I am the oldest of two daughters, although my sister and I switched roles many years ago. I am engaged to be married next year. I like cats, food, music from the 70s and 80s, and sometimes dancing. I love science, math (but it does not love me back), codding, crochet, and quilting. I like to think that I am atypical…as I say, weird since 1981. I go out of my way to be unlike anyone else and it gets lonely out there
My mental health journey began at the age of three. I was diagnosed with autism and a speech handicap. I heard voices and music in my head but I thought that was normal, but got more sinister the older I got. I also was verbally and emotionally abused, mostly by my mother. My mother became a functional alcoholic when I was 14. My father was in and out of jail and had a crack and cocaine addiction until 2009, when he was court ordered to rehab. He still smokes marijuana, but I would rather him do that than what he was doing before. Imagine coming home to money and valuables missing. There were times my flute had to be paid to be taken out of the pawn shop. I realized things were serious when the FBI showed up early one morning when I was 12. I guess you can say I have a toxic mother, but yet I still go back to her and love her to the point that the apron strings are still a little tight. I also learn that adults bully, too.
In addition to autism, which my type is called pervasive development disorder – not otherwise specified, I have anxiety, schizoaffective disorder – bipolar type, constant suicidal ideation, and borderline personality disorder (depending on what doctor you talk to). I knew I was depressed when I was ten, but I did not get any real help until I was 17. I already attempted suicide once and was self-injuring. At 19, I went to a group on campus for sexual abuse and assault survivors. After that, I went to a women’s center twice. The first time I only went to a couple of sessions. The second time, I went much longer. The women there are amazing…I wish I could go back for their groups. I had counseling at a graduate school until July 15, 2005.
From March 9th to 11th of that year, I was hospitalized for tests because my right side was not working properly. Everything was ruled out physically but not mentally. The doctor gave my mother a prescription for Zoloft. He said it would help me get my priorities straight. On May 15th, I went to a resident psychiatrist. The first two times went fine, but the third time I went on July 15th, my life, as I know it, would change forever. There was a new resident who felt I needed to be evaluated because of the way I was talking and behaving. I also had anger issues. She demanded I either go voluntarily or they get a court order. I chose the voluntary route. I was afraid to call my mother and tell her where I was. I knew the name of the hospital, but not where in the hospital. My family was horrified, angry, and upset because I did not tell them myself. I had a friend do it. I returned to school almost two weeks later. The professor, who ended up being interim department head, understood my situation. She really helped me out. I almost got into a lot of trouble because I went off my medication. I passed my last semester and graduated. I had not slept the night before and passed out asleep during the speech. Someone thought it was funny and took a picture from the audience…I was kindly awakened by the girl next to me. I did pass those classes on my own…despite what my mother says.
Since then, I have been in several hospitals with different diagnoses, drugs, and therapies. I even went as far to have electroconvulsive therapy (formerly known as electro shock therapy) because I was in such bad shape. I quit after six months and now my short term memory is in shatters. I have had a total of three therapists. The first one did not work out. The second one, we became more like friends than patient and therapist…but she did help me a lot and still does. The one I am currently working with, she walks the line. I also have a caseworker. After all these years, they are still trying to find something that works…even did genetic testing to see what works best. I am on a total of six antipsychotic drugs now. There is a lot more to this than I am telling but I do not want to take up too much time. The worst parts about my illnesses is the lack of trust (although my mother had a part in that, too), severe depression, severe anxiety, and psychosis.
This is just a taste of my story…details could make me an author a bestselling book. I do not mind sharing but it has ugly parts and good parts.
My goal is to gain independence to where I can live and work part time on my own. I am planning to move into an apartment with my fiancée, who is also disabled but wants to work. Currently, we live in separate houses, which with the help of the house manager at his house, has helped us grow closer without getting sick of each other. Another goal is to help women and girls who struggle with similar know they are not alone. Although I have always remained Christian, I had trouble with faith and believing in God. I found a church I could call home…but more about that later.
