The Logic of Zombies: An Experiential Account of Schizophrenia

Several months into a seven-month episode of psychosis, I stood in Utah before the undulating rock of a canyon bathed in muted colors of peach, red, and rust. I could see that the canyon was beautiful. And I sighed, knowing I would soon feel deep satisfaction and contentment while contemplating nature’s beauty. My heart rose in anticipation, but instead, I felt nothing, not one thing at all. I couldn’t have cared less. And I was perplexed. I registered that the colors of the canyon were exquisitely melded into one another. “What was happening,” I thought? I saw that the rock was twisted and carved by the forces of gravity and water. However, I had absolutely no emotional reaction to the marvel of the American Southwest. The deep cobalt-blue sky never said a word to me that day. In fact, wonder fled far away. The loneliness of the scene, just a rock wall and myself bordering a deep ravine that ran far away into the empty desert, stirred no melancholy in my heart.