My research into research auditory and visual hallucinations has revealed that these experiences are more common than I first was aware of.
In a recent episode of the BBC Radio 4 programme, The Art of Living, the poet Frank Ormsby discusses how his life has changed since he was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. His medication, he believes, has aided his creativity. But it has also induced hallucinations. He finds himself sitting on his own in his study but surrounded by people, by the ghosts of his mother-in-law and unidentified visitors. And he's also haunted by a fear that the earth will open up and swallow him.
When he was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, his response was unexpected. He embarked on a newly fertile creative period, documenting his experiences and finding a voice in his poetry that he was beginning to lose in his daily communications.
His first act was to search Google - for jokes. "Which would you rather have, Parkinson's or Alzheimer's. Obviously Parkinson's! I'd rather spill half my pint than forget where I left it."
As he discusses with Marie-Louise Muir, the illness has changed him. It's mellowed him. After a career as a school teacher, his daily life is now quieter and more solitary. There's a poetry, almost, in his pauses and silences.
I find his following poem about his hallucinations very powerful"Wherever i sitat the corner of my eyethey fade in fade outmelt into elsewhere before i can see faceswho is that girl i sense at my shoulder?who is that dancing lazily on my table until i look up?are they playing a game?do they mean me any harm?not one has appeared twice or uttered a soundremote, indifferentthey will never amount to a family or a circle of friendsmeanwhilea black spider with its heart in its mouth is legging it across the floor tiles towards the nearest shadehe is strangely humanand visible all the wayso used to them have I becomeso aware without thinking of their nameless presence and their ways of peopling a roomI spoke absently to one lurking in my mother-in-laws chairand called it Jeanand asked about an imminent journeywhen I looked in its direction it disappearednot much conversation to be shared with a neurological disturbanceeveryone else in the roomif indeed anybody else was thereremained invisibleand a lonliness beyond reason began to take holdand things impossible lost themselves againin a round of regretsthere was no breakthroughthere was no crossing of linesmy silent visitors wouldn't startle a mouseso still they sitsometimes on every chair in the conservatorythey might be teachers or civil servantswith a taste for line dancing and country musicat times they exude a kind of homelessnessdisplaced beings crashing at my padthey have the fearsome patience of invalidswhatever it is they are waiting forthey'll wait forever"http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b09gc8k6
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