Time To Take My Exams

So, I shared that I stayed at a psych unit twice. The first stay interfered with finals week and the second was a month later. I was really worried that I wouldn't be able to make up my finals but my mom helped me communicate with the college and they allowed me to make them up, thankfully. I was enrolled as a general science major because I love math and science so I was taking chemistry, astronomy, and also psychology. My professors were going to allow me to make up the final exams and they gave me a couple weeks to study. I remember having a really hard time studying for my finals. I couldn't focus due to my mental illness. I remember the text books looking like gibberish. I was basically running off of what I had memorized from what I had learned earlier in the classes. 

So, the day came to take my chemistry exam. I remember getting the test from my professor. He was very nice and smiled at me and said, "good luck." This made me feel better. I had aced every test I had ever taken in my life, so how could this one be different-- right? So, I sat there and began the test. The first few questions I think I got right because I remembered learning about them in class. But then, here came a hard question. It was something I was somewhat familiar with, but seemed harder now due to my new illness. Okay, "deep breath" I told myself. "How do I do this again?" "Something about conversions?""Oh crap." "I can't remember..." "Believe in yourself, you got this," I told myself. I took another deep breath and just simply focused. Then, my pencil began to write things that made sense. "Wow! I did it! I think I may have gotten that right!" I continued through the test, doing my best and focusing pretty well. But I'll tell you, it took a lot of effort. I remember feeling a little manic during the test and sometimes distracted by outside stimulus. But nevertheless, I felt like God was on my side. Then, at the end of the test came the stuff I just didn't know. It was all about the periodic table. I remember trying to study it, but I missed the lectures on it because I was manic. "Dang. Well, I got those wrong :( Hopefully, I did well enough overall to pass the exam and the class." Later I found out that I got a B or B+ in the class (I can't remember which). Rockin! I'll take it! Not bad for being "insane!" haha :)

My psychology professor was so kind. He saw how well I had done in the class up to my mental outbreak and simply waved the test altogether! He let me keep the grade I already had in the class which I think was a B+. I was so grateful for that because I saw how stressful it was for me to take my chemistry exam and I didn't want to do that again. So far I was doing great! They're not the A's I was always used to in high school, but good enough, I'll say.

And next came astronomy. Now this professor wasn't so kind, haha. I thought I was going to be given the test in a timely manner like I was with my chemistry class, but this professor had me wait an entire term. I got sick at the end of fall term, and I didn't take the test until the end of winter term. I studied so hard. Luckily, he let me do it online, so I could look up the answers, but everything was foreign to me. I thought,"we learned this??" haha. "Oh crap." So I finally hear back from my professor in an email. He said, "So, you didn't do well on you final at all. But because I had you complete the test so late, I waved your grade and you get a B- in the class." "Wow," I thought. "Barely made it by that one." "Now I can take a deep breath and move on." I passed the class with a decent grade and managed to bypass a rude instructor. "Nice work." :D

I had also taken women's self defense as well as a partner yoga class which were fun and was able to finish up those classes before my episode. I was pretty proud of myself. So now, I had withdrawn from that university and moved back home with my mom to rest. I needed a break and I needed to focus on my stability now. The EAST team was helping me get there, my mom was supportive, and I had other family and friends behind me. But I was also starting to discover something else, something that affected me deeply-- a strong curiosity about God and spirituality had sparked in me. I felt like my mental outbreaks had activated in me a strong interest in God. I was desperate to learn more. A page in my life had turned. And a new adventure was ahead. 

Something's Gotta Change

I mentioned in a previous post that I had been experimenting with marijuana prior to my hospitalization. Well, little did I know that this is the case for many who experience a mental health crisis. Marijuana is very linked to psychosis. Most people, especially young people who use it for recreation, do not know this. This drug can trigger a genetic predisposition in someone who has relatives with a mental illness, and it can cause them to develop a mental illness. I believe this happened to me. I learned that a couple of my Grandpa's siblings had schizophrenia. Doctors and counselors I met with told me that I was one of the many people who experimented with this popular drug and had "bad luck" as I would put it. Now I have a mental illness. They diagnosed me with schizoaffective disorder at first, which is a cross between a mood disorder or "mania" and psychosis which is where you may hear, see, or even smell or taste things that others do not. I was told I could get better, but unfortunately, I was also told that no one ever truly recovers to their fullest. Great. :( 

Well, that news wasn't wonderful. And the realization that I probably needed to continue taking meds bothered me as well. Thankfully, with the help from a family friend, my desperate mom found the perfect care for me. Her friend had found a pamphlet about a mental health program that could help me. The program was called EAST (Early Assessment and Support Team). This program consisted of a group of professionals: a psychiatrist, counselors, and other mental health related workers. They provided psychiatric visits, counseling whenever I needed it, and even family groups. My mom was so relieved that she didn't have to go through this alone and that there was a team of professionals to help me. I loved coming to the family groups where we would learn problem solving techniques and share what we all had in common. I enjoyed meeting with my counselor and doctor and asking all sorts of questions about my care. I started taking medication and it seemed to be working alright after trying a couple of them. But, to be honest I was very skeptical of the medication piece at first. I didn't like putting foreign objects in my mouth that messed with my brain. My brain is very special to me. But my counselor and doctor asserted me that it was okay to take psychiatric meds because they acted like "a cast for your head." And, to be honest, they did make me feel a lot better. 

One thing essential to my growth was a word of wisdom from my Dad. After my first hospital stay we had a conversation on the phone. I remember distinctly my Dad saying, "It sounds to me like you have an addiction to marijuana. You better stop that now or you will never get any better. You'll just continue to get worse." Well, I am very thankful for my Dad's insight and sternness because if he hadn't had said that I don't think I would have taken the fact that the marijuana was very bad for me to heart. So, I thought about how literally every time I had smoked marijuana in the last few weeks and maybe even months, it had been a really bad trippy experience. I think my Dad was right. I was addicted to this drug. I wanted it to work right for me, like how it did the first few times I indulged in it. It seemed like I also may have had some decent experiences here and there, but they were always at least a little distorted, if not, a lot. So, after I hung up the phone with my Dad, I decided then and there that I was never going to try marijuana again. I was a little sad. But also relieved. This drug had literally made me go crazy. The drug wasn't worth it. For me, it was way too dangerous. It was time to start over and get better. Maybe I could recover my life quickly, get off my meds, and jump back in the game. I was starting to get optimistic again. Maybe the doctor and counselors were wrong. Maybe I could recover my life completely. Well, either way, I knew I was going to give it my best shot. 

Am I Crazy?

So here I am, headed into finals week in college, and things are starting to change. The sun seems to be shining a little brighter every day, hope and love seem to be everywhere, and I can't seem to stop being a day dream believer. Yes, it is true. I am influenced by drugs. Only marijuana. But it is true-- even when I'm not "high" I seem to feel like I am. But little did I know, soon this happy feeling would warp into full-blown chaos. 

Even as I'm writing now, the memories of my first manic episode make me nervous. I was so full of faith that the universe would somehow be on my side, yet I wasn't making any sense. I was talking out loud in circles-- sometimes in poetry. The words seemed to just come to me as if they were ordained before time. I was fascinated by the physical world, imagining what the atoms looked like inside of every item in my dorm room I saw. Then it came-- voices. They weren't all scary. Just strange. I thought I could hear the wood from my bed frame talking to me, as if it had always had a soul. And the fear of the unknown weighed me. Was evil real? Were demons real? Would I see one with my naked eye? My physical body began to feel the impact of the mental stress I was putting it through. I felt as though it was being stretched beyond its limit in every direction. Then, there was a painful stab in my right side. By this time, I was laying it my bed trying to sleep. But I don't think I ever did sleep that night. I thought sure that "stab" came from Satan. It hurt so bad. It felt like my body was literally being ripped apart. Maybe Satan was real after all. Maybe innocent people were going to hell. Thoughts like these haunted me. What is reality after all? What happens after you die? Are my close friends and family on their way to burning in hell forever? My mind would switch from hopeful believer to paranoid schizophrenic. Back and forth and back and forth. I don't remember how much sleep I missed, or if I even slept at all the next few days. Eventually, my dorm mates found me in my sick condition. I continued to get worse and worse. And finally, I was rushed to the ER in an ambulance, I believe. 

They gave me a room to sleep in overnight before they took me to the psych unit. Somehow I fell asleep (finally) but I was still in a lot of pain physically and mentally. My brain literally felt like it was being smashed. Too much stress, I'd say. They tried to give me psych meds and were really rude about it. But, I declined. 

Then, the psych unit. I can't tell you how many paintings and drawings of "third eyes" I saw in the art room. It was as if the people who were sent there are so insightful, but hopefully they're using their insights for good and not evil. I did art while I was there, and I played Fur Elise on the piano (my favorite since I was little). I tried to do things that were familiar to me because I was scared. I didn't feel safe. Everybody else seemed unsafe to me. Plus, I could barely think. My mom came to visit me and she could barely recognize me. I couldn't even eat my food. It was so hard for me to think about how to eat it. I wanted to eat it. I just couldn't process how. My mind was truly scattered. Should I try taking meds like the nurses were trying to force me to do? Should I deny the meds? Would I ever get out of here? Am I going crazy? 

I ended up staying at the psych unit for about four days, if I remember correctly. My experience of the unit wasn't the worst. I have heard people share a lot worse stories of their experiences there. I am grateful for that. I did end up returning to the psych unit one month later, and had a similar experience. During my first stay, I began taking meds. I admit--they helped. But now, ten years later, my view on meds has changed. My view on psych units has changed. My view on psych nurses has changed. I have grown and learned from my experiences in the mental health system. Hopefully, this story brings you hope if you can relate to me in any way. My life has improved a lot since these two psych visits. In this blog, I hope to share a lot more about my journey in the last ten years to encourage you and to bring you more understanding :) 

A Bit About Me...

Growing up, I was good at everything. I got straight A's, I was outstanding in sports, I won math competitions, I was called out as the most outstanding musician and singer in my sections, I even skipped a grade. I'm really not trying to brag-- I'm only sharing this because it goes in stark contrast to what happened to me in college when I developed a mental illness. I had to be rushed to the hospital at the end of my first term and I've been mentally ill ever since. Thankfully, however, my drive to find meaning and purpose in life never left me, and I still find that my inner Spirit is able to shine :)

I've always tried my best in life, and I guess that's what I'm still doing-- mental illness or not. But there's something special about being mentally ill that being "sane" never got me. I've been thinking about this the last few days and trying to reflect on what the "special" thing might be. I'm not trying to put anyone down who may have a mental illness, or even know someone who does and cannot see how in any way there could be something "special" or "helpful" about having a mental illness. Frankly, it is a very hard way to live. But, I like to think on the bright side, and I think I've found some treasure in this quite seemingly, "ugly" box (as the world might put it). I'm hoping writing on this blog can help me sort out my thoughts and that "special" something can be unveiled to us all more clearly. Fingers crossed, good luck! :D