Personal Narrative: My Experience With Mental Illness

I’ve always been passionate about understanding others; stepping into their shoes and seeing, thinking, and appreciating the lives they live. I think it is important to take that extra step and see things from a different point of view. It is the only way to achieve a true understanding. I believe in this philosophy so much so, that it’s one of the main reasons I have this blog; to give others a glimpse of a life with mental illness. I’ve been in treatment for 2 months and 26 days and I think it’s time for another peek into my brain.

I have schizophrenia and I live with schizophrenia. This is my story. I remember being a teenager and loving every bit of life from school work, my family, my dogs and my friends. I was always known for my positive attitude and energy and being the life of the group. This all started to change around the age of 13 or 14 for me. The voices began one late afternoon on my way home from school. At first I thought it was just my imagination until I realized there was no off button for them. The voices continued to appear from this day on and I gradually lost myself within them. I started to shelter myself from my family and friends and believed I was slowly losing my sanity. I was scared to share my experience with anyone so I kept to myself withdrawn from the world I once loved.

The depression is overwhelming. I cry uncontrollably. At its worst, I cannot move. Gravity seems to have added weight tenfold. I wake up in my bed, struggling to get out. I am unable to. Breathing hurts. I try to cry out for help, but I cannot move my mouth to form the words in my disgusted mind. I am trapped in my own head. I am trapped in my own body, a body that is entirely numb.

It’s a struggle to get out of bed sometimes, I often just sit there struggling to comprehend the sequence of events which have taken place over the past year. I mean, I’m used to this now, its normal to me, but the fact that this has happened and that I am now ‘disabled’ as people would put it is hard to get my head around. And every time I look down I’m reminded of the pain and the struggle I faced, it’s a physical scar which links me to my grueling past, a physical and emotional journey.

If you were to see me walking down the street you would never guess that I was in foster care. I dress and act like your everyday 17 year old, and in a way I am. Except I was placed in foster care when I was 15 years old. Scratch that I put myself in foster care when I was 15 years old. I bet you’re asking “why”? “Why would you do such a thing”? Well my mother was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia also known as disorganized schizophrenia. Just in case you don't know disorganized schizophrenia is characterized by incoherent and illogical thoughts and behaviors, so when you are 15 that's not a good situation to be in. My mother couldn't keep a job therefore she could not support us.

Bob is in a cop car going to the mental hospital for the 100th time. Bob is asking the police officer Aleck.

No one considered that Schizophrenia was the ailment that tormented my brother. We assumed it was just stress and anxiety that stole his nights, his sanity, and his joy. We all believed that it was just a phase my happy, go-lucky, comic brother would get over. After all, doesn't everybody go through these rough patches of their life, and like a phoenix tried through a fire, rise triumphantly? That was my hope for my brother. But as the days progressed, fatigue mixed with delusions consumed my brother’s thoughts and disrupted his ability to function. As a sister, I felt helpless watching my big brother, my hero, and my confidant going through the greatest battle of his life - mental illness. Episodes and psychiatric breakdowns were constant,

When I heard that these disorders could also affected me resulting from major depressive disorder, I was still in denial mode. Then I came to realize that having MDD was only affecting me, but also affecting my family and my friends. I became a bother to them and also came to realization that I needed help. So I asked my parents to help me seek treatments to where I can get back to my normal self. My normal self was a person that was cheerful, always making jokes, happy, and just lived life to the fullest. I miss my normal self. The treatments that I had were very affective. The disorder that I was treated for is psychotherapy, where I talked about what is making me think negative thoughts and it allow discussing how I can improve on thinking

Working with substance abuse clients fits with my career goal as I am pursuing the degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. The reason for entering the counseling field was/is a genuine desire to help people who are going through difficult time in their lives and to show them there is a way out and there is a life that is worth of living. Personally, I have not experienced or have had people who abused substances, (overly) however, from the grief experience to a caregiver role intrigued me to pursue mental health as a whole. It is clear that mental health and substance abuse can have a powerful effect on one health, his/her family, and community. Having this in my mind, is nothing could be more rewarding than knowing that I could save

Mental health disorders can affect anyone regardless of how much we make, what we do for work, or where we live. It is also very difficult for most people to be able to afford to pay for mental health services. In a recent article in the newspaper it mentioned how people are having a hard time to afford rents in this area. When it comes down to be able to pay your rent, paying for mental health therapy, or mental health prescriptions, rent will win every time. I work full time and I looked into how much it would cost for ongoing mental health treatment if it were necessary, and the cost is astounding, and that’s with insurance. There are regular visits with Primary Care Physicians that are required to monitor your progress which has a

Diagnosis. For a full year before her diagnosis, we could not be in the same room without an argument ensuing. Now, I know how to better handle my frizzy-haired older sister’s bipolar episodes. She comes to us for assistance when things get too challenging for her. But a few years ago everything was pitch black. My sister is manic bipolar. Bipolar disorder deals with intense highs and lows. Before her diagnosis, my siblings and I would joke that she was bipolar because of her capricious mood swings. Coincidence or not? Suffice to say, life has been a learning experience.

Sometimes I miss being sick; The grimiest part of me wishes I had stayed in that familiar city of gray and mental illness and whatever the opposite of healing is. Where there was nothing to laugh about, but plenty to write about. I've considered myself to be recovered from my eating disorder for three years, but I still write about it in present tense. And for once, I don't want to write about this. For the first time I am embarrassed, instead of proud of all of the mad things I've done for happiness. When a friend at dinner makes a casual comment on calories, the scoreboard in my head illuminates with numbers again. Once, I cut a ribbon the size I wanted to be and wore it around my waist like a bracelet. Bathroom scales make me feel nostalgic,

First, we got the phone call that my great aunt Janelle was sent to the hospital in an ambulance at two o’clock in the morning. We got the next phone call a couple hours later telling us the doctors didn't think she was going to make it through the night which she fought through the night. We went up to see her the next day in the hospital, she was sedated, intubated and had a pacemaker keeping her alive. Her kidneys had failed and she had to do dialysis throughout the week. We continued to love on and get closer to family and friends more than we normally do. Throughout the week she kept getting better one day she began to open her eyes acknowledging that we were there, we knew she was a fighter and she was going to fight through this. The

Because of my experience with depression, and the incredible positive impact made by both my mother and a guidance counselor at school, I decided to follow my curiosity and major in psychology. As someone that has looked into the jaws of darkness and almost been swallowed, I feel that I need to do something with my life that helps others. I feel that anyone who has been hurt has a deep connection with those that are hurting, particularly as it relates to mental illness. Every time I even think about going into a non-helping career I feel a sharp jab of guilt in my gut. I simply can’t be out just for myself, because if everyone else was, I would never have recovered. I hope that at some point in my life I’ll be able to help someone the way I

Before beginning this personal narrative, I read and re-read the instructions. They clearly stated that one must be able to describe a health, illness or healing experience in detail. I guess I must consider myself fortunate that I haven’t had much to associate with illness. The people dearest to my heart have been mostly healthy. As a family we had not had much experience with hospitals. Besides an occasional visit to the doctor for a cold or a general checkup, our encounters with doctors had been minimal. Personally, I don’t like doctors or medication; the less medical attention I seek the better. However, I am grateful to live in a country that offers a free health care.