It Could Be Worse

It Could Be Worse

By Dave

Successful Sobriety and Stability Aided by a Supportive Family

I don’t know where I would be if it weren't for family. It has been hard on everyone. Was it drugs, kundalini, spirits, or miswired synapses? If my high school had voted on who was most likely to snap, it probably would have been me. I think I would have developed schizophrenia even without marijuana and a few acid trips. There is a family history. The substances just made it worse.

I was an engineering student with potential who acquired a marijuana habit, transferred and dropped out. I had some strange ideas on the road, came back, lived with friends, family, then was hospitalized, back to work for a year, and again hospitalized. Six months after recovering to the point where I could work again for a year, I had a personal crisis and hospitalization. I went to a recovery house and got clean. I remained substance-free, worked for a year, got hospitalized, got my own place, worked for a year, and then rehospitalized. Right now, I’m working, hoping the kinks in my mind and the system have been worked out.

The mental health system is stretched thin and the turnover rate is very high. Even if they had checked on me, no clinician was ever around long enough to get to know the signs of my individual case. Each time, it began with not eating and sleeping, strange synchronicity and hallucinations. I would ditch my job, write people crazy letters, drive my car somewhere without the gas to get back. Where would I be without my family? Certain people could talk me down. They knew when I was losing it and would get me into the hospital before it would turn into jail.

I've had more visual than audio hallucinations. It's like being in a dream state while I'm awake. I know what channel is on, I know what I put in the DVD player, but that’s not it. There is an endless horror movie inside my head.

Things were quiet until I refused medication in 2008. Two weeks later, the internal dialogue became a quagmire. It's difficult to hear the still, small voice when there’s so much noise inside. At least they go away when I'm concentrating on a task like writing or working, or having a good conversation. The doctors will ask if the medications help. At least by now, I know not to stop taking them. Schizoaffective mania happens even when sober and taking meds.

There have been highlights. I was inspired to buy a guitar and have been playing ever since. I have produced some good songs, poems and sketches. I got baptized several years ago, made some friends, lost some friends, been employee of the month and got some raises and bonuses at several jobs. I smoke two packs of cigarettes a day. I work and do odd jobs to pay for them. I've been sober 4.5 years out of five. I’ve been considering completing my general studies degree.

I've put on a lot of weight and been sleeping 12 hours a day since I was put on medication 10 years ago. Right now, it's not so bad. I got my own place, smokes, a job, my family and a few friends who still care. What more could a guy ask for?

Resilient Not Incompetent

Resilient Not Incompetent
By Pamela
Finally Knowing the Reason for My Distress
I think I always knew that I had a problem. When I was young I used to be afraid of everything. I stuck close to my parents and stayed home with my youngest brother Andrew who had cerebral palsy. While my other brother and sister went out and made friends, I was at home.
I hated school. I was bullied and didn't have friends until my senior year. I was a terrible student. I found things very confusing and took a long time to grasp concepts. I would stare off into space and zone out, missing entire portions of my class. I thought I had a learning disability or that something was wrong with my brain, but I just couldn't figure it out. I was afraid to talk on the telephone because of the people on the other end and what they thought about me. What they were saying about me were things that scared me.
It doesn't happen often, but sometimes while having a conversation with someone, I will be in mid-sentence and then I begin what I call “word salad” where I jumble up a bunch of nonsensical words that mean nothing. It’s embarrassing. I can hear myself saying it, but pretend I didn't do it.
I've attempted to go to school to change my career twelve different times, each time leaving for a different reason. My instructor was sabotaging me, I had chosen the wrong field to study, I wasn't smart enough, I didn't feel comfortable in my classes because the students were talking about me under their breath.
I've changed jobs about as many times as school. Left and came back four times at one job. At my last job prior to treatment, I worked with a small group of people who were as frightened of me as I was of them. I was manic and tried really hard to do a good job. I worked and spoke quickly, again speaking word salad, and could not understand why they weren't pleased with my hard work. One day I just fell apart, hallucinating and seeing blue dots all over the floor, ceiling and walls. I thought everyone at work was responsible. I left that job the same day and never returned. After talking to my priest, a criminal psychologist, about my experience, he gave me the name of a psychiatrist. This wasn't the first psychiatrist that I had been to, but the first to name my condition: schizoaffective disorder.
I began the challenge of finding the right medication to help my depression, mania, delusions, paranoia, hallucinations and anxiety. While waiting for relief, I became suicidal. I was at work and had the good sense to tell my supervisor, who took me to the emergency room where I was transferred to a hospital for behavioral health and substance abuse. I was there ten days while they played with my medication. For one week after being released, I had panic attacks every day, causing me to have fainting spells. I would pass out and end up in the emergency room. I thought I was going to get fired. I requested a change in shift from first to second shift, so I would not have to work with too many people.
After five years and two more psychiatrists, I finally have a mixture of medications that work for me. I read all the time about people wanting to get off their meds and take care of their mental illness without them, but for me medication is a necessity. I've needed medication for a long time, and without it I am not lucid.
Right now I'm taking my meds as I should. I know that down the line I'll probably have another break. I think it's inevitable. My symptoms seem to be cyclic and I don't know that I'm in trouble until I’m in the midst of it, when someone tells me something is wrong. I am grateful to be finally aware of my diagnosis. It is a relief to know that it was not my fault to have failed at the many things I've tried so hard to accomplish. For years I believed I was stupid and incompetent, when what I really am is resilient.

A Crazy Guy Like Me

A Crazy Guy Like Me

By Dave A.

How I Found Stability With Meds and the 12-Steps

I was born in a shack my father built in Northern California in 1976. My father was violent, mentally abusive, a heavy drinker and, as is now apparently a schizophrenic. I dreamt of fighting him off when I was young. I had resentment toward him yet a natural admiration that looked for the good in him. My mother is bi-polar and began drinking after my parents’ divorce. She did, however, quit drinking and introduced me to 12-step help when I was a teen for my heavy drinking and drug abuse.

My schizophrenia started aggravating my psyche when I was about 15, most likely triggered from heavy drug abuse. Along the way, I started dating a sweet girl. We fell in love, yet she left and I was devastated. I began isolating and was tormented by horrible visions. Scenes of violence would flash through my mind. When I returned to counseling, my therapist suggested medication, which I did not feel was a good natural remedy. In fact, I looked down upon medication as if it were a street drug.

Not too long after, I was institutionalized upon my family’s insistence and my concurrence. Obsessed with my previous girlfriend, I continued to grieve over her. Whenever I seemed to stop thinking of her, someone would mention or ask about her, which I interpreted as God indicating her eventual return to me. After several trials and disruptions in medications, the majority of my psychosis involved my imagining this former girlfriend was with me. I knew she was not, however, I felt happier thinking she was somehow with me in spirit. My writing and the music I listen to is much inspired by this woman.

I have not drunk or used illegal drugs since I was 21. I am 38 now and feel I have made a strong effort to do well in this life of illusion. I met Dan Frey (editor of NYC Voices) when I was about 23, and whom I consider a good friend, although we have not been in close contact for years. His efforts to support my musical shows are still appreciated.

Since I was 21, I have done my best work with psychiatric practitioners, having been in hospital psych wards once a year until about eight years ago. The threat of psychosis has alleviated over time and I value my freedom with the assistance of outpatient care. I would, however, do inpatient again if needed, and have considered it on occasions when I struggled the most.

I have schizoaffective type 2, which means I have struggled with depression throughout my life. I continue to enjoy good times as well. The twelve-step program has taught me to find esteem in service, in hopefulness and faith in healing for the sake of others, as well as myself.

I can no longer drink or ingest the sickening amounts of sugar designed by junk food companies. Due to my borderline sugar levels, I cut soda and other sugary drinks out of my diet. I still acquiesce sometimes with chocolate, but not like I used to. I don’t know for certain if I have fallen prey to Zyprexa's tendency to create sugar reactions, or to the junk food industry. Either way, I now regulate my diet more consciously.

I bring a 12-step meeting into the psych ward down in the valley once a month. If I get the apartment I’ve been eyeing, I’ll be just a block away from the psych unit and my plan is to begin weekly meetings. I have a sense of accomplishment having done the same with the hospital back east years ago.

Currently, I live in the mountains of Northern California and have an application pending for a low-income apartment down in the city’s valley. I’m making an effort to enjoy my current life while looking forward to having a mental health clubhouse about a half block away, as well as other fun activities, when I get down there. Maybe I'll meet a crazy lady who would understand a crazy guy like me.

Undercover Nutcase

Undercover Nutcase
By Heather
Adventures in Creative Thinking
My name is Heather. I am twenty-five years old and have lived almost my whole life in Connecticut. I graduated from high school in the top ten percent of my class, started at the University of Connecticut in one of the top three academically challenging programs and graduated five and a half years later, with a major and a minor. During middle, high school and college I was strongly involved in volunteering, community service and student organizations, often considered the quiet leader (or very outspoken leader toward the end of college). I have worked off and on since starting college and am known for being one of the best workers in the office, when I do work. One job I have always held is an Official Undercover Nutcase.
My current diagnoses are borderline personality disorder, schizoaffective, post-traumatic stress disorder and generalized anxiety disorder. I started therapy at age fifteen, but have lived with mental illness much longer. One running theme my life follows is that no one seems to notice that I am mentally ill. I move through the world with everyone thinking I am "normal." When I am hospitalized other patients don't believe that I have the diagnoses that I do. I recently told one of my aunts about my schizoaffective and she remarked that I seem so normal and well-adjusted, she had no idea. My whole family and most friends have no idea. This has led me to feel like a secret agent in my own life.
Every morning I put on my "normie" uniform and see family, friends, co-workers, the public and none of them are the wiser. Sometimes the uniform is comfortable, but other times the paranoia, anxiety, hallucinations (auditory, visual and command), depression, flashback and triggers make the uniform feel like itchy wool in the summer.
Aside from the uniform, there is always the idea that my cover may be blown. At my last paying job, I was sure I would be found out by my supervisor. More than once my supervisor made demeaning comments about the people seeing the talk therapist that shared the building with our office. I was placed there by two organizations working with disabled people and have no visible disabilities. Even after I was sexually assaulted by a co-worker I was able to keep my cool outwardly, although inwardly I was screaming.
My demeanor has changed since then, probably because of the mood aspect of the schizoaffective. At my current volunteer job I am the go-to person for the impossible projects, though I have been there less than a month. More than once I have been told they weren't even sure if the project could be done, but I did it. I am still mostly quiet, but I have mentioned an idea I had in a hypomanic state. Luckily it just looked ambitious instead of insane. I am less worried about being found out here, but am worried about the day that I will be too depressed, too schizo, or have someone set off a trigger to make it that I can no longer be there. If and when that happens, I will go back to headquarters, have a brief sabbatical and then be sent on another mission to infiltrate another organization for The Institute.
Undercover Nutcase Heather, signing off.