Ministering Unto Thee O LORD
1990 Surmising
By all medical standards, schizophrenia is not a split personality. It completely upsets me when I hear an intelligent monologue laced with the words, “…was like a schizophrenic, you didn’t know which person you were talking to.” Either the radio or television gets immediately turned off and I sit there and fume or I walk out of the room muttering as I go. A split personality is caused by abuse as a child or later on as an adult. Schizophrenia is caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain.
I am schizo-affective. I have been diagnosed as a paranoid-schizophrenic and what it is to me is a personal experience of four mental breakdowns ranging from the years 1987 through 1990. The only reason I have survived such anguish in my life was solely due to God’s Touch and Christ’s Guidance of Spiritual Love. They have brought me through the inner struggles of my soul and the inner struggles of the existence of mental turmoil.
The inner struggles in the realization of television, radio, and peoples’ features were very real. For me, the “talking” from the television was the movement of faces relating to any topic that was going on in my head at the time. The television always knew what I was thinking and at the same time gave me “messages” to do things. These “things” I would do would be like driving to my church because if I did, I would find the “love of my life.” So, the television would say. Then I would franticly get in my truck, with music leading me along with what I was doing, and madly dash through town – only to find the church doors locked. Then I would hurriedly run to my truck and the radio would then be singing a song about “my lost love” waiting at the bar with “open and forgiving arms.” With reckless speed, I would get to the bar. Only to find “my love” gone. I knew it would be true because the song I had heard last had sung this to me “he was leaving me for good.” Along with all of this, the people I would come across would have the proper expressions or body language that I needed in my mind to relate to what was happening.
There were also circumstances that were connective to what was going on with nature and verbal speech. I could give exoneration to people in cars who passed by my house. I knew the ones who accepted the gift and the ones who didn’t want it – by watching their expressions as I shouted at them. I could make the day last longer than normal by staring at the sun and praying. I would prevent the sun from going nova by taking my garden hose and feeding it into the sky. People having conversations around me or anything I happen to overhear; I was controlling it. What they said and how they moved was me doing it all. Telephone calls that I received were totally psychic. I knew what the other person would say ahead of time. According to me, they were never who they said they were. They were someone who was always trying to trap me. It was as though everything that was said and done during each second, every minute, and hour by hour was connected to each circumstance and flowed properly. There was a reason for everything happening. Even when one of my dogs spoke Spanish to me. Now his mouth did not move when he spoke but his facial expressions translated into Spanish. Then I was understanding what he said. Well, I don’t know enough Spanish to hold a simple conversation!
Many times, with my psychotic episodes I was doing God’s Work. My husband, literally, became Satan. I was supposed to “save” the world from his devastating influence. My children, I exorcised myself for I was in total heart-thudding fear of him. {All I said to my children, when I exorcised them, was, “Do you believe Jesus Christ is your Lord and Saviour?” and they each looked me in the eyes and said, “Yes”} One time I even thought my husband was “God” himself. Which put an end to me thinking he was Satan? With that, my work was accomplished. I had saved him and everyone else. So, the many times I was doing God’s Work, it really put me in my own world. I thought constantly while going to the store, that it would be my last time. Christ would come down with a shout. Things like this made me feel very isolated during my episodes and they pulled me farther away from reality. Which made me accuse my family of many terrible things. In turn, my family gave me all the love and support that was possible. Thank you, Lord! As far as friends during this time, I had none. Just acquaintances and neighbors that wanted to stay away from me.
During all that was going on, I did not comprehend right from wrong, and at the same time, I did. When I cut my hair for God to prove to Him my humility and to put an end to my vanity it made every logical sense right then. Looking back and feeling those emotions, I understand why I did it but now I would not do it. There are other means to get your hair done in a much nicer and less destructive way as I did it. Yet another moment, when I was cutting something with a knife. My mother came up to me to show me how my driver’s license was almost ruined in the wash. The force I felt to kill her was so very overwhelming. It was actually so powerful I could imagine myself doing it. With many constraints, I had to very firmly put the knife down. I made myself walk away and go into my room with a purposeful gentle closer to the door. I then knelt down in front of my Crucifix and desperately and tearfully prayed with all my being until the moment inside of me was over. Looking back and feeling those emotions scare me. It would have been so very easy for my person to kill my mom right then. All that was in me was a very teeny tiny still small voice that whispered to me, “Go pray. Go pray in your room. Go pray.” Bottom line – apparently, I was unable to kill someone. With everything else concerning my inside thoughts, during all other events I was experiencing, was going well within me. I was following each of these other events as if it was a reality to me. Nothing seemed or felt wrong with me. It was everyone else that was doing wrong and I had to “save” them.
On Halloween in 1990, I had my fourth breakdown. {Until I had four more breaks between the years of 2009 to 2011.} As with all of my breaks I was hospitalized. This last time, not like the other times, in the County Hospital, for two weeks. This was when my husband made me realize I had to stay on my medication. I no longer could recover on my own. This was devastating but it started the love and support which was needed between him and me. So, I stayed on the Haldol for two years. This antipsychotic drug completely disabled me. I was on the couch literally. All I did was fight the impulses to commit suicide. Yet I would pray and pray for a gun with one bullet in it to materialize. I would pray to be hit by cars while taking erratic walks around town. Nothing. I was given other medications that didn’t help. So, again, I was put back on Haldol. Finally, in August of 1992, I put my life back into the Comforting Hands of Jesus Christ. by that November I was put on Perphenazine. Another antipsychotic drug. What happened next was a miracle. I gradually was off the couch. I slowly was able to do things. No more jumping up and down going in all directions. No more constant thoughts of suicide. One thing though, there was a little edginess with this new medication. I began to drink coffee. I heard it would help the symptoms. Well, it did and the following March I was drinking six to eight cups a day of my husband's “Pennsylvania Mud.” Worried by heart palpitations I mentioned this to our family doctor. Being told to get off the strong coffee because of the caffeine, I immediately went cold turkey. In a very short time, I became a screaming mess. I was angry and verbally abusive. Realizing what was going on I called my mental health doctor and she saw me instantly. I told her I was losing it. I was on the verge of another breakdown and I needed help. Quickly she prescribed Amitriptyline and told me the caffeine in the coffee counter-acted the medication. Both were working against each other in the liver. This antidepressant was to take two weeks to become fully effective. It had to be gradually taken. After three days I felt very quiet and serene within myself. Totally at peace.
From time to time in the past, my medications have had to be increased. Due to my body’s readjustment to the dosage, I was on. Which I have been told is a very low amount. I will still have the possibility of breakdowns. So, my husband keeps extra care of me as well as what I am able to do for myself.
In the meantime, I have good days and bad days. Most of my moments feel like one with life. I compare my healing to St. Mark 5:1-20 KJV. Though I am not completely cured. It is close enough for me to relate to and maintain a balance in everyday life. For it was a gentle knock on Heaven’s Door to find the Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Forever will I follow His Path and be down on my knees with genuine humility. It is still good, there is still Hope.