The Three diverse pigs and my story

2nd of February

I don't understand. How can someone judge you the moment your eyes meet theirs? How can they think of you as a disease, a dirty, weird, useless person who has no reason to be alive? How can they stare at you, eyes as wide as a cave mouth, jaws dropping, horror coming over to slap me in the face? How can a person be so afraid, but cruel? How could they?

That has happened to me all my life. The hate, the frightened faces, the endless whispers and rumours flooding the streets. It's like a living death; that's how they treat me anyway; horrified gasps when they see me, as if I was in fact dead, and screeches by people brave enough to even speak to me.

I have Schizophrenia. I bet not many of you have heard of the definition, so I will gladly explain the disease I have been tangled up in, in this web of life. Schizophrenia's psychiatric diagnosis is that of a mental disorder, which involves much impairment; a different perception of things; a different expression of reality (what is happening in this world); disorganized thinking; delusions; hallucinations and having split personalities.

Schizophrenia hasn't completely taken over my life just yet, but it has left me jobless, friendless and happyless. Maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but my life really does suck. Big time. Will have to go diary, but I will be back in a little while… sigh, I'll only be going out with mother again... I'll moan to you later.

3rd of February

Oh my gosh! I'm over the moon and upon the stars, dancing and twirling and singing my praises! This day has been the best day of my entire life! I thought my life was a disaster, but I am sooo happy to be proved wrong! Ok… lets start from the beginning here. So the start of the day was a little dreary; I had to go out with mother to get me some new shoes (I'm a wolf, by the way, so its pretty hard to find shoes in a place like the market stall, especially when they hide behind the "3 jams for a fiver!" stall, petrified we might do something like, eat them!). It was obvious the day was not going to go too well, as there were dense grey clouds hovering over the town. So we were out, trying to shop, when my mother got caught up in a fight over a melon. I don't really even understand. Why do we even have melons? I mean, we are carnivores, and eating melons would put my already dreadful reputation down the drain. I mean, have you ever heard of a vegetarian wolf? Well, try living with one! The only chance of getting meat is going down to the fish and chip shop! It's impossible. Anyway, so my veggie mom was wrestling with this guy for the melon, and, being schizophrenic, I thought that things were going well; I could just leave my mother grappling, and saunter away from the busy marketplace.

I was like a lost sheep in a field; lots of space to go but oblivious of which way I was meant to. As I put my huge, shoeless left foot onto the dusty highway, a feeling of joy crept into my heart and paraded around my veins. I was finally doing something on my own! I usually never left the house – it lead to much dilemma if I did. So this was new to me, scuffing my feet rhythmically, ambling down the road at my own pace, free to do what I want. I think the climate agreed with me to, for the bleak, feeble clouds had vanished, and were replaced by the beaming sun, smiling at me and singing her sweet song. All was going well.

So I was striding along this barren street, when I saw in the distance, the shadow of something big. Something real big. It must have been something good, for I had seen nothing on the journey. So I walked so very slowly, hoping that I might be able to make a comrade. Jeff (the character who is with me usually; having Schizophrenia makes me have split personalities. Jeff is a kind, ordinary wolf who makes me see the good in people.) told me it was a good idea to meet some new friends and gave me hope.

But I think it was hope that made this tale happen, for as I reached the silhouette of this thing, I found it to be a house. A house made of straw. Why the hell would you make a house of straw I do not know, but maybe the inhabitant of this little hut was a bit crazy himself. Maybe he would be a good friend to me. Maybe. So I tread up the ragged path to this almost beautiful little cabin, knowing someone was in (as the claret smart car was parked outside), took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

No reply. I knocked again, hope still attached to my heart. Nothing. I suspected the resident of this house was too busy to listen out for visitors. I knocked again, louder this time, but much to my dismay, the same conclusion as before. I was fed up with waiting around for the stupid creature to answer the door, so I decided to investigate.

Firstly I circled the house, trying to find any entrances. Only the front door showed any sign of life. It rattled and jangled and then finally swung ajar. I stood there transfixed, pondering whether I should cross the threshold, or turn and retrace my steps until I reach my mother and the melon again. Curiosity overcame me however, so I ventured into the house, only to find a pair of extremely small eyes glaring up at me.

A pig. A stinky pig looked up at me. No wonder the place smelt like my mothers bed in the morning! "Oi you!" The pig snorted at me, his minute eyes almost popping out from their sockets. A piece of hay jammed in his mouth showed the pig must be some sort of farmer. Maybe that's why he liked to live in a putrid, foul straw abode.

Nevertheless, I tried to make friends with this grouchy boar. "Hello, my dear friend. I am so very sorry I ventured into your house, but the door was wide open, and curiosity came over me."

The pig stared at me, a vexed expression crossing his face. Maybe I had been a little too sociable, for I saw his bottom lip start to tremble. "Oi, get off this turf you moron!" The pig screamed at me, chewing his ancient portion of hay. "I don't trust you wolves! You are gonna eat me for sure! But I aint just scared of your looks! I hear things, ya know! I heard that you've gotta mental problem! Get away from me you nutta!"

Upset and confused, I rushed to the door, immensely distressed and fuming. Danny was now leading me on (Danny is my angry, mean personality). Well, I was livid; how could somebody be so cruel to you, when all you have done is be welcoming towards them? I decided to take revenge. I had not done anything like this in my life, so Jeff kept telling me not to do it. Danny disagreed with it however, so I carried on with my dastardly plan. I stood there outside the house, seething and incensed.

Then I blew. Blew with all my strength, cheeks quivering, eyes straining, lips pouting, eyebrows popping. I blew for as long as I could, until my mouth was parched, my chest was wheezing and there was no wind left inside me. I had not yet looked up at my destruction, and as I did so it was like watching a film in slow motion; the straw abode collapsed so very slowly, with the despicable little pig screaming, whilst still chewing his hay.

Then suddenly it was quiet. So still, I could not even hear the rhythmic beat of my little, fearful heart. What had I done? But there was no time to stay and ponder the events that had occurred, for on the horizon came a tiny thump, like an elephant walking on stilts, then CRASH! It fell. I could just make out the scrapped aged police car parked somewhat oddly against a dozing cow, and now as the creature moved into the sunlight, I could almost smell the cheap cologne splashed all over his shaggy, uncut self. The Sheriff was on his way up.

Nobody liked the Sheriff. Well, have you ever known anyone who likes skunks? I thought so. The Sheriff's big boots plonked onto the dry land, leaving mud traces on his spotless, cardboard jeans. His enormous shiny medallion glinted in the sun, reflecting the wry smile placed on his face. His beady eyes searched for a crime, a crime which would land him with lots more publicity. That put an even bigger smile on his face, thinking about how he could show everyone he was indeed the principal race. I knew that if I did not leave now, I would regret it later when I was banged up in a reformatory with evil, villainess creeps. So I decided to move on, and forget about the whole straw hut incident.

I continued to rapidly trek up the hill, hoping that the mad skunk would not see me. As I reached the top, to my horror I saw another straw-like hut at the base of the mountain. Maybe this area had a thing for hay. Or maybe it was coincidence. Either way, I wished the inhabitant of this house was a little more compassionate than the other cruel person. I knew I could not turn back, so I gulped down my doubts and hurried down.

It was not another straw house, but I would probably have preferred it to be, as you will soon see why. It was a home made entirely of sticks. Sticks. Why would you want to make a house out of sticks? I have no idea what was going on in this guys head when it decided to create a bird's nest! But anyway, Jeff told me it would be ok to go and have a look inside. Maybe this dude would be nicer. Maybe.

So I strode along to the front of the house, and yet again knocked. No answer. De ja vu or what? A huge crash behind caused me to turn and see what all the commotion was about. To my amazement a colossal tree fell to the ground, shaking the earth and all that stood on it. And behind this tree came a little shout. A shout of joy. For as I could see, wiping the sweat off his forehead, hands on his belt, a smile fixed on his face, was a pig. Yet another pig. And a woodcutter as well.

Have you heard of the tale "little red riding hood"? Well, the wolf (who was probably not a bad guy, just maybe a secret agent, or an innocent stranger) is killed by a woodcutter for trying to "eat" little red riding hood. That is why everyone loves woodcutters, and hates wolves. But, did that woodcutter even understand what was going on? What if the wolf was being bullied and the little girl in red was the chief tyrant? What if she was just upset because the wolf didn't like her mother's cookies, so decided to stitch him up? Anyway, that's why I wished it was in fact a straw house, instead of a house made by a killer.

Jeff told me to move, run away, or try to cease my fear of woodcutters and get to know the man. Danny, however, told me to get over there and stick it where it hurts. But who should I listen to? I strolled over to the little pig; my heart thumping so loud the people in Australia could hear it. I took a deep breath, pulled up my head and said clearly "Hello. I'm very pleased to meet you. My name is…"

"No need to introduce yaself mate!" the little pig's face was unfathomable. "I know who you are, an' I know what ya doin 'ere." He put out his hand, as if to ask for a shake. A smile spread on my face. I will finally make a friend, I thought as I reached out to touch his hand. But then the pig brought his hand back as fast as a rocket, and now I could see his expressions were furious.

"How dare you try to shake me hand!" His eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "I was tryin to find your 'idden camera or summat. I fort you was a journalist tryin t' get me picture, but now I aint sure. What ya 'ere for anyways?"

I wasn't sure what to say after that. Danny urged me to say something cruel, and Jeff asked me to try and make friends with this woodcutter. Then I started to have a hallucination. A very weird one, where I could see the wolf in little red's house, covered in blood and gasping for air. A vivid red liquid emerged from his mouth as he tried to call out to me. Then it had gone.

I opened my eyes to see a cloudless sky. Then the pigs face.

"Oh, I know ya! Your that loony wiv mental problems aint ya?" His face was full of pity, but also fright. "Ya want help up?"

He pulled me up, but trying his hardest not to touch me, as if my illness was an infectious disease.

"I gotta finish this mate," The pig said, avoiding my eyes. "Cud ya lemme finish this? Wont be long, will catch up wiv ya later…" And with that the little runt turned his back on me, and sped along to the next tree that was in line for demolition.

Why does this keep happening to me? Why does nobody understand me? I mean, I know I have lots of characters in my head, and have lots of hallucinations, but still. That is no reason to pity me, or turn against me, or shut them away from me. So now I had tried things Jeff's way, Danny came closer into my mind. He told me what to do next.

So guess what? I blew. A little harder this time, as it were sticks, not straw, and as I was so fired up about everything. After this second destruction, I could see at the top of the hill two little figures that seemed to be arguing. The Sheriff and the first little farmer pig. I knew I had to move on again, as this time there were two creatures after me, and maybe three soon after mister woodcutter arrives back in time to see his house in ruins.

So I sped away down the winding lane, knowing that I would never get back to my mother and the melon at the market stall. Soon I lost sight of the wrecked hut, and of the squabbling duo. As I faced forward, another dazzling spectacle lay ahead. It was an amazing beautiful house, made of bricks. Now we are talking, I thought, as I gazed up at its amazing marble white pillars at the front of this grand mansion. I walked up to the marvellous dark oak doors, hope still inside me, and Jeff encouraging me to lift the heavy brass knocker. So I did. And to my amazement, almost instantly the door swung open, revealing a beautiful staircase, an enormous crystal chandelier and the most exquisite decorations I had ever seen.

Not sure whether to enter this remarkable building, my foot grazed the welcome mat. When I looked up, standing before me was the most bizarre pig I had ever seen. Fashioned in a sapphire jacket with plum buttons, this pig certainly had class. On his feet were the most amazing shoes I had ever seen. Jet-black leather, polished amazingly, with little golden globes at the laces. He smiled at me, making his monocle jiggle up and down. He reached out a white silk gloved hand, and this time I hesitated before joining the shake.

"Come this way, my fine fellow." The pig lead me in to a rather stunning burgundy room containing many velvet chairs and plush carpets. "You may sit wherever you like. I will be back with some tea." I chose an extremely soft scarlet sofa with many cushions thrown on it, and was about to close my eyes and drift off to sleep when I heard the door open. In came the pig with a huge silver platter, laden with cups, saucers and cakes.

"You may have what takes your fancy. The teapot is over here." He gestured to another dish, with an enormous gleaming teapot, and many bowls of sugar beside it. "Go on, take something!"

I decided on the strawberry bun and cream, and as I started to pour the tea into the dainty little cups, the pig spoke again.

"So what brings you into my abode, my dear gentleman?"

"Um… well… um…" I was not sure what to say.

"Ok, then you can at least tell me what your name is."

"Norman."

"Norman?" The pig smiled, trying not to giggle. "That is indeed a rather peculiar name for a wolf."

"Yes it is. My uncle Grarr chose it for me, because my great uncle was called Norman."

"How very interesting." He sat forward, eager to listen. "So, what brings you here Norman?"

"Well, I was in the market with my mother…"

"Wait," The pig interrupted, a frown emerging. "You have come all the way from Gateshead market?"

Now I think about it, it was a very long way, and I understood then that my legs were exhausted. "Yes. Yes I have. And then I just wound up here."

"Ah, I see…" he sat back, and took a sip from his cup, only to spit it back in a moment later. "Hey, are you not that Norman chap who has a mental illness? What was it, Scissorhera?"

"Schizophrenia." I replied sadly, expecting either a shriek of fear and anger, or a race out the door. But neither came. He just sat there, gears winding in his brain. A moment later and he sat up.

"So how is it to be Schizophrenic?" What a weird question. Nobody has ever stayed to find out about it, or even to talk to me.

"It's ok."

"Do you know any other people who have it?"

"No, I don't. I don't know anyone at all." A heartbreaking expression came to my face and onto the pigs as well.

"Do you have no friends? Don't you have anybody you can talk to, hang around with, and share thoughts and secrets?"

"No." I whispered sadly, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Well, I will be your friend, if you want me to." The pig smiled at me. Not a smirk, like laughing at me. And not a pity smile, like they really don't want to be here. A smile I had never seen before until that day. A warm, kind smile. A smile of a friend.

The tears which were about to fall ceased, and joy swam through my veins, telling the rest of my body something amazing had occurred. I had finally found a friend. It was the most amazing feeling in the world; I was the king of all kings, the stars in the sky, the jam in jammie dodgers! It was so brilliant, so incredible.

"Yes I would love for you to be my friend, and it should start right away, right now!"

And so we chatted and chatted, talking about ourselves, about lots of different issues and had a lot of fun, which I have never had before in my life. We sat together all day, and finally at around 8:00 I decided it was a good idea to get going. We have made plans to go and see Billy Elliot at the Gateshead Theatre on Saturday, and tomorrow I am visiting his house to watch The Phantom of the Opera in his home film theatre. I am sooo excited!

And as for the whole police drama, I heard on the news that 3 animals have been found lying in rubbish dumps searching for a "demolitionist". So that's the end of that story. Will tell you all about the movie tomorrow after I get back. I have to go now; mother is asking me all about where I have been today. Bye!

Norman Wolf