Experiencing Schizophrenia: A Novel and Exegesis Fiona Erica Nichols Bachelor of Arts Honours (Writing), Edith Cowan University, 2010 Master of Arts (Writing), Edith Cowan University, 2013 This thesis is presented for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy of The University of Western Australia School of Humanities English and Literary Studies 2019 THESIS DECLARATION I, Fiona Nichols, certify that: This thesis has been substantially accomplished during enrolment in the degree. This thesis does not contain material which has been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma in my name, in any university or other tertiary institution. No part of this work will, in the future, be used in a submission in my name, for any other degree or diploma in any university or other tertiary institution without the prior approval of The University of Western Australia and where applicable, any partner institution responsible for the joint-award of this degree. This thesis does not contain any material previously published or written by another person, except where due reference has been made in the text. The work(s) are not in any way a violation or infringement of any copyright, trademark, patent, or other rights whatsoever of any person. This thesis does not contain work that I have published, nor work under review for publication. Signature: Date: 26/05/19 ii ABSTRACT The novel Existential Skeleton explores the condition of schizophrenia through the experience of its protagonist. Having been diagnosed with schizophrenia, which is being managed with medication, the protagonist lives her life in the community. The narrative has been created to provide insights into various symptoms of schizophrenia (manifesting largely as eccentricities in language and thought-processes, as well as emotional and social difficulties). The novel dramatises the issues faced by people living with schizophrenia in the community and as such is a contribution to the nascent field of post-hospitalisation narratives about the condition. The accompanying exegesis contextualises the novel by discussing my own experience of being schizophrenic and through consideration of other literary accounts of schizophrenia. Serge Doubrovsky’s notion of autofiction is put forward as an underpinning writing methodology and attention is paid to the way the novel has been crafted to explore schizophrenia through a mixing of autobiographical detail and fictionalisation. iii 1 TABLE OF CONTENTS Acknowledgements ………………………..…………………………………….. 2 Existential Skeleton ………………….………………………………………… 3 Afterword – References in Existential Skeleton …………………………… 116 Exegesis………………….………………………………………………………. 122 1 – Introduction……………………………………….…………….…………. 123 My Experience of Schizophrenia…………………………………. 123 Personal Experience of Emotional Blunting……………….……. 127 Suicidal Ideation and Self-harm…………………………….……. 129 Psychosis……………………………………….………………….. 131 Schizophrenic Thought-processes………………………………. 132 Music, Meaning, Identity…………………………………….……. 133 2 – Modern Literary Works about Schizophrenia …………………………. 135 Hospitalisation as a Phase of Schizophrenic Experience ….…. 135 Janet Frame ………………………………………….…….………. 136 Susanna Kaysen ………………………….……………….………. 142 Schizophrenia Bulletin’s Personal Accounts of Schizophrenia… 145 Existential Skeleton as a “Post-hospitalisation” Narrative………. 150 3 – Autobiography and Autofiction………………………………….……….. 155 Autobiography………………….……………………….…………… 155 Autofiction…………………………………….…………….……….. 160 4 – Crafting Existential Skeleton…………………………………….……….. 165 Schizophrenic Thought-Processes……………………………….. 165 Blunting and Anger……………………………………….………… 168 Honesty…………………………………………………….…………. 171 Identity………………………………………….………….…………. 172 Bethany……………………………………………………….………. 174 Mike……………………………………………………………………. 177 Intertextuality …………………………………………………………. 178 Conclusion ……………………………………………….……………….…… 181 Bibliography ……………………………………………………………….……. 183 2 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This research was supported by an Australian Government Research Training Program (RTP) Scholarship. 3 Existential Skeleton (a novel) 4 I was reading the words of L’Etranger again and again: “Mother died today, or maybe yesterday. Je ne sais pas.” That’s it, my mother is dead. I feel relieved. Then Emanuel rang the other day. He said: “You know I will always love you, don’t you?” Like that means anything. He was down. I felt strange. I asked him: “Are you wanting space or wanting to break up?” He wouldn’t answer me. He’d been talking to his family. I should have figured as much. I get the strange feeling they don’t like me, but there again I get the strange feeling my mother never liked me. They don’t know me and even my mother didn’t know me that well. I have met his family a few times and they only know me through Emanuel. I get the feeling that he will be influenced to break up with me. I actually thought he might marry me. The family believe that I have caused a divide between them. I tried to tell them that it wasn’t my fault. How am I responsible, if someone doesn’t like me from what they hear? They don’t know me. I had a cigarette because I wanted one. My mind was numb and I didn’t know what to feel. Emanuel said he loved me. I don’t know what love is. I am not sure I feel it or understand it. Over time, I have come to believe that love doesn’t exist at all, that it is a human abstract which has been created by society. I didn’t love Emanuel but I found his company pleasing when things were good between us. Mother, yes my mother. She didn’t endear love. She lost her temper. I know when I told people that I never loved her, including my father, he said: “I don’t want to hear that, I think you really do!” He’s wrong, I don’t. I didn’t even care about her. Her viciousness and deep-seated need to be right caused contempt in me. I wished that I could love her, but you can’t just turn it on. You either do or you don’t. I don’t love so that is why I find it hard to believe that it exists. That’s right, society would kill you for not loving your mother if it could. We are supposed to love our parents and romantic interests. What if you don’t? It is not as if I don’t feel remorse because I do. It is just that my emotions are blunted. I can’t help the way I am so stop judging me. Emanuel doesn’t know about mother. Mother had cancer and had her leg chopped off. I don’t know what to feel about it. When I was in Brisbane 5 looking after her she was very needy. She’d lose her temper when things didn’t go her way. She needed me, I suppose. I wanted to fly back to Perth. Then I went back for the funeral. I really didn’t want to go. I still wish I hadn’t. I got the feeling that those around me were judging me for the way I acted. I was standoffish with mother in her dying days and I am not sure why I put myself through all that. A sense of family obligation, possibly. Emanuel rang me at the wrong time. I didn’t need that. Throughout the relationship, Emanuel was very dependent on me. He found it hard to make his own decisions. A human door mat. It is easy: you make a decision and you live with the consequences. Neediness irritates me. I want to be far away from it. Call me a sociopath, I don’t care. You don’t know anything about me. I rang Michel and said that I wanted to go out. Michel picked me up in his 1970s Gemini. We saw a dark macabre movie; it was my second sitting through it. At first I was a little unsettled because I’d seen it with Emanuel. The romance scene in the beginning was rather sensual. The lady was grasped and passionately kissed. I wanted Emanuel. Very poetic. He is an artist and I am a poet. The lady was then shot on screen and the murderer stated: “I’ll cash her cheque in the morning!” I wondered if my cheque would be cashed in the morning. The idea was fleeting and soon passed. Later wonderful morbid humour and beautiful sexy babes that were pleasing to the pansexual eye appeared. I went home and didn’t sleep too well. I woke up at eight o’clock after a four hour sleep. I spend most of the day smoking an endless chain of cigarettes alone in my flat. My flat mate Bethany was out for the day. I tried to study. I tried to write. The flashes kept coming, much to my irritation. I couldn’t help what I saw, it wasn’t my fault. I get the feeling that the family thinks I am dependent on him, and I am emotionally manipulative. I don’t like that. I thought about the word “hope” and realise that this was nothing more than a delusion. I used to be Baha’i. I never really believed in big daddy upstairs. I don’t need to be bossed around by my own father, let alone an imaginary one. I was in the faith because I believed the principles. Notably, that: “The Earth is but one country 6 and mankind its citizens.” That is a good saying because it doesn’t matter who you are you are welcome. However as time passed, I realised that the faith ridiculed queer identity. I couldn’t live with that. Now I can’t even get a driving lesson with someone of that faith because I am seen as a covenant breaker – an abomination. I’ve come to realise that there is no God and that the universe doesn’t give a fuck about what I do from day to day. The next morning I noticed cuts on my flatmate’s wrists. I asked her why she did that. She wouldn’t tell me. I was irritated. Feel sorry for her? I feel bad therefore I cut. How pathetic! She too can’t make decisions for herself.