My Mental Illness

My Mental Illness

Elena wrote this text on May 25, 2017. She passed away on November 29, 2017, six months after she had decided to share her experience with others.

I want to share my story not because I’m seeking attention or compassion, but to shed light on mental illness. Perhaps, my journey could help someone in a similar situation.

I have Schizoaffective Disorder Bipolar Type. A very rare condition, it has both symptoms of Schizophrenia and a mood disorder (depression or manic depression like me).

I became sick with Schizoaffective Disorder Bipolar Type around 23-24 years old. I am 34 now and was only diagnosed (and started treatment) 2 years ago. I spent nearly a decade living in madness, loneliness and agony interspersed with euphoria (mania – manic episodes concurrent with depression are characteristic of Bipolar Disorder).

When I first became ill, it started with a running commentary in my head an auditory hallucination or “hearing voices” – a symptom of schizophrenia). I met a guy at the time and we had a couple of casual encounters. I liked him and wanted to build a relationship, but he admitted that he had a girlfriend. Soon, I started to hear his voice in my head. I also felt he was watching me (he’s been to my place). I called him and asked if I was out of touch with reality, but he replied that he didn’t know. He then made it clear that he no longer wanted to see me.

I became really angry. I felt that he treated me horribly (even though these things happen and I should have just brushed it off) and wanted to “avenge” myself. My options for revenge were limited since I barely knew the guy. However, I knew where he worked and that’s when my life began to change for the worse…

So, I went to his work. I told him I was pregnant and that I would take him to court for half of his salary (just to worry him). He demanded the pregnancy test. Then, I began what would become a series of tragic events. In an act of rage, I ripped his gold chain off. I didn’t want or need the chain, I just wanted to do something bad to him. But it didn’t end there.

I was not satisfied with ripping his chain off and I decided to escalate the conflict. I bought a large knife. However, I decided not to go with the knife, but to use a taser gun instead (my ex-boyfriend gave it to me). So, armed, I went to his work again. And I attacked him. Security stopped me before I could harm him in any way. Four security guards pinned me down to the floor and that’s when he came on top of me and tried to strangle me. Pretty cowardly of him, in my humble opinion, but that’s beside the scope of this post.

Of course, I got arrested and charged with aggravated assault. At the time, I was treated by a psychiatrist for depression and started to take antidepressants (fluoxetine, commonly known as Prozac, a selective seretonin reuptake inhibitor abbreviated as SSRI). I had no idea that my mental health would deteriorate to such an extent that depression would seem benign in comparison… My psychiatrist explained to the court that sometimes antidepressants can cause hypomania (in some people) and that’s why I did commited the crime.

Luckily, I had a great lawyer, it was my first offence, I just started university and my psychiatrist told the judge that I wasn’t responsible for what happened. The guy I assaulted didn’t testify. All these factors together led the judge to find me innocent of the crime. But my troubles were just beginning…

A couple of months later I met a man who would become the love of my life. He was everything I ever dreamed of. I believed that we had a very strong connection and could hear each other’s thoughts. Talking to him in my head and believing that we were actually communicating for real would become my main symptom and would last for almost 10 years. At the beginning, I had brief intermissions of sanity. With time, the auditory hallucinations (as previously mentioned, “hearing voices” or things that are not there) and delusions (firmly held beliefs despite abundant evidence to the contrary – another symptom of schizophrenia ) became so intense that I had no doubts of their reality anymore.

I studied psychology in college and university, and had some insight to what was happening to me. I noticed that when my dopamine* levels increased, I would hear his voice more clearly or it would start again if it had stopped. When my illness became very severe, I suspected I had Schizophrenia, but because I was delusional most of the time, I was unsure. Little did I know that I was partially right and that eventually I would be prescribed antipsychotics, which work by reducing dopamine levels.

As my illness progressed, I became more and more delusional about the man I had fallen for. He was not interested, but because of my delusions and auditory hallucinations I was convinced that he was. I made many changes to my lifestyle and even personality because he told me to (mainly, in my head). Some changes were even positive, but most were negative and detrimental.

I thought he criticized my family and friends and became isolated. I started to believe that he opened my eyes on how bad they were treating me. Overtime, I became completely alone, I even had no cell phone at some point. I pushed everyone away, in a mean way, until I became completely socially withdrawn. Social withdrawal is a symptom of many mental disorders.

I threw away all my stuff. I got rid of my furniture, clothes, household items, jewellery, everything. In the weeks that preceded my diagnosis, I had one suitcase of personal belongings left and nothing else. I tried to sleep in a park and almost became homeless. I couldn’t work because I felt persecuted.

Now that’s what I really want to share with the world, the way my mind worked during those unhappy years. I truly believed we could communicate telepathically, I did not see it as telepathy but simply as a strong connection between two perfect soul mates, which I was sure we were. The relationship in my head was great. However, when I acted on these delusions, reality would hit me in the face. For instance, he did not return my calls. In fact, he did not want to stay in touch at all, even as friends. Every time something disproved my delusions I got angry. I threw away many of my belongings for that reason as well.

I called him so much that he ended up pressing charges against me. When he wouldn’t reciprocate my affection, I was so shocked and angered that I sent him violent, aggressive and threatening text messages. Although I don’t remember saying that, I was accused of death threats as well. To make matters worse, while I was waiting for the trial, I got into a physical fight with another student. Now, the police added additional charges to the ones I already had pending against me.

But, as time passed, the symptoms became worse. I began to think that he was very present in my life in indirect ways. I rationalized not actually having a relationship with him in real life in different ways. The story kept changing.

Once, I spent an entire night talking to my iPhone. As many of you know, the iPhone has an option to covert speech to text via dictation to a microphone. However, because technology is not advanced enough yet (at the time of writing – 2017), the written text often differs from what was said. In my delusional thinking and desperate desire to talk to him, I believed that we were exchanging messages this way. To me, everything the phone displayed meant a response from him. The same thing happened with my TextEdit application on the computer, the imperfect speech recognition looked to me as replies from him. At another time, I spent several days talking to the computer.

Besides being a symptom of a serious mental condition, talking to inanimate objects is naturally very frustrating. One ends up feeling empty, unfulfilled and completely desperate for genuine human contact, warmth, affection, intimacy and other elements of a normal relationship between two human beings. Trying to fulfill your emotional needs in such a strange way works for a while, but ends up leaving you depressed and completely desperate after a prolonged “conversation”.

Talking to inanimate objects is one of the most bizarre experiences I ever had. I also believed that he talked to me through the smoke detector by flashing lights. I would spend hours laying on the floor under the smoke detector and “talk” to him. Graffitis, the television, anything anyone said, the way people dressed (particular colours) and Internet search results “were” all ways he used to communicate with me. I saw hidden messages in everything and everywhere.

My delusions as to why he would not see me, or even contact me by normal means, kept changing. At first, it was because he wanted me to concentrate on my studies. Once I graduated the narrative had to change. So, I began to think that he was in the Italian Mafia and could not see me because he had to remain invisible. Because of disordered and irrational thinking, I could not realize that being in the Italian Mafia did not prevent people from having spouses and children, at the contrary.

Another account of his behaviour was that he suffered a plane crash, lost both of his legs and became handicapped. My feelings for him were very deep and I would, obviously, stay with him regardless. Yet another delusion was that he served in the military as a pilot. I “was” recruited too, but for a different position. I even renewed my passport to travel abroad to fight the War on Terror. Because of my impact on world affairs, I “was” threatened by terrorist organizations.

An aggravating problem, was that the delusions were not always nice or loving in nature. During a particularly challenging period, I came to believe that he was a sadist out to get me. At this time, the scariest thought I ever had came to my mind. Through indirect messages he “was” threatening me with torture. He “had said” that he would torture me until I passed out from the pain, he would make me regain consciousness and continue the atrocity and sadism of intentionally inflicting physical pain, for personal pleasure and entertainment and not medical reasons, on another living creature.

I was terrified. When I was 17, an abusive boyfriend threatened to kill me if I left him. He hit me a couple of times and that’s why I decided to end things. But I was not scared by his threats, I answered that I was better off dead, than living in hell with him, he then asked “What about your mother?” Still, I was not afraid. But torture, that’s far worse than death. This time I was really scared.

I went to the police several times to get protection. Evidently, after hearing my explanations, all police officers recommended that I see a mental health specialist. I did not believe them. I thought that they were all corrupted and his puppets. I decided to “escape” to another city. I bought a train ticket and spent an entire night hiding behind a bush near a Catholic Church.

Seeing “his messages” constantly, I was angered and felt trapped. I could not get away. I thought he poisoned me with gas in my apartment, I thought he was extremely powerful and that I couldn’t get away. I felt very persecuted, harassed and frustrated. At this point, almost everybody who came into contact with me thought that I was either taking drugs or mentally ill. Throughout my tragedy, and it is a tragedy because it pretty much destroyed the life I had built and caused me tremendous distress, many people told me to seek professional help. Including the man at the centre of my deluded state and mistaken beliefs.

As is often the case with some mental illnesses, on numerous occasions I considered committing suicide. The only reason I am still alive is because I couldn’t do it. I stood on the very edge of the roof of a building, but I was too scared to jump. The building had 9 floors and I feared that I wouldn’t die, but break my bones. I took an entire bottle of sleeping aids from the pharmacy, but I stayed awake. I tried cutting my veins, but it hurt.

I put myself in other dangerous situations. I told complete strangers I would meet online my whole life story, personal details and disclosed sensitive information because I believed it was him hiding behind a pseudonym.

A tragically unbelievable fact is that I saw several psychiatrists over the course of my descent into madness. The ones I saw for depression did not notice anything (although I didn’t talk about my hallucinations or delusions). Another one to whom I said I was followed by the Italian Mafia asked me: “But are you maybe indeed followed by the Italian Mafia?”. Crazier than me! Similarly, when I went to the emergency department and complained about throwing things away out of anger, I was prescribed Seroquel (quetiapine) and told to take it as needed (when an anger outburst occurs). I did, but it didn’t help. Back then, I was prescribed 50mg to take occasionally and when I finally got professional help, one of the medications that I was prescribed was also Seroquel, but 800mg (the maximum dose) to be taken daily.

My dad is the person who made me seek professional help. At the end of my years without medical intervention, I no longer had episodes of sanity or clarity. I believed in my delusions with a passion and refused to see that there was something wrong with me. My dad invited me to the emergency and said we were just going to talk. Once there, I opened up about what was happening and they sent me to the psychiatric unit.

I left soon after. However, I don’t recall how, but I came to the hospital again. I don’t know how it happened, but I was forced to stay. The doctors and nurses explained to me that they could keep me for 72 hours according to the law. I demanded a lawyer, but they said that wouldn’t help me. Somehow, after the legal mandatory period had passed I decided to stay. I spent about a month in the in-patient psychiatric clinic of the hospital. Several psychiatrists met together to establish my diagnosis, but it took a while for them to reach a conclusion.

At first, I was given risperidone for my psychotic features. The side effects were unbearable. I felt so restless and uncomfortable, I could not sit still for two minutes. The second I started doing something, I had to do something else. The doctors switched me to Latuda (lurasidone), but I had the same side effects. Then, they tried Seroquel, but it made me gain twenty-five pounds in the space of a couple of weeks and the symptoms persisted. The medications described in this paragraph are for the schizophrenic symptoms of the disorder.

For the mood disorder aspect, I was prescribed lithium, but instead of balancing my mood swings, it just made my disposition bad permanently (while I was tacking lithium, not after I stopped). I cannot be given antidepressants because they could trigger a manic episode. I was very lucky in my bad luck that I was assigned to a great psychiatrist. She tried really hard to find the right medication for me. Finally, I was given loxapine (antipsychotic), lamotrigine (mood stabilizer) and clonazepam (anxiolytic). I take these medications daily.

I struggled and suffered for years. I lost almost everything and made a lot of enemies due to my hostile behaviour. When people do not know you are sick, they assume that you are just evil or hate them (I fought with everyone and said nasty, even cruel things to loved ones, best friends, good friends and even strangers). Nevertheless, here I am: medicated, stabilized, functional. My condition is considered a handicap by the Government, but I work, live alone and can take care of myself.

I have no more symptoms. Sure, things are not perfect. I am often inappropriate in social situations. Because I was starved for human contact for close to a decade, I annoy, bother and bore people without noticing. My real friends, the ones who stayed in my life when I reached out in the last couple of months (and to whom I disclosed my condition, my personal, private and individual decision), tell me to back off or just ignore me at times. But I understand, and so do they.

If there’s one positive thing about my fate, it is that I learned that humans have the potential for a lot of compassion. Many people were concerned by, understanding and supportive of, my affliction. Obviously, I do not open up to complete strangers, but I did tell all my closest friends. The two girls who I considered two of my best, oldest friends cut off all contact with me. I guess they were never true friends to begin with, but at the same time I do not blame them. A good friend of mine who remained my friend after I told her, confessed to me that it was frightening and that the thought of ending the friendship crossed her mind.

The purpose of this post is to highlight the difficulties in dealing with a mental health problem. Being severely sick is hard, comprehending that you need help is tough and treatment takes time and presents its own challenges. If you or someone you know exhibits any of the symptoms I described, professional help is necessary. Psychotherapy may help in some cases, but in my situation nothing can be remedied except with medication (psychoactive, psychotropic, psychiatric drugs).

Thus, from the above description follows that my mental illness has caused great damage to my life. Even today, everything is not ideal, despite the fact that psychiatrists consider me stabilized. To give due credit to psychiatric evaluation, the worst ordeals of the past have completely ceased.

If you’re going through the same thing, I hope this post will give you hope. If you’re sick, I hope this post gives you the courage to get treated. The health care system in developed countries is strong, people’s reactions are mostly non-judgemental and medication relieved all the symptoms for me. There is a light at the end of the tunnel!

One last thing, social support/a support network is crucial. If my dad didn’t almost push and force me to see a doctor, I would definitely be on the street or dead by now. Also, old and new friends have helped me to rebuild a social life. So don’t be afraid of the stigma, getting healthy is much more important than insensitive labels. And if someone has issues with you because you are “abnormal”, let them be. Moreover, there are organizations whose only purpose is to facilitate proper integration in the society of those who, due to diseases of the mind and brain, need assistance.

For all those who are perfectly healthy mentally, I hope my story shows you the intricacies of Schizoaffective Disorder Bipolar Type and what an individual afflicted goes through. I’m sure it varies case by case, but this is what happened to me. I know people with Schizophrenia often hear voices too. Likewise, I know individuals with Bipolar Disorder have manic and depressive episodes like I did.

To illustrate individual differences in coping with psychiatric disorders, I am friends with a guy who has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), is completely dysfunctional and has been that way from birth. My disorder is far more debilitating than OCD, but I managed (with the help of family, doctors and friends) to overcome most of the problems and now lead a virtually normal life. So, to reiterate, I understand that people’s experiences differ, but this is my story and I really hope that it sheds some light on mental health.

Thank you for reading.

*Neurons (brain cells) release neurotransmitters, neurochemicals that serve as messengers in the brain. Different neurotransmitters affect us in diverse ways. Dopamine, for example, makes us feel good. Dopamine is part of the reward system; thus, anytime something rewarding or pleasurable happens (an accomplishment or simply consuming a tasty meal) the brain releases dopamine. Imbalance of neurotransmitters causes many diseases, both physical and mental. To illustrate, individuals with schizophrenia have higher than normal dopamine levels.