Listening to the wherewho: a lived experience of schizophrenia.

At the age of 37, I had a psychotic break, just 3 years short of a diagnosis of late-onset schizophrenia. Aside from situational depression a decade prior, this was my introduction to mental illness. I spent a year sleeping on my mother's sofa, fearfully locked in her apartment and wondering what became of me before diagnosis and treatment began. My doctor told me that my prognosis was good because of my age, even with the severity and speed of onset. I now live with auditory hallucinations, formally classified as " outer space " hallucinations that I hear outside of myself and, for me, stem mostly from sounds in the environment. This is in contrast to " inner space " hallucinations that are perceived to be within the head itself. I am disturbed by sounds, especially by the hypnotic resonance of motors and fans, for they carry with them the most persistent voices. These voices refer to themselves as the Wherewho. There's a droning noise in the background at work and I can't discern its source. Is it a fan or a motor above the ceiling tiles? Is it a server or other hardware in the cubicle next to mine? Am I hallucinating? I tense up over the low, continued hum. It remains in the background , yet at the forefront of my attention, even as I turn on my MP3 player in the hope that music will drown it out. Instead, focusing on the static from my headphones only seems to increase the dull, monotonous sound. My head starts to throb as my anxiety increases. I've had enough for now, so I decide to step outside for a cigarette. Along the way, my attention is drawn to the elevator motor, the drinking fountain, and various other sources of sound. On the loading dock, one particularly large vent repeatedly utters, " I hate you, " in continuation of the conversation I had with the fridge this morning: " Eff human. This is the morning after, " she says, " … the warning after. I am two persons. I am two percentage points. You are human. I hate you. " When the fridge clicks off, I feel a sudden release of tension and I breathe a sigh of relief. The loudest voices have quieted, and only the appliances offer this sort of eventual release. Layer upon layer, these voices migrate and shift …