Climbing Out of an Episode

Everything was really rough for around ten to twelve days.

I finally started snapping out of it on Thursday.

My therapist is convinced that my neighbor accusing me triggered me into an episode.

I agree with her.

Honestly, things had been going really well until that.

I almost forgot breakthrough episodes were possible.

Symptoms, sure.

But an episode?

I forgot.

Until it happened.

Once I had my therapy session this week I was able to separate some things.

Reality vs hallucinations.

I told my therapist what I was hearing the neighbors say.

How they keep talking about me.

How I can hear them even with the windows shut.

She reminded me that I would not be able to hear them that well.

Not with the windows shut.

Not as if they were talking right next to me.

Oh.

Oh yeah.

Fuck.

She’s right.

I can’t hear my tv when I’m outside.

Therefore I can’t hear anyone talking.

Or even yelling.

When I’m inside.

It would be muffled and the words would be lost.

And when I first started Invega in August of last year, I had plugged that into my head.

And since then I haven’t had an episode.

There was more like chunks of hallucinations here or there.

An ebb and flow.

A little bit of breakthrough shit.

But then my neighbor had to accuse me the other week.

A few words from her sent me into overdrive.

Sent me into my mind.

What if the neighbors are stalking me?

What if the neighbors are plotting against me?

What if, what if.

That feeling may seem easy enough to let go of for most.

However, layer that into voice after voice telling you they’re out to get you.

Day in, and day out.

Then layered on top are external voices speaking the “actual” words of the neighbors.

They’re relentlessly accusatory.

And the idea of it all being real seems reasonable and obvious.

It’s all something I need to protect myself from.

Be on high alert for.

Being in survival mode twenty-four-seven is debilitating.

I wake up constantly throughout the night.

I can rarely nap.

When I talk or write about what happens in those times, I sometimes deeply shake.

My hands become unreliable.

And it comes from my gut.

It’s a guttural, buried shaking in the middle of my belly.

It’s like my body is rejecting what I’m hearing and seeing and thinking.

Like it can’t take it all in.

And it’s scared.

I’m scared.

I mean, that was my first episode in a while.

Which is great!

My treatment plan is working!

And it’s terrifying too.

It’s still there.

It hasn’t gone away.

It doesn’t take much to start to unravel me again.

Last week I was having a very hard time separating what I was hearing from reality.

It was all mushed together.

Because the voices don’t say that.

Or they haven’t sounded like that before.

But that’s their thing.

They morph into new tones and volumes until they get a reaction from me.

Then they run with that until I disprove it.

Call them voices.

And step back into reality.

What a rough fucking life I have ahead.

I know things will slowly become easier to maintain.

Or help cease.

Or maybe even be able to be predicted.

But right now it just feels like I’m being forced to run on a never ending treadmill of emotional legos.

Every step is painful and eye opening.

Everyday is the same, but different.

Same shit, different angle.

Different tones.

Different volumes.

Different annunciations.

I think my symptoms got so thick because I ignored them for so long.

I acted like I was fine.

I shoved them down and away.

Because no one likes it when I talk about this doomy shit.

Me talking about doomy shit makes the people go away.

So I just smiled and cracked a joke.

Acted fine.

It worked for a very long time.

But mental illness gets worse when left untreated.

And I knew I was having some major mental health issues.

They just kept compounding.

Situations would repeat with bigger and bigger shit shows surrounding them.

Everything just got out of hand.

And I fear for the day that everything comes to a point like that again.

I do feel like I have to be on high alert.

Because my mind tells me I have to.

And what it let’s me see and hear is part of the problem.

And that’s a tough thing to face.

It’s a tough thing to digest.

I really plummeted back into my psychosis symptoms last week.

And the week before.

It’s alarming.

It felt like a super sticky web of anxiety fell on me.

I noticed my old, paranoid behaviors.

I tried to record things.

As I stared through the peephole again, my dog looked at me sideways and vacated from the living room.

That sucks.

He helped me catch myself.

I told him I was here with him.

That I’m just hearing some things that aren’t there.

And scratched his ears.

My therapist helped catch me too.

Reminding me of volume and clarity issues through walls and windows.

It’s just scary that all of it gets thrown out of the window so quickly still.

And it reminds me of how strong I have to remain.

For Bruce the dog.

And for myself.

– Keren