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.