(No photos for this; it didn't seem appropriate.)
I’ve always known I was mentally unwell.
But while the words ‘depression’ and ‘mood swings’ were practically second
nature to me, hearing my doctor tell me I have schizophrenia was a completely
different blow. As everyone else out there is probably thinking, I thought the
same: “Schizophrenia? That means I’m crazy, right?” When my doctor prescribed
me with anti-psychotics (not anti-depressants, anti-PSYCHOTICS), I knew that my
world was definitely going to change.
It started when I decided to tell my mother
that I had been seeing a psychiatrist for a while. I was surprised that she was
so casual about it. She was even so supportive, she asked me if my psycho
analysis sessions were working and whether I needed medication. Ironically
enough, I was prescribed my meds right after I proudly told her, “No, I don’t
need meds.” But now, I do. Now, all of a sudden, it’s more real.
There are times when I intentionally don’t
take my medication because I am still in denial. I tell myself that I’m in
control, that I don’t need medication just to be normal. But then, after two or
three days, the downward spiral begins. I find myself wondering why my friends
aren’t messaging me to invite me to hang out. Did something happen? Do they
hate me? And when I see them, I always feel like they aren’t as warm as usual.
Did I do something wrong? Are people spreading shit about me?
It gets even worse when I’m on the road
with no one to talk to. When cement mixers come up next to the car, I start
imagining – no, wishing – that it would roll over and kill me so that, that
way, it wouldn’t be suicide; it would just be bad luck. That way, I could still
go to heaven and not spend an eternity in hell. Other times, when I’m on the
Skyway, I imagine the car speeding off of it and killing me instantly – no
pain, no worries.
And then there are times when I just stare
at my medication at night and wonder what would happen if I took a handful of
it and down it with alcohol. Maybe I wouldn’t wake up anymore. That way, it
would be a peaceful death. That way, I’d just drift away and all the nightmares
would just end.
What triggers the downward spirals? I don’t
even know, and that’s what we’re trying to figure out right now. Sometimes, I
send someone a text message and don’t get a reply, and that would be the
end-all of my day. Sometimes, I do something wrong at work and get told off for
it and I find myself crying uncontrollably for hours – not even in bathrooms,
but in public. Sometimes, a song comes on and my mood just changes in an
instant.
On the days that I do take my medication,
things aren’t exactly better. The voices in my head fade, sure; but I also wake
up sometimes with a massive headache that feels like a bad hangover and muscles
so sore, it’s actually difficult to move. Then there are days when I don’t wake
up when I’m used to at all. My eyes are so heavy and when I check the time, it’s
already late in the afternoon. Of course, that stresses me out even more. Where
did my day go? How will I get things done? It’s a vicious cycle.
With meds or without meds, life with
schizophrenia isn’t something I would wish on my worst enemy. It’s hard waking
up in the morning and not knowing how your day will go. It’s hard not knowing
if it’s going to be a bad day or a good day; and then, when it’s a bad day, it’s
hard not knowing if it’s going to be your last.
And that’s why I’m in therapy. That’s why I’m
on meds. That’s why I got help. A lot of people have been questioning the
changes I’ve been going through, and well, surprise: this is it.
To those of you who don’t know me well and
have always thought I was just an overly dramatic, OA and papansin person, I’m
not hoping that this will make you understand, but I’m hoping that it will at
least make you more sensitive and more understanding of me and my ‘crazy’ or ‘bipolar’
personality, as some have already called it.
I haven’t found my triggers, but I’m hoping that
one day I will. I hope that one day, I will be able to take control of my
thoughts. I hope that one day, I’ll wake up and realize that, “Hey, it’s been a
month and I haven’t once thought about death in any form.” But until that day,
all I can really do is hope. I hope you can hope with me.
