Psychosis That Lingers

Psychosis that lingers

I was reading some of my blogs from earlier this year. I do this on occasion to see what I wrote as I usually forget what I have written the majority of the time. Apparently sometime in January, I was having a psychotic break, even though I was taking the abilify. In my blogs, my therapist wanted me to take my PRNs, which I can only assume was trilafon to help quiet things down. I had refused. Now that things have escalated to the point where they are now, It’s no wonder I can’t get a hold of things.

I am glad the trilafon is working as well as it can be. I have been taking at least 4 mg faithfully the last few days since getting my mail order prescription. Some days I need 8 mg because the voices are just too loud or things are just “weird”. Like lyrics telling me what to do or music changing their meaning. I might also be paranoid. I know eventually I will become tolerant to the 4 mg where it doesn’t work for me anymore but I hope that doesn’t become the case. It’s obvious from my blogs that the abilify lost its ability to work for me.

There are many reasons for this. Having to lose a parent and the stress of the grief was one major reason. Having to go through a SSD review was another. Not to mention a review for my student loans which still has not been decided yet. Add in the stress of my back problems and knowing I am pretty fucked if I move the wrong way doesn’t exactly make be feel comfortable.

Then you have the external stressor of terrorists that I believe are really aliens looking for power to control the world. One way or the other, world war III is going to happen, eventually. It’s going to be against, possibly, religion or an us vs them mentality. I don’t know who is going to be president of the US in the upcoming election. I hope it’s the democratic nomination but you never know. And if it’s the republican nomination, the world is screwed, not to mention the US. I cannot fathom a racist president will run the US.

It’s been seven months that the voices have been out of control. It’s been a month that I have been off the abilify. The only thing that has stayed constant is my chronic pain. My suicidality has been in and out. Some days it’s very much apart of my life and other times it is barely on my mind. Lately, It has been on my mind more. I so want to escape the harsh reality of being commanded by voices that nobody can hear. They keep telling me to do things. They haven’t specifically told me to kill myself but I fear that they will soon, even with the trilafon that I have been taking. The voices now know that I have been taking trilafon. It’s candy to them. It works most of the time. It’s not perfect because unlike the abilify, I have to take it every 6 hours or so. I am bad at keeping track of the hours so when I start to feel paranoid or can’t stand an object talking to me, I will take another dose. I never exceed 8 mg a day. I am too tired by then and usually am in bed after the second dose, if I need it.

I have been reading Harry Potter tonight. I read three chapters. I wanted to read four but I just can’t. My meds have kicked in and I will be going to bed shortly. I have absolutely nothing to do tomorrow except possibly call my psych. I want to let her know what I found out. I think it’s important for her to know how long the psychosis has been going on. This way she can make a clinical decision if she needs to.

I was having zaps earlier this evening. I seriously thought about emptying a bottle of Neurontin in my stomach. I hate zaps. There is nothing I can do for them but wait for them to pass. I hate nerve pain more than my chronic pain that I have. Least with the chronic pain, I can get relief with my pain meds. It really had me feeling suicidal. Throw in the intensity of the voices and it’s not a good mix.

Psychotic Depression

Psychotic depression

My pdoc said that grief can bring on many things. I guess I am at the phase where it’s bring on psychosis because I am vulnerable to it. For the past three days I have been experiencing increase in voices and paranoia as well as delusions. It was set off by the shooting in Orlando and then when my therapist didn’t agree with me, it intensified. I stopped taking my antipsychotic meds, though today I needed my PRN trilafon to get me through the paranoia. I can handle the voices. I just cannot stand the paranoia and agitation that goes with it.

I don’t know how long this will last. Usually, it will mean a psych hospitalization to get my symptoms under control again, which will mean going back on the med that I am not taking. I am being very risky. Voices can be very hard to control once they get out of control. I know this from past experience. But I don’t care this time. I don’t trust anyone. And after the mishap in the pharmacy, I am not really trusting my psychiatrist anymore. She wants me to follow up with her. I will in three weeks when I see her again.

I feel like I am being watched all the time. Strangers are the worse because I think they are following me or trying to listen in on the conversation I am having with the voices. I see my therapist on Tuesday in person. I also see her Wednesday in person. She doesn’t know this yet. I have arranged it because I miss her and I would like to see her like old times. Trouble is that she doesn’t like it when I am psychotic. I don’t think she gets it. My psychiatrist gets it more than my therapist does. I just know I don’t want to be on the meds anymore. I will take my other meds just not the abilify.

I really needed someone to talk to tonight. My cousin was supposed to call me but never did. I can’t count on him for nothing anymore. He doesn’t want to listen to me like he used to. I am very sad at this. The one person that understands is abandoning me. But it’s typical of my family. They say they will be there for you but when that time come to be there, they have other plans. It’s so rough. I know I have blogger friends I can talk to. But it’s not the same as family.

I feel so frustrated by today’s events. It shouldn’t have happened. The pharmacist should have filled my prescription and not try to play like they were doctors that knew better. It wasn’t a big deal. I have been on this medication before and never had a problem filling it, until now. It really stressed me out, more than what I was already. I hope my psychiatrist can understand this. I just feel like everyone is against me right now. The weird part is that I am depression but I haven’t moved into the darkness part of the depression. I just am psychotic and delusional and paranoid. I haven’t been this way in quite some time. I know I am taking a chance not taking my meds anymore because when I do go back on it, it might now work as well as it did. The trilafon is helping as I feel much calmer and the voices that are bothering me are hushed, least for now.

The depression is not all it’s cracked up to be. I don’t feel sad anymore, just gloomy. It’s an awful feeling to be this down and not know how to express my feelings. It’s easier to talk about the voices because they are much more interesting.

Everyone is against me

Everyone is against me

I went to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription and they wouldn’t give it to me without verifying it with the doctor. So instead of getting 30 pills, I am getting 10 because my doc doesn’t trust me. I don’t fucking know. I sent her an angry email. I know more about the trilafon than the damn pharmacist filling the thing because I was on it when she was in fucking diapers. I have been on this medication since I was 16! I think I know how to fucking take it and how not to fucking take it and my doctor knows this. She trusts me. Least I think she does. I don’t know. I am so fucking paranoid right now it’s not funny.

While waiting in line while the pharmacists were talking there was a heavy breathing man behind me. I was freaking out because hello, personal space! Then before I logged off the computer, there was a hashtag going on Twitter about aliens. I had to shut down the browser. I mean, is this really happening to me, of all fucking days?? I am ready to admit myself because I am so fucking paranoid. I have never been so fearful in my damn life than I have been today. I don’t fucking feel safe in my own skin.

The voices are feeding off this fear. Only a matter of time before they tell me off. I got my toy and encrypted my documents that were on my laptop. I had to keep the password in my app so I remember it. I forget it and it’s bye bye data. Seriously don’t know what to do with myself. Sox rookie pitcher sucks. 3 pitches in and he gives up a 2 run home run. Yea, this is the guy we need. NOT. I am too fidgety to watch baseball right now because I am still irked by the pharmacists. I should talk to the older one and tell her she should have verified with MY doctor before filling the damn thing if she had questions to start with. Dammit. I mean what the actual fuck. Keeping me waiting while it gets sorted out while I am all fucking paranoid is not fucking good. Yes, I know there is an interaction between the medicines. Yes, guess what… my doc knows too! So what the hell is the damn problem?? Just give me my medicine and I will be on my way to take it as I fucking need it, like prescribed!! Not the “oh this medicine is not a PRN medicine”. SINCE FUCKING WHEN?? I have always taken this drug as a PRN. It’s my go to drug when I am fucking off my rocker. AND while I was in the hospital I was on 3 times as much as what my doc is prescribing me. UGH. I am so damn annoyed. But they are out to get me fucking more crazy than I already am. They are against me. They all are. I can’t wait to see if my doc responds to my email. Or emails. I asked her nicely and this is how I get treated. Like a drug seeker novice that doesn’t know about medicines. I am so irked. SHIT HEADS all of them. I wonder if they were infected with parasites too.

25 years of mental illness: the beginning

25 years of Mental Illness

Twenty-five years ago, I started the world into therapy and madness. It was my aunt’s birthday. I stayed home because I didn’t want to go to the party. My father called me a liar and I lost it. I needed an escape so I started scraping myself with a pair of scissors, hoping to dig into a vein to end my life. The deeper the scrape was, the more it hurt. I barely exposed the adipose tissue but had scraped away most of the dermis. If I had continued, I probably would have reached the fatty layer. I didn’t plan ahead so I didn’t have a bandage to cover up my wound. It was burning as air hit it so I just covered it with my long sleeves. The next day, I went to school and carefully kept the wound concealed. I have no idea how I kept things together and just went on as if nothing had happened. The next night, my cousin had come over the house. He wasn’t supposed to be there. My father had banned talking to him because he lied to him, too. It was scary because I knew there was going to be a fight when my father came home for dinner.

And he came home. All was calm at first. Both men were civil towards one another and then my father’s explosive temper exploded. He wanted my cousin to leave. He refused. My father got really angry, threatening him. All I could think was that this is bad. Then my brilliant father thought of shooting my cousin with his rifle. I dissociated and was hearing bullets being fired. I felt like I was in a war zone but no gun had gone off. My father kept threatening my cousin and my cousin became indignant, refusing to leave. So my father got his gun. He loaded it and then threatened my cousin one last time. I snapped. I got between my father’s aim and my cousin and told my cousin to just fucking leave. I was so terrified that something bad was going to happen that night. My cousin threw me in my room so forcefully that I have a mark on my nose where I hit my heavy bureau and moved with it. He closed my bedroom door so forcefully, that I couldn’t open it. My mother then, I think, told my cousin to leave. He left. My father was still ape shit. Never had I seen him so mad before. My mother was in her bedroom and I think she may have had a hypoglycemic attack, I am not sure. I was in my room. I was fighting the voices who were going ape shit at me. They wanted me to talk to them, to ally with them. I couldn’t think straight. The voices wanted me to kill myself. The leader of the voices ordered me to kill myself. So I got out the pair of scissors from the night before and started over again until I felt no pain.

My father had taken the phone off the hook. My idiot cousin kept calling to see how we were doing. Asshole. He started the whole fiasco. How do you think it was doing?? I was so terrified that his brothers and my uncle were going to come to the house to kill my father it wasn’t funny. I barely slept that night. I was in pain, both physically from what I did to my wrist and mentally. I wanted to die so bad that night and prayed for death that never came. The voices were hounding me left and right. But I kept my mouth shut. Something told me that if I escaped to their world, I was never going to leave it. I had to stay in my century as bad it was. I lost faith in my father that night. He tried to kill a man for no reason except because he was defying him. He made no physical attack toward my father and my father didn’t do it either. But the damage was done that night. I had started cutting to save my life and I liked it. I was hearing voices on a continual basis, telling me what to do and no one knew this at all.

The next morning, it was just like the previous morning. Everything went on as if nothing happened. I got dressed for school, wore long sleeved sweatshirt, and left the house like I normally did. I got to the corner of the end of the street and lost it. I started crying. The events of the night before came flooding back. The voices were still trying to get me to talk. I was a bubbling idiot. The more I tried to control my tears, the more I cried. I don’t know how, but I finally got some composure and went for breakfast. Kids always copied my homework because I was the smart one in school. I gave it up and didn’t care if I got it back. I barely said two words for fear of crying again. I made it through my first period ok. But during homeroom, I lost it again. Someone asked me something and when I bubbled an answer, I lost control of the tears I was fighting back. My best friend noticed and asked what was wrong. I said nothing. My wrist was throbbing with pain. Thankfully because I wasn’t alone, the voices were just hiding out, just waiting to attack me when I was alone. I went to my second period and there my best friend told my teacher something was wrong with me. I wasn’t upset with her. I must have looked a mess from crying and keeping my emotions together. The teacher pulled me aside once she started a movie for the class. I thought I would be able to sleep with the movie going but she wanted to talk to me. I told her I was fine. Nothing was wrong. Then she rolled up my sleeves and I was caught. She said to wait for her after class. I felt like I was in trouble and I was never in trouble with a teacher before. I was always the nice one, the goody two shoes.

She took me to the nurse and they talked for a bit and then it was my turn. I think I told her I tried to kill myself last night, that I wanted to die. My father had a big fight. I didn’t tell them about the gun or my father trying to kill someone. I didn’t want the police involved. My father would kill me. My mother knew I had problems. When I was ten I told her I was going to kill myself but she didn’t believe me. Now, five years later, it took the word of the school nurse to believe me. We went to the county mental health center where I was evaluated. I was tired of going over my story again and again. I didn’t tell them about the voices and they didn’t ask. They just wanted to know if I was suicidal and I lied. Told them I was fine.

I kept in contact with the school nurse for the weeks following this traumatic night. Eventually, the nurse convinced me that I needed to see a school counselor and so I agreed to talk to her. I told her about my abuse, all of it. The sexual abuse at the hands of my cousin (same one that instigated my father) and my mother, the physical and emotional abuse of my father, and the neglect of my mother as well.

In my mind, I had killed my parents when I was 12 and had been an orphan since I was 10 when they died. It was the only way I could survive. I was tossed around between family members and no one wanted me because I was unloveable. Eventually, I started talking to the voices again. They didn’t want me to and were still telling me that I had to kill myself so that I could live with them, to start a new life. I never believed them. I must have had at least a half dozen voices in my head and most of the time they were all talking together, among themselves, about what to do with me. They knew I had to die. I knew I had to die. And so my path to the world of psych began and still continues to this day.