literal next-door neighbor because his apartment on Mayflower was very near Mom’s rented condo in Central. The two streets intersected.

I told him that I went to Catholic school because the Philippines is predominantly Catholic. This, of course, implied that I was Catholic. But, I was really more like an agnostic—someone who liked to believe in God if only there was solid proof of his existence.

I helped him in Calculus and FORTRAN—a computer programming class. And I carpooled with him occasionally in his white Chevy pick-up.

But before I met him, and even after I did, I rode the bus to and from ACC. I had two options on which bus to take. One was the 187 Foothill Transit, whose final destination was Pomona.

Those new, blue and white buses, clean and air-conditioned, passed through a straight route that was easy to follow. It charged 85 cents, and I usually favored this bus over the other one.

The other bus was a 188 Rapid Transit District bus, on route to the City of Hope in Duarte. The black, red and white exterior cloaked an old, dirty, and graffiti infested bus. Charging $1.10, and passing through a winding route, the bus was obviously unfavorable.

By the time I met Tony, Mom acquired a silver Toyota Celica in addition to her bronze Mercedes Benz 180E, a car she foolishly purchased even though she couldn’t afford it. But I didn’t like to drive the Celica because it had a manual transmission, and the maroon interior looked like a coffin. I joked around with Gavin about the car being haunted, like the possessed cars in horror movies. So, I allowed Gavin to use the car for school, and I still took the bus.

Unusual comments arose as a result of that car. As I walked to the Physics building, one day, someone said, Doesn’t he know how to drive?

He drives a stick, his companion said, but he let’s his brother drive it to school.

How did these people know that? I wondered, unless, of course, they follow me home, or somebody knows Gavin in Monrovia High.

And as I drove through a Monrovia shopping complex one day, young Caucasian men and women on the sidewalk said, I don’t get it. He’s older. Why doesn’t he bring the car to school? But I simply ignored them.

Anyway, Tony was one of my partners in the Physics lab during the Spring ‘93 semester. So I was glad that Tony gave me an occasional ride home, after our lab class, because of the convenience.

Sometimes, I would tell Tony of how fortunate he was to be an American citizen and how lucky he was to have a beautiful wife. I would also tell him about my transition to foreign status. And we conversed in the streets, in his truck, and even in the classroom.

Consequently, some people in ACC knew that I just changed my status. And one afternoon, after our lab session, Tony and I were on our way to his truck when I saw a man and a woman in small, golf-cart-like vehicles. And they were dressed like ACC’s maintenance crew.

He’s a chicken. He took the easy way out, they said among themselves.

But they looked at me as if they wanted me to hear it. And this bothered me for a while, but Tony didn’t say anything.

I wondered what they were really thinking. Did they imply marriage was an easier way? I asked myself. But for me, I obviously had no choice.

Civilization

ACC had a newspaper called The Courier. And it had a comic strip that seemed to depict me. My favorite shirt was a dark blue, black- collared, long-sleeved shirt. And I always wore it. I also wore the same pair of Levi’s everyday since at that point, I didn’t care much about clothes. I also wear glasses now.

Some of my clothes were queer, like a blue-collared neon-green shirt, an orange-collared bright yellow shirt, and a yellow-collared gray shirt. I also wore gray, Sperry Top-sider boatshoes, and sometimes, brown Indian moccasins.

Most of the clothes I wore were from the Philippines at that point. Uncle Roger also gave me some clothes, like shirts from several restaurants in Pasadena, and other clothes that didn’t fit him.

So, the Courier comic strip showed this nerd, looking like me. And the strip also associated him with hippies.

It reminded me of my English-1B essay about civilization, written on the Fall ‘91 Semester. My English teacher kept the original copy, to show it to other classes as an example.

It was an A paper, but I was afraid of any possible negative reactions toward it. The class was asked to write an essay related to Homer’s Odyssey. And mine compared Odysseus to civilization.

Like Odysseus, the civilized world tramples on weaker nations for their advantage, calling them fierce, uncivilized people (142), to whom the law of man and god (mean) nothing. (145) But I also cited that brotherly love is the missing link to civilization.

It looked as if more than a handful of people read my paper. Indeed, on the Fall ‘92 Semester, I saw scribbled words on a crumpled piece of paper, laid alone, on a table I frequented in ACC’s library.

Greek names were written all over it. And it said, … . Odysseus… . barbarian… . a barbarian is someone who can’t talk. Then I remembered that I rarely recited in my English-1B class; hence, it seemed as if the message was for me.

So during the Spring ‘93 semester, The Courier had a comic strip about a nerd, seemingly parodying me and my ideas and opinions. And in the March 18 issue, David, the nerd, mentioned that every college student needed a girlfriend.

Indeed, one day, as I walked through the campus, I saw a couple move toward my path. They French kissed awkwardly while I passed and ignored them. Bystanders then said: He’s a fag …

Meanwhile, I held a job in ACC’s math lab as a tutor/ proctor. I would sit behind a desk and wait for students to ask me questions about Algebra.

And while working in the lab one day, I met Katherine—a center in ACC’s basketball team whose pale complexion covered a skeletal frame that almost protruded out of her skin. She also went to Catholic school like us, and she was someone who eventually caught my attention.

Occasionally, I would compliment her; for instance, when I saw her wearing a Warner Bros. Looney-Tunes T-shirt one day, I told her, Bugs Bunny, in a whiny, child-like tone, how cute.

Oh, thanks, she replied with a charming smile.

It seemed that she liked me, so one Friday morning, for some strange, illogical reason, I spontaneously asked her out. But she smiled and said, Sorry, I have a boyfriend.

Tough luck, I thought.

And to make things worse, the teacher next to me, sporting a 60’s look, had a comment.

Rodney, she said, I know there’s so many cute girls in here, but it’s inappropriate for tutors to date students.

And when I left the lab and headed home, snickering onlookers said, Hey! He asked Katherine out! Haha ha! …

And just by coincidental convenience, or maybe not, Gavin’s school, Monrovia High, was on vacation the following week. But I still had school during that period. So I started to drive the Celica, and people started to think that I was trying to impress her. They were partly right, but it was mainly because Gavin wasn’t using the car, so I might as well use it.

I would continue to be friendly with her, but I didn’t ask her out anymore. So, The Couriers May 6 issue depicted David, the nerd, as egotist. But I was just respecting what Katherine seemed to want; namely, to be left alone!

After a while, she didn’t talk to me as much as she used to. And I began to miss conversing with her. But one day, while in my computer Assembly Language class, my intuition suggested that the place was bugged, that someone was listening to every word I said. So, I talked out loud with my friends—Corbin, a Caucasian American, and John, a Filipino resident alien (Green Card holder)—about my irrational, misguided feelings for Katherine. That I wanted to marry someone like her.

… . And why should I be banned from dating students? I told Corbin. I’m just a tutor, a mere student, not a teacher!… . I wish they would all disappear when I talk with her.

Sure enough, the following day, everything that I talked about was done exactly the way I wanted it to be. So I began to think that the classroom was really bugged, or at least somebody was passing the word, and I continued to talk aloud about my wonderful time with Katherine.

Days later, my hours were cut back in the Math Lab. But it became a blessing in disguise since it allowed me to leave simultaneously with her. My shift and her scheduled lab time ended at the same time, so I walked out with her as she headed for her next class in another building. But since I wasn’t headed for the same place, we parted ways as soon as our paths conflicted.

In one case, I walked and conversed with her as she headed for her classroom. But eventually our trail separated since I was headed for the snack bar. So I waved good-bye and proceeded to make a right turn when she said, Where’ya goin’?

Over there, I said, as I pointed to the snack bar.

Oh, she replied, I wanna go with you.

Unfortunately, she didn’t mean the snack bar. We just walked together as near as possible to her class building.

And as we walked together, onlookers howled while they grinned and laughed.

whoooooooh… . eeeehaaah! they shouted teasingly.

Katherine smiled, and I found out later, on my own, that the spectators were her close friends.

After that incident, I started to think about what she said.

Did she expect me to walk her to her classroom? I thought.

But she has a boyfriend, I protested to myself, or maybe not… . perhaps she’s playing hard-to-get.

Later, I offered her my help in math. But she never directly asked for any help. Finals week was approaching, and Katherine needed to catch up in her Algebra, but since she didn’t directly ask me for any aid, I didn’t impose my assistance.

However, while I worked in the lab one day, she approached Mark, her classmate, in front of me.

Can you help me catch up? she asked Mark.

Sorry, he replied, I dunno much about Algebra.

I thought that she was politely and indirectly saying, leave me alone, Rodney, I don’t need your help. So I immediately felt miserable. It was completely devastating to me. And when my shift was over, as I left the lab, I saw Mark, waiting outside with another girl.

Jesus, he said to his companion, he’s leaving without her. Boy, he’s probably really hurt… . haha… . Haha… . hahahaha …

As I walked alone toward the Physics building, I reflected on what just happened. And as I sat down on a cushioned, wooden armchair in the Physics study room, waiting for my next class, I continued to think about Katherine, while tears rolled down my cheeks uncontrollably. It gushed like a salty waterfall, almost turning me into a pillar of salt. Mix it with some vinegar and crackers, and one could get a tasty snack..

The Scientific Explanation

I was now behind in my Physics class, and passing the Physics Finals seemed like an impossible