My Experience: Schizophrenia

I was at school the first time that I heard voices. To begin with, it was like a gaggle of whispers, with three or four indiscernible voices coming from behind me. I remember looking behind me, to see no one was there. I put it down to being tired.

These whispers were intermittant for a while; but between these spells I felt so down all the time. I woke up every single day wishing that I hadn’t; unable to face the day ahead of me. I would trudge through my every day mundanities without feeling anything, I was just empty all the time.

It grew progressively worse over the next few months. I began to be able to hear what the voices were saying to me, and they were telling me that I wasn’t worthy of a life, that no one cared about me and that I may as well die. The voices were so loud, that I stopped going out in public, I began to believe that people could hear what they were saying to me. Wherever I went, everyone stared at me. Their eyes bore into my mind. They could hear.

I woke up one day, I was in a hospital. I didn’t know how I’d gotten there. I looked down to see the drip in my arm, I looked up to see the worried, disappointed faces of my family that surrounded me. I had attempted suicide. I had failed; just like I’d failed at everything else in my life.

I was wacked on a course of anti-depressants instantly. I barely spoke to a psychiatrist before I was ushered out of the hospital, feeling stupid now that everyone knew about me. They paid no attention to what I said; they couldn’t get me out of there quick enough.

No one understood; my family felt like they were treading on egg shells with my constant mood swings and unresponsive behaviour. It was a battle to get me out of bed every day, and I refused to leave the house.

When I wasn’t feeling depressed, I was hit by an overwhelming sense of paranoia. People could read my mind, everyone was out to get me. If I was forced to leave the house, I would have a panic attack if someone walked past me with their hands in their pockets. I couldn’t look out of windows at night or open my eyes in the dark. It took over my life.

The anti-depressants weren’t helping, they made me feel even worse. No one would listen to me tell them about the voices or the paranoia; I was just being a stupid little girl. One doctor even told me I was too young to be depressed, my life was too perfect to be suicidal.

I woke up one particular morning, and I felt crippled by my depression. The weight of my emotions was crushing me slowly, I felt so helpless. I made an emergency appointment at the doctors, surely I wasn’t meant to still be feeling like this after all the anti-depressants?

She listened intently to everything I had to say, it was the bravest thing I had ever done. I was instantly referred to a psychiatrist, an expert in psychosis. The word scared me; but it summed up my feelings perfectly.

I was soon put on anti-psychotics. I was told I was experiencing ”acute psychosis”, and that it should go away with medication. I had to see a psychiatrist every single day for over a month. I began to slowly improve.

I relapsed three months later; and this time it was worse than before. Hospitalisation was the only answer, and a very strong course of anti-psychotics. I couldn’t speak to anyone, all I could hear were the voices in my head and death was the only answer. Eventually I recovered, again. But I was told that if I relapsed again, this would no longer be ”acute psychosis” – it would be a problem that would affect me for the rest of my life.

Sure enough, I relapsed again. Every time I have relapsed into psychosis, it has been progressively worse than the last. It was around this time, just before I began university, that I was officially diagnosed with schizophrenia. A disorder that would haunt me forever.

Starting at UEA, was hard; near impossible. But I threw myself into it, with the social aspect of university being the most daunting. I found that the lecturers here, and the Dean of Students are really understanding. And I met the best friends I could possibly have asked for.

They understood me; they never judged me. They knew that having schizophrenia didn’t mean I was going to lash out and be violent, and that I wouldn’t be slowly rocking back and forth in the corner of a room. They have seen me at my worst; and in turn this has meant they’ve seen me at my best.

I’m now the best person I could possibly ever be. I have great friends, supportive family and my whole future ahead of me. I know that I am always going to be schizophrenic, but I also know that this doesn’t determine my future. I know how to deal with my psychosis and depression now, and I can honestly say I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

Although it took a long time for me to get the help that I needed, I finally got it. To anyone out there that has any sort of problems similar to mine, just talk to someone! Eventually you’ll find the one person that will be able to help you.