For almost 15 years I have lived with an acute mental illness known as schizoaffective disorder. For me, this illness manifests itself in episodes of mania, depression and psychosis. Recently the media has been filled with images of Deirdre Morley, a lady who was found not guilty of murdering her three young children by reason of insanity. Having known periods of insanity myself, I found her story deeply disturbing because it tells the tale of how deep and how dark this rabbit hole can go.
I know what it is like to lose control and have troubled thoughts infiltrate and overcome my mind. For me, it does not happen over a few days or weeks. It can take months for true mania and psychosis to develop. There are periods of clarity during this time – so much so that members of my own family do not know I am unwell, including myself. I am acting normally, but living an alternate reality in my mind. That’s what makes it so dangerous.
Slipping into the darkness, succumbing to the terror, is a path I know well. At the time of my first breakdown (2008), I was living in London and I went missing on its’ streets – driving wildly and walking alone through parks late at night.
Luckily, I was found by the police and brought to a psychiatric hospital. Unfortunately, it was to be the first of many visits to such a facility. Although it has received much criticism in the media, the public mental health service in Ireland has, from my perspective, been there when I needed it. The consultants and nurses have always been kind and caring and my local psychiatric hospital is a sanctuary when I can no longer rise or when I can go no higher.
For me, the most challenging part of my disorder is not the hospitalisations, the injections, the consultant appointments or even the stigma. It is the ‘looking back’ and wondering through deep reflection “How could I have done this differently?” Words said, actions taken, feelings felt – all of it amount to experiences that cannot and will not be undone. These regrets ruminate my mind for many many months after the event. Haunting and taunting.
Depression is a major factor. The heady highs are inevitably followed by the despairing lows. Dark thoughts cloud my mind and I wonder why I was born to this existence. If there is a purpose or if it is all a mistake. But I rise from these moments too. Like a phoenix from the proverbial ashes, I begin to navigate the cold and cruel path back to daily living again. Sometimes it’s as simple as hearing a bird sing or seeing the bud on a spring tree. It’s never much, but it’s a start and that’s all I am longing for.
When living with an acute mental health condition, self-awareness becomes key. Learning my warning signs and triggers were central to building an awareness of my illness and most importantly, how to manage it.
Refusing treatment has been a part of my course in the past. Today, I seek out additional treatment when I am slipping, but in the beginning and for many years, I found it very hard to accept that I could not cope alone. In truth, I couldn’t accept what was happening to me.
Today I spend my days writing in the heartlands of Ireland. I don’t say ‘work’ because I enjoy it too much to call it work. I am a freelance journalist and a writer. I live with my dog, Bailey, and my cat, Winston. I also live with a voice called John that I have heard since 2008. It may sound strange but in a journey of inconsistencies, he has been my one constant. My imaginary friend, if you will. So yes, I hear voices – or rather I hear one voice.
In the beginning, I found it hard to accept John in my life and our clashes would inevitably lead to an overwhelm of emotion on my part and manifest itself outwardly as mania. This happened several times and after each mania, I would push John away and he would stay away – for a while.
Then three years ago (2018), after my last hospitalisation, I made the decision to accept John in my life and to allow him to be a constant presence. Since I made this pact with him, a friendship has formed that has led to increased good mental and physical health on my part, no hospitalisations and a higher quality of life for me and those who know and love me.
In short, I am happy. I am indeed mad but I am a happy mad soul.
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