Once upon a time, I believed the American Dream was real, tangible in most aspects. You know, the perfect job, perfect house with a picketed fence, two kids, and a dog. I saw this as achievable and attainable.
What I did not for see was the depression that would hold its grip on my future of normalcy. I was 13 when I had my first bout of depression. The answer was lexapro. I stayed on it a year and felt somewhere near a median of emotions. When my stepfather died at age 17, I went back to the doctor complaining of mood swings, rage, and depression. I was handed Welbutrin XL.
After going to college three hours away from my family, reality hit. I started having anxiety attacks, I couldn’t sleep or I would oversleep. The depression and rage had worsened, so the doctor gave me Zoloft and Buspar. I was suicidal.
I started what I thought would be a good outlet for me, a photography internship. I was continuing to struggle for reality. I realized time was slipping away for the American Dream for me when I had to drop out of college because of my mental health. I did not realize there were resources for students in need of such things. I had never gone to therapy full time.
It took six months, but eventually my illness invaded my work life and caused so much stress and discourse that I was let go. I came home to my family who only brought up the past mistakes I have had.
I got another job at a call center. I continued to get worse, the paranoia, the depression, the rage, diminished concentration, racing thoughts, imaginary shadow creatures, sleep paralysis, insomnia, the list goes on and on. At one point, I thought I was talking to my step father through the man in the moon. I realized I needed help. Suicidal ideations would not let up.
My first inpatient stay was quite similar to jail. It was not helpful in the sense of a cure all. How I wanted it to be...Remeron and trazadone later, I was given a personality disorder as a diagnosis, after only twenty minutes of seeing the doctor in seven whole days. Do hospitals really send out bills for this? YES.
Along the way to my next stay, I have met my now husband, friend, and confidante. I never thought I would be able to give my heart fully to someone after the damage was done mentally. He has been wonderful in my illness and struggles, whether they be perceived or real. I have three really wonderful friends that have seen me change and the consequences of medicines. I am talking about you three, Jacqui, Chance, and Sara.
After so many medication changes, doctor changes/visits, several diagnosis(still working on confirming schizoaffective disorder with bipolar type versus bipolar one with psychotic features), four therapists, CBT(cognitive behavior therapy), and anxiety,anxiety,anxiety, I have learned that this is permanent and my whole life revolves around managing symptoms. I have come to realize that I may never work again. I am on full time permanent disability.
The one thing I have never really wanted was to bring a child into this world that had to struggle for its life. Now that I am married, I have to think of my genetic coding and being on medications. Can I even get pregnant? What about all of the fertile women that have children, they didn’t worry about these things. These pills are not meant to be conducive to anyone’s physical health, let alone a fetus. I would have to be strong enough mentally to be medicine free and stable enough to not need the drugs.
I am now on a regimen of propranalol(for anxiety), vistaril(for anxiety), straterra(for concentration), lamictal(for moods), and haldol(for the rage and psychotic symptoms). They only work about 60 % of the time, the rest is pure will power and lots of therapy. I have been on almost all the drugs on the market for all of those things I have mentioned.
The psychosis worsened when I came home and my mother is still in denial. She thinks the medicines I have been on caused it. I don’t understand. She assumes so many different things about me, but is only around me for a couple of hours a month, if that. My grandmother, on the other hand, has been supportive and looks up my symptoms, disorders, and tries to help me with my coping skills. She encouraged me to seek help when I was at my lowest point and continues to advocate for my health. A lot of people do not know how hard it is to live with a mentally ill person.
Sometimes, I still feel like I am a burden, but I am getting to the point where I have accepted where I am in life. I am back in school and not doing terrible. I still have outbursts and hallucinations, but now I also know that I am not alone. My support system of friends and family have been a lifesaver. My case manager(like a social worker) has been great. I have a wonderful and thoughtful therapist. I still feel like just a number to most doctors though; just another person to have pills pushed down their throat until they are “well” or in “remission.”
I am no longer homeless; I live with my husband, and 3 cats and a dog in our own house. I am almost to the point where I can no longer drive. I cannot go to places where a lot of people are gathered, such as a mall or Wal Mart. I can, however, go to small home town stores and to my doctor appointments without major incident.
I was watching Benny and Joon earlier. It could have come to the point where I had to be in a group home. I have just enough normalcy to me, one foot in reality if you will, where hopefully I never will. My husband would not allow it and would fight to keep me. I always just say...it’s just your illness, this is not real or permanent right now.
So here it goes....for those of you who knew me before I became this ill, I am still Whitney Wages. The stigma is real and perhaps I will lose some of you as friends. BUT FOR NOW, let the song continue....
