CW: ABUSE

I thought I was in control, but I wasn’t.  The gripping schizophrenia and the intermittent psychosis were front and center in my experiences with everyday life.  They were consuming the way I experienced reality, and they were calling the shots. 

I thought my life was going along perfectly fine in my early twenties when I realized that I had mental illness.  In the years after graduating from college, it was PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder, that prevailed in my young experiences of early adulthood.  I would get flashbacks of a cold, emotionally distant, sometimes physically violent father figure berating me, or I would get panic attacks so badly that I did not know how to cope or press on.  The mental illness was draining because that was all I experienced of life.  The PTSD gradually faded until the flashbacks resolved by themselves, but it took about five years for that to happen.  I thought I was in the clear of mental illness, but I wasn’t.  That was just the beginning.

It was the year 2017 and I found myself just at the start of my thirties.  I was in a new place in life, in the middle of a graduate pharmacy degree program near my home that I was excited about and eager to finish.  I was living with my parents to save money on rent.  I thought my days of mental illness were behind me, having lived through PTSD and the horrible flashbacks that protruded themselves on my consciousness.  But I was about to experience something even more terrifying.  It was early summer when I started to experience the onset on schizophrenia and psychosis.  The ordeal was so bad that I made the decision to take a year off from school to focus on my recovery.  At my worst, I thought the government was spying on me and out to get me.  I thought planes that were flying overhead of my house were shooting X-rays and beams of energy down that were damaging my body and weakening my organs.  I thought that a minor altercation with a roommate I had in Florida two years ago was still alive and fresh and that she was stalking me.  I thought everyone was stalking me.  Conspiracies were everywhere.  I thought I had a secret half-brother that my mother didn’t tell me about.  I was hearing voices that I thought were from God, telling me to do certain things or avoid certain people.  It was all very confusing, scary, and upsetting.  It was devastating to my parents, too, when they saw how sick I was and how my mind wasn’t functioning properly.  They told me to seek professional medical help right away.  They brought me to the hospital, where I was admitted to the emergency room and then transferred to the psych ward.  There, doctors calibrated my medicine until they found the right one for me to take that would calm my symptoms of psychosis and schizophrenia.  It took two rounds of hospitalization that year for me to get the adequate care and help that I needed, and for me to be on the right medications.  During my course of schizophrenia, doctors have commented that I was “gravely ill” and that it was “a serious illness.”  Finally, though, I met one doctor who took a chance and prescribed me a monthly injection of an antipsychotic that allayed the schizophrenia and kept the menacing symptoms of out-of-control thoughts at bay.  I have my life to thank for that doctor.

Today, my life is much better controlled now that I am on the monthly injection of medication.  I returned to school and am about the graduate from my program with a doctorate degree.  Some people might cringe at the thought of getting a monthly injection, but it is not that bad.  The nurse comes right to my house and the injection is usually quick and not too painful.  Some people, especially from an Asian background, might also think of my situation with stigma.  To me, getting well was the most important part of the process, and one with such great impetus that getting over the stigma of having mental illness was overcome rather quickly.

I am fortunate to have supportive parents who want to see me at my best and overcome mental illness.  They never said I was weak or made me feel ashamed of my schizophrenia and psychosis.  They just wanted me to get the best, proper care so that I could recover.

I could not have recovered without their guidance, or without the doctors I met at the hospitals who would not give up until they found the right medication for me.  Therapy, too, was a cornerstone in my recovery.  At school and in the clinic, I met with therapists and counselors who were sympathetic to my situation and guided me to the right mindset with the ultimate goal of recovering from schizophrenia.

So why am I sharing my story? I want to inspire others who might be in a similar situation to seek help and give them hope that recovery is possible.

You have to surround yourself with the right people, and be brave enough to ask for help.  These people should be patient, caring, loving, and supportive.  Having mental illness is hard enough in and of itself, suffering in silence and being alone makes it that much harder.  I also want to reduce the stigma associated with having mental illness.  I know in the Asian culture, mental illness is not really talked about and people suffering with it can feel like they are isolated.  I want you to know that there are good support systems out there, starting with your doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, and other mental health workers.  They are specially trained for this sort of hardship and will guide you to a better life.  They will encourage you to have an open dialogue about mental illness, one that is honest and truly reflective of where you stand right now.  If you believe in yourself, you will find that you have the courage to speak out about your mental health condition today and get help if you need it!