"I thought I had a dream": I live with schizoaffective disorder
When a person begins to notice symptoms mental disorder, he is often not believed - they try to write off his state of health as tiredness or laziness. Especially often this happens with adolescents - it is believed that teenagers are in principle emotionally unstable, so their problems should not be paid attention to. Our heroine (she introduced herself as Rona) tells how she faced schizoaffective disorder in adolescence and why she tried to shut her eyes for a long time.
Julia Dudkina
When I was twelve years old, a voice appeared in my head. He sounded in those moments when I was very excited or upset. He began to criticize my actions, humiliate me. He repeated: "You did a bad thing, you are not worthy of life." Sometimes he just sent me to three letters - he would say methodically for a long time: “Go to ***, go to ***” - and so on for several days in a row. It was not like auditory hallucination. I understood that nobody hears that voice except me. Rather, it resembled thoughts in my head, but they were both mine and not mine. As if I split in two. I tried to respond to this mental voice: "You are wrong, leave me alone, I do not agree." But he was very persistent.
Many people are mentally talking to themselves, this is nothing special. I thought that voice was just part of my internal dialogue. It seemed to me: probably, I hate myself so much that I constantly swear and criticize my own actions. And, although this voice appeared suddenly and I could not get rid of him of my own will, I kept saying to myself: “It’s just a mess of thoughts. Everyone’s doing the same thing in their heads.”
At the same time, my perception of reality has changed. It became difficult for me to control emotions - even minor reasons could make me angry, bring me to tears. The school material was assimilated very poorly, it was necessary to make great efforts to cope with simple tasks, and I was terribly tired. Everyone seemed to look at life easier, more fun. And as if I was continuously undergoing some difficult test. I felt something was happening to me. I was afraid that one day I would react to something too violently, for example, I would sit in the middle of the street and begin to sob loudly. I had to control myself every minute, to observe what other people were doing, how they react to different events, and to mimic, so that no one would understand that emotions are not completely subservient to me. Periodically, I thought about suicide. But then she stopped herself: "Poor mother, how will she live if she loses me?"
Everyone seemed to look at life easier, more fun. And as if I was continuously undergoing some difficult test. I felt something was happening to me.
At home, I did not tell about my problems. My mom and I have a good relationship, I know that she loves me. Many times she said that she was ready to accept me whatever, whatever happened. But there are four children in our family. Dad is constantly working, mom is trying to ensure that everyone is fed, clothed and physically healthy. Talk with someone heart to heart is absolutely impossible - all the forces of the parents go to the solution of the primary tasks. It seemed to me that my difficulties could wait. In addition, it is not customary in our family to discuss mental illness. If someone broke a leg or got cancer, this is serious. Everything else is "laziness" and "bad mood." I could not even imagine how I tell my relatives about my condition. It seemed to me that no one would take it seriously.
In fact, I myself often told myself that my problems were no different from the problems of my peers. Around talking about "teenage difficulties" and transitional age. Teachers in the school constantly talked about exams, all classmates were nervous, tired. At some point in the fashion were depressed status in social networks and pictures. Looking at others, I thought that the same thing was happening to me: hormones, fatigue, exams. It seemed that teenagers were supposed to suffer. In order to somehow alleviate my condition, I tried yoga, meditation, sport. Physical activity really helped, but not for long - after training the mood increased, but the effect soon evaporated.
After graduating from school, I tried to continue studying, but I didn’t like either the university or the teachers. I quit classes and got a job. It turned out that making money is much more interesting to me. I worked as a cashier-administrator in the company: I met clients, smiled, made them juice. I really liked it. Sometimes I returned home in a bad mood, completely exhausted. But then she recalled her loyal customers, their favorite drinks, which I had already memorized, and began to smile. I decided that maybe I don’t need education - I want to be a barista.
True, the parents did not appreciate my choice. It turned out that they themselves did not receive a higher education in their time and now they really wanted me to have something that they did not have. They constantly said: "What, now all your life you will squeeze juices?" We constantly cursed at home, so I didn’t want to come back from work, I often stayed late. It was a difficult time, and around then I started hallucinating.
One day I returned home late and went to the kitchen to warm my dinner. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a grandmother in the corridor — she was walking in my direction. I thought: "Now we have some tea with her, we chat." Poured water into the kettle and then remembered that my grandmother died almost six months ago. I did not admit to myself that it was a hallucination. I thought: "It happens, I dreamed up. I'm tired." In the following months, the floor and walls began to float before my eyes. It seemed that the tile was leaving from under their feet, the patterns on the wallpaper were moving. And every time I told myself: "My head is spinning, again I went too far with coffee."
In my field of view, non-existent animals and people appeared. Once I came to the bus stop and, while I was smoking, I saw a woman nearby nearby. I turned in that direction - there was no woman. Sometimes dogs or cats ran past me - when I tried to follow them with my eyes, it turned out that they really did not exist. I always thought that hallucination is something stable, understandable. What you see right in front of you for some time. I did not think that my visions could be called hallucinations - they were always somewhere on the periphery, on my side. So I calmed myself: "The shadow flashed" or "It just seemed."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a grandmother in the corridor — she was walking in my direction. I thought: "Now we have some tea with her, we chat." She poured water into the kettle and then remembered that grandmother had died almost six months ago.
These "visions" did not cause me any serious inconvenience. But the general condition worsened. I began to frequently bleed from the nose, I lost consciousness. I went around all the doctors in the district clinic, but there were no serious health problems. They gave me a piece of paper with the address of the nearest psychiatric clinic - they suggested that I go there for consultation. But I decided to wait.
I was becoming more depressed, fatigue was accumulating. There was no money, I could not leave work, I was under pressure that I did not meet my parental expectations. It was a vicious circle. Once in the subway, I thought that I could no longer live. My decision was impulsive - just standing on the platform, I suddenly felt terribly tired and want to finish everything at once. I walked to the very edge, when an unfamiliar man firmly grabbed my hand and pulled back. He did not say a word, only clung very strongly to me - so that even bruises remained.
The next day I decided: it’s time to see a specialist. She found a piece with the address that I was handed to the clinic, and went. On the way, I thought: "Suddenly it turns out that everything is fine with me? Suddenly, I thought of everything myself?" I was scared to hear that I was just lazy and wasting my time as a doctor. Even now, when I almost committed suicide, I was not completely sure that I had the right to ask for help.
The doctor on duty listened to me carefully, asked me what the situation was at home and at work. She took out a pill from her bedside — antidepressants and tranquilizers — and gave it to me. She said that I need to start drinking them right now, and after a while stop by her again. When I came to the second reception, she immediately sent me to the head. In front of her office there was a huge queue of patients. I felt uneasy: you never know, suddenly one of them is dangerous? But mostly they seemed calm, someone smiled - they were people just like me.
In the office of the manager, I again told about my fainting, depressed state, that animals and people seemed to me to be imagining. True, that I almost came under the train, for some reason I kept silent. But she admitted that I can drink a lot of alcohol in order to forget about my problems and that I inflicted damage myself. She called several numbers, asked someone: "Are there free places?" Then she looked at me silently for a long time, and then asked: "Are there suicidal thoughts?" I nodded, and she said, "Let's go."
Together we came to a psychiatrist, and here I burst into tears. I finally understood: it seems that now they will help me. No one questions my words. I did not pretend, did not blow the elephant out of a fly. I really had the right to come here. I lived in tension for so long, I constantly convinced myself that everything was fine with me, and now I could finally stop doing it.
Together we came to a psychiatrist, and here I burst into tears. I finally understood: it seems that now they will help me. No one questions my words
At first they told me that I was depressed. But in my medical record I saw the ICD disease code and looked it up on the Internet. So I learned that I have schizoaffective disorder. Later, I found out that doctors often first voiced a milder diagnosis to patients - in order to avoid unnecessary worries. At home I immediately phoned friends. I wanted to tell everyone that I was not a “liar”: I have a “real” problem and now it’s official. I told my mother too. She was surprised and asked: "Why are you silent?" Still beginning to doubt: "Maybe you took something too close to your heart?" It really hurt me. When the older sister came home, it became even worse. She opened a page on Wikipedia and started reading out the symptoms: "Nonsense, hallucinations ... Do you have nonsense? No nonsense? You see, then this is some kind of nonsense."
I was assigned to a day hospital, and I began to come and receive pills every day. Although it took only fifteen minutes, sometimes I spent three hours in the clinic - I liked it there. I knew that there were doctors and medicines next to me. If something happens to me, they will help me immediately. I looked at patients and realized that I was not the only one who went through this.
Once, when I was sitting in a queue to a doctor, a man appeared in the corridor with a musical column. He always played the same stupid melody. He told me "Kc-ks", and then began to sit down with each woman and try to flirt with her. Nobody chased him away - everyone thought that it was better not to touch a person in such a state. And then it turned out that he was not even a patient - it was just a worker who repaired something in the clinic. Sometimes it seemed to me that the outside world was no more “normal” than the world of the clinic.
Nevertheless, I was afraid of some people out of habit - for example, a man who spoke out loud to several invisible interlocutors at once. Or women who for hours silently looked at the floor. I did not feel hostility towards them or disgust. I just understood that they exist in their own world and, perhaps, do not always control their actions.
At home, I often tried to find information about my diagnosis on the Internet, but it turned out to be a bit. If a million stories, reasonings and expert opinions about depression on the Internet, very little is written about my diagnosis in Russian. But I found many articles about what voices are in my head, why people hear them and how to distinguish them from their own thoughts. It turned out, to be more careful, to notice manners and intonation, you can always understand at what point the thought belongs to you, and at what point it is a symptom.
While I drank pills and went to a psychotherapist at the clinic, I felt better. The voice in my head did not appear anymore, I began to “see less often”. The mood began to stabilize. True, every time I came to the kitchen for medicines, my mother asked: "What, do you still continue to drink them?" As if it was some kind of whim, something that I can refuse. I saw that she was unnerving my treatment, and was worried about it myself. So, after drinking a course of medication, I stopped appearing in the clinic and temporarily abandoned the treatment.
I am very worried when my parents disapprove of my actions. So it happened with the pills - probably, I would not quit drinking them if I were not afraid to upset my mother
By that moment I had already managed to enter another institute, I began to study again. But without pills I returned to the same state - suicidal thoughts appeared, terrible melancholy. Against this background, I began to abuse alcohol, and it is bad for the nervous system. Hallucinations began again. Recently, I was crossing the road and I saw a car that was driving in my direction out of the corner of my eye. I turned - there was no car.
While I went to psychotherapy, I realized that I was very dependent on the opinions of my parents. Often, when we argue, they say: "You don't care about us, you don't listen to what we say." In fact, even if I go against them, I’m very worried when they don’t approve of my actions. So it happened with the pills - probably, I would not quit drinking them if I were not afraid to upset my mother.
Now I have started taking medicines again, but I still don’t understand if they started helping me. To recover, I took a sabbatical. Now mom hints that I went to the clinic, only to "retract from studying." On the one hand, I hurt, because I know that this is not true. On the other hand, I still ask myself: what if it's true?
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