On Delusions and Being a Prophet

Delusions. Some people might wonder how people can believe them while still being functional human beings, like I was at one time. I don’t wonder, because I understand.

There are some things that I lived and I still don’t understand, like things I’ve done or believed and I can’t tell you now what I was thinking. No, actually I can tell you what I was thinking, but I can’t tell you why I was thinking it, because it was so crazy. But my delusions weren’t crazy. Different, yes. And sure, they sound crazy if you say them out loud. But when I became delusional, I developed a deep understanding of this situation. Here we get into book territory, this is not an excerpt but I am commenting on stuff from my book.

I had no religious background before I became delusional, in fact I was an atheist. But when I became delusional, I learned that God created the universe, and life on planet Earth. Then He sent prophets and whatnot to set up religion, and the idea is that the bible is supposed to be the word of God, or it was originally. Let me clarify that this is what I believed when I was delusional and not what I believe now. But then God noticed something. Whenever He spoke up, it seemed to cause more harm then good. So He stopped talking. And for years and years, He said nothing.

Well that’s all fine and good, except then He realized there was a problem: the world was going to be destroyed by the impending disaster of global warming. What to do? He’s been silent so long, how does He break the silence? That’s where I, Rachel, comes in, with my magical livejournal.

Keep in mind that I am being vague and keeping things short as to not give away very much from my book, this whole thing is actually pretty complicated. I wrote an entire book about it, and I was told that publishers might shy away from publishing a memoir as long as mine, me being a non-celebrity and all (at least I’m not a celebrity yet). This whole thing unfolded in a pretty convincing way, and I has some pretty intense experiences that are way beyond anything I’ve experienced on drugs. Keep in mind though, my drug experience is minimal, particularly with the hallucinogenic class of drugs. I should also mention that I was doing no recreational drugs whatsoever when this started, not even alcohol for six weeks prior to the onset of my delusions.

Being a prophet wasn’t something I accepted with open arms. I went through a phase of denial. But deep down I knew that this is what it meant, and I got used to the idea and accepted it. And when you learn you’re prophet, and that you are on a divine mission to save the world, it’s the kind of thing that affects you. It’s like something bigger than you ever dreamed was even possible has happened to you. I’m trying to think of a way to describe how deeply this changes you, but I am at a loss. I can’t think of a suitable description, because really it is beyond description.

So suddenly, you’re living in another universe where everything looks the same but nothing is the same. The thing is, everyone else is still living back in that other universe where you were before. If only I could open up my soul and show people what this is like!

My parents took me to a clinic where they did a brain scan (that’s the thing that’s even more infuriating than no one understanding, everything thinks you’ve lost your mind). And the people at the clinic are used to dealing with delusional people, and they asked me the same question they ask everyone who’s delusional, like this question is going to somehow show me that my delusions are false: Why you?

Well, I had a reason, and there was a lot of stuff going through my head, none of which I said out loud. Why NOT me? It makes sense. I am just that different.

Because, here’s the thing: it’s got to be somebody. So why not me? Whoever it has to be, that person has got to face the issues that come with the territory: people will think they’re crazy. But one of the things that happens when you accept that you are a prophet and that you are on a divine mission is that you find strength inside you. You find the strength to get through the obstacles that this divine mission throws at you, and it’s so fucking hard when everyone labels you as delusional and mentally ill and you don’t believe it one bit, but you’ve got to accept that people will think what they will think and you’ve got to hold your head up and hold onto the belief that in the end things will turn out for the better.

But it’s all over now. The thing is though, it’s never over. I’m not delusional now but this thing that started back in spring break of 2006 is far from over and may never be over. There are some people in this world who I have reason to believe know about me and my issue, and who I have reason to believe think negative things about me because of it (I’m purposely being vague). It upset me at first and made me suicidal (which might not be saying a lot because I get suicidal at the drop of a hat), but I’ve worked through it since then. It’s funny because I feel confident that I’m right but at the same time I am horribly insecure about what other people would think. Sometimes people do the smallest things that are almost harmless in themselves but are indicative of something not harmless. I didn’t choose this, it chose me, I did nothing to bring this on. It tore my life inside out, I have had to go through so much because of this and to this day I am living at a treatment center because of this. I have gone through quite a few ups but a great deal more downs. This isn’t some sort of joke, I don’t know if it seems like it but it’s not. And I’m purposely being vague so people won’t know what I’m talking about, because it is something I’m very angry about and want to vent about but at the same time I don’t want people to know about it. Urrgh.

Being delusional can be a mixed blessing. It’s like I said on my livejournal, “if this is just a mental illness, I reccomend mental illness!” Yeah it’s hard, but I would like to say that you haven’t truly lived until you’ve experienced that defining moment when you learn that you are a prophet on a divine mission. And you’ve spent nearly two years believing it. So if you are making a list of things to do before you die, there’s a good one for you.

My Life in Treatment: A Brief History (part 3)

More history of treatment...

I was starting to get too skinny. So I went to the store and bought a gallon of ice cream, and ate some for breakfast. Then I would go to the gym and run six miles, working it all off, defeating the purpose. Damn that pointless ice cream eating!

I went on a home pass in the spring, and made the mistake of getting drunk off my ass on the way back. I mean, I didn’t black out or puke or anything, but I walked into the transition house and there was a process group going on (process groups are where you process house/interpersonal issues)! So fuck, I had to sit down. And they could smell it. They were sending me to stable, and so I said “by the time I’m sober I’ll be dead!” What a stupid thing to say. What I meant was, I wasn’t looking forward to the time when I was sober because at that current moment I was numb to what was going on, but when I was sober again I’d have to face reality. That was all I meant. But they had to take me to the hospital and run tests to make sure I hadn’t taken anything to kill myself, because they take these kind of comments very seriously. So they took me to the hospital (not the psych ward) and ran tests, then I spent the next two days at stable.

A week later, I was bored. Like, so bored I could kill someone. I had no money, I couldn’t afford cough syrup or even a simple alcoholic beverage. I wandered the house aimlessly, and in the laundry room I found some change - enough to buy an alcoholic beverage. And it wasn’t like I was stealing from anyone, because it was sitting in a public room, unclaimed.

I went to the nearest grocery store, bought one of those disgustingly sweet 12% alcohol beverages that come in a big can, drank it in the restroom. Then I wondered the streets, feeling happy, desperate for fun. I knew where a guy from aftercare lived, so I went to his apartment. He wasn’t there. I did something bad there, in that apartment complex. Something illegal, something that could be traced back to me and right now there might be a warrant for my arrest in Idaho. Seriously, I still worry about this.

It is because of this that I no longer drink. And I will no longer drink. Ever again. Because I like to think of myself as a person who has morals and what I did goes against my morals. And because I think people would respect me more if I didn’t drink. I think people who don’t drink are in general respected more than people who do, and that this would be especially true for me, due to the nature of the things I do when I drink.

The police showed up, and asked me something about me drinking. I said, “I haven’t been drinking.” He said, “You’re holding a beer can.” I looked down at the can. “Hmm. So I am.” I think what happened next was I gave him my name, and I was too drunk to think to give him a fake one, and he turned around to run my name and I bolted. I was wearing flip-flops, but I ran anyway. I kept turning around but he wasn’t following me. I slowed back down to a walk. There were three guys ahead of me, and they kept turning around and looking back at me. I was walking faster than they were, since I have a naturally quick stride, so everytime they looked back I was closer to them. Then I caught up with them and started talking to them, Then I started hanging out with them and went to their place. Stuff happened.

I left with one of the guys and smoked meth with him in his garage. Yes, METH! It really wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s the same thing as Adderall, it’s like taking Adderall after you haven’t taken it for awhile. Seriously, I’ve gotten just as high off of Adderall, and that was taking it under a doctor’s supervision at the prescribed dose. We stayed up all night, talked a lot, I fidgeted, it mainly made me bite my lower lip constantly. Biting your lower lip is a total tweak. I think some girls do it to be sexy. It might be sexy to guys who are into tweaker girls.

The next morning the guy dropped me off at Albertson’s because he had to do something and he was going to come back and then we were probably going to do some more drugs, but it was taking a long time and I got tired of waiting, so I called transition, let slip where I was, they picked me up and took me to stable. At some point I let slip that I tried meth, and that’s when they decided to move me from “transition” to “intensive transition.”

Intensive transition is a relatively new part of the program where the sort of strange, slightly “off” people go. I mean, that’s not the definition of it, but that’s the kind of people who go there. If you look at the cast of people who have resided in the lovely intensive transition house, it’s either been people who were off or guys who were aggressive. It’s for people who need “a little bit more attention.” The only person who’s lived here for the entire duration of the time I’ve lived here is Julia, a girl with Asperger’s. Most people find her really annoying but I am generally tolerant of annoying people, though we have had our ups and downs. In the past I’ve joked that if I had kids I would name them Klonopin and Zyprexa, two names of medications, because they are cool names. Julia told me she hoped that if I ever got pregnant I had a miscarriage or an abortion. I couldn’t stop laughing because that was such a mean thing to say.

But back to last summer. I became perpetually manic. I was trapped inside my own head, thinking about things over and over and laughing. I would rehash things, and when I rehash things it looks like I’m talking to myself. But I don’t hallucinate. This is the time that my parents will tell you I was so far gone it was a miracle I came back. This, I would like to say with emphasis, is a load of bull. My dad will tell you, “we tried several things and finally she came back when we switched her meds from Geodon to Invega.” No, actually, no. That was the first and only thing they tried, and it worked. It just took awhile because they made the switch very slowly. If you want to know how far gone I wasn’t, they didn’t even take me off Adderall or my antidepressant, because the doctor didn’t deem it necessary. That’s how far gone I wasn’t.

So I’ve been in intensive transiton ever since last summer. It pisses me off because other people make repeated mistakes and they don’t move them to intensive transition. Right now, I’m just here until I have 20 hours a week of volunteering or work or school, and then I’ll be moved to aftercare.

And I’m reminded of why I decided to write a history of my treatment to begin with. We have a new intensive transition/ aftercare coordinator named Lea. Let’s just say she is widely disliked. There’s another girl here named Caitlin who was in aftercare who moved into intensive transition after messing up. Lea told Caitlin that the other residents of intensive transition, including myself, look up to Caitlin because she has been to aftercare, and that Caitlin was setting a bad example by smoking. I don’t look up to Caitlin, I don’t look down on her either but she’s like four years younger than me. I don’t give a flying fuck that she’s been to aftercare, it doesn’t mean shit to me. I don’t think she’s better than me. I’m not trying to say anything mean about Caitlin because I like Caitlin. But I don’t think anyone’s better than me for getting through the program faster than me.

The point of me writing this is to say that I’ve had to deal with my share of problems, with the delusions, the suicidal attempts and thoughts, and all the med changes. I was probably just more fucked up to begin with. I didn’t feel a particularly strong drive to get out of the program. When I do feel a drive, it drives me crazy! Like this drive to get published.

My Life in Treatment: A Brief History (part 2)

So, on with my history of treatment. I was taken to the psych ward by my therapist, and by this time it was February of 2009. When I found out I was being taken to the hospital, I jumped out of the car and tried to run away. I didn’t get very far, as one of the staff and my therapist jumped out of the car and ran me down. This was before I realized how awesome psych wards are.

Yes, psych wards are awesome. You meet the most interesting people there! But that should be the subject of another blog entry.

While I was in the hospital, they switched my meds from an antipsychotic called Abilify to another one called Geodon. I didn’t think this was a big deal at the time. I thought Abilify didn’t do anything, and I didn’t think Geodon did anything either, but my parents and my doctors and everyone else had this belief that if I wasn’t on an antipsychotic all hell would break loose.

I got out of the hospital and that same night, I went to take my meds and there was no Geodon. “That’s okay, it’s not like it did anything anyway!” I said. Then I went to bed, and I started thinking about things and trying to relax. But as time went by I kept getting more and more awake and my thoughts kept getting more and more vivid. And then I realized: I was hypomanic! Wow, something would happen if I didn’t take the meds! Maybe I was bipolar after all!

So I didn’t sleep much, and the next morning I refused my Geodon, because this mania was a new and exciting natural high, it was like the solution to my problem of feeling the need for stimulants all the time. Mania is kind of like being on a stimulant. They took me to stable (where they take people who need some “time off”), I left and started walking down the street, so I was handcuffed and taken by security back to the psych ward.

I refused my meds at the hospital, which was kind of bad because there was a lady there who was talking to herself and stuff and really needed her meds but she wanted to refuse them too. Then I started to realize that mania wasn’t all happy. It was interspersed with random feelings of extreme lowness. While the high feelings lasted longer than the low feelings, the low feelings were pretty annoying.

I stopped refusing my meds and eventually, I was discharged from the hospital. Back to good ole Innercept. My therapist told me I could get transition passes again if I stopped sleeping during the day. And I tried. I really tried. But that Geodon, man, it knocks you the fuck out. I took it twice a day, at night and in the morning. I takes about two hours to hit, and that’s when my eyes would automatically shut. I could try really hard and open them again, but then they would just automatically shut again, all by themselves. Try as I might, I could not keep my eyes open. And when my eyes were closed, I would fall asleep.

I wasn’t the only one who would sleep during the day. Innercept’s solution to this problem: less comfortable chairs. Did I mention that this program is run by geniuses?

They like to grade you at this program, using the stupid 1-2-3 system. Two’s are normal. One’s are bad. Three’s are great. You need a two average to make allowance. They grade you in each quadrant of the four quadrants, which is interesting because one of the quadrants, by definition, is one you can’t be graded in. It’s things other people can’t see, like thoughts, feelings, etc. If other people can see it, it’s in a different fucking quadrant! But them Innercept employees, they’ll slap a one wherever they damn well please. One time I got a one in one quadrant for sleeping during the day, and a one in another quadrant for sleeping during group. I called this redundant one-ing. It was the same nap!

Finally, they stopped giving me Geodon in the morning and gave me a higher dose at night. That’s around the time I started getting manic every single day. By this time I had also been switched from the anticonvulsant/ mood stabilizer Lamictal to the classic bipolar med lithium. At first I thought lithium was great. Then I realized that it was because it wasn’t doing anything and I was just a little manic all the time, but the mania didn’t last. Anyway, then I went on a home visit, drank a lot of caffeine and alcohol at the airport on the plane ride back, got euphorically high, then suicidally low. Back to the hospital. By now it’s June 2009.

These were some great times at the psych ward actually, I met some awesome people. They did some med switcharoos (lithium to Depakote), and after maybe a month I was back in stable at Innercept, then back to the regular part of the program. Week after week I was filling out special requests for transition passes, and I was getting denied (I can’t remember why, too soon maybe). Actually, I think this is when I was facing a little bit of depression and I was apathetic and wasn’t quite taking care of myself, so they were giving me quarters to do things like brush my teeth, do laundry, take showers. I think maybe this was a low point. This is what people always say when they talk about “how far I’ve come.” “Why, we used to have to pay you to take showers!” Anyway.

I got passes finally, got my shit together, took on a hellishly boring volunteer position, started working out like mad, and then about five (yes, FIVE!) months later I was finally in transition. I moved in January 25, 2010. I came down with something. I don’t know what was ailing with me, but whatever it was, it required massive amounts of cough syrup to remedy (this was the highlight of my time in treatment).

Beautiful cough syrup.

More to come...

My Life in Treatment: A Brief History (part 1)

Treatment began for me in the spring of 2008 in the lovely city of Santa Barbara. Yes, the city was lovely. The program was not. The director was a mean lady who everyone hated. I hated her from the very beginning, when I saw the report she wrote based on our interview. She talked about me in a very condescending way, to say the least. And she misquoted my therapist, leading me to shoot my therapist a nasty email, and then I found out that my therapist never said I had that delusional belief which I didn’t have, so the mean director lady made it up. Out of thin air.

I didn’t know until I got there that they didn’t allow caffeine. See, I have some sort of undiscovered disorder where I must have stimulants in my system. If I don’t, I’m stuck on the level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs where I am preoccupied with food. A cup or two of coffee and this preoccupation goes away. Lucky thing I was on Adderall. Problem: the doctor didn’t believe in prescription speed. So I had to sneak away and spend my money on energy drinks and shots of espresso. The funny thing about this program is that they only help people who they think are good enough for them, so when it became clear I was going to be kicked out I ran away and spent two days wandering the streets and the bars in downtown Santa Barbara and smoking coke with strangers in the bushes in the middle of the night. I met two guys at a bar and started hanging out with them. I asked them if they had any drugs, they told me they had methadone. So I took their methadone. And they kept giving me more and more methadone pills, and I just kept popping them, not knowing how long it stays in your system (and keeps you high, Jesus Christ).

Stuff happened, and I met my mom, high off my ass on methadone and Ritalin. I talked, cried, wept, and even managed to sleep at the hotel. Then off back to Portland, or so I thought. Dream-like things would happen in my waking state, yet somehow I knew what was just in my head and what was real. Except instead of going back to Portland, we went to Spokane. I woke up in another hotel with my parents, wondering why I was still high as fuck. Then off to this stupid place called Innercept.

Innercept is the name of the treatment center I am currently at. It gets it’s name because of this chart they have at almost all the campuses, where two lines intercept, making four quadrants. These quadrants represent your inner self, that’s where the “inner” comes from. Don’t ask me what I think of the name, because if you do I’ll tell you it’s the stupidest fucking name ever.

Anyway, so after a week of walking around in a fuzzy state of itchiness, the methadone wore off. And it was just me and the morning coffee and the boring groups. And then I got transition passes. Transition was the next stage of the program, where you have more freedom and things are better. Passes just mean you go for the day.

That’s when I started thinking too much, and before you know it I’m delusional again. There weren’t any hallucinations or anything, just some beliefs. And then I was happy, and I was walking around smiling and no one knew why. My passes got pulled, but I had my beliefs, and that was enough.

Then, I became undelusional. And somewhere along the way I attempted suicide. I’ll spare you the details, as this is a brief history. But sometimes, when things happen you feel like you’re supposed to commit suicide, like that’s the right thing to do or something.  Yeah, I know that’s totally wrong. But anyway.

So this was a set back. And by this time I’d been at Innercept about six months. When suddenly, out of the blue, I started talking like a normal person! Excited by my new found ability to talk, I began feeling the need to fill any silence with the sound of me talking. Then people told me they didn’t like it when I talked. So I stopped talking. Then my therapist took me to the hospital and lied and told them I was suicidal, so I was admitted. Which was funny, because I actually wasn’t suicidal. It’s funny how they take you to the hospital when you don’t need to, and they don’t take you when you do.

More to come...