I used to have a tendency to determine my worth based on the symptoms I was having. If I was hearing a lot of voices, feeling demons stroking my arms with their horrible talons, I felt as though I was a the worst of the worse. A base creature. Below cockroaches and earth worms. No offense to them. One of my most common delusion was that I was in terrible trouble, that I was going to be accused of a terrible, unforgivable crime that I did not commit. In the hospital, I would meander around the unit, asking people repeatedly if I was in trouble. Some days I was so paranoid that leaving my room was not an option, except to get my meal tray. Sometimes not even that. The voices that rolled around my head all day sometimes made me feel so horrible that I obeyed their commands to injure myself. This happened a lot and at times was very serious. I always felt like I deserved the pain I inflicted on myself. I hated myself so much. I hated the voices. I hated the people I feared, which was at times, anyone who looked my way. It was a sorry state of affairs. Things are much different now. Sometimes I cannot believe my good fortune, the gifts that materialized in my life, the uncharacteristically good choices I made that moved me towards being part of the community sand not a forgotten patient on the back ward. The back wards were my stomping grounds. Not anymore.

I have been out of the hospital for six months. I have been on a medication called Clozaril for almost nine months. Every day my head is a little clearer. I feel like my thoughts–Kaiyuh’s thoughts–take up more space now than the voices. Now as I write this, I am not experiencing any voices. They are usually there right when I woke up, but lately, I have been having beautifully quiet mornings, too. Sometimes this doesn’t seem real to me. I feel good about myself, not because I am less symptomatic, but because I know how hard I worked to get here. And I am grateful for the support of medication and family that I hold dear. I don’t glorify the days of heavy, disturbing symptoms. I dream about them sometimes, and wake up shaken, checking my mind for deficits or things that should not be there. I won’t go too far into the extent of my institutionalization, but believe you me, it was deep, hard and still haunts me to this day. I would be lying to myself, and to you if I said I didn’t have work to do on my trauma. I just try not to take it out on anyone. I am much stronger now, stronger than I have ever been, but I am not perfect. Nor am I striving for that. I am going for steady. And so far so good.

I had a tough passage about a week ago. I began to slow down, catatonia creeping in. I alerted my family as soon as was humanly possible, and my parents came immediately to our yurt, where I was lying in bed, willing myself to feel better. My mother administered medication for both catatonia and psychosis. I bawled that I would NOT be going to the hospital. That was the absolute last case scenario. I refused. I kept saying it even as they assured me I wouldn’t be going to the hospital. C came home early. I was grateful, but I felt a little silly for upsetting everyone’s days. They were so loving and helpful. Let me tell you folks that my family members are my heroes. I want to be like them when I grow up. Or right now. Am I grown? Yes? Partially? We’ll find out. I am also aware of the immense privilege I have being a white woman with serious mental illness. I do not have any addictions or secondary medical diagnoses. I know this sounds strange, but I am glad I “only” have schizophrenia. Maybe that is why I am so hard of myself. Let me explain. I used to want to berate myself for any increase in symptoms. I couldn’t accept that because of my brain and the fact that I could not control it perfectly made me angry. I refused to cut myself any slack or show any compassion because other people had it so much worse. It has taken me a long time to realize that I am doing everything I can do to live a meaningful life, and comparing myself to others was a losing battle, and completely unfair. I believe fully that it is possible to recover from schizophrenia. To go into remission. It might take time–a lot of time–but it is possible. I am not there yet, but I am moving toward health and stability. It is a daily process, but it is one I am up for. I will never give up on my dream to become I clinical psychologist and a Trauma Centered Trauma Sensitive Yoga teacher. If you are out there living with schizophrenia or anything that creates obstacles as you strive for your goals, know that you are not alone. Reach out. Ask for help. Be the hero that you need. And never forget, you are worth the struggle.

Sometimes I wonder if I am just pandering. That I am just spewing platitudes. The truth is, sometimes I don’t have the words to describe my internal experience. Sometimes I don’t want to share my internal experience, because it is mine. I will say that breathing, meditation and yoga are not cure-alls. They are great, don’t get me wrong, but some mental illnesses need more than journaling, daily walks and talk therapy, though all of those things contribute to a life worth living. The truth is that most folks living with schizophrenia need pharmaceuticals to manage severe and unrelenting symptoms. I was in denial, my family was in denial as I cycled through antipsychotics that gave me tremors, pushed up my weight by twenty to thirty pounds. Though I wish I could say that this med or that med will help you, save you from the pits of psychosis, but the hard reality is that you are going to have to find what works for you. You might feel great on the first med they try, you might have to keep looking. Clozaril is a last ditch effort, I was a last ditch effort. But I am well, now. More well than I have been in a decade. I know I talk about this a lot, but if you are reading this, you know it is not to brag or glorify myself, but to show you that healing is possible, and that you are not alone. Don’t give up because you can and will surprise yourself. Again, this blog is non-prescriptive. I am not telling you to take meds or not to take meds. I am talking through my own lens of experience. Youve got to do you.

Thank you for reading this tome. Wasn’t sure where it was going, or even where it went, but such is life. Sometimes all we can do is meander until we find ourselves again.