Demands and Threats

The voices changed.  From questions and doubts to demands and threats. It was as if the more aware I was of them, the more aggressive they were with me.  The scream of “Kill yourself!”  woke me up. I had gotten a bed in my room, so I didn’t have to share with my sister anymore. I was happy to be alone as I was frightened awake.  “KILL YOURSELF!”  It was clear now that this was an all-out assault and I needed to defend myself.  My defense: curling up into the fetal position with my hands over my ears. I could not go back to sleep. I lay there, wide awake with the cacophony of “Kill Yourself!!” in the foreground.  My life was in shambles.   I watched the clock until it was time to wake up.

I had the day off of work and my sister had company.  I was in my room and the walls closed in on me. Literally, I saw the walls closing in. If you’re tracking my crazy in the blog, this marks the first visual hallucination.   My room grew smaller and smaller until only my bed remained. The voices filled the small area, “”KILL YOURSELF!”  Over and over those words sounded in stereo.   I was in a torture chamber. Tears flowed down my cheeks.   I can’t live like this. Soon I would start believing the voices and listen.  I realized right then, almost half a year since the start of it all, that I needed help.  

The next thing I know, my sister is in the doorway saying my name. I look around.  The room is bigger now.  The voice is but a whisper, but always the same message. I look at my sister, tears in my eyes, and proclaim “I need help, there’s something wrong with me.” “Ok, how can I help?” She replies saying the most perfect thing anyone could ever say at that moment.  She sits on my bed and everything I was hiding from everyone came pouring out my mouth.  My sister listened and looked and hugged. Then called ma. Our mother, who had the answer for everything, was answerless. This paralleled when I was young. Once again I put her in a position where she couldn’t understand me. This was a foreign language to her. However, she took it all in and made it her mission to try to understand what I was going through. How could she, though, because I had no idea what I was going through. 

Once the cat was out of the bag, it was on!  I called the mental health center and they didn’t have any openings anytime soon.  I did not know what to do.  After another painful day at work, I went into the student health center and saw my PCP, and told her what was happening.  Imagine how you would look at someone if another head started growing out of their neck. That is how she was looking at me like I had two heads.  I didn’t care though, I wasn’t living, I was barely surviving. “Kill yourself.”  Perfect timing, right when I am sure I am about to be sent to the crazy house, the voices start again.  I must have reacted in some way because the doctor asked if something was wrong. I shyly shook my head no.  “Let’s get you an appointment with Mental Health,” she said.  This was the doctor I saw since undergrad. I felt as if she would be invested enough to really help me.  “I tried that, they don’t have any appointments,” I responded.  “No, they’ll have an appointment for you.”  Would this be the start of my road to recovery?

 “Kill Yourself!” 

Maybe not.