2023 (28/29)

January

My bosses told me I was performing well at my job, primarily working on the conveyor belt. At the end of January, we had a large order of donuts to prepare for the upcoming masquerade carnival in February. One day, instead of working on the assembly line, we were moved to another part of the factory to pack donuts. I was slow at this task, as was one of the student workers. Another female coworker yelled at us for being slow, emphasizing that she didn’t want any donuts to be late for packing. Later, I struggled to move a large box, and another female coworker became angry, moving it herself while telling me to put more enthusiasm into my work. Surrounded by these stressed and irritable people, I had a fleeting thought of suicide, wondering why my younger brother was dead while these seemingly unpleasant people were still alive. 

February 

In February, the donut packing was completed, and my boss assigned me to a different conveyor belt where bread was being produced. He instructed me to group the loaves into sets of three for further packaging, with every third loaf placed on a shelf. I began the task, but another employee soon intervened, telling me to do it differently. As I placed loaves on the shelf, more and more bread arrived, quickly filling the available space. I then placed some loaves over the conveyor belt itself. My boss saw this and became furious, yelling, “That’s not how you fucking do it!” He then ordered me to put the loaves back onto the conveyor belt. I didn’t defend myself by explaining that his initial instructions had been unclear. He then demonstrated the correct procedure, and I asked some clarifying questions. He responded arrogantly, telling me that he was speaking Croatian. After he left, I decided to kill myself.

I went home and planned to travel to Split to jump off the cliff I used to hike near while living in Stobreč. This cliff was a recurring thought in my mind whenever I experienced suicidal ideation. 

The following day, Friday, at dawn, I woke to a cold morning. My car was covered in a thick layer of ice, which proved difficult to remove. I tried scraping it off, but it was too stubborn. I got into the car and attempted to drive to work, but the remaining ice made it unsafe. Frustrated that I couldn’t even return to the job I hated, I drove back to the parking lot. I then made the final decision to end my life, hoping to go to Heaven and escape this terrible place. I called in sick to work, telling a coworker I wouldn’t be coming in. I sat in my car, smoked a cigarette, and contemplated the journey to Split. As I sat in the car, I turned on the heating system and noticed the ice beginning to melt. But by then, I felt it was too late. A new, sunny day had begun, and I started driving towards Split. I entered the highway, facing a 250-mile drive. I stopped at a gas station for breakfast, thinking it would be my last meal. I continued driving and arrived in Split around 2 p.m.

It felt surreal to be there in such a suicidal mindset. I stopped in Stobreč to buy chicken at a fast-food restaurant, thinking it would be my last lunch. I could see the cliff where I planned to jump. After eating, I got back in my car and drove uphill, parking halfway to the cliff. As I was smoking a cigarette, my boss called. Fortunately, the connection was poor, and I couldn’t hear him clearly.

I texted my boss back on WhatsApp, and he replied, asking me to bring him the doctor’s note certifying my sick leave. Then, my mother called, asking how I was feeling. She was unaware that I was in Split. I told her I was fine and was going to have coffee with Sandy. After hanging up, I got out of the car and started walking towards the cliff. The sunny day made me sweat as I climbed the hill. Reaching the base of the cliff, I abandoned my suicidal plan. The height wasn’t sufficient to guarantee a fatal outcome. I realized that, if given the opportunity, I would have preferred to jump from a plane without a parachute. 

I returned to my car, and on the way back, I decided to drown myself in one of the Rakitje lakes instead. Driving down the hill, I stopped to buy oranges and bread. I then headed back towards Zagreb. My father texted me, asking where I was. I replied that I was going to Sandy’s for pancakes, which bought me some time. I stopped for coffee on the way to Zagreb. The sunny day transitioned into night. Driving towards Zagreb, I had to contend with frustrated truckers around Karlovac. After exiting the highway in Zagreb, my father called again, asking my location. I told him I was almost home. Once home, I placed the bread and oranges on the table and told my father that I had called in sick to work and spent the day with Sandy. 

I spent the following day at home planning my drowning. I decided to fake going to work the next day, Sunday. That Sunday arrived, and I pretended to pack my bags and leave for work. Instead, I went to a café to wait until nightfall, not wanting to attempt suicide during daylight hours. I spent the day drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. When night fell, I drove to Lake Rakitje. There was a small security booth near the entrance, so I avoided driving on the roads around the lake to avoid being seen by the guard. I parked my car in Rakitje and stopped for pizza. I then walked towards the lakes, scouting out a suitable spot to drown. I found a location, but when the moment came, I was overcome with fear. I felt angry that I wanted to die, yet lacked the courage to do it. I knew that if I gave up on suicide, I would likely end up in a mental hospital again. Ultimately, I returned home. 

The next day, Monday, February 13th, I planned to drown myself in the bathtub. My father owned two vacant apartments in a hostel. I told him and Uncle Benny that I was going to work. I “left” our apartment and went to one of the empty ones. My plan was to fill the bathtub and drown myself. However, when I got there, I questioned what I was doing. I gave up and returned to the apartment where my father and Uncle Benny were. I confessed to my father that I had been in Split a few days prior. He admitted he had seen a bag of bread from Split but assumed I had gone there to buy marijuana. I then told him that I had been trying to kill myself but had been unable to go through with it, recounting my recent failed drowning attempts. We then called a psychiatric hospital and requested help. They instructed us to come in for a consultation. 

My father drove us to the psychiatric hospital, where we spoke with a doctor. After our conversation, the doctor determined that I couldn’t be allowed to go home given what I had shared. I was admitted to the psychiatric hospital, which had separate wards for men and women. Upon arrival, I had to give up my wallet, and a technician explained the hospital procedures to me. I then began my therapy. 

In the psychiatric hospital, I met other patients, some of whom had attempted suicide. One man was there because he had thrown two dogs off a balcony. Overall, the facility was better than the one in Split. Each room had its own video surveillance and bathroom. I was assigned a new doctor who monitored my case and adjusted my medication. We had regular therapy sessions together. There was a designated smoking area for our free time. The food was excellent, and I gained weight due to the combination of the meals and medication. At my initial treatment at the Day Hospital, I weighed 187 lbs. This time, I reached 230 lbs and developed a noticeable belly. After a week, I was granted permission to go outside the hospital grounds. My father visited me frequently. 

March 

My contract with the bakery had expired, so I was no longer employed there. I went outside the psychiatric hospital with my father, and we visited some cafes. My doctor suggested that I transition to a Day hospital program, which was affiliated with the clinic. I agreed, but initially found it boring and felt constantly sleepy. I almost gave up, but my doctor encouraged me to try again. I did, and eventually, I began to enjoy it. The group consisted of people ranging in age from their 20s to their 50s.

One evening, as I was preparing for bed in the clinic, my former boss from Split called. He asked if I was interested in returning to the Coca-Cola warehouse. This time, they were offering me a permanent position, not a month-to-month contract. I was happy to hear this and told him I would give him my answer in a few days. The next day, I discussed it with my doctor, who advised that the job might not be the best choice, citing the night shift and the monotonous nature of the work. However, she respected my autonomy and allowed me to make my own decision. 

My doctor at the clinic advised me to contact Dr. Lucy, which I did. I emailed her on March 3rd, explaining my situation, and she replied a few days later. She expressed sympathy for what I had been through and suggested that we reconnect for therapy sessions once I had completed my hospital treatment. Despite a full schedule, she assured me she would make time for me. She was the best doctor I could have ever asked for. 

I informed my former boss that I wanted to return to the warehouse job, but that I couldn’t start immediately. I continued attending the Day hospital program and found a sense of belonging there. One day, during a self-description exercise, people told me I seemed well and happy. I then decided to share my full story, from the death of my youngest brother to my first psychotic episode, including the incident of running naked. When I spoke about my brother, some of the women, especially the one who was a mortician, were moved to tears. One woman expressed a fear of doing something harmful, a feeling that both I and another man shared. We discussed it and came to the conclusion that contemplating these darker possibilities actually helps to prevent them from happening.

While at a local café with some fellow patients from the clinic, we discussed drugs. One man recounted his experience with LSD, including a claim of developing “X-ray vision.” He described being in Zagreb with friends, including his girlfriend. He said he told her he could see that she was menstruating, which surprised her because she was indeed having her period. He then claimed he could see police officers approaching their location from a distance, hidden between buildings. This story reminded me of my own experience in college when I felt I could see my pants and shoes through the table, and it made me think again about the possibility of superhuman abilities. 

The man at the cafe said he had once used speed and other drugs for five days straight. I asked him how long he slept afterward, and he replied, “a full two days.” I was impressed, as the longest I had ever slept was 34 hours. 

April 

On April 3rd, I was discharged from the psychiatric hospital and continued attending the Day Hospital program until April 17th. A fellow patient encouraged my desire to return to work. I had a productive therapy session with Dr. Lucy on April 19th, where I shared my plans to move back to Split at the beginning of May. She cautioned me about the challenges of the night shift but acknowledged that it was a better alternative than being unemployed. 

May 

Returning to work felt refreshing. Everyone commented on my weight gain, and I told them about my time working in the bakery. I knew I wouldn’t enjoy every single day, but it was a skill I possessed, and I genuinely liked it at least 70% of the time. Suicidal thoughts no longer plagued me. Every day before work, I would cross myself, invoking the God of Solomon for protection. I would repeat this gesture whenever I first got into my car each day, after which I would fasten my seatbelt. 

On May 15th, the third anniversary of my psychotic break, I sent a message to Ava, apologizing for everything. She never responded. It was truly over between us. I then posted a WhatsApp status dedicated to her, featuring a picture I took of the sunrise over Split, with the caption, “We will meet in a better world.” 

July 

I worked hard and we were usually at work by 4-5 in the morning. 

Sometimes even until 6 in the morning. I would usually be tired on the weekends and sleep a lot. Once I slept from Saturday morning to Sunday evening. That meant a total of 34 hours spent in bed. 

I maintained regular contact with Dr. Lucy and my psychiatrist in Split. I consistently took my medication, including a monthly antipsychotic injection. While I still had thoughts about saving the world and the idea that we were all trapped in a literal hell, my two doctors provided close monitoring, ensuring I didn’t relapse. 

October 

While browsing YouTube, I came across a scene from the animated TV series “Rick and Morty.” The scene depicted the two characters entering a game store filled with various aliens and humans playing games. One of the games was called “Roy,” and it was “played” by wearing a helmet. One of the characters was then fitted with the helmet.

The “Rick and Morty” scene then showed the character’s consciousness being transferred to an alternate reality. In this reality, he completely forgot about the game and began living a seemingly normal life. The only way to exit the game was for him to die within it. 

The “Roy” game scene from “Rick and Morty” sparked a thought: What if our reality is similar—a game or simulation we’re trapped in, with death being the only way out? 

Then I watched the movie Inception. It is a 2010 sci-fi action movie.

In “Inception,” the characters have the ability to enter each other’s dreams and accomplish tasks there. The central plot revolves around a character’s dream to subconsciously program another character to perform a specific action in real life. Some characters even go “into a dream within a dream,” creating multiple dream levels. One character was so deep within these dream levels, in a place referred to as “Limbo,” that he had forgotten how he got there. The main protagonist’s objective was to enter Limbo, so that he and the character trapped there could escape by committing suicide within the dream and returning to reality. 

I interpreted “Inception” as another message from the Illuminati. I believed I could live on Earth for hundreds of years, and that only death could offer salvation. 

November 

On November 3rd, I launched a new YouTube channel called Mr Flossich.

I started a YouTube channel called Mr. Flossich on November 3rd with the goal of making money by filming myself brushing my teeth. My plan was to create something original to gain attention and then secure collaborations with dental product companies. I filmed videos of myself flossing and brushing, focusing only on my mouth. I was hesitant to show my face as I had in the reverse talk videos on my previous channel, “one of 144,000.” To improve the quality of my videos, I purchased a new phone with a better camera, a Nubia ZTE Z50 Ultra, for $600.

I liked its under-display selfie camera. 

I visited my dentist and purchased a teeth whitening kit. I eventually stopped using it due to the pain it caused, but my teeth were noticeably whiter, by one or two shades. 

I was thrilled to get my first subscriber on November 20th. It felt really good. 

During my two-week vacation, I traveled to Zagreb to see my father and Uncle Benny, and I also met with Sandy at a local coffee shop. Uncle Benny expressed his desire to join me for a session with Dr. Lucy. On the appointed day, we left early to avoid my father. Dr. Lucy finally met my uncle, and we had a group discussion. After Uncle Benny left, she commented that she could see how much I valued him. I then read her the message I had written, expressing my belief that life was a hellhole, a simulation, and so on. For the first time, she became somewhat upset and pleaded with me to abandon this line of thinking. The session ended abruptly, leaving me disappointed and saddened. A week later, back in Split, I had a therapy session with my doctor there and shared the same message. She concluded that I still held a paranoid view of reality.

During my vacation, I continued creating and uploading videos of my flossing and brushing routine, which resulted in an increase in both subscribers and views. 

December 

On December 1st, I launched a TikTok account for Mr. Flossich. My first video quickly garnered around 900 views, which was exciting and made me think the channel would become very popular. 

Dr. Lucy and I came to the conclusion that my experience with psychosis was a traumatic one, similar to the experience of war. I felt a sense of pride in this, as war survivors are often viewed with respect and admiration in our society.