“Why do you have so many sculptures in your office?” I asked Dr G. I looked around the room. There were sculptures of people being hung and caught on fire. It gave me an uneasy feeling
“Do they bother you?” Dr. G leaned back in his chair. I looked at him suspiciously.
“No” i said out flat.
He wrote something in a little red notebook.
“How have the voices been?” he asked me. I shrugged. He waited for more, but i had nothing. I just met this guy, how can i trust him?
It was a terrible session. After our session, we shook hands and I left.
He was my very least favorite psychiatrist i ever Had EVER.
My knee jiggled as i waited for my therapist. I was in the waiting room reading a Peoples magazine.
It had been a hard day at school. It was that week i got the rep as being a drug addict.
“Emily” Stacey called me. I set the magazine on the table and stood up. I followed Stacey to her office.
My knee jiggled again as I chatted with her. All the sudden i burst out in laughter. She looked at me suspiciously.
“Are you on something?” She asked me. I looked her dead in the eye and said NO.
Somehow, hearing voices came up . A topic i had NEVER spoken of before that day.
I casually mentioned Peter, a Hallucination.
I told her he was talking to me, in my head.
“That’s not normal” Stacey frowned. After my session, DAd came in. She told him she was concerned.
She recommended me seeing a psychiatrist.
So i did, a week later I saw Dr D. It was then i heard the word schizophrenia for the first time. I was told I had it.
To me it sounded so scary!!
Life just got tougher and rougher each day. Sometimes I wanted to give up, but i didnt.
I love therapy. I go weekly. Its the only 50 minutes a week where i can talk about ANYTHING i want!
My therapist S is AWESOME. She’s 70 years old. She has purple hair and tons of cool jewelry.
She is honest and trustworthy.
I have a lot of issues to address. I feel like i missed out on life growing up.
Instead of partying, clubs and such, i was locked up in psych wards, adjusting medication.
I never once went out on a Friday night.
I never had a REAL job, never went to college.
No boyfriend, no kids.
I want to get out to do more to keep me busy.
Yep, you only live once..and i am not living!
The only thing i dont like about therapy, is when the therapist takes notes. I feel like they are going to show what we talked about to other people.
I cant picture my therapist having her own life. She has a family, a home, a life.
Its like she was made to talk to me. Is that strange? IDK.
I am having therapy once a week for a couple months. Its the one time a week that i could talk about anything Id like!!
I love it.
I opened the window to the upstairs group room. it had no screen. perfect. I was going to go sit on the roof. Just for a moment. It was early, again i was the first one there.
I opened the window wide enough to fit a 98 lb body through. I was half way through when i heard a shout.
“EMILY! what are you DOING!” It was Lisa.
I quickly climbed back in. I lied.
“I was out there for 30 minutes and you didn’t catch me” I told her. (LIE)
She assumed i was going to jump. all i wanted to do, was sit on the roof. I had no fun those days. I really didnt care what she thought.
She shut and locked the window. Yea, i cant turn the lock, no way out…. um.
I found my seat and started to cry. I felt bad for lying. I hate to lie.
She sat next to me.
“Are you having a rough day?” She asked me. I stared at her.
She sighed. I was difficult and i know it. I just hated being there SO much! She left me as other patients trickled in.
I tuned them out and had random thoughts. The day went by and group was over. I went home.
My childhood was normal for the most part. I didnt have a REAL diagnosis, besides anxiety until i was 16.
I was a happy child, lots of friends. I went out, I did good in school.
The thing is, i was in therapy since the age of 7.
If only put me on anxiety pills since that age, I could have prevented a lot of panic attacks.
Yep, i had panic attacks at the age of 7.
I started to hear voices around that time too. But it wasnt so noticeable because i never told anyone, thinking it was normal to hear voices…
I went through a divorce between Mom and Dad when i was a toddler. They both remarried other people.
Mom got a winner, Dad: not so much.
When i got diagnosed with schizophrenia, I thought my life was over. Actually i knew nothing about it, i thought it was going to kill me. I didnt know what a mental illness was!
But I tried a bunch of meds and got admitted into many many psych wards.
I was finally on the right meds!
Now I can live a normal life!
I sat in the waiting room at my therapists office. It was 10:01. My appointment was at 10:00. She was late. I started to panic
“She’s not going to come! She forgot about me! She was in a car accident!” I held my breath for 23 seconds while the second hand ticked on the clock.
I almost called Mom.
10:05 came. Still no therapist. I flapped my arms anxiously when the door opened. there she was!
“Come on in EMily”
I entered her office. I looked around making sure there was no camera.
“Is there a camera behind that mirror?” i asked her.
“Nope, just a mirror”
i believe her.
I sat down and our session begun. I tell her my long life story. I see she feels bad. I dont want her to feel bad for me.
I tell her how i get confused about whats real and whats not.
I tell her i have long deep, complicated conversations that never happened.
She said, thats normal!
I was surprised! That made me feel good.
I like being “typical” or “normal”