LOSING MYSELF, FINDING PEACE POST 3

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As the mental illness took over my world, my life disintegrated. I had few friends who truly understood what I was going through or cared enough to stick with me through it. I had to give up a job I loved because I wasn’t mentally stable enough to do it. I turned to ECT as a last resort. I hoped to reclaim my life. I said “goodbye” to my boss, my job, and my dreams, hoping someday I would get them back. Though I was discouraged and isolated, I knew I had been through challenging times before. I was strong. I was tough. I would overcome.

So, why would I undergo a treatment that I feared would destroy me? Because it offered hope. I have schizoaffective disorder, a combination of bipolar and schizophrenic symptoms. Throughout my ECT treatments, I tried to cling to hope. I prayed to God that the ECT would work. I prayed that the memory loss wouldn’t be too severe. I prayed whatever memories I lost would eventually come back, that I wouldn’t lose my life, myself. I desperately needed to believe I would recognize my wife, my children, when it was done. The thought of losing them terrified me. I feared I would become a zombie and forget everyone I knew, everyone I loved.

I battled a mental illness that left me living in a psychotic maze of mirrors. Once on my way to my psychiatrist, I looked out the window to see a little green man running alongside the car. Another time, sitting in his office, I thought there were bugs crawling out of my skin. That was a frequent hallucination I had. The sensation was so real I would swipe at my skin trying to get rid of them but as I brushed one off, others would come out. I hate bugs – I always have – so feeling them made me want to jump out of my skin. I would cry out, “GET OFF!” They would go away but only after leaving me in tears and they always came back.

My faith offered little comfort as I was convinced that God hated me, abandoned me. I was lost, alone. I couldn’t reconcile my beliefs with my reality. If God really loved me and was omnipotent, why did He let me hurt so much? Where was He when I cried out to Him at night? Where was He when I curled up into a ball, hitting my head trying to drown out the voices? Why did I have to go through so much?

Even with my fears, I was forced to face the truth: I had no other options. I had been battling the effects of mental illness for over 30 years! I was so angry. I wanted it to just go away. I NEEDED it to go away! I was completely lost but I didn’t know how to keep pushing forward through the mud that was my mind.

The way I saw it, ECT offered a chance, however slim, of normalcy. I wanted to be normal! I wanted to have friends and laugh and hang out. I wanted more than I had, even though I had a lot. I had a wife and two beautiful children. I had people who cared about me even when they didn’t understand. I wanted to be understood! I didn’t want a compliment that came with an asterisk. “You’re strong!” (You should be so weak you can’t be independent). “You’re determined!” (You should have given up by now). “You’re loved!” (When people with your condition are unlovable). I was lucky to not be living on the street or in an institution. I was lucky to have a spouse when many people are all alone. But I didn’t want those words. I wanted people to want to be friends with me, not admire me!

As the ECT treatments progressed I forgot events, people, even simple things such as which cupboard the glasses were kept in. I was gambling with my life. I wanted to be like everyone else: happy, content. I wanted the fairy tale life the advertisements try to sell you. I wanted to live a life without the voices and delusions. I didn’t want to be in pain ALL THE TIME! I wanted peace and was willing to risk everything to have it. For me, the risk was worth it.

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Photo by Vince Fleming on Unsplash