Chapter 1: You Don't Know What You Can't See

2014 when I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 Disorder. I flipped out and yelled, "Oh hell no! Have you met my friends?" The doctor ignored and immediately prescribed medications and didn't explain what would happen to my body and mind. The drugs seemed to make it change overnight. I used to be relatively thin. Then I noticed my stomach started getting round, and everything looked soft. I was hungry all the time. I didn't feel like exercising because I was tired and sometimes wanted to zone out and cry. After getting the news that I had Bipolar Disorder 1 and would have to take medications for life, I lost my energy for everything. I went thru so many trials and errors on many different drugs. I went from being pretty active to sitting and laying in bed all day sleeping. At that point, mania felt better than lethargy and depression. Many times during the low periods of the depression, I didn't understand where it was coming from. Constantly asking myself why I feel like this when I have everything. My life is good, but why am I so depressed. I was on a roller coaster of medications for years, gained almost fifty pounds, thinned my hair, and was even more depressed. I wouldn't consistently take my pills. I felt so empty in the head, slowing my thought processes and experiencing psychomotor retardation. Feels like a dial had been turned to put me on super slow speed. 

Throughout my journey, I craved mania energy and unintentionally self-triggered myself every week because being bipolar mania felt like being high on coke, to put that bluntly and honestly. Being my own doctor, I won't sleep for one to three days trying to figure things out because what the heck is why. I'm always this way, unable to sleep almost all my life, primarily through work and being a mom, but why insomnia worsens, especially when I take myself away from everything. But for my life, I was addicted to being in mania because shit, it feels too good. Everything feels like being in love. I will look in the mirror and see how great I look. The world looks great! Getting my work done in half the time. I could run 10 miles. I could make choices with no hesitation. I have all the answers to the test. I could read all day and night and write pages of notes. It's all amazing because I was consumed with the feeling of euphoria. 

I guess this is why I ignored the reality of the mania. The year when I was thirty-eight, I went into such a bad manic episode I wanted to be hospitalized. My husband wanted me home. My family kept telling me it was better I stayed home because they loved me; there was no love at the hospital. I was so manic I couldn't say one coherent sentence. When I could talk, I talked about saving people's lives and didn't want to leave work because my patients would die, and I had discovered the cure for mental illnesses. I believed I had the mighty power and tried to use it on the patients, but I couldn't. Then I broke down, wouldn't sleep, and cried for days. I didn't remember much of that. Now it's like a dream. I'm slowly realizing that it was not a dream for my family. It was a solid nightmare. I remember being filled with rage, lying in bed, and thinking, I must make some changes, or I will kill myself. I was pretty sick then and certainly didn't want to do anything I'd regret. I knew I had to do something to save my life and family. I can talk about it more rationally now. I never want to go back to that episode. This took me years, and I repeatedly returned to my old ways. 

During the same time as I was dealing with bipolar, my psychiatrist believed I could have an underlining illness and referred me to get checked by a psychologist who specialized in another mental illness she thought I had but won't be discussed with me. After four weeks of evaluation in 2015, I was diagnosed having Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) from a childhood trauma that fully developed into adulthood. I have a treatable illness with a good prognosis for recovery. My condition is widely shared by others who coped with trauma using the self-protective defense of dissociation. With proper treatment, I can finally integrate the memories and feelings of my separate parts. Eventually, as I grow strong enough to reconnect with my hidden memories and emotions and accept them as my own, my identity alteration will be reduced, and I will become more integrated and psychologically healthy. 

Three years later, in 2018, I saw a new psychiatrist and got a new diagnosis. My old psychiatrist misdiagnosed me as having Bipolar Disorder 1. I really have Schizoaffective Disorder – bipolar disorder type. I initially freaked out, but everything made more sense after processing it. I told myself it was just a new title. I agreed to the latest treatment on the medications Zyprexa and Lexapro. I struggled with severe anxiety and did not sleep consistently every night, so I took Lexapro to help. I can think more clearly, and almost all my psychosis symptoms are managed simply by Zyprexa. There are still lingering voices and delusions, but I've learned to cope with them. Every person I've told about my bipolar has been when I was manic, including super embarrassing text messages and phone calls to friends. I can overwhelm everyone with too much information and intensity when sick. Nowadays, if my mania gets terrible and I'm self-aware enough to notice it, I isolate myself until I get well again. It took me years to find the correct combinations and lifestyle changes. 

I have come so far through my mental illnesses in the last five intense years. I am still healing slowly but I did not do all this alone. I have been through intensely high times, and I know... that the emotional feelings accompanying those thoughts are meant to be. I would reflect on all my experiences that shaped me into who I am now. Much of who I am today can be attributed to God, my husband, and my family. 

I want to share that I had many manic episodes that were very spiritual. According to this article on Schizoaffective Disorder and Spirituality, "People with mental illness are more open to connecting with a higher power." There were times I felt Jesus Christ when I was manic. When I had psychotic episodes, Jesus intervened deep inside my mind. Since I have a mental illness, I was torn between believing the experiences were caused by my disease. And even being stable now, I think that is what it was. I like this quote, "Accept the diagnosis but the diagnosis and your belief in God go hand in hand. It's almost like a gift you only experience while being called crazy." I believe there is more to these experiences than putting it down to mental illness. It was confusing sometimes, it all seemed like a dream, but I chose not to close my mind to the "reality" my illness gave me. I'm still trying to figure out deep spiritual meanings and learned to let go of the religiosity that worsened my condition. Usually, I don't remember what really happened during most manic/psychotic episodes. Throughout my journey, I tried to piece everything together and make sense of everything. What was real or imaginary.

I learned that my skepticism was misguided. The article said, "The spiritual epiphanies or transcendent experiences of people with Schizoaffective Disorder should be taken seriously. Even though there may be a mental health aspect to the experience, the meaning the individual connects with that experience is what is most important." It is not so much about whether it is accurate or imaginary. My experiences should not be dismissed. I believe in medicine and doctors and strongly believe in divine healing. I meet people individually to help me reflect on my life and relationship with God. Every experience I had was very emotional and mind-blowing powerful enough that I changed inside in many ways, became mentally strong, and improved my mental clarity and focus. I have to watch for mania, but the depression has definitely lessened. I realized that the high expectations I had for myself would have to change. Now I know what thoughts and feelings come up with specific triggers. When this happens, I usually get caught up in the bipolar stuff, and I start searching for what went wrong, then stop myself.

I work on the trigger and try not to repeat it in the future. There is nothing wrong with my life. Something is going on in my brain that triggers that thought. Working on triggers changed my life. I still missed the mania feeling, but I understand it better than not letting it escalate to a full-blown manic attack. I always get better almost immediately when I suffer from psychosis. It was such a strange experience. I always seek answers. I felt a lot of strange things then that it's not easy to put into words; you only have to experience it to know. I see flashes of lights when I'm not in mania. I know I still have a religious component to my illness. I have learned to ignore the spiritual triggers to my focus. 

I have been relatively successful with the help of medication. However, I still have times when I am negatively affected by my experiences in 2016 before I was diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder. While being prayed on, I had some very intense mystical experiences that made me not trust certain church pastors, especially those who claimed they could heal with their hands and prayers. My guard goes up, and I get very defensive around them. I'm not against their beliefs; I just don't feel comfortable receiving healing from them after my experiences. 

When I was very sick, I attended a different church, not the typical one I hear. The first time it was on a Friday night. Worship was not just limited to music. Along with speaking in tongues, there was dancing, shouting, and praying out loud during worship, with horns blowing and flags waving. I got so overstimulated and didn't know what was going on as I had never been to a church environment like this. I was shocked when I heard the pastor say tonight was the night for prayers and healing for the oppression, depression, and possession. I was led to the front for my turn to receive healing, but I didn't understand what was happening then. A woman before me fell backward onto the floor, and a blanket was thrown over her to cover her body. I was petrified, and to survive, my mind literally shut down. When I was no longer in the right state of mind, I became dysfunctional. 

People like me with DID must carry dissociation to its outer limits, subdividing ourselves into several separate personalities with isolated memories and feelings. Although I didn't initially realize it, I believe that the first night my different identities took over my body, and parts of the experience that night vanished into the black hole of lost memories, leaving me vulnerable to vivid flashbacks or puzzling gaps in memory. 

I dreamed about that night many times after that. In the dreams, I felt a profound disconnection from my body, floating outside and observing myself from a distance. The world around me is unreal and unknown. I remember the dream brought me back to the church. There were so many dark shadows in the room. I saw a baby crying and was in danger. The baby was covering her heart with her hands. Then this beasty girl came to the rescue, grabbed the baby into her arms, and ran from the figures of shadow. The girl was cornered against the wall, surrounded by the shadows. The girl jumped over rows and rows of chairs, kicked, and crawled under some more chairs to escape. The girl fell to the floor. Hands were trying to hold her down. The girl knocked away a blanket that was thrown over her. Then this girl switched to a different part in front of the lady.

I remember seeing this lady look straight into the pastor's eyes and tell the pastor to stop it. This pastor yelled directly into the lady's face, screaming, "No! You are a demon. What is your name? Come out!" The lady glared into the pastor's eyes but said nothing until she disappeared, and I saw the baby again. I heard the baby cried and cried until I woke up. I dismissed the dream, but it always haunts me. Little did I know the reality of that dream was a real fight-or-flight experience I physically went through. The baby, the girl, and the lady were all me. I was frightened and ran away from the people at church. I remember covering my chest to protect my heart.