Ehhh. I'd wager that him having anything as severe as schizophrenia is a bit of a stretch--he's definitely got some kind of narcissist personality disorder, though.
I dug through some old stuff he sent me while we were together, and I think it might provide some insight. He dubbed this his "autobiography":
I almost always found myself a misfit in school. I went to two different preschools because they couldn't tolerate my behavior in the first one I went to. The second one was different. I remember some of my teachers there most vividly out of all the teachers I've ever had, even though I was only four at the time I was their student. They tried to help me instead of just dealing with me and punishing me. It was then that I started to realize my academic potential. Instead of sleeping with the rest of my class at naptime, I was with the teacher at her desk, practicing printing my abc's. I also started to develop my creativity. Even at that age I cared how things were set up in an art project. When I was given a piece of paper, I would make a picture with my paintbrush while most kids made completely unrecognizable objects or just simply splattered the paint all over the paper. But aside from the good aspects of my preschool, that was also the first time I was exposed to bullying. I still remember vividly one incident in which another student went up to the teacher during free time with bite marks on their finger, saying I bit them. When the teacher called me over, I had no idea what was going on. She told me in the usual question manner, "Did you bite this child's finger?" or something along those lines, and made me sit in the corner. I knew I didn't do it, and I knew the kid that had framed me was just trying to be mean, or they confused me with someone else, in which case it would be the teacher's fault for not listening, another thing that happens to me often.
Preschool came and went, and I started kindergarten. That was probably one of the best academic years of my life. My teacher was calm and pleasant, and very tolerant, and none of the kids made fun of me for my temper tantrums. But when I moved on to first grade, that changed. I had a very strict teacher, so when I had meltdowns I often found myself sitting outside the classroom in a chair. First grade was also the year that my parents and teachers fully realized I had a mental disorder. I began taking meds and seeing therapists at age six. Nobody knew this but me, my parents, my teachers, and my school psychologist and social worker, but the teasing started up again nonetheless.
Second grade was by far the worst year of my life. I hardly spent any of it in my local elementary school. Close to the start of second grade, I began having suicidal thoughts, which I, of course, said out loud. I was pretty serious about it, and I even thought up ways to kill myself, most involving a knife. The combined factors of my intelligence, which was far above grade level, my mental instability, and the fact that my mom was a nurse and had taught me basic anatomy were probably what led my parents and therapists to send me to an outpatient program at a mental hospital. I got to come home in the afternoon, but I only had two hours of school a day. The rest was therapy.
That hospital actually really helped me. It was the first major step in becoming who I am today. Unfortunately, when I returned for third grade at my local elementary school, I only lasted half the year. What bothered me the most was that I could do the work well and I was even above grade level, but I just couldn't stay in the classroom long enough to do it. I didn't go to a hospital this time, but I did go to a very strict special education school that had grades from preschool through high school. They had a point system, padded rooms for kids that got aggressive, classrooms with three grades all learning the same thing (for the learning disabled), and three staff members for every six students in a room. I was there for a while, and during my time there I earned myself a few stays in those padded rooms, but over time I changed. By the end of fourth grade my parents and teachers thought I was ready to go back to my regular elementary school. That was a mistake. I went back, and had a miserable year. It was clear I needed to go back to the special ed school. So I did.
Sixth grade was probably one of the years I improved the most. I had really nice teachers who loved me, my creativity, and how smart I was. They really seemed to care about helping me. But seventh and eighth grade were a nightmare for me. I absolutely hated my teachers, and I had to deal with them for two years straight. All the while my mom was trying to get them to give me harder work, because I wasn't being challenged enough with the work they were giving everyone, which was mainly designed for learning disabled kids. The teachers never seemed to get their act together with getting that work, so I was basically forced to improve on my behavior fast enough so that I would be ready to leave the school after I graduated middle school. After a lot of frustration from one particularly strict and annoying teacher, I finally reached that goal. I was ready to go to my local high school.
My high school is huge. From one end to the other it's about a quarter of a mile. So you can imagine how I felt coming from classrooms of eight to ten people to a school of about two thousand, nine hundred students. Luckily for me, I had and still have a program to help me. It's in a little section of the school and it has smaller classes designed more for special ed students. The teachers are really nice, and every student in the program gets assigned to a monitor, someone they can check in with when they need to and have a Resource Room period (sort of like Study Hall) with. I started my first year of high school with five classes in there and now I only have three, and my classes throughout the rest of the school have increased.
It's amazing really how much I've changed from age seven to age fourteen. I went from having manic mood swings and thoughts of suicide to being a functioning member of society.
That was up to freshman year. In sophomore year...
-My father died
-My mother got cancer
-Moved to all mainstream classes
-I had teachers that made fun of me and antagonized me, or didn’t pay any attention to my needs
-The stress made me sick for ten days at a time, two or three separate times
-Had to be a lot more independent
And I still got straight As in most, if not all my classes.
In junior year...
-All mainstream still
-I was actually happy for once
-Dealt with teachers I didn’t like instead of switching out of the class or breaking down
-More As
-Started to make friends on my own
Senior year so far....
-Taking extra science class
-All mainstream
-Making more friends
-Continuing to be more independent
All this and...
-College biology with lab after freshman year, 4.0
-College psychology after sophomore year, 4.0
-College abnormal psychology after junior year, 4.0
I believe this is the most blatantly false document I have ever read. It reeks of seeking pity points, and the whole "I remember my preschool vividly" line shit gets me. I can hardly remember what I had for breakfast today, let alone half the teachers from high school that I had. And this guy claims a 4.0 grade despite throwing tantrums? Bullshit.
What I believe is that he's making up shit left, right and center. I believe that he went to a sped school. I believe he threw tantrums in the halls.
I do not believe his claims of intellect. Smart people don't get themselves doxxed over their Underfail diaper/vore/gore fetish blogs. Smart people don't claim absurd personae and stick with them. I doubt he has friends, I doubt he's independent, I doubt his mother has cancer. And the teachers that "didn't pay attention to his needs" line probably meant exhausted staff who didn't want a massive tard tantrum, but were blunt about it.
I also downloaded the videos in case he ever deletes them so if someone can point me in the directed of uploading them for safe keeping I would be in your debt.
