Tag: mental illness

I didn’t go to sleep till around 3 am. I had the itch to write but all that I wrote was “it’s late”. The rest of what I wrote was boring and I am going to toss it. I really wanted to write about the psychosis getting out of hand and switching antipsychotics but all I did was outline my thoughts. I guess it’s a start.

Around this time last year, I was signing and faxing papers for the New York Times as I wrote an article they would be publishing. It was exciting as I never dreamed of writing for the Times. It was an extremely high ego boost. But it didn’t last long as I crashed into a deep depression afterwards that stuck around and is still lurking around. I guess I have been depressed for almost a year now, my longest episode. The psychosis didn’t really affect me until November of last year. That was when the abilify stopped working for me and I just thought things were still going okay.

It wasn’t until my back went out and I got scared I would have to have surgery again that my depression really worsened, causing the psychosis to also worsen. Add in the stress of my father’s ill health and it was a perfect recipe for disaster. I started having the physical symptoms of depression and lost some weight because I wasn’t eating. It’s easy to reflect on this as time has passed but it wasn’t easy while I was going through it. The psychosis really got worse after the Orlando shooting. That is when I stopped taking the abilify because the voices told me to. I was under their command. I just thank my lucky stars that I didn’t call the FBI like I wanted to because I was so delusional. I wanted to let the FBI know that they should look for a parasite in the brain of the deceased gunman because that what was causing him to act the way he did. I truly believed there was aliens planted parasites in ISIS followers that was making them evil and do bad things. I still believe this.

The voices wanted me to take more medication than was necessary for a few weeks. It wasn’t until the paranoia got out of control that I decided to go to trilafon to help with all the craziness that was going on in my head. My therapist was fearful I was going to lose it or take my life. I also started emailing crazy stuff to my psychiatrist which she had to stop because it was not the run of the mill stuff I normally sent her. If I had to “talk” to her, I had to page her. I couldn’t understand but now I sort of do. What I was writing was a little concerning. But it was my new “normal”. It wasn’t until I was at an adequate dose of trilafon that I realized just how crazy I had been.

All throughout this psychotic phase I was going through, I didn’t think it was bad. I still don’t. I had become more distant from my feelings and empty. It was like I felt nothing. I was hollow. These feelings didn’t last long. They were then covered up with depressive feelings and sometimes suicidal stuff.

My chronic pain reached its breaking point. I had my last flare up and I was going to make sure that it was going to be my last. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. I am tired of living from flare up to flare up and having little to no relief for days. The only way I can get relief is by taking pain medication around the clock, and sometimes I have to take the strong pain meds to break the cycle. I am hindered in my activities and it sucks. Even walking around my own house is troublesome during these flare ups. I can’t make myself something to eat, showering is next to impossible, even brushing my teeth is a chore.

Dealing with mental illness and chronic pain is very difficult. It requires a balance. I am grateful I am not working because I think I would be dead by now. The emotional toll it takes to work, I just don’t have anymore. It was difficult in the beginning to get used to all the free time in the world that I had. Going to Starbucks provided some routine for me but on days when the depression was bad or my pain levels were out of control, even that routine was soon broken. Now I go whenever I can just to get out of the house for an hour or so. It’s rare that I will be out for more than two hours. My anxiety and paranoia get too much and I have to return home.

I spend the majority of my time in my room. I write, read, and follow Twitter and Facebook all from the comfort of my bed. I have to keep my left ankle elevated to keep it happy. It’s not like it won’t flare up because it can and will. I still haven’t figured out what makes it happy and what makes it really angry. I thought walking and standing aggravate it but I can have hours where I am on the bed and the slightest movement can hurt me. It’s so aggravating and frustrating because what causes it to hurt today, won’t cause it to hurt tomorrow. It is very depressing, which only intensifies my suicidal tendencies.