Does “Getting Help” Mean Losing Who You Are?

I’m not well.

I say that all the time and most people take it with a grain of salt, but maybe they shouldn’t. At least, not anymore. I’ve stopped hiding my treatments from people. I’ve been making it known on Facebook that I’ve been seeing doctors and taking medications. Very few of you know exactly what the problem is. Some of you probably think I’m just a little down and I will bounce back. What I think most of you do not understand is that this is not something you can really bounce back from. There is no cure for this. This is something I have to live with the rest of my life. In fact, I’ve been living with it most of my life and you all just didn’t know it, but I did. Some of you are probably calling bullshit right now and that’s fine. That’s on me because for years I was doing something I really didn’t like to do and I was so good at it that it because second nature to me.

I lied.

I made you all believe I was fine. I made you all believe I was alright and that everything was going smoothly. It wasn’t. Maybe a few of you noticed it, the very subtle clues may have creeped out here and there, but for the most part I doubt any of you noticed. Sure, I complained of my headaches, but who doesn’t get headaches, right? There was more. There was always more. Well, if you are really curious what the doctors call it, here it is.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schizoaffective_disorder

I guess a few things need to be debunked right now, the common misconceptions.

#1. I’m obviously not an idiot. My IQ has in no way been affected by this. In fact, some studies have shown that because of some of the OCD properties associated with some cases, some patients show a much higher than average IQ. EG: Me.

#2. We’re not all maniacs. Any of you that know me know that I am not a violent person. I don’t get physically violent or start physical altercations. In fact, most people with my illness are victims of very violent crimes. Again, those of you who’ve been around me the last 10-15 years know what happened to me.

#3. We’re not all addicts. Again, if you know me, you know I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, and I don’t take any drugs unless my doctors specifically tell me to. Yes, some people do develop addictions, but I don’t. I’ve been known to make a 30 day supply of Vicodin last over 6 months. My doctor actually got after me for that one because oddly enough that goes back to the OCD properties of my illness.

I’m coming out and saying all this because I am tired of hiding behind the veil of secrecy. I’ve been hiding a lot of this since I was a teenager. That is pretty much when all this started. I guess this all leads to my biggest concern. With all of my treatments, my therapy sessions, the doctor visits, and of course the drugs, how is this going to change who I am? I am already seeing it. If you were paying attention to my personal Facebook, you saw bits and pieces of a massive melt down not that long ago. I was certain that it was me being taken off the drugs the doctors had me on, but now they are saying it was probably me having a mental break. In all honesty, I think it was more of a case of them covering their own ass.

Fact is I consider myself an artist, a writer. I create worlds and characters. I write poetry and songs and short stories. I occasionally paint and draw when my hands are steady enough. Artistic expression is as important to me as breathing. Without it, I won’t survive long. It’s hard for me to admit this, even to the doctor, but for most of my life…I’ve heard voice in my head. Not the crazy, wild “Go murder your neighbors” voices. It’s been just one or two voices for the most part, one in particular…a woman. She’s never told me to hurt anyone and never told me to hurt myself. If anything, she’s enriched my life and helped me with my life’s work as a writer and artist. When I talked to my therapist about this, I told him I thought this was just the way life was. I thought it was normal to hear that voice. I thought it was my conscious. He and the doctors say it’s far from normal and it has to stop. I told him that I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to. he asked me why. I told him I didn’t know of any other way to live. He said I would have to eventually find a way to. I didn’t respond to him. I just looked away.

Today they gave me a new drug, designed specifically to make the voices stop completely called Invega. I sat here today looking at the prescription paper, thinking about what it meant for me if I started taking the drug and sure enough, that sweet little voice started talking to me. Obviously since it’s in my head, they knew exactly what was happening. In just these last few weeks, I’ve been taking their drugs and doing all that they’ve told me to do and already I can feel my mind changing. I don’t feel like the same person anymore. I no longer think the same way I used to. Some might think that’s for the better, but I don’t think it is. My level of creativity seems to be slipping. I am having a harder time writing and editing. I used to be able to do several creative things at a time. Now I am having trouble doing just one. I am afraid if I start this new drug along with a couple of others they want me to take that I will lose all of who I am. I am afraid that one day i will wake up and not recognize who I am.

My therapist says that he wants to get me to a point where I am happy with my life. I know I cannot be happy unless I am creating. If they take that away from me, I do not see the point. It feels as if the happiness will not be real. It will be chemical induced. I will be nothing more than a drug addict; believing something that isn’t real.

What will I have then? Writing and creating…they are the few things I find pure joy in and if I can’t do those any longer, what’s the point of even going through all this? It makes me question who I am really doing all this for. Am I even doing this for me or am I doing this because it’s what’s expected? As I’ve said, no matter what I do, I will never be “cured.” I can’t see myself doing this the rest of my life. Where does this all end? Who does this all end? I’ve yet to be given a timeline. At this point, all I want is to leave Corpus Christi. I know that won’t make all this go away, but at least I will be away from here.

I’m just tired of the drugs and the promises and the anxiety. I don’t want to hear crap about faith and God and being strong because that hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I am not throwing a self pity party either because it’s pointless. I just don’t know what to do anymore.

If you were curious, you have your answers. If you were looking to make fun of me, go ahead because I probably don’t care enough to read your negative comments anyway. If you just want to nod your head, that’s fine, too.