My sister Abbie and her kids Carter, Lauren, and Spencer have set up Zoom chats with my parents and I. It's actually pretty awesome, especially since they live just outside Detroit so we rarely see them. It's fun seeing how big the kids have gotten.
As part of the chats, the kids ask us questions. It looks like they are cards from some sort of game and it is interesting to answer them. Questions range from how did my parents meet and where were you born to what is the scariest thing that ever happened to you and what is your favorite food. I have learned some things about my parents with the questions, and I know they have learned a bit about me.
One question that came up yesterday is what is the most stressful thing to happen to you. The only answer I could come up with was "my entire life". I think they thought I was being evasive or flippant, but it is a real answer. My whole life is one big mess of stress and pressure.
As a kid, I was responsible for my younger siblings. I made dinner for the family starting at age 8 when my mom had to go back to work. I started working as a full-time babysitter when I was 11 so I could afford school clothes and I started my first "real" job at Taco Bell when I was 14 for the same reason. I was a constant overachiever and took extra classes in school and I would read anything and everything I could get my hands on. I was always worried that I wouldn't get and A and that the kids I were tutoring wouldn't do well in their classes. I was a champion at making everything my responsibility.
I was diagnosed with chemical depression when I was 11 years old and started antidepressants. And I started hearing voices and having hallucinations when I was about 16. I had never even heard the word schizophrenia, let alone knew what it was so I assumed my voices were angels or the voice of God. Naturally, the person I went to about it was our Bishop. I was raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and the clergy aren't formally trained. At that age, though, I had no idea what that meant. I assumed the Bishop was a conduit for the Holy Spirit so he was safe to talk to. Well, he told me that only men can be prophets so my voices were of the devil. He challenged me to confess what I had done in my life to open myself to the devil. I was the ultimate goody two shoes and couldn't find a thing. His answer was that I must have done something in the pre-existence and I had to find a way to atone for whatever I had done. This resulted in my first suicide attempt, and when that failed I continued my life convinced that I was inherently evil and nothing I could do would fix that. Despite years of therapy, I still can't shake that first lesson that my schizophrenia means I did something horrible before I was even born.
I ended up leaving the LDS church and moved with a friend to Los Angeles. I found Wicca and other pagan religions and when I was 19 I had a psychotic episode that landed me in the hospital. I was officially diagnosed with early-onset schizophrenia and was treated for several months. At that time, though, the treatment was teaching you to act as if everything is fine. If I could act like a "normal" person, then I could be release. I spent the next 20 years or more hiding everything and just trying to be "normal". I worked my way through college and then moved to Utah and worked my ass off to try to get rid of my debt. I was always broke, which always added to my stress. And I never dared tell anyone, not even my doctors, that I had schizophrenia. I admitted to the depression because that was more socially acceptable, but the stigma surrounding schizophrenia was too daunting.
I finally had a major psychotic break in 2012, which rendered me unable to hold a job. I went through 3 years of paperwork, interviews, and hearings to get on disability and even then, my payout was minimal. If my parents weren't kind enough to let me live with them, I would be on the streets or in the state mental facility. I have spent the past 9 years trying to recover, but it just isn't happening. I am better, but still broken.
And the stress is still there. It has changed, but it is almost worse. Every single day I am fighting the OCD, the depression, the bipolar swings, and the hallucinations. My medications help, but once you are 49 and you have had a major mood disorder since you were 11, the brain just doesn't work right. I struggle every moment of every day to distinguish what is real and what isn't. Will I kill myself today? Nah, I'll keep going. But that one voice is starting to get loud. I'll need extra meds today. I need groceries, but I don't have enough of my disability check left after paying my medical bills to afford any. I have to depend on my parents. Oh, and my body won't digest most proteins so I have to read every label to make sure there is no wheat, nuts, dairy, or any meat. I cook 95% of my food because I cannot trust most restaurants to be honest about the contents of the meals I order.
My whole life is stress. I am under pressure and I can only hope that my therapy sessions, my days playing in the garden, my yoga, and my medications will release enough of that pressure so I don't have another break.
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