My Name Is Anna

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My name is Anna, and last summer I had a psychotic episode.

 In April 2017, the first symptoms of the most serious health condition I've ever had began to emerge. The following four or so months were the most frightening, isolating and difficult of my life. It's a year since my illness began, so to mark the occasion, I would like to share with you what happened, and why it was such a dark time.

I'll be covering what psychosis is, why it happened to me and what my recovery looked like, in the hope that more light can be shed on some of the most stigmatised mental health conditions in our culture. I hope that this can help anyone in recovery, and perhaps help those of you with no history of the illness to avoid suffering with it in the future.

 

What is psychosis?

You've no doubt heard the word psychotic, and some of its synonyms, used before. "She was acting so crazy... like, to kill someone like that you would have to be psychotic." "Yeah he was mental, definitely a schizo." "What's wrong with you, are you some kind of psycho?"

Though "psychotic" is a specific medical term, in our culture it also stands in as an equivalent for deranged, incomprehensible and even dangerous. While we've come a long way in understanding and accepting the realities of depression and anxiety, there remain a number of other serious mental health conditions that hover just outside of our acceptance.

In case psychosis has never crossed your path before, this is when an chemical imbalance in the brain leads a sufferer to struggle in recognising what is real and what is not. They may feel extreme paranoia, experience delusional thoughts and even have hallucinations that could affect any or all of their five senses. These symptoms may disappear entirely once a person has recovered from an episode, but in some cases can remain with a sufferer for the rest of their lives.

The exact causes of an episode vary from person to person, but are often due to extreme stress, a genetic predisposition, or symptoms can occur when someone reacts poorly to drugs. Around 3% of the population will be diagnosed with psychosis; for some it is a one-off episode, while others may discover they have a longer-term condition such as bi-polar, schizo-affective disorder or schizophrenia. Over 90% of us would enter a state of psychosis if we were placed under extreme stress and deprived of sleep for a long enough time.

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The Beginning

The end of 2016 and beginning of 2017 turned into a seriously rough time. Though I had found my passion in my freelance career, I was convinced I needed to push myself harder than ever before and measured my success in the hours I gave to my business. I started work at 8:00 am, foregoing breaks throughout the day, and regularly worked in the evenings too. I would work on weekends also, and for months I refused to take time off.

Added to this, the early stages of my illness saw me growing more and more obsessive in nature. As well as my compulsion to overwork, I found that I was following the news constantly, feeling a close proximity to the events of Brexit and Donald Trump's election. I've always felt linked to global events thanks to my linguist background, so this particular point in time felt like a waking nightmare. I was also exercising fanatically (I call this my "stress yoga" stage), and would up early to do a work out every day without fail. What's more, I was compelled to tidy my room, organising and re-organising with ever greater frequency, throwing out until my room was eerily pristine.

As a result of all this, I began struggling with insomnia that was unlike any other instance of it I had ever experienced. The stress and anxiety I felt during my waking hours refused to shift when I tried to sleep. I was determined to "push through", convinced I could function as normal with minimal rest. I continued "working hard", not accepting the truth: that I was teetering on burnout and ignoring its signs. Instead I took pride in how much I could do on just a couple of hours sleep a night; days turned into weeks as I remained determined to "keep on keeping on".

 

The Descent

Slowly at first, the reality of my illness began to unfold. It started when I became convinced members of my family wanted to do me harm. The trouble with psychosis is that everything feels real, no matter how far from the truth it might be. In my case I had false memories that filled me with fear. Sure that my life was in danger, I fled to a friend's home, lying to my loved ones about where I was. My bestie was no doubt shocked and confused by my fear, but I was so sure of my situation that she did her best to help and ease my fears.

I continued to work, knowing that I wanted to move out with my friend and sure that I wouldn't be able to afford to if I took a break. I continued to sleep for, at best, a couple of hours a night. Instead of my fears subsiding, they grew until eventually I was sure that I was in danger at my friend's family home too.

Gradually, my thoughts became more and more alarming. As sleep deprivation made my mental health spiral out of control, my thoughts detached further and further from reality, with delusions gripping me day and night. I stopped sleeping all together. I later left my friend's home, sure I had to sleep on the streets, sure I had nowhere to go. I made my way to Birmingham, and crumpled to the ground by the side of the street, unable to go any further.

 

THE STRANGER

A stranger came to sit with me. I can't remember now what I said to him, but I remember his unconditional kindness. He was a street preacher, and helped carry my things as we made our way to the Cathedral. We walked around and, knowing I was a photographer, he encouraged me to take photos. We talked about religion and he shone with confidence that I would be okay, but as the day wore on, my symptoms grew more and more apparent. Gradually it became clear he knew something was wrong with me.

Sweetheart, I have something I would like you to do, he said, as we stood in front of a small inner city supermarket. He handed me a tenner. I would like you to go into that shop and buy us a pint of milk, a newspaper, and a loaf of bread. Do you think you can do that?

Yes, of course, I said with a smile.

I walked into the supermarket and immediately my senses, which were dialled up to a thousand, overwhelmed me. My thoughts raced with delusions and I wondered the aisles at a loss, paranoia confounding me. I couldn't remember what I had walked in for. After what must have been fifteen minutes I made my way out, handing my helper his tenner back. I'm sorry, I said, tears welling up. I can't do it.

It's okay, it's okay... he said. He looked me up and down. I think you need to go home, sweetheart.

We made our way to the station and I bought a ticket back to Northampton. It took three times longer to use the machine than normal. I made my way back and found my friend had bought himself a ticket for part of the way, recognising I couldn't make the full journey alone. We sat side by side and I was restless, paranoia and fear pushing me further from reality more than ever. It's okay, sweetheart, said my stranger. Your name is Anna and you are going home and you are going to be okay. He repeated this over and over, like a mantra, while I shifted and struggled in my seat.

Somehow, somehow, I managed to call my parents, telling them I was on my way back. I was unsteady on my feet as I made my way out of the train and up the stairs of the station. Eventually I found them and broke down with relief.

I was home.

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Recovery

Once I was home, the wheels of my recovery began to move fast. My parents could see immediately that things weren't right, but having not spoken to them for over a month they had no idea what exactly had happened. I kept sharing thoughts with them that made little sense, and was experiencing hallucinations, so that night they took me to A&E. The next morning I had a meeting with a psychiatrist, and for the two weeks thereafter I was seen my Northampton's Crisis Team.

I told the Crisis Team that I thought the world was ending and that I thought the TV was talking about me (by this stage I was convinced I was a dangerous criminal on the run). I began taking Olanzapine, an anti-psychotic drug that is one of the quickest-working drugs for psychosis. I was also prescribed Lorazepam to treat the extreme anxiety I was experiencing too.

I was then referred to NSTEP, Northampton's early intervention psychosis team. The team is compromised of psychiatrists, psychologists, CPNs (community psychiatric nurses), employment specialists and more, to help treat psychosis and integrate those affected back into society in multiple ways. I feel immensely lucky to have had access to what I can only describe as top-rate care; I'm not sure my recovery would have been as fast if I hadn't had the team to support me.

Once I began seeing NSTEP's team regularly, I also saw my incredible former GP on a weekly, fortnightly and then monthly basis. He left our practice in December and I genuinely shed a few tears on his departure; he helped truly normalise my experience and showed patience and professionalism at every one of my visits. I see my CPN on a regular basis too, again decreasing in frequency to where I am now, around once a month. She has been amazingly innovative in her approach to care, helping me to come up with a care plan (should I ever relapse) and educating me on what psychosis is. There are also weekly group sessions I go to when I can, where other folk in recovery meet up to play pool or go bowling and bond over our experiences.

Lastly I was referred to a psychologist and have become a shameless advocate of therapy ever since; my psychologist is incredible, and has helped me build up a picture of why my psychosis happened whilst deepening my understanding of myself when I am healthy. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

 

SO HERE I AM.

It's been almost a year and, cheesy as it sounds, I've learned that I am far stronger than I ever imagined. Though I would never wish my experiences on anyone else, and would never want them to be repeated, there is some power in knowing I recovered from my illness. This is not to belittle the extraordinary help I had along the way, but only to echo what my CPN said to me last week: You overcame it.

My relationships with my family and friends, have, thankfully, been strengthened too. Tested to their very limits, I will forever be grateful that they showed me love, patience and acceptance. I can only imagine what it must have been like for them, but I cannot fault their care. I've been able to be open and honest with them about every one of my fears and feelings throughout this process; though I was terrified to speak up about my illness at first, everyone I have told has been nothing short of incredible.

I cried several times writing this post, but of all the posts I have written for you, this is the one I felt needed to be shared most. What's vital is that we bring all mental illnesses into the light of acceptance, even and especially those that are most stigmatised. Though I recovered quicker than most, I still went through unimaginably dark days, while I struggled with all the internalised prejudices I had about my mental illness. I can't help but think that had I seen more examples of psychosis being portrayed realistically in the media, I would have felt far less isolated and ashamed.

I'm also fortunate that, touch wood, I had a one-off episode. I am sure it would have been far more challenging had I found that I had a long-term condition, like schizophrenia, bi-polar or schizo-affective disorder.

If something doesn't feel right, please go to your doctor. You're not weak, you're not different; you have every right to treatment, no matter how small or big the problem. If I learned nothing else from this experience, it is that there is no shame in seeking help.

For those of you who are in recovery, please know that I do not think there is one "right" way of getting better. Take the time you need; no one should pressure you to go back to work sooner than is right for you. Tell only those you trust; just because I am able to talk about my experiences doesn't mean you have to. Ask for second opinions if your treatment isn't meeting your needs; you deserve to be treated with care and professionalism. And know you should never be ashamed of what happened to you.

 


 

Thank you so much for reading this post. It would mean the world to me if you could share it; I never usually ask you folks to do so, but I would be so, so grateful if you could. Let me know if you would be interested in a follow-up, with some resources on mental health and psychosis... In the meantime, take care and look after yourselves – Anna's orders.

 

WellbeingAnna Considine