I went crazy one summer.
Not like, I lost my cool and blew up, but in fact, lost my sanity.
Mental illness does that to its hosts, and it doesn’t discriminate.
I’d been on my medication to treat bipolar disorder for eight years. It wasn’t a mystery that I was doing well due to my compliance with treatment.
What Happened To Me?
Many times, people with a mood disorder like bipolar disorder or schizophrenia tend to forget that the reason why we feel good at all is because we’re complying with prescribed medications. And then we think, to our detriment, we don’t need it. When in fact, we do.
Before he left for a month-long assignment to Mongolia, my active duty Air Force husband encouraged me to consult with the psychiatrist to see what she thought. He mentioned, when he returned from his trip, then perhaps I could begin tapering off my meds.
It wasn’t his fault.
And it wasn’t my psychiatrist’s fault.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own, and that of the sneaking subtle nature of my illness.
I’ll spare you the details of the three months in and out of the psych units later that summer into the fall. But I will tell this as a cautionary tale.
It Came On In a Subtle Way
Christians can take the Word of God to the fullest literal meaning to claim healing. That’s all fine and well, I don’t deny God’s healing ways and power.
Though in my case, I lacked the insight that I was sick and needed my meds for it.
I lacked the discernment I needed to see that God healed me with the medicine.
In my manic panic, I spent those five summer weeks running around by myself in the house we’d just bought, unpacking all our belongings, putting them in their places. All the while I gradually climbed into a state of psychosis.
I erroneously believed I could go off my meds, be miraculously healed and restored without medicine, all in the misguided hope that I’d be a poster child for healing in Jesus’s name.
Spiraling Out of Control
Like a virus compromising its host, my mental illness hijacked my wellbeing and stole my better judgment. It impaired my ability to function normally. Just as quickly as I came off the medicine, the symptoms began to show up.
This episode of my diagnosis manifested in speedier speech, a constant current of ideas, which led me to derivative delusions, and inevitably, abnormal actions.
These behaviors started out seemingly normal, or within normal limits. When my idiosyncrasies expanded, I had no awareness of their oddity. One scorching Florida afternoon, I dug up the dead grass with my bare hands in a jean skirt and tank top, as I’d inadvertently messed up the irrigation system for our yard.
Another afternoon, the terrier dog with a plaid handkerchief around his neck from Mary Poppins came running into our garage, barking as the Florida thunderstorms rolled in. Whether real or imagined, to this day I couldn’t tell you which it was.
At sunset one evening, a teen driver pulled into my neighbor’s driveway, blaring the rap song Ms. Jackson, disturbing my concentration in the dining room. I swung open our front door as he exited the vehicle, and yelled, “I’m sorry, but Ms. Jackson is in bed, as you should be!”
I slammed the door shut before realizing what I’d just said, having lost all sense of reason.
Paranoia set in. I rushed to the back of the house and hid in our bedroom with the family gun in one hand and phone in the other, nervously messaging my husband half-way around the world.
My irrational thought in that moment: What if the young punk decides to come to the front door to confront me?
The behaviors increased in volatile, unhinged thinking. Thankfully, once my husband returned home the next month, he was able to see my behaviors first-hand. He eventually got me to the psychiatric hospital.
There Is Help
Three subsequent and harrowing hospitalizations later, between August and October, a nurse in the last hospital stay finally returned me to the prescription of medications I’d originally gone off. It helped bring my sanity back.
The moral of the story: there is good reason for those of us with a mental health diagnosis to work with our providers and remain in compliance with treatment.
If you or someone you know is struggling with a mood disorder, or cannot function within normal limits, seek help from a mental health professional as soon as possible.
As always, if in crisis – call 9-1-1. If suicidal, text 741741, or call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 800-273-8255.
To read more of my story about that summer and other episodes with mental illness, visit my page about my memoir.
This post was featured in the June 25, 2021 Grace & Truth Link-up:
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