A Mental Health Story, Schizoaffective Disorder

 I was sick even before the medical staff knew. As the months went on, I started to remember events during my psychosis and before I lost touch with reality.

I began to see symbols on my neighbor’s house and take pictures. It turns out it was just an AC unit reflecting onto the house. However, I thought it came from the holy spirit at that time. I started believing that the pigeons in our neighborhood were from God, and I was given messages I had to answer.

As time went on, my condition got worse. I had hallucinations, auditory and visual; It sounded authentic to me.

I began to search for my purpose. I thought these messages were for me, and I had to solve the message. My washing machine would start by itself (I could hear it from upstairs ), and I heard dogs barking, sirens, cussing, and people screaming. My environment was utterly distorted.

I thought these were messages for me, riddles I had to solve. I believed this was my purpose. As the days went on, I became more detached from this world. I spent the majority of my time praying and reading.

I heard dogs barking, sirens, cussing, and people screaming. It wasn't your everyday sounds. The sounds were amplified and very confusing due to my hallucinations. The most significant part of my sickness was a lack of sleep. I was up from the evening until 6 am the next day. I was so busy writing in my journal. My journal contains information about my hallucinations and what I experienced. I was documenting what happened, thinking the exorcists would need the information. I did not think of sleep or seem to need it.

Sleeping is my favorite as a mother of two small kids, almost 2 and 6 months old. That is one of the giant red flags that I missed. My family slept as I paced on the main floor, listened to the voices, and wrote more information in my journal. I didn’t realize how bad my situation was. At that time, I had lights on in the house and turned up the thermostat. I thought the police would rescue me, but they never came. I thought the police would welcome me from the evils that “possessed” my family.

I hardly ate or drank anything since I thought I was supposed to fast and not eat because the food was poisoned. I was receiving texts on my phone but didn’t see the messages; that’s how sick my brain was; I didn’t see any texts. I also made a Facebook status, and to this day, I hardly remember posting it.

Then I called CPS on my neighbors. That was out of character for me. I thought the devil was in my neighbors. I thought people were out to get me. I thought the medical staff at the hospital were pagans. I was a hot mess. Toward the end, I thought the whole neighborhood was possessed. It didn’t help that I was on medication that could have worsened things. My postpartum anxiety diagnosis was another red flag. It bloomed into psychosis, and I was later diagnosed with Psychoeffetive disorder.  

The TV was giving me messages, and I was seeing people differently. I couldn’t trust anyone. I thought my family was possessed. When my husband left for work, I put a cross on the hood of his truck. I used various crosses, prayers, and holy water to perform exorcisms on my family.

I found myself on the front porch, lying on the welcome rug. I went inside and outside multiple times but remained in the front yard as my two children stayed inside. I was confused, tired, hungry, and very thirsty. The temperature was around 90 degrees. I was under the impression I was in purgatory, and I had penance to do.

Nothing scared me since I believed nothing was real. Delusional is an understatement. I was living my life as you would your average day. Before I ended up on the welcome mat, I was up most of the night. My delusion and overly active senses made sleeping impossible, from smelling smoke to seeing different colored orbs in my vision. Or hearing voices and screams, which was terrifying, hearing cries without finding out where they were coming from.

By then, I was gone and lost touch with reality. I was very sick and needed help. I didn’t realize my situation was so dire. At one point, a man came to my door and was going to do some yard work for us. Before I could ask for help, he vanished. My brain had me seeing stuff that others didn’t see. I was supposed to go to a therapy appointment, and I refused. My husband tried to get me to go into the van, but I fought back,  thinking he was evil. Thankfully, my husband called the police. That call saved my life. I stood in the driveway, waiting for the cops to arrive.

I refused to go with the cops. I gave them a fake name and tried to escape, thinking the cops were evil. Since I was confused, thinking I was in purgatory, I didn’t think my actions had consequences. I wrote phrases on the sidewalk and partly on the residential street. I used some play chalk lying nearby to write the phrases. Eventually, I stopped and sat in the neighbor’s driveway, and the paramedics checked my vitals. The police officer instructed me that if I didn’t cooperate, he would put me in the back of the police car. Finally, after much persuasion and talking, I listened to the police officer. I was handcuffed in the driveway, and I was escorted to the ambulance that was waiting. I had a blue rosary in my pocket, which was taken for evidence. I was taken into emergency protective custody due to the safety of others and my own. My erratic and unpredictable behavior did not help the situation.

My hair was disheveled, and I staggered around like someone after a long night of drinking. I felt miserable but felt compelled to finish my prophecy. My delusion was associated with my faith, which made my life very confusing. I did not know how to separate reality from fantasy, Not just one part of my faith but a lot of it. Everything from the rosary to the Pope.

End times also were part of this fantasy. Before this happened to me, I was your everyday Catholic. Born and raised Catholic, I followed the church's teachings through thick and thin. In my early 20s, I started to wear the Immaculate medal 24/7. At the beginning of this event, I also bought a green scapular and the Sacred Heart of Jesus medal.

My psychosis was very detailed, surprisingly. The TV gave me messages which were so real to me that I couldn’t be convinced otherwise. I had never experienced  psychosis, and my new diagnosis would come only after reviewing my behavior and symptoms. The whole experience was very rattling and changed my perspective on how I see others.

I had never experienced any psychosis with my (first or previous) child(ren), and this diagnosis would only arrive much later due to behavior and symptoms.

Once I arrived at the hospital by ambulance, I was taken into the part of a hospital for struggling people. Threatening themselves and others. The room differed from what I was used to seeing at the hospital, so I knew something was out of the ordinary. A doctor and several nurses saw me and took my vitals, blood, and tests. I asked for water and food several times.

I asked for a cross to be drawn on the water cup. The cross-association was affiliated with my delusion of good and evil. Once the cross was drawn to my standards, I could drink the water and finish having my sandwich. I had a hard time distinguishing what was real; at this time, I was still listening to the voices and very confused.

I was eventually taken to the 7th floor of the hospital, the psychiatric floor, behavioral service unit. I was escorted up by three men and was put in a wheelchair. I was prompted by the voices to try to escape before we went through a particular pair of doors, but I didn’t even have the energy to try to run. Thankfully, I stayed in the wheelchair. Looking back, it would have been a very horrible move to make.

Once I arrived at the 7th floor, I was stripped of my green scapular and the two medals on my chain. Once on the 7th floor, I could remember being in tears and feeling horrible since I was no longer with my family. I felt anguish and confusion. The voices I heard prompted me, taunted me, and confused me even more.

My delusion of black ink being associated with evil made me reluctant to sign anything. I never thought I would find myself on the hospital's top floor looking out the windows of the town I live in. The voices urged me to jump out the window. The voices belonged to angels, saints, and God himself. The voices were linked to my faith, making it real to me.

As the hospital staff scurried around and completed my paperwork, the 7th floor remained quiet, and I could only think of my husband and children while the voices continued their harassing phrases. I sat down and cried tears of anguish…feeling even worse physically than I was mentally.

The first time, the staff told me about my diagnosis. At first, I was diagnosed with Postpartum psychosis, then later psychosis, and then schizoaffective disorder.  I couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing. I immediately thought about the Andrea Yates court case in the 2000s. She killed her children in her bathtub.

Postpartum psychosis rang in my ears the whole day, but I wanted to learn more about it and figure out why it happened to me. But, being limited in what research I could do since I could not access a computer or my phone, the hospital staff provided me with a handout about Postpartum psychosis. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were reading. A cloud of disbelief engulfed me. After reading the documents, I learned that it happens more frequently, but postpartum Psychosis is lesser known than other mental health issues.

Postpartum Psychosis is a dangerous mental health concern that can be triggered soon after having a baby. It is a medical emergency. 1 in 500 mothers has experienced it after having their baby.

Along with this diagnosis, I had another diagnosis. I found it captivating and intriguing. But also very confused and slightly scared since the diagnosis was in the open. I know the label does not define me as a person. At this point in time, I returned to reality, but still slightly confused. Therefore, I was only beginning to process what had happened.

I didn’t learn about myself while at the hospital. I also learned about others as well. It appeared to me that we all suffered from the same symptoms but came from different situations. I had seen previous clients of mine go through similar situations and even a neighbor. I felt bad for not understanding or helping, but everything happens in God’s time.

Several days later, once I started to feel better, I thought that maybe the event was planned to happen, and it happened at the right time, even if it wasn’t exactly good timing for family and friends. I wanted to prove to the doctors that I was “better.” Better, I accepted what had happened and realized I was suffering from an illness, not a religious experience. However, I was still unwell, and my less severe symptoms still showed up occasionally.

Discharge day was approaching; I didn’t know when. I had been attending groups and working on the discharge plan. In my eyes, I was doing what I could to get better and get back home. The doctors adjusted my medicine as needed, which also helped my recovery go more smoothly. My appetite was normal; I watched TV and read casually. After breakfast one day, a nurse came over to me and said I might be able to go home today if everything went smoothly with the paperwork and the doctors. Due to protocol and safety reasons, I had to go through the hoop of a mental health board today since I was EPC, emergency protective custody.

Even on the day I left the hospital, I was still experiencing symptoms, but they were not as bad. The hallucinations remained, though milder. Male and female voices would start randomly. The voices even imitated people’s voices, which I knew in real life. My hallucinations were confusing, and grounding techniques were the best solution.

Grounding techniques bring reality back and ground people in the here and now. The day, date, time, and environment smells and noises. Being grounded helped me a lot. I didn’t even know that it was possible to go through hearing voices in that way. The brain is a complex organ, for sure.

By afternoon, I packed my few belongings and corresponded with my nurse and doctor. Signing paperwork and making sure I had everything in place before leaving. I had my lunch and then was walked by a nurse towards the exit, and outside the door stood an officer. A nurse escorted me out of the 7th floor, and the police officer waited outside the main entrance. The officer escorted me out of the hospital in handcuffs. It was the second time in my life that I had been in handcuffs. It was just a procedure and policy for being transported to the mental Health Board.

The officer transported me to the Mental Health Board meeting; everything went smoothly. My whole experience during the postpartum psychosis was very traumatizing and scary. Even though I was here on Earth, I felt in a completely different environment, from hallucinations to unrealistic thoughts. Mentally, my brain suffered a stroke. My personality and memory took the most significant blow.

I had previously worked with mentally ill patients and clients with behavioral issues. But not once did I think I had any mental health issues or that it could have been postpartum psychosis. I even heard on the radio a short submission about postpartum psychosis and how it can affect women. When I listened to the radio blurb, I didn’t even think about how my experience was closely related to what was happening to me. Even with my bachelor’s degree in behavioral science, I didn't recognize my postpartum psychosis. In conclusion, I had a psychotic break and was later diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder.