Schizophrenia Diaries

It all started after my best friend died in a car wreck involving a drunk driver. I was so crushed, that the anxiety was still prominent a year after he died. In fact, it was getting worse. I started not sleeping, I went almost two weeks with no sleep,and when I did sleep, I was plagued by nightmares of my friend dying. The panic attacks were getting worse and I was beginning to experience visual hallucinations. There were people and things that apparently only I saw, and a nearly continuous whispering in my head. The first time I heard a voice, it was telling me nasty things. This voice has developed into a character called Francis, who tries his hardeest to make me miserable. I was waiting on my ride after a school play and I was crying and going into hysterics. People just stepped over me and kept walking. I didn’t know what was going on.

I tried a counselor, who refered me to a psychologist, who refered me to a psychiatrist. At first, they treated me for anxiety, but as time wore on, it became apparent that anxiety was not my only issue. Other characters developed, including Cyanide, my closest friend.

Right now, I am taking 600 mg of Seroquel for Schizophrenia and sleep disorders (we’ve tried Zyprexa and Abilify) 150mg of trazodone for anxiety and sleep disorders, and 10 mg of Lexapro, for depression. Except for the occasion seemingly random outburst during class, and one real scare when I had a hallucination one of my friends being shot in the head, I have gotten pretty good at ignoring Francis.

Now, Cyanide takes over and controls my body occasionally. No one really notices, and if they notice something different, they have no idea what is going on.

No one knows what is going on.

I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia at age twenty-six. After graduating college, I was unable to hold a job. Everyone seemed to be against me, talking about me, trying to get me fired and ruin me. Things were not going well as they had before.

No one saw things as I did. No one believed the things I thought were happening to me. The longer this continued, the worse it became. Before long, I thought my house was being wire-tapped and that my food could possibly be poisened. Now living at home with my parents, I did not want to endanger them so I kept things to myself.

My parents sent to to a psychiatrist. They were worried because I was not working. I graduated from college while working part-time as well as being involved in college clubs. Now, I was sleeping in until ten or eleven o’clock in the morning and often not working. The psychiatrist offered to prescribe me an anti-depressant, because I never told him what I thought was really happening to me. If I talked, things would surely get worse.

Eventually, it became intolerable. I believed my neighbors were plotting against me. I left notes in their mailboxes demanding that they leave me alone. "Enough is enough," I wrote. One of the neighbors was an FBI agent. I thought he was behind the wire-tapping. One of the other neighbors caught me, and the next day I was given the choice of going to the Crisis Center or going to jail. I chose the Crisis Center and was hospitalized.

During my stay at the hospital, I was prescribed Risperdal. At that time, it was a new medication and I was told I responded well to it. I no longer believed people were out to get me. The hospital staff was pleased with me because I showered every day and attended all the patient activities. I was the only patient that wore street clothes. They said I might be able to hold a job.

After getting out, I was determined to be normal. I found a part-time job as a sales associate in a department store, then worked full-time for a lumber retail store chain. I did not mind the jobs, but wanted to use my college education. Writing always appealed to me, so I enrolled in a few classes at a local university and worked as a "stringer" at a weekly newspaper. The position went well, and I was hired by a daily newspaper.

The job did not last long. I stopped taking the medication because I had a difficult time keeping up. I was also extremely self-conscious because I was approaching my thirties and was not on my own yet. People at work teased me about things I could do nothing about. As a result of being off the medication, I turned in articles that made little sense and quoted people as saying things they never said. The managing editor had a meeting with me and told me he was concerned. He said he contacted the editor of the weekly where I worked as a stringer and and my past professors about my ability to do the job. I denied there was anything wrong and was soon fired.

After that, I refused to take the medication. I worked through labor temporary services and factories. The longest I held a job was for nine months. It was on the "grave yard shift" for a a plastics factory. I managed to get my own place, but young people moved in next door and were having parties every weekend. On my days away from the job, it made it difficult to sleep. I asked them to stop a few times, and they became angry.

One evening, they did not have a party. Three of them cornered me and swore at me. They would not let me in my place. I was afraid and confused. No one was that mad at me before. A fight broke out and I could not get away from them. The police broke it up and I was sent to the hospital with an eye swollen shut and they were sent to jail.

After getting out of the hospital, I did not want to go back to the apartment. I returned to my parents’ house, but they did not want me back without the medication. After repeated talks and my refusal to take the medication, they locked me out. I would wait on the porch for them for hours, and they would let me back in. We argued and I was eventually hospitalized again.

Following the hospitalization, I was sent to a halfway house. My days and evenings were spent with other people that had mental illness. During this time, I had to accept the that I was sick and that my life would be different. There was no where to go and no one to do things with that did not have a mental illness. I heard many peoples’ experiences and it helped me not to fight or ignore the fact that I was mentally ill.

For the past four years, I have been working at an agency that houses the homeless and mentally ill. It is the longest I have held a job since I graduated college almost fifteen years ago. I worked part-time for two years and was then hired into a full-time position. It was hard not to bounce around when things were not going well or I wished they were different, but it has been very rewarding. I get to see people come and go rather than leaving and starting over again.

Part I – The trip:

When a movie was presented to me by my parents, I often thought it contained a hidden message. I watched attentively throughout the movie Gattaca waiting for the message to appear. I stared in wonder at the lengths Ethan Hawk would go through to become of the elite. I sat patiently hooked to my screen while Hawk and his brother took a swim across the lake. I waited and waited until we reached the very end of the movie. Than the message my parents were trying to get across was clear: I was going on a trip.

I didn’t think much of this hidden message; I just shaved, showered and brushed my teeth like I did every night. I went to bed expecting nothing but sleep. But something wasn’t quite right… Startling white images awoke me in the middle of the night. My eyes widened… I had just been flashed with an image which resulted in me gasping for air. A giant spider had been hanging from the ceiling in front of me. The best metaphor to be used is this: every flash felt like I was bungee jumping in ice cold water while being in full darkness. There was a feeling of zero gravity mixed with coldness. This element of abnormality really shook me to the core and it remains the worst feeling I have ever felt. I was physically having problems breathing. My body started to shiver uncontrollably and forced me into a small ball. After the 4th flash, I started desperately whispering “please stop” and began repeating my friend’s name over and over. The flashes stopped and I remained in a panicked death grip throughout the night; a deer in the headlights, completely frozen.

Memories of last night’s movie stayed in my head; maybe my parents were telling me I needed to take this trip again. The next day I woke up filled with purpose. Even though I failed the trip – I told them to stop – I was determined to do whatever it took. I believed I would die in the process but would be reborn. I said to myself that I wasn’t ready for the trip, I didn’t know what to expect therefore this time I can prepare and do better. How do you prepare for death? I figured if people wanted me dead it was for a good cause and that it would somehow grant me a life of privilege or respect in the next. I didn’t mention it to my family because I thought they hinted I had failed. I played a heavy dose of Burnout 3 for the xbox that day. The speed and the music always calmed my nerves.

The following night I was in panic mode. I prepared numerous candles and incense. But most importantly I prepared a playlist of the most peaceful music I had in my collection. I figured these preparations would give me the edge I needed. The method of waking up really frightened me, I figured I would wake up like Neo in the Matrix or wake up a long hallway. The hallway would have a point of light at the end and would be filled with aliens from all planets. I didn’t sleep all night; I was still in shock. I became convinced that in order for this to occur (or start), I had to be asleep. And I really wanted to get it over with. But days became weeks and weeks became months. I would be up to sometimes six in the morning, wide awake, listening to my carefully chosen playlist. Exhaustion set in and eventually forced me to sleep every night. Nothing happened. I was confused by this situation and wondered if I had missed my one chance. The long anxiety filled days really burned me out. I became obsessed with that one horrible night. Eventually I broke down and came to my mother telling her I did not want to go on this trip. She brought me to the hospital.

Part II -The secret society:

My hospital stay gave me quite a bit of time for thinking. Boredom controlled me and my paranoid thoughts gave birth. This boredom (sitting looking at a wall all day) became a method of slow torture. I was determined to get out of the hospital at any cost. Therefore, while my delusions were getting worse, I was denying them to everyone. I became much more introverted and started to depend only on myself.

Because of the insane amount of time I had on my hands, my delusions grew. I started looking for clues about the trip and why I failed it. I began to think people spoke in riddles. They weren’t allowed to tell me the truth but they could hint at it. That was the law. For you see this group had laws. This opened up more ideas, the thought that an organization lived. I searched for theses hidden messages in every word and phrase. Hoping to find answers to all these questions I had. I would twist words around and around and find new meanings. I became convinced these people were not real doctors or nurses.

I started hearing voices. The voices were misinterpretations of what people were saying. In the hospital there is a lot of noise in the background. The voices I heard varied from every subject, but most importantly it mirrored what I was thinking. For example if I was pondering about death someone would say “you’re going to hell”. This gave birth to the idea of mind reading.

Mind reading crippled me. I became very paranoid of everyone, thinking they judged everything I thought or did. And getting judged by every comment can get very frustrating and angering. Because of the intense attention through my delusions, I began to feel really burnout.

I thought this organization had big plans for me since I was getting so much feedback. I began to think they weren’t just an organization but a secret society. And I was going through initiation period.

Eventually, I was released from the hospital with anti-psychotic medications… They did nothing for me other than provide me with panic attacks when I took them.

Part III – Mr Regina

Being released in the outside world really helped to calm my nerves. Having access to good food, music, video games and television really eradicated what I was trying to escape from: boredom. My delusions did not subside however, they became worse.

I thought the TV would often lecture me with some hidden agenda. A commercial with a little girl would mean I was acting like a little girl. A big man would mean I was acting like a big man. A luxury car would mean that I was on the right track. I would debate something in my head and flip the channels till I heard an answer. The answer would often be a metaphor.

I would sit at work looking at the cars. Each color would comment on my thinking. If I saw a blue car it would mean I was thinking sadly. If I saw a green car it would mean I was showing signs of growth. If I saw red car it would mean stop, white would mean we bring you peace.

I started to see signs everywhere. Traffic lights, stop signs, cars, movie previews, the color of the sky, advertising was a big one. A welldone truck would mean that I was doing some great thinking. A star on a bus would mean I was a star. Radio one would signify people were talking about me. This is why I began to think I was “Mr Regina”. I was the kid with great potential everyone put there time into.

I became so convinced that people knew me I would sit with strangers at coffee houses. I would randomly sit with a group of people and start listening, introducing myself, “yes I am the Greg, please to meet you”. I remember would old lady actually called me star, this just fuelled my delusions.

Groups began to scare me. So much judging, I had to constantly had to put on a nice imagine all the time. Never being rude in your mind is very difficult. I did my best to hide my rude comments and had blamed myself, my education, my society. I was constantly in defense mode. If I wanted to get into this secret society I had to be strong, polite and focused.

Months past and the attention drove me on the edge of insanity. I was tiered of being so stressed. I ended up watching TV one day hyperventilating while holding my mom’s hand. I remember the words on the tv so clearly, “your almost a legend”. My mom begged me to go to the hospital again, after half-hour of debate I told her this would be the last time.

After my sixth prescript on pills I finally found the right one. I started to doubt things, first mind reading, than everything sorta melted away.

There was a lot going on, and it’s difficult to grasp this all. The best I can explain it is severe culture shock, being jolted to the streets of China all alone.

name: chelsie

select: My Own Story

email:ceplaughlin@gmail.com

news of the strange

june of 2006

i went fucking insane.

i was down in new orleans, chain sawing down dead trees and sifting through debris.  my sleep schedule got fucked up, i guess due to the round the clock lights of the FEMA camp. that\’s all it took.

first i couldn\’t read. then i couldn’t watch movies. i never ate or slept. the only things i did well were chain smoke, manual labor and entertain.

i thought i was psychic.  i heard voices. my psychiatrist asked me if i heard the voice of wisdom.

i did.

when the lady came to take me to the hospital, it was raining in the middle of a sunny texan afternoon. i thought it was raining for me. i thought i was the messiah. sunshine rain is special, you must agree.

for a time, i did nothing but lay in bed, twitch and listen to classical music. every now and again, i’d create mediocre art.

i was loaded with drugs. several times a day i collapsed on the ground and flopped around like a fish out of water. or a cockroach under the influence of RAID.

my coworkers were curious to know what the voices said. i told them they say motherfucker a lot. like when someone took my favorite seat on the bus. later, riding back from whatever nature preserve we were chainsawing at, my boss said ‘motherfucker’ real low. i had to check around to make sure everyone else heard it. they did. noone else thought it was funny. later, i through a chewed up apple at him. i can do those sorts of things now.

balance of a new, hyperaware sort has been achieved. i spend a lot of time riding my bike. yesterday, unsolicited, an old man at a bus stop gave me a tin of Beach Cliff fish steaks (in soybean oil with hot green chilis). in case i get hungry. but that’s just america.

i drive a tiny train meant for the amusement of toddlers and their grandparents. i wear the appropriate hat. it looks good. when my dad heard i got the job, he started singing, ‘high on cocaine, drivin’ that train, casey jones you’d better watch your speed. ‘i’m vigilant.’ right now i’m sitting in my small apartment, wearing my silk kimono, chain smoking and listening to the shirelles. i’m very sensitive to music now and require a constant drip of old country, blues, jazz and a few selective hits from the sixties.

july of 2007

my name is chelsie and i am a recovering schizophrenic. its been over a year since my hallucinations started…and i finally found a medication that works. i’m starting a new job (a real job) in a couple of weeks, have made a new friend (not an easy acquisition for a schizophrenic) and am in the negotiations of creating something special with, well, someone special. i no longer need a constant drip of alcohol, music and the compulsive arrangement and rearrangement of objects (think silverware and cigarette butts). things are looking up and i don’t miss the chaos whatsoever. i’ll always have the memories to, um, cherish.

i drive a tiny train meant for the amusement of toddlers and their grandparents. i wear the appropriate hat. it looks good. when my dad heard i got the job, he started singing, ‘high on cocaine, drivin’ that train, casey jones you’d better watch your speed. i’m vigilant.

right now i’m sitting in my small apartment, wearing my silk kimono, chain smoking and listening to the shirelles. i’m very sensitive to music now and require a constant drip of old country, blues, jazz and a few selective hits from the sixties.

july of 2007

my name is chelsie andi am a recovering schizophrenic. its been over a year since my hallucinations started…and i finally found a medication that works. i’m starting a new job (a real job) in a couple of weeks, have made a new friend (not an easy acquisition for a schizophrenic) and am in the negotiations of creating something special with, well, someone special. i no longer need a constant drip of alcohol, music and the compulsive arrangement and rearrangement of objects (think silverware and cigarette butts). things are looking up and i don’t miss the chaos whatsoever. i’ll always have the memories to, um, cherish.

Wow…7 years gone and not a day goes by that I don’t hear something…I have it pretty managed now, if I was walking down the street you wouldn’t even know I have a label..for I am Schizophrenic…actually for I AM ME!!.

I suffered a drug induced moment that somehow followed me 7 years later…only because I should have stopped the pills and thrills, so it eventually went from an episode to a full on, life long illness.

My first episode involved me thinking I was the star of a movie..thinking I could see cameras..A STAR IS BORN…and not in the "normal" sense…it was a dream from when I was little that I would be a movie star and somehow as a 23 year old young women it came smacking back into my life..the thought of being a movie star.

Then it went from that to me not knowing what the hell was going on and I remember this over whelming feeling of wanting to crawl under a rock and hide. I did run…right into my Dad’s arms and my step mums embrace made me feel safe…not secure, for I was about to get a whole lot deeper and hear a whole lot more.

I walked around thru that city for days, trying to get the signs, trying to fight the spirits that the voice..let’s call him The Jim was telling me. He said you hear those noises in the roof, they are spirits and I am gonna help you fight them, good golly gosh and fight I did.

Seriously we would probably need months for me to tell the whole story but in a short version…I went thru religion, God, life, movies, reincarnation, every little kind of spiritual awakening I experienced made me who I am today. A happy and healthy Schizophrenic..God bless my life..he does everyday!