Medication

I like to say that Japanese saved me. I stumble upon it during my second attempt at University when I noticed it was offered as a complimentary study course and thought it might be cool. After my psychotic episode (that put an end to my studies at degree level) I continued to study Japanese independently at home.

The prospect of a day studying Japanese almost organically became my reason for getting out of bed in the morning and staying away from my bedroom for the rest of the day. Anyone who has been prescribed major tranquilisers will empathise that this is no mean feat!

My studies gave me direction but there was something about learning Japanese that enabled me to remove myself from the difficult mental processes I was experiencing. I could almost tangibly feel my mind whirring around outside of my body. I guess I had essentially managed to put my fingers into my ears and sing “lalalalalalala” at the top of my voice.

The interesting thing was that through this technique I was gradually able to explore my boundaries more and more. It was as though the Japanese study was some kind of temporary scaffold that enabled the reconstruction - by which I mean the rehabilitation – of me on a personal level.

Now the Japanese has largely fallen by the wayside and my passion for thinking has been re-realised which feels great. I know that there is still a long way to go of course, but the progress is promising.

As time passed I began to wonder if my experience with the Japanese study could be compared to my experience with antipsychotic medication. Does the medication provide a supporting scaffold that serves the rebuilding effort?

Anxiety

“I don’t know how”

“Anxiety never killed anybody” my doctor told me; “you’ve just got to push through it and when you come out the other end you’ll see that it isn’t so bad”. I am not a generally anxious person; my anxiety only arises in certain situations. I have recently gained a grasp on where my anxiety stems from which I’d like to share.

It all dates back to when I was younger; I’d struggle to leave the house to go to school but couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. I ended up making all kinds of excuses so that I could stay at home. I found it very confusing: “How come everyone else deals with this problem (I assumed they all did) so easily?” In the end I logically concluded that I was just weaker than them.

It wasn’t until six years later that I was diagnosed with clinical psychosis, so for that period my family and I were almost completely in the dark. Now, six years after my diagnosis I have a new handle on the anxiety.

It all has to do with ‘shutting down’. When put into a situation that I find overwhelming, I can almost hear my mind saying, “screw this I’m out of here!” as it packs up, leaving only the surface thinking – I literally become an empty shell; unable to look inside.

For ages I found this experience to be very disturbing; I’d find myself out in public but I wouldn’t know how to be there, which made me feel very exposed and as a consequence the anxiety inevitability prevailed.

It was only in understanding what was happening when I shut down that I became able to develop a comfort with it. It no longer distresses me because I can say to myself that it’s ok, this is just how your body deals with an overwhelming situation.

I learned to shut down on a subconscious level in order to shut out the paranoid ideas and intrusive thinking that was so distressing to me. I have become so good at suppressing them that I no longer honestly know whether those thoughts are still waiting in the wings, trying constantly to break through.

For now, I must continue to push my boundaries and learn how to be again.

At the moment I still find my inability to do certain things (because I have shut down) to be very frustrating. I scare myself on these occasions because of the violence – which is directed entirely towards myself – that wells up inside me.