posted on Mar, 29 2005 @ 05:14 PM
I got dealt the full deck. I have schizo-affective disorder, which is a nice mix of schizophrenia (paranoid, not delusional) and bi-polar disorder
Both my mother and father have had schizophrenic brothers, sisters, cousins, and uncles.
Several of them committed suicide. Gunshots and hangings. My father is "normal" and brilliant.
My mother developed BPD following my birth.
It is genetic. It destroys gray brain matter. It is a snail-slow form of Alzheimer's.
I am NOT possessed.
I am NOT a danger to society.
I am NOT severely retarded, though my IQ lowers a few points each year. (This is debated by my physicians and surgeons as either a result of multiple
head injuries I sustained over the course of 3 years, or is a result of my illness and or/meds)
I was born a prodigy. I could play Mozart by age 5. I had a college-grade reading level in grade school. I had my first breakdown as a teenager. I
attended several well-known Universities, my first acceptance into which was at age 16.
I have heard whispers and voices non-stop, 24/7 since the age of 12.
My medications do not stop the whispers and voices, my meds keep me from ACTING on them. They do not tell me to kill people. Most of the time they
tell me how to survive.
"Brush your teeth."
"Time for bed."
"Go to the bathroom."
"Time for work."
On a bad day, yes, they tell me to kill myself. Luckily, I'm a Christian and it is against my morals (Schizophrenics do have morals and ethics,
believe it or not), though sometimes they tell me that because God made me this way, God won't care if I do it.
So I have a large tattoo of Jesus on my right forearm. I had it put there so that I will never take a knife to myself. It is a reminder and an omen.
Most schizophrenics have a 33/33/33 chance. 33% improve with medication and therapy, 33% remain the same, and 33% decline.
Those are tough odds.
My meds are free. Yes, I am under the thumb of the State, but that is a trade-in for free meds and healthcare. I am disabled. I can not work a 40-hour
I'm constantly paranoid. As of this very moment, I am paranoid that my S/O of four years is currently engaged in an activity with another woman,
though (from three years' experience of thinking this thought every effing day) he is currently working is arsse off. If I was not on a slew of meds,
I would get in my car and drive to his workplace. That is what my paranoia is "telling" me to do. It is because of my meds that I am able (instead)
to sit back, read, write, and keep it in the back of my mind.
Five years ago,I was an independent contractor in Washington, DC. I was able to maintain myself by a wing, a prayer, and lots of cocktails.
I can now only work a 20 hour week. Eight hours at work is excruciating. I have a few moments of humour, but the rest of the day I am usually
This is not because I am doped up, it is because I am losing the ability to communicate verbally.
Writing is my primary form of communication. My journals have been scrutinized by doctors and researchers.
I was first diagnosed correctly by a world-reknown researcher in Washington DC.
My meds were finally perfected by a county doctor here in North Dakota.
I live a semi-normal life. I have my quirks:
I leave cupboards and drawers wide open all day (why shut them?)
My bedroom has to smell like flowers
My house has to be immaculate
I eat the same food every day for months
I rarely speak to anyone, including my family.
I visit my family (same area code) on average, twice a year.
I automatically awake at 4AM, no matter how much sleep I get.
Every day has to include the same habits at the same times.
Any change of habit nags at me for a couple of hours.
I also engage in "normal" activities:
Non-violent "tiffs" with my S/O
Being in love
Wearing whatever I feel like
My day-to-day life is outlined in my blog.
A leading psychiatrist in my state is waiting to interview me.
I also get interviewed and "examined" by college interns and researchers, with my permission, of course.
Blind people learn to see without eyes.
So have I.