I’ve come to terms with my condition. I’m finding ways to manage it. I’m still in shock and frequently tell myself “I can’t believe I’m mentally breaking down”, or “I can’t believe I’m going crazy”. Which on a bad day is what it’s like; like I’m going crazy. My mind splits off and I start hearing ideas and thoughts about what’s wrong with me. It’s torture.
The key distraction is having something to do. Once I have nothing to do, unfortunately I’m unable to just sit and relax, my mind starts racing and pacing. It’s truly agony. I’ll have to leave out, go on a bus journey to nowhere and then just come back on the same route, just so I’ve been out. It might be a lonely way to live but it doesn’t feel half as lonely as going to the park and sitting with the ducks.
I’m getting used to being alone. Sometimes I think about people from the past and how embarrassing it is to know that I’m technically crazy. If only I knew that this is where my life was heading. I feel so young. It’s not like I’m in my 60s and can start to come to terms with a life that’s ending. I have at least 40 years left. I probably haven’t lived half my life yet. This is the scary part. I’ll live the latter part of life crazy and in severe pain most days. It’s torture.
I’d love to meet a person who is experiencing a similar thing. The picture is a sudden diagnosis that seems to come from nowhere, followed by a hospital visit, followed by living in the community as a loner, finding things to do with your spare time.
I judge myself an awful lot. So something like this plays into my tendency to judge people, places and things. I’d do anything to feel normal again. I had hoped that stopping the medication would work. How can I behave so distinctly psychotic without even taking any anti-psychotics. For example my arms curl upwards when I walk. I wonder why my brain is doing this because before I put it down to a side effect of the ‘depot.’
The depot. I’ve stopped taking zuclopenthixol decanate. My drugs are designed to treat symptoms of schizophrenia such as voices, or acting out in a violent manner, or hallucinations. Problem is, I don’t experience these symptoms. I have what is called tardive dsykensia which was a side effect of the depot. It involves strange movements and might also include the strange sensation I experience across my face and mouth.
It gets from bad to worse, but I’m coping. Sometimes I look at myself. I always look better than I feel. I have hardly aged, I look young but I’m ready to embrace the later stages of life. I want an end to all the pain. It’s the pain that is the problem. I can cope with the loneliness, or the label of being psychotic, but the mental pain is what makes life not worth living. I’m in agony most of the time and I can’t explain where the pain is. The doctor recommended paracetamol. It’s not that kind of pain.
I want to run away. Run away from it all. On top of all this I’m still deciding whether or not to detransition. I’m happy with how I look and how I behave is how I behave. But as a vulnerable person it might be easier to relate to me as a female, who needs help. As a man with schizophrenia I feel further ostracised. There’s no help for that person, they’re only stereotypes.
I’m not a dangerous man. I suffer mostly alone in silence. That’s all this condition is; suffering. I can still type which is good but I cannot string sentences together the way I used to. Again it must be the tardive dsykensia. It effects the way I speak, so only a faint sound comes out my mouth naturally. I keep sentences to a minimum and never know what to say. It’s like nothing comes out.
I wonder if other people blog about their mental health and how it would be great to find similar blogs. Sometimes just knowing that there are others suffering helps you to contextualise where you are in life. It could always be worse but when you don’t know how that’s when life gets hard.
I always thought that I was going somewhere in life. Either I’d write a book or I’d start a successful business. I dedicated hours to building a business over the course of two years. I made a sacrifice and that venture didn’t quite go to plan. I ended up with nothing. Some money but what is money compared to a dream and vision.
I had a vision for my business that kept me going during my early 30s. It gave me a sense of purpose. That sense of purpose was pulled from me. By the time I looked back it was already too late. I’d been out of work for too long which helped this condition to spiral out of control. I work but it’s on a voluntary basis doing admin work. I’m over qualified and yet the simple tasks like calling parents proves to be extremely difficult. How does a man with schizophrenia call people and pretend to sound friendly. I find that part of the role extremely rewarding because I’m not supposed to be able to do it. And yet I do.
I think about dying frequently, although I am not suicidal. I have already decided that a life spent suffering is still a life worth living. Truth is, none of us know what death has in store. It could be a greater loneliness than we have never known. There’s a tendency for suicidal people to romanticise how things may be after taking your own life as easier, simple, and free. I’m not so convinced. I imagine a darker darkness, a lonelier lonely and an emptier empty. There really is no way out.
I enjoy writing and blogging. I’ve written some great articles in the past on teaching and learning and some on mathematics, all things to be proud of. I never received an award for my work on my business. The resources never got the praise it deserved, except on tes where reviews were raving. Those have all gone now.
I hope to meet similar people who are struggling. It goes without saying that relationships are hard for schizophrenics, but we have to start somewhere.