Curious George

They say curiosity killed the cat,

but satisfaction brought it back.

Well, my dear. I wonder why is that.

After finishing what was technically my third semester of college, I knew that I needed help.

I knew I needed help because the restlessness I had been fighting for almost ten years kept rearing its ugly head into my studies. It didn’t make sense. For the longest time I had desperately wanted to return to school.

I couldn’t or rather I wouldn’t let myself return sooner. I had to metaphorically beat myself up over my past sins. The grave mistake of leaving school because I dared to let my demons overcome me.

It seems like yesterday, but in reality it will be a decade in 2017 that I was officially diagnosed with my first mental illness. It was depression and from there the diagnoses changed as they are wont to do.

It was a bit of shock to me find out this summer when I opened the letter I had requested from my pdoc for college disability services. I’ve always been a curious person. I went a full week without opening that letter, but something told me open it as my grandmother would say. Maybe it was the demons? Maybe it was God? I don’t know. What matters is that I did open it.

The new diagnosis was schizoaffective disorder.

It goes without saying I was more than a little upset. I had was upset when they told me I had bipolar disorder as a teen, but I adjusted to that eventually. I don’t remember exactly how though is the problem. My memory has been affected by my mental illness, but now that I am on the correct medications I am gradually beginning to grasp at old photographs.

But I am still learning to deal with having what is essentially both schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I want to be mad. I don’t know if I want to be mad at God or my genetics or what? The problem is that I won’t allow myself to be angry.

I’ve come a long way in therapy from the girl with the lowest self esteem and body image issue and mental health issues on the wazoo. I am getting there. As my mania fueled maxim says: Rome wasn’t built in a day while Caesar was in Gaul.

Currently Playing:

Allow Me To Re-Introduce Myself

My name is Destiny. I turned 25 a full two months ago. I turned 25 in a mental hospital. This was not my first time being in one. This was not my first time being in one during my birthday. This was however my first time  being admitted to one after suffering from a full blown psychotic break.

Psychosis and I have never been closer than we have been this year. She’s become a friend to me. She whispered in my ear: what was that? Are they talking about me? Is he angry? Does she hate me?

Even now that I’m stable my frenemy hasn’t completely left me yet. She’s leaving, but not without a fight.

I want to document my journey with schizoaffective disorder. The diagnosis is as much a surprise to me as anyone, but apparently not my mother and a hoard of doctors, nurses, and therapists. I had no idea this illness even existed. What is it? I asked. The simple answer?

Schizoaffective disorder is a serious mental illness with the symptoms of both either bipolar (my case) or depression and schizophrenia.

I feel like I’ve won the lottery of bad genetics. Woohoo you get BP and you get schizophrenia too!

So I’m going to try to work through this the best way I know how: through journaling/blogging and hopefully this blog can be of help to other confused souls like me.