Barefootedness

Wash Away

My Story Part III

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The following description has been written by my mother, as I have no recollection of several years. I thought that I remembered part of it, knowing I lapsed for several years, but upon a discussion of this blog, I realized that I didn’t have accurate memories of those years either. 

    As my son tried to write the third part of this story, it became apparent that what he remembered was not exactly as his family remembers it. I must say that I can’t remember exact times and places because it all became a blur of frustration, anxiety, guilt, and remorse for me. My son, who was always a self-motivated high achiever, began a spiral so out of the realm of our reality, that we didn’t have a clue as to what was going on.

    He was finishing up his final year in college and was graduating with a physics and biology degree. He was an adult getting on with his life, but suddenly he couldn’t function enough to move back home and prepare for the next phase, which included a graduate degree and research. He was three hours away, and, we had no idea how badly things had declined.

    As I look back now, I really don’t see how he made it home. I thought he should just grow up! He was old enough to take care of himself. Unfortunately, he was a very broken man when he returned home. Depressed and unable to deal with even the most mundane task. On top of the anxiety and depression, he began to itch from head to toe. He would scratch himself with brushes which would leave bleeding scratch marks all over his body. It was horrible! I had never seen anything like it. This went on for months and we began our journey of trying to find out what was going on.

    Eventually, the itching was diagnosed as being a liver problem and he was given a medicine that began clearing up that issue. The months of itching to the point of insanity, I believe, led to an even worsened stage of his mental illness. He became catatonic for hours and was unable to attend to his personal hygiene. We visited every doctor and emergency room available. He was scanned, biopsied, and tested over and over. Doctors found that he had a calcified area on the casing around the brain, fatty liver disease, numerous gastrointestinal problems, and a tumor on his pituitary gland.

    The “break” came one night in the midst of all those doctor visits, when my son kept trying to pick up some sort of orange string off of the floor. According to my husband, he started acting very strangely that evening. I was away with my other two sons at the time, but when we arrived back home, we found him standing in the living room picking up things from the floor only he could see. He wanted me to vacuum to get it up. We tried, and he became very agitated with us. We tried telling him it wasn’t there, and he just cried. We took him to one of the larger emergency rooms in our area. On the way, he calmed down and was able to talk with us; however, he thought his brother’s girlfriend was in the car with us. He knew she wasn’t really there, but he could see a faded image of her. 

    He was lucid and almost back to himself by the time we got to the ER. This was a relief to see my son back! What was going on? This became the first time mental illness was mentioned to us. The doctors were concerned with his break from reality and recommended we see a psychiatrist. And, with this, we began our journey to finally get help. With God’s help, I researched and found a wonderful psychiatrist that we continue to see to this day. After years of trying to get the dosages right on all the medications, things began to get better. It was tough but now we have a name (several names actually) for what is going on with him. He has had several good years and his quality of life has greatly improved. Depression and voices, along with paranoia, seem to be the biggest issues right now.

    Last year, he decided to try electroconvulsive therapy. This was a big decision. This decision should not be taken lightly by anyone seeking similar treatments. The sessions seemed simple at first, and he seemed fine and chipper right after the first few sessions, but it soon turned scary when he didn’t respond well to being put to sleep three times a week. We ended up cutting the total number of sessions from 10 to 7 but I have to say that after about a week he began to feel much better. It was actually amazing to watch; but, he says he doesn’t ever want to do it again. 

It’s impossible to sum up all that went on in those few years, but it helped me to have my mother write out the parts I have lost memory of. I am so thankful to have had a family that supported me throughout this entire process and continue to today. I know that’s a blessing some don’t have. The medications help, but I still have symptoms. Keeping stress to a minimum and talking myself through some of the episodes, allow me to cope with some of the minor ones. 

Life's Journey

My Story Part II

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    Where were we? I never felt that I was out of the ordinary, per se. I mean, we’re all unique, I guess. I knew there was an issue when I began hearing a voice outside my head and there being no one around to have said it. It began with simply saying my name. Repeatedly. As I mentioned earlier, I had a very active inner dialogue; I would speak to a voice that didn’t sound unlike my own, but that voice eventually morphed into two other voices. If you’re keeping score, that’s three voices. Two internal and one external. So, as I write this, I’m experiencing one of the voices narrating my actions and telling me what I should be doing next. It clogs up my brain. It’s taking a long time to write this out, as I can’t concentrate on the progression of each word. I’m going to leave this bit in as I do my revisions. But back to the three voices: I’ve never had a voice tell me to do any harm to myself or anyone else. It’s typically the opposite. I receive encouragement and directions to help someone. For example, if I am walking up to a door at the same time as another person, I get the narration, “You’re about to open the door. You should hold it for them.” 

    That’s the next level of my progression. By now I’m in my first year of college, starting to be challenged mentally in class, and I have two voices in my head discussing lunch. That’s whimsical and definitely not typical, but I do have a memory of the professor discussing the skunk cabbage and its ability to raise its temperature to melt snow. It also stunk, thus the name, “Skunk Cabbage.” Me trying to tune out the meal options in the cafeteria for that day didn’t make for conducive learning. 

    At this point, I had yet to seek help for anything but depression and anxiety. I went about my life as though the voices were just part of the daily grind. I began being worn down; however, shortly after the loss of several close family members, I went to the on-campus therapist. We talked. It helped. I was able to talk through my grief, but the voices were still a heavy presence. I was referred to a psychiatrist and more medication was piled on top. It helped with mounting anxiety and the looming depression, but it became harder and harder to function in school. My grades spiraled out of control. 

    I went on a trip to Belize with one of my biology classes and felt amazing. Leading up to the trip, I wasn’t anxious about it at all. While there, I made memories that I hope to carry with me forever, but things didn’t stay up for long. I got back and quickly started crashing. I was going down fast. I called my mom, and she came down and stayed with me for a few days in a hotel. I was emotional and nearly catatonic. That was my first big break from reality. The next would be even more drastic.

Childhood Memories

My Story Part I

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    Titling something as “My Story” just seems pretentious and too simplistic, but that’s what this is. It’s my story. It’s not yours or anyone else’s. So I shall begin and begin I shall. Most schizophrenic life stories start in the late teens, maybe a little later for women. Beginning schizophrenia as a child is rare. We (myself, family, and my psychiatrist) aren’t sure if I began showing symptoms as a child or just had a very vivid and active imagination and mind. I hate (hate is a strong word)… I detest comparing symptoms or describing how I may have been affected by this disease prior to my actual break. I want to have at least part of my life to depict a modicum of normalcy. But, if I am to be transparent and keep my goal of working toward ending stigmas, some that I even hold against myself, I must share everything.

    Beginning at the beginning: As a small child, maybe around four years old, old enough to still have fuzzy memories, I began interacting with an elderly man while I was outside in my sandbox. He was amicable at first. He would walk up from the depths of the woods and talk to me. About what, I have no idea. He was a constant presence while I was outdoors. A year or so later, I suddenly became frightened of him. I don’t know if he became malevolent or I realized it wasn’t normal for me to be interacting with him. Nevertheless, it drastically affected my daily life. I no longer wanted to go outside. I would see him through the window; he would never step outside of the woodline. One night, I was watching the news and a “WANTED” picture came up for a man being hunted in a neighboring state, thus I dubbed my friend-turned-foe the “Carolina Man.” 

    *Funnily enough, my twin brothers, six years my junior, saw a man in the woods as well; both waved at the exact same moment as they passed a spot in the woods. When asked who they were waving at, they responded, “Butch,” my bearded uncle. When mom returned home, she called my uncle to see if he had been over in our woods, and he responded in the negative. Their description of the man was vaguely familiar- an older man, wearing overalls, a long beard. Seems like we might have a forest-dweller, after all.* 

    I have always had a very active inner dialogue. I was a very social teen, a bunch of crushes, and a few girlfriends. I will admit that I had some idea that I might not be handling my emotions toward other people the same as others. There were no grey areas for me. It was either “you’re my best friend” or “I’m doing my best to avoid you at all costs.” So, as I began to notice some things that were apparently not normal, I sought medical help. I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety (what teenager isn’t?) and major depressive disorder. From that point on, I was medicated, and probably will be from here to infinity. 

    Not to brag, but I ended high school in the top 5 students. I was very goal-driven and grades meant a lot to me. I never felt very challenged, something that would quickly change as I entered college. As I speak on next time, the stressors and deluge of symptoms quickly led to changes in my personality and, eventually, a total shutdown. I look fondly back at my childhood, adolescence and teenage years, and early adulthood. I still have friends from that time period and cherished memories from family that are no longer with me. The emotional, tumultuous years to come affected me greatly. More on that next time.

Life's Pathways

A Brief Introduction

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    I would like to formally welcome you to the Barefooted Mind blog! My goal is to bring you curated content from around the internet and guest writers that will share their experiences with and knowledge about mental illness and the stigmas surrounding mental diseases in their societies. I would also like to point out that we have a forum that is in its infancy and that it needs your help! Please follow the links above and find a topic that suits you and share your personal expertise on the goings-on in your own mind, the familiarities you’re accustomed to with a loved one, or ask a question about something that piques your curiosity. However, it must be said, nothing you read on this website is to be taken as medical advice. You must seek the help of a mental health professional or medical emergency team if you require immediate attention. 

    Now then. Let us begin our journey together; learning and sharing, searching and embracing. I’m the one that is making my way barefooted; both physically and ideologically. Barefootedness represents a connection with a topic. It means there is nothing between you and your wanderings across the land. I invite you to take off your shoes, flex your toes and meander along life’s path. 

    Second disclaimer: I use labels. I’m not a person-first speaker. It never bothers me to say that in someone’s case, schizophrenic and bipolar in my own, is, in part, their disease. If that offends you, please let me know, and when I address you in regards to your preference, I will do my best to accommodate you. I certainly do not believe our diseases define us, but I have come to terms with my situation and own it!  

    Coming up: I will be posting a multi-installment set focusing on my story; my path.

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