Psychotic Without Knowing It

Psychotic Without Knowing It

By Jason

Surviving the Rollercoaster of Untreated Mental Illness

The last twenty years of my mental illness have been slowly progressive.

It all began while serving in the military in 1993. I started to have this feeling that I was being talked about and followed by others. After the military, in 1995, while living in Berlin, Germany, these feelings continued along with the sense that someone was spiking my food and drinks as a joke. At that time, I could only hold a job for a couple of months at a time.

In 2005, I went to London. There, I started experiencing an on and off sensation of fingers touching my body (known as tactile hallucinations). Soon I started believing I was a victim of witchcraft. In London, I began to think that someone was angel-dusting (putting PCP in) the places I would sit to cause these hallucinations as a prank. I thought it was a newly developed hallucinogenic that was being soaked through my skin. This was the beginning of my psychosis.

I started to have delusional thoughts, believing things that were unreal, but which I perceived to be real. It was while I was living in London that I first became an inpatient at a mental hospital. I started to believe that street signs were put up to remind me of the past (delusions of reference). This is when everything becomes a coincidence. I also started believing that I was a victim of a prank and I was being left out. I started to believe that behind my back I was famous (delusions of grandeur). I was paranoid but hid it well. When I would go into a grocery store, I would believe all the customers and employees there were waiting for me.

After London, while in Washington State, I started reading license plates and brand names on peoples’ clothing, and thinking that there must be some sort of hidden meaning. I started believing that the things said or seen on the television had secret meaning about me. In Washington State I tried to commit suicide a few times and was sent to the mental hospital. California has section 5150 which allows a qualified officer or clinician to involuntarily confine a person suspected to have a mental disorder that makes him or her a danger to self, a danger to others, and/or gravely disabled. In Washington there are no 5150s. The justice system in Washington will put a person in jail for having an episode and give misdemeanor charges. I went through a vicious cycle of mental hospitals, emergency rooms, ICUs, jails and courts in Washington State.

When I got to California I got real sick. I started to believe I was on camera 24/7 as a prank (which is The Truman Show delusion) and that my family members were switched by impostors and wealthy actors (which is Capgras syndrome, aka delusional misidentification syndrome). I then started to believe I was a POW and that I was still in Germany and WWIII was happening behind my back—because Anaheim is in California and Anaheim is a German name. Heim means home in the German language and Germany was also involved in WWI and WWII. Then I started to believe that the military was looking to rescue me from Germany and that enemy snipers were in the trees. So I started crawling around my condo in the dark to avoid being shot at by snipers through my window (as I had learned to do in boot camp while having live ammunition shot over my head).

Sometimes in my condo, I would hear machine guns firing and black hawk helicopters hovering right outside. I would also hear people speaking the German language outside my condo. So I got a baseball bat to sleep with to protect myself and destroyed my heater/air conditioner, cellphone and computer internet modem and turned all electricity off in my condo. I avoided human contact and believed any and every person I saw was an actor. I thought that if one person was on a cell phone walking by me, the person was talking about me.

Last summer I became gravely disabled. I thought that if a person was driving next to me, behind me, or in front of me, the drivers were following me. I thought it was all arranged with cell phone communication. I got diagnosed with psychotic disorder, then schizoaffective disorder, then bipolar, and schizophrenia. My current diagnosis has reverted back to psychotic disorder. However, it does not matter what I am diagnosed with at the moment because most of my symptoms are gone, thanks to the medication that I only need to take once a month.

Presently, I think like a normal man as I did when I was younger. I have very rare audio hallucinations and rare tactile hallucinations but I am not delusional or paranoid any longer. I also do not believe that everyone is an actor trying to fool me, like in “Rosemary's Baby.” After I moved to Citrus Heights from Washington State a year and a half ago I had three 5150s in a four-month period in the summer of 2013. Since October 2013, I have found a medication that works, an injection once a month. I can easily slip off of an oral medication, thinking: "Oh, I am better now, so why should I take the medication? There is nothing wrong with me.” Luckily, I have no side-effects from the medication and I do not even notice a medication in my system.

I now realize that alcohol had played a major role in my dramas during my vicious cycle of mental illness. Now I do not need to drink so much because most of my symptoms are gone. Since 1994 I have had a very slow progressive illness, so slow that I had a condition known in a neurological study as Anosognosia, a deficit of self-awareness, a condition in which a person who suffers a certain disability seems unaware of the existence of his or her disability (Wikipedia) and that means that a person is without knowledge of something being wrong and without knowledge of having a disability. Up until October, 2013 I was in complete denial that I had a mental illness. It was then that I began reaching out for help and got the help I needed. Talk therapy seems to have helped the most.

Bipolar, With a Side Order of Psychosis

Bipolar, With a Side Order of Psychosis

By Jason Matlack, CPS

How My Illness Was a Blessing In Disguise

It's amazing how sometimes the worst things in our lives can become our greatest assets. It isn't the cards we're dealt but the way we play our hand. Who would have thought having mental illness would become the exact thing that has made my life worthwhile.

I never did well in school. When I was young they didn't have all of these diagnoses and tests to discover what was what. Maybe that was a good thing. Even though I always felt like I was failing at a lot of things in my life I never seemed to give up. Without a diagnosis I did not have an excuse to give up.

Growing up I experienced sexual abuse at an early age. I don't know how much of that played a part in my mental illness. That experience and my inability to keep up with my peers in school always made me feel inadequate. Sometimes I would fail tests that I would have passed because I didn't meet the time frame.

I discovered alcohol and marijuana at an early age. When I drank and got high all those feelings of inadequacy went away. In fact, with a little alcohol I became self-confident, or so I thought. I never drank like regular folks from the start. I drank too much and too often.

When not drinking, my self-hatred surfaced and I would say horrible things to myself in the mirror. Sometimes I would do things to hurt myself. I thought about suicide often. Drinking to oblivion was my only release.

I began to drink to the point of blacking out and became violent when drinking. At 19-years-old my verbal abuse turned into an attempt to beat up my girlfriend. I finally sought help in a 12-step program. I was raised in a loving family and thought female abusers were the bottom of the barrel. I moved out on my own, partially blaming my unhappiness.

I couldn't remain sober because of the secrets of the abuse and dysfunction in my childhood. I ended up in rehab and stayed sober for eight years with the help my involvement in a 12-step program. Even then I still didn't fit in. I was able to curb the anger and dealt with my childhood by finding peace and self-forgiveness. But the bipolar mood swings were a constant battle. While in my mid to late twenties I began to experience psychotic episodes. After indulging in the instant gratification of mania, I would then experience great guilt.

Once the psychotic episodes began, I would go super spiritual and hear a voice I thought was God. The business that I had started and ran for fourteen years began to fall apart due to my inability to cope. My wife couldn't take it and we ended up divorcing.

I started drinking again every now and then since my episodes isolated me. But I did not drink much. Instead, I would smoke marijuana. I didn't realize it, but the smoking prevented my psychotic episodes from occurring. Unlike alcohol, marijuana did not cause me to black out or become violent.

By my mid-thirties I lost my business. I went through some sales and management jobs, but manic episodes only caused more compulsive decisions.

When the economy crashed, the time share company I worked for as a marketing manager laid off 50% of the work force. I went into a psychosis that lasted about a year, thinking I was the second coming of Jesus Christ.

When the psychosis broke, I admitted myself to a psychiatric hospital. That was where I was diagnosed and started to receive proper medical care. It is also where I had my “Patch Adams” moment. I knew I wanted to get into the mental health field and help others like myself.

I had a difficult time coming to terms with the guilt from the damage I had caused others with my manic episodes and psychosis. I experienced a lot of anger about being born with this condition and became angry with God. Thoughts of suicide continued to plague me regularly.

I continued in sales, which I hated, but it was the only skill I knew would earn me enough money to survive. After getting laid off from a job selling cars, my therapist told me about a Certified Peer Specialist job, which is someone with a mental health diagnosis who helps others recover from their mental illness and create a better life for themselves.

I have been a Certified Peer Specialist for almost a year now. It is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I thrive on the personal satisfaction of helping others and witnessing their progress. This job is what I was looking for my entire life but was unaware of it. Every day I go to my job with great enthusiasm. If I wouldn't have gone through hell, I would have not found heaven.

All I can say is that to those of you who think you can't, you have to know that you can. To those who are our supporters, do not sell us short. It is through your support and encouragement that we will soar to new heights.

The common threads to those that find a quality life are those that have support, whether it is family, friends or professionals. No one can do this alone. If you do not belong to a support group please find one. There are some that meet in person. If that isn't possible, there are tons of them on the internet. I belong to a few myself. There are also support groups for our supporters. I love you all and good luck on your journey!

Tooth Extraction Unlocks Bipolar Adventure

Tooth Extraction Unlocks Bipolar Adventure

By David Scott

Some Parts of the Adventure Were Better Than Others

The year 1995 was the greatest year of my life. The worst year of my life was 1996. That in itself comprised the highs and lows of bipolar.

In 1995, I was 22 and had two jobs, a girlfriend, lots of friends and my own car. One of my jobs was security at all the concerts in the Washington, DC area. I also worked security at all Washington Redskin games.

While I was backstage at a concert, my supervisor asked me if I wanted to work the Super Bowl. I was thrilled! They flew me down to Miami and I worked on the field at Super Bowl 29. I even took Steve Young, the MVP, back to the locker room after the game. 1995 was an incredible year.

In 1996, I had to have two wisdom teeth removed. My mother took me to the doctor. The doctor had the same last name as me. I thought I was in good hands.

The procedure did not go well. I could feel the drill going into my gum. The novocaine kept wearing off. The doctor stuck me with the novocaine seven different times. I remember everything because I am forced to relive that day every day of my life. The doctor even told his assistant to go get the larger drill because he could not extract the tooth. After it was all over, I felt strange, like my mind had been altered. My mother and I got into the elevator and I whispered in her ear that I could hear what the other people in the elevator were thinking. She did not respond.

When we got into the car, all I could talk about was God and other grandiose things. We went to the pharmacy to pick up my pain medicine and I could hear everyone's thoughts. Two days later I was completely insane and violent.

I was taken by ambulance to the local hospital. Once there, I fought with at least six doctors and hospital staffers before they knocked me out with a needle. When I woke up, a doctor told me that they thought I was high on drugs but found none in my system. I told them I had never taken drugs and I didn't even drink alcohol. The doctor told me I had bipolar disorder. I did not know what that was. He explained it to me. I told him that I didn't understand. Nobody in my family had mental illness and it was not brought on by drugs or alcohol. He said I had it all along but the severe trauma that I went through with my oral surgery had triggered it. I was devastated.

I spent a month in the hospital, the first two weeks in restraints. One time they released my right wrist to eat the tray of food and when I took the tray off, I hallucinated that there was a live snake wrapped around the plate, so I threw it on the floor. Also, while in restraints, I talked to this shadow on my ceiling and this light that would form a shape of what I was thinking. I thought it was God. 

After a month, I came home. I felt great and took my medication. I thought after taking the medication for two weeks, who needs the side effects? So I stopped taking it. 

This time I had to go to a different hospital. It was not like a mental hospital with restraints and harshness of any sort. I was in the room with two other guys and I had the freedom to walk around. I participated in group and I played chess with this bipolar lady every day. It was not bad except that I wanted to go home and every time I thought I was okay, the doctor was like, I think you need one more week. That was totally frustrating. What did I have to do to convince them to let me go? Well, I ended up staying there for a month, just like the other hospital. I would never stop taking psychiatric medication ever again.

When I got home, something was happening. I started writing poetry although I had never written any before. I was pretty good at writing in school but I did not know how to write poetry. In my manic state I was writing two poems per day. In my depressed state I was writing one every other day. I showed them to my father who was duly impressed. I started reading poets, beginning with Langston Hughes whom I had always admired. Then at a book sale, something just drew me to a rather plain looking book with the name Dylan Thomas on it. I was blown away by this guy and I discovered he was bipolar like me. I also found out that people were mesmerized at his poetry readings. So I started going to poetry readings.

People responded to my poetry. Within a year, I was featured at libraries and literary venues. When I discovered poetry slams I started writing more upbeat poems for performance purposes. I was winning poetry slams all over the Washington, DC area. One of my poems was on the hottest radio station in DC. For some reason, getting published was not as important to me as performing was.

Today, I suffer a great deal with heat and mania but I am able to control it. I don't get depressed that much even though I don't have a girlfriend or any friends for that matter. I am still on the spiral staircase but I am ascending one step forward every day.