Skizzie Lizzie Applies For Graduation

I was released from the psych ward in 2009. Since then, I have been through "outpatient services" which are a quaint euphemism for total behavioral modification group therapy sessions with an emphasis on potent, Western psychotropic medications (don't get me wrong, I believe in these medicines. I take these medicines. I advocate for others to take their medicines, but man, these drugs have major side effects. Can you, Eli Lilly, stop counting your billions of dollars and please spend a little on some chemists to work on more advanced medicine that does not cause massive weight gain, zombification, diabetes, tremors....and other maladies caused specifically by the drugs?).

I regained a semblance of normalcy back in 2010, when I learned from the sociopaths in group therapy that it was not a requirement to be honest with others in society (again, don't get me wrong. I don't approve of sociopaths, but to be fair, when they were not preying on me and the other deteriorated mental patients, they told good stories). I remember in particular one doctor's visit to an outpatient clinic. The clinic was for felons. Why I went there I have no idea, I assume somebody was funneling money to themselves by adding me to the little circus. No, I am not a felon, nor have I been convicted of a crime, ever. Still, this is how your mental health system is, America, you sent me to a mental health rehabilitation facility for ex-felons with mental health disorders (ranging from bipolar to violent, sociopathic behavior), me, a 160 pound 26 year old woman. AND IT MADE ME STRONGER AND A BETTER LIAR SO THANK YOU!

Let me explain.

Before, if people asked why I missed class, or why I took a pill, I would squirm and feel conflicted about how to tell the truth. Enter the sociopath from the rehabilitation center which I will refer to as T.P. This guy, "Sam," was my age and when we talked about employment experiences in group therapy he said he could never get a job because every time he went in the boss would ask him to explain his felony. His answer? "Which one?" Possibly not the most ideal role model for societal behavior but you'd be surprised what I learned from him. He kindly explained to me while waiting in the doctor's office, that I should just lie my ass off because I can pass.

"How are they gonna treat you, anyways? You like the way they treat you?"

"It's discrimination and I hate it," I told him, honestly.

"Then stop telling 'em. Don't worry, just lie."

Later I learned he went back to jail for punching his girlfriend in the face. That was just my life back then, it didn't seem abnormal or frightening at all. I just felt lucky that I wasn't his girlfriend and I hoped his girlfriend was okay, but the commonality of violence at T.P. was so rampant that I became jaded (and I still am, sadly).

I mulled. Did I really want to take the advice of a woman-punching scumbag? I turned on the television. Some crap about creating a database of mental patients that could be accessed by anyone (this story is from around 2011). I tilted my head and stared at the tv. Is this what I am to them? A violent thing, not a human? So be it. If you treat a human like an animal long enough, they'll start to bark. I swear to god, they bark. And after my neglect, sexual assaults, abuse, and other unethical practices inside the psychiatric facilities all throughout my twenties, I was all "ruff ruff."

So, I quit telling the truth.

In 2011 I transferred to a 4 year university, having secretly applied without telling anybody. I entered and graduated a year later with my Bachelors. Everyone at T.P. was so amazed. I was such a success story! I was an incredible inspiration to all! Truth? The sociopath taught me how to lie and that is apparently what is required to be treated like a human being with full civil rights when one is bipolar or schizophrenic. You want to know how to avoid cognitive bigotry (my new term for someone who hates and persecutes people with a cognitive/neurochemical disorder)? Just don't tell them the truth. And when they blurt out their prejudices, take the time to inform them of scientific fact, from an outsider's perspective. Teach them humanity, but never, never forget that they do not recognize your own humanity if you have a diagnosis.

In 2012 I graduated and entered graduate school.

In 2015 I belatedly applied for graduation. I will have my Master's degree from a University (no, it's not one of those bogus online campuses, either).

Now that I am preparing to graduate in May, I realize that this blog is actually important to me and maybe even to one of you out there. I have tried to avoid this blog because it reminds me of where I came from, who I am, what I live with, and what you think of me. I miss this blog, though. So much so, I came back.

With good news. I am graduating. Skizzie Lizzie is graduating in May with her Master's degree.

Lions, and Tigers, and Finals Week.

When the only thing that separates me from the other former mental patients is that I can perform well in school, finals week is a stressful, coffee-indulging, binge-eating festival of intellectual carnage.

I am schizo-affective. Most of my kindred schizophrenics are busy talking to pigeons in the downtown park, or rocking themselves in their drug-induced stupor. Some of us lead “normal lives,” though. I am apparently one of them. I work part-time and attend college as a Master’s program student full-time. Nobody knows what I am: a former mental patient who spent the ages of 19 – 25 in and out of mental hospitals before I finally stabilized on meds and took them consistently.

Now, I must study and prove that I am more than a delinquent set of brain chemicals called dopamine and serotonin. I am more than a mental patient. Or at least that is the way I must train myself to think or else I will plummet into a fit of self-destructiveness. My entire essence is wrapped up in how I can differentiate myself from society’s image of a schizophrenic: the bizarre, violent, freak of nature that needs to be detained indefinitely. I try to think of myself as a student, as a laborer, as a creative thinker, as a writer. Deep down, I will always be that girl locked in solitary confinement in the triage center of the hospital with three security guards monitoring every movement, but it’s worth a try to act like I have a chance at a happy life. I deserve that. On that nice thought, I will take my leave. Have a great day!

Academia over the Work Force (or how I learned to eat ramen noodles for breakfast)

Our family moved to a new home after we were unceremoniously told to vacate the house we were renting so that it could be sold for a better profit margin than we were providing as tenants. I like this new home better, but with it comes the burden of paying for the elevated rent of a 3 bedroom house...and this makes me think of my future as an employee once I finish this graduate program at the University.


I am almost finished with my Master's program. I am half way through this semester and my grades are A's and 1 B. I need to pull off straight A's this semester, though, in order to raise my cumulative GPA so I can get off probation and graduate next semester. All things going according to my master plan, I will graduate in May, 2014. Or, I will be stuck at the University until December, 2014. I really do not like the way that sounds, as I need to find employment as soon as possible.

In fact, I need to find a job right now, having eaten through that student loan I took out (literally, I need to start packing a lunch and stop spending money at the campus Subway). I am used to working menial jobs, having held numerous minimum wage jobs before I returned to college at age 27 to complete my Bachelor's and start my Master's degree. I have no objection to delivering pizzas or cashiering again. I am not one to think that a college degree entitles me to a good career. I have a degree, but I must prioritize my life and having a neat title is less important than getting paid as soon as possible.

The economy makes me nervous, especially since part of my excuse for staying in school was to avoid the sluggish job market. Now, a year later, it doesn't look like the situation is more stable so I face the dilemma of either applying to a PhD program to escape again or plunging into the work force as another desperate, 30 year old wannabe.

I think that academia has become a secret hide-away for me ever since I turned 18. I found no freedom in the endless sweeping, mopping, and cleaning of my minimum wage jobs and the community college class was the only place where anyone really cared what came out of my mouth (or even encourage me to speak in the first place).

I have my own issues with academia--racial, class, and sexist mentalities that some professors cultivate privately and which a few of us are privy to, but overall at least I get my chance to speak through my essays...and the books! I cannot imagine my life without access to the University's massive library.

I will miss the academic setting--the campus teeming with bright-eyed freshmen, the campus clubs recruiting for new members, the interesting lectures in class, the Starbucks on campus, but alas, all things are impermanent.

I make it sound like my college years are behind me, but the truth is I still have 1.5 semesters to go. Until that time, I have an interview with a telemarketer tomorrow. I hate telemarketers. I never want to be a telemarketer, but then again, I have to pay for my kickboxing classes somehow!

Post script: On that note, I lost 5 pounds the past month doing kickboxing. I am still 171 pounds, which is actually a heavy weight for me, but at least that is down by 5 pounds this month...and I feel a great adrenaline and endorphin rush doing kickboxing. It is very fulfilling and challenging. My shins ache and I hobbled around all weekend on painful legs, but the weight loss and the post-exercise glow makes it all worth while.

I Am Dead Doll

It is all over the media in the next town from me. My friend committed suicide in a public manner. So far, my county has yet to pick up the story. I only found the story by digging through the internet. I don't think anybody else knows. I don't think any of my classmates know how our friend died. His name and mode of suicide is plastered on the internet. Animals, barbarians, hiding behind aliases, debate about his mangled corpse in the comments of their town's online newspaper. One slandered him by saying he traumatized the bystanders (with no mention about how he is DEAD now while they get to LIVE and that his grieving friend is reading every gory, ugly, callous comment they are making...). Ugh. Normal People are so incomprehensible to me. They think us mentally ill are the sick ones?! We are genetically different. THEY are jerks and dogs. They have all the normal mental health and what do they do? They joke about my classmate's suicide like so much Jimmy Fallon fodder. I sent a complaint about the comments to the online newspaper. They never responded.

I cannot believe I missed the signs of suicide. I had more than 4 classes with him this past year...if not past 2 years. We saw each other every day. We greeted each other every day. He would approach me and ask me how I was, what did we do in class, how was my work going. I would make chit chat with him. I was very fond of him. He was tall, handsome, quiet. Withdrawn--I should have known. He has always been a little aloof, I thought maybe it was a cultural thing. No, it was his psychological wound not a personality trait.

This is hell. I drove around in shell-shock, trying to get an emergency session with a therapist. Next week, said the campus health clinic. I went to the county out-patient center where I am a consumer (I am bipolar but currently I have/had no symptoms). Next week, they said. Next week, next week, where will I be next week? I might take my student loan and flee this country. Forget finishing the Masters program. Forget everything. I just want a new start in a country that does not despise the mentally ill or laugh when we end our lives.

I previously wrote that I did not want any anger inside me, but when I read those callous and cruel comments on the article about my friend's suicide, I felt rage. Rage, wrath, hatred, deep-seated anger. I wanted to tell them exactly what I thought of them and their pathetic little personalities. I wanted to cross the line with the people who wrote those comments. I wanted to hurt them psychologically. Hence, the sudden drive to find a crisis therapist. I do not want to be that barbarian that these people are. I want to be able to snub my nose at them. I did not want to cut my wrist like I used to. I did not want to go screaming my anger over the internet like they do. Instead, I sat under the fluorescent lights of the out-patient treatment center and waited. "Next week," the counselor said. "Fine," I said. I left.

Outside in the parking lot I started to cry. I wept tears but I kept walking. I was a robot, a walking dead doll. Crying, floating outside of myself, feeling everything, feeling nothing. Limbo, then hell, then limbo, then emptiness, then over and over and over again, that endless cycle of grief and pain. I drove aimlessly for ten minutes.

I could see my life as endless opportunities. Death was not one. Neither was admitting myself to a psychiatric ward. There are many ways to self-destruct, to erupt like a volcano. I decided to binge eat. Off I went to the pizza joint for a large pizza and a bottle of diet Pepsi. I wanted nothing wicked to come out of my mouth so instead I stuffed it full of carbs and grease, swallow, repeat, until the heaven of sleep comes again, where I can pretend like all this is a nightmare. It is too bad, I ate 1200 calories yesterday and I even exercised. Then I found out exactly how my friend died and I went into a frenzied binge eating, remorse-ridden, tear-stained rollercoaster ride. I still feel like a dead doll. I put make-up on. I stare at myself in the mirror. I see large, oversized, kohl outlined eyes with a look in them like somebody vacuumed out the life out of them. I am dead doll. Hopefully, this will pass. Until then, I am going to eat my pain away.

Blood Work Tests Come Back Normal---Minus My Mind

So, yes, as I candidly mentioned in a previous entry, I have had around 20 male bed partners. For a woman, that is a lot. For a man, that is like a couple months in Vegas.

Naturally, I get checked after a period of sexual activity. My lab results came in today. The good news: My blood work and urine tests came back normal with no indication of sexually transmitted diseases. The bad news: I'm still a nutcase. If only my mind was as healthy as my reproductive organs!! But no, at least insanity is not contagious (otherwise there would have been a pandemic in California ha ha ha).

So, lesson learned, stop sleeping around and getting tattooed or face nerve-wracking days spent waiting by the computer to see if the University health center input my results already. That being said, God, I am soooo horny!

I have had too much bed rest due to summer unemployment and no social life. I have written a couple of C computer programs since I will be taking it over next semester to get a better grade than my poor D plus. The only thing that makes me feel better is that 1) I had legitimate medical, psychological, and family issues which disrupted my study routine and 2) that teacher has a 70% FAIL rate. Not PASS rate, mind you, FAIL, as in out of 100, 70 students will FAIL. Sadly, I fell in that zone. During the final, at least 4 students walked up and handed in the test form completely blank (we have to write out our programs by hand, which is an archaic method of programming if you ask me, but whatever). They were quitting because the teacher is not a good teacher, they fell behind, and they couldn't bs the final exam for 2 hours or even (in some cases) 10 minutes. Thus, they turned in blank answers, shrugged their shoulders when the teacher asked them why they weren't going to try, and then made a beeline for the door. I did try, though I didn't finish the exam because I ran out of time. I scored with a D, which is pathetic, but whatever. I have to remember that this class requires double the time I spend on my graduate level classes just to keep up. Will get A or B this Fall when I take it over again. That is my VOW.

Aside from practicing the basic arrays and for loops in C,  have had nothing to do. I sleep. I read books about former models and former anorexics. It's like book porn for dieters. I am so ashamed that I read "Hungry" and "Wasted" just to surround myself with shining examples of how not to eat, then eat, then crash and burn. It is a perversion; this compulsion to read about people's serious illness just to stave off hunger pangs for another 4 hours. I ate 200 calories up until 5 pm, most of it in dairy creamer which I poured liberally into my coffee.

Oh, hooray! I guy I like is messaging me. I go now.

Grad School Finals Week and my 30th birthday

Dear public, online diary,

today I woke up and realized I am about to turn 30 this week. I woke up and thought, "why am I still in school? Why have I only had cashier and customer service jobs? Why am I still living with my family? Why aren't I married?" I guess I had an early mid-life crisis this morning.

Here is the answer to most of the questions above: I have a major mental illness and it is very difficult to get the medication to treat my symptoms. My mental illness froze my progress. I spent so many weeks lying in bed, in a catatonic depression. I spent more weeks huddled in the kitchen, in my "safe spot" by the fridge, hearing voices and trying to breathe through my fear.

I parted ways with my former outpatient treatment center. I am now back with the county's main outpatient center. My former treatment center released me because I have had no major symptoms the past 2-3 years and they are intended for people who are fairly non-functional. Now, I am with the more lax system that treats people who are not on the verge of total self-destruction. It is less "intensive" as my former therapist put it. Sadly, it is also more apathetic. If I miss an appointment I have to wait another 3 months to see a doctor, without medication. Thankfully, I have a cell phone app to remind me what my schedule is like.

Thirty years old and I still feel like that 18 year old girl starting college for the first time. One year later, at age 19, I became floridly psychotic, my life spiraled up and down, jobs came and went, I dropped out of school, then returned again, and now here I am, 30, with my head kind of screwed on straight and about 35 years left for working full-time.

It is finals week. For me, that means a last ditch effort to get a C in my math and programming classes. I started so promising, but then I slipped into a depression and started sleeping through the night and half the day, missing my classes and falling behind. Still, I have hope that I will not crumble into another depression. My new doctor at the county is putting me on Prozac and taking me off Zoloft. I told him I had totally built up a tolerance to the Zoloft the past half a decade and he agreed it had lost its efficacy. I am being weaned off Zoloft this week, taking half my dose with the other half being Prozac. I have felt a difference in that I am awake before noon. That is usually the sign that my depression is receding. Luckily, I saw my doctor before finals week, so I have been patched up the past few weeks and now I am prepared to study hard, study long, and write programs like my life depends on it.

My graduate program is going well and I'm 90% finished with my graduate class term papers. I just need to pass my elective classes, which have nothing to do with my field, but I am enrolled in them and the grades still count on my GPA. After next week, I will be done with finals. I will be thirty years old. I will be healthy for a solid 4 years.A toast to you, dear reader! A toast to you and to good mental health and a strong GPA!!

Depressed and Needy

Dear public, online diary,

I am totally miserable. I am depressed, lethargic, behind in 2 of my elective classes, and I have become infatuated with two men out of my reach.

I am experiencing a nasty chemical imbalance that makes me feel sleepy 24/7. I sleep 10 hours or longer. I sleep through my classes. I make it to a few classes, come home, and fall asleep again. I have no drive to leave bed. Bed is warm, bed is comforting, bed is not the hostile outside world.

I am leaving my current out-patient treatment and going back to the County out-patient center; the same one that turned me away so many times despite my florid psychosis. I am very agitated about being moved back there. It makes me sad. It makes me fearful. It makes me utterly pissed off that I have to play nice with a system that sent me to the brink of suicide.

I  hate my depression. At least when I am manic I can get a doctor's note excusing me from class. Depressed, I cannot even get to the doctor because I sleep through all the appointments.

When I am depressed, unlike some people, I tend to seek out other people for sexual comfort. I use contraceptives and I get myself tested before and after each new romance, but I really wish I could not feel this urgent need to possess another person's body.

I go on sprees. Shopping sprees, food binge sprees, sex sprees...I think I am just seeking a little extra serotonin through self-gratification.

Now, here I am again, depressed and needy. I try to stay away from men but it's so hard. I tend to seek egoist males who try to dominate me.

For instance, I have developed feelings for a professor of mine. I've had him as a professor for 4 classes already. During his office hours he has this way of correcting me that is a little different than the way he corrects others. With the other students he smiles and says that their ideas are a possibility but....[here he gently tells them to consider another idea]. With me he just sternly says don't do that, no. I wanted to do a paper on topic 'y' and he told me to do it on topic 'x'. End of discussion, he said topic 'x' and his tone was final.

This is not just my imagination. As part of my therapy for my paranoid symptoms, I learned to look for evidence that a concern of mine is valid. So, I looked for evidence. I have listened to how he interacts with the other 15 students in my grad class and compared it to his manner of discourse with me. I have observed his politeness, his gentleness, his openness to the ideas of the other students. With me, he sternly tells me no, don't do that, don't believe that theory, don't listen to the author of the textbook; listen to me. As an undergraduate he singled me out during class to ask how I was doing on my in-class assignment. I smiled and nodded, shuffled my papers, but he saw through me and told me that the material only got more difficult and to come to office hours for help. I knew he was doing me a favor, but I felt like I was getting preferential treatment. I feel like he doubts my intelligence and that he feels the need to act like a father and tell me what to do. I actually like it. I like his controlling behavior. It makes me feel like he sees me as a distinct person, even if he thinks I am a lesser person than my peers. I crave his attention. I like being chastised for my outlandish and improbable ideas. I like that he has a PhD and that he is smarter than I am. It makes me feel like I should obey him, like I should play the role of an intellectual submissive.

Lately, he has been ignoring my emails and this forces me to seek him out in person after class. He then tells me to see him during office hours instead because he has someplace to be (perfectly understandable, but because of my attachment to him I would much rather he just reply to my emails with an email). Just last week I sent him an email about my paper (now about topic 'x' and not my chosen topic). He didn't respond. I let it go for 5 days. Then, I just decided to go in and see him during office hours. I was nervous and uncomfortable because I am so infatuated with him. I did not sit down in the chair in his office and instead started to ramble on about my paper while standing up. I really wanted to leave. "Sit," he said. "Sit, sit." I felt like a pet dog. I sat. We talked. He loaned me a book. I thanked him and left. I think I just nailed what has been bugging me about this student-teacher dynamic. I am his pet dog and that is what I want to be.

Recovered Mental Patient: I was not sane but I am now--can i have a cookie?

I am a former mental patient (a female schizo-affective) who recovered thanks to a regimen of medicine treatment mixed with cognitive behavioral therapy. I got healthy enough to return to college, finish my Bachelor's degree, and currently I have been in a Master's program for nearly a year. I also volunteer on the side and I am a leader of an organization on campus as well. Originally, I had wanted to follow up with my PhD after completing the Masters, but now I feel (as my therapist so bluntly put it) that achieving a doctorate was nothing but a pipe-dream.

I  have kind of given up on my dream of achieving a PhD. I am doing above average in my field, but my mother and the Department of Rehabilitation counselor both told me to go get a job instead.

"We're not funding PhD's," said my DOR counselor. "Our goal is to get you guys to pay taxes." Tact might not be his forte, but I guess he has a point. I am supposed to earn money, not just grants.

Humorously, the DOR counselor asked me what made me think I was schizo-affective. He seemed skeptical of this diagnosis. I almost started to giggle.

"Nothing, nothing at all. In fact, I think I am totally sane, with no mental illness. It is total fact that I am being psychically driven by hostile countries through long-range, low-wave frequencies. The voices I heard are totally a part of the psychic warfare techniques used against me to discredit me and get me to commit suicide. I can, in fact, read minds, and the minds I read are always plotting against me. It is an injustice that I have been involuntary committed into psychiatric facilities on a dozen separate occasions and 5250'd each time. I demand lawsuits! Lawsuits and a UN stipulation barring psychic driving!!!" I really wanted to say all that. I really did. Instead, I just sighed.

"I have been hospitalized a dozen times and the psychiatrists all diagnosed me with the same illness--schizo-affective disorder. I used to get audio and visual hallucinations, grandiose delusions, and extreme anxiety. I am on medicine and the symptoms have all gone away. To me, this tells me I was really sick because the medicine made such a huge difference." ----That's what I actually said to the guy. It really bemuses and frustrates me that I have to assert myself to others and state "yes, actually I am a schizophrenic, no kidding," and the whole time they're like, "why is she faking?" I guess it is difficult for society to accept that a person who can be non-functional one year can be a high-functioning student/volunteer/organizer with no hint of positive or negative schizophrenic symptoms. But it's true!

It is tough being a recovered mental patient. Often, it is very tempting to agree with people who never met you before but who judge you based on how you are at that very moment (perfectly socially acceptable), and who decide maybe you were never sick, you were just mishandled by the system.

I was mishandled by the system; I experienced sexual abuse in the wards, death threats, cruelty by staff, use of restraints without having made any threats or suggestions that I was going to be violent or a flight risk----but I can honestly say they didn't misdiagnose me. They just horribly traumatized me.

Now I am getting so irritable. Every time I talk about the stuff I went through in the psych wards, I get a migraine headache.

I change subject now.

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Currently, I am the president of a campus organization. I did not start the club but I was recently nominated to be president and so I am president now. I  have a meeting with the administration today to discuss our upcoming event, which I am now in charge of, as the last president just left with the paperwork for the event incomplete and not approved by the administration. I like the last president. I am just a little nervous because the choice to switch officer positions was not her choice. I think she might be a tad bit bitter. I must use my diplomatic skills to win her over. I will then use the diplomatic skills to win over the administration and to hold this event, which is coming up next month.

I must go make promotional materials for the event, that is not approved to take place yet. Better to be over-prepared than to come empty-handed.

Usually, I don't wake up at 2 am, but today I did, so I might as well make some promotional materials. Thanks for reading!!

Failing Math or Why I am in the social science grad program not math

I knew going into my pre-calculus class that I would have a harder time than the other students. I was older and it has been 5 plus years since I took trig. The last time I took an algebra class was in high school, having been waived through the college requirements through entrance exams and an optimistic school counselor.

Still, I thought by reviewing my notes before the test that I would perform up to par with the other students. I did. Unfortunately, half the class failed the exam, and it was with these students that I was up to par with. I did excellent on the homework sets and totally failed the first test. Out of problems worth fifteen points I oscillated between earning the full fifteen points and then getting zero out of fifteen on the next problem. So it went: 15 out of 15 on problem 5, 0 out of 15 on problem 6, 15 out of 15 on problem 7, 0 out of 15 problem 8. While the rest of the class earned partial credit on the majority of their answers, I was an all-or-nothing case. My poor professor must have been exhausted scribbling “good,” followed by “?” beside various attempted proofs in which I decided the best method to solve the problem was to follow laws of mathematics that I had invented on the spot.

So, now I have a D. I am not too stressed out, as I have started going in for tutoring sessions on campus. I now know that it is not enough to read the textbook and do a couple problems. Truly, hours of concentrated efforts are required. I have been shamed, bent over the lap of math and spanked on my butt. Okay, I lied. I am totally stressed out. Given that I must maintain A’s or B’s in all of my classes, regardless if they are part of my graduate program or ridiculously difficult “electives,” I am wracked with nervous tics. I tend to get migraine headaches about 5 minutes into pre-calculus. My C programming class delights me, it fills me with glee. Math turns me into a gloomy loner, hunched over proofs that are either perfect or demented and riddled with cryptic methods for determining symmetry of an equation.

Still, it is too late to drop the class, so I am up late tonight, thinking about pre-calculus, writing about pre-calculus, and preparing to complete another lengthy homework set for pre-calculus before the sun rises tomorrow.

                I enjoy the math. I hate the failing. It is making me incredibly insecure about my competency as a college student. I know every individual has strengths and weaknesses, but I thought my greatest weakness was the skill of sanity. Ah well, I can compensate by studying longer and with more caffeine.

In tutor session this Friday, I showed up with five other determined students, armed with little sharpened pencils and gritted teeth. The tutor is a kindly fellow, an international graduate student in the math department. He has become a little accustomed to my nearly incoherent stream of thoughts that burst out whenever I have a question that I cannot keep to myself. Usually, I tend to keep my mouth shut until I outline in pen a little written script to myself about how to phrase the question for the teacher. Literally, I write a little script with dialogue, main points, and a sentence that rephrases the question in case the professor doesn’t get me from the first scripted question.  I then read my question off the paper, thus minimizing my usual flight of thoughts that happens when I try to speak off the cuff.

“Yes, yes, I just wondered,” I said. I had not written out my usual main points and I was doing acrobatic feats with my train of thoughts. “Where is the form we use—uh, that we put it in, I mean where does it go? Because I was just confused, where’s the…??? Square root of x plus one into f of x which is square root of x---does that work?” It all came out in a strand of loopy wordiness that somehow ended with the correct answer to what g of x and f of x could be given h of x. The tutor stood there for a few seconds before realizing that I had somehow magically tripped over one possible solution to the problem. The other students were eerily silent. The tutor wrote my solution on the board, saying, “Yes, this gets the square root of x plus the square root of x plus one. Good.” I then decided I should write out my solution and just read it off my notes instead of rambling like that guy in “Shine,” the film.

But I must pass this class or go totally insane attempting to pass the class. No sleep until I pass! Seriously, of all the classes I am enrolled in---graduate level and undergraduate, this math class is the one that may hinder me the most. :/

Am I Normal Yet?

Dear public, online diary,

today I was walking on campus when I realized that I didn't stand out from the crowd. I  mean that in a good way. I was not sticking out like a crazy sore thumb. I just was one in a thousand on campus. It felt surprisingly freeing to not feel stigmatized, degraded, devalued, and hated. Just for a moment, I envisioned a society where the talents and eccentricities of non-violent mentally ill people can be appreciated. One can dream....
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I am doing just fine in my classes. I am pursuing a Masters degree. I am also taking several undergraduate level science courses in my secret pursuit of a Bachelors in Science. I have not officially declared that I am attempting a second Bachelors, which is why it is secret. Also, if I fail miserably, only my graduate mentor and myself will know about it.

In my private life, I am very private. I have no significant other. My previous boyfriend had no idea that I was schizo-affective. I kind of liked it that way. Well, maybe I didn't like it that way, but I had done a pretty good job convincing myself that I liked it that way. I just told myself it was because I liked my privacy. However, I believe that being honest is a very important to the mental health movement. I want to live up to the kind of life that Elyn R. Saks created for herself. I also seek to pursue higher education despite my illness.

Education is like a safe-haven. In academia, one can engage with people in a field and they would rarely question your private life---all that matters is how much you know in your field. One can hide illness there. Or at least I have convinced myself that I am able to hide my illness. Who knows? Either way, I guess I'll never know what my professors and fellow classmates are really thinking. It's probably for the best, because if I can't know what they are thinking, then it is likely that they can't know what I am thinking and that soothes my paranoid mind.

I still have to complete one homework problem for precalculus. I spent forty minutes on one problem, after breezing through the other 14 problems. Once I got to that problem, I get getting everything except one number right. It was really irritating. The professor gives us infinite attempts until the deadline, but it was to no avail, as I attempted so many times it is nearly the deadline and I still haven't answered question 15.

In my illness, there was a lot of unreality, a lot of fear, a lot of uncertains. In math, there are only facts, logic, symmetry, structure, and calculated asymmetry. There are no uncertains. Everything is hidden under layers of proofs. Kernels of certainty embedded in what appears to be ciphers. It is kind of relaxing to take this precalculus class. Or it was relaxing until I got to question 15.

20 mg Abilify, 25 mg mood stabilizer, 20 mg....later

Well, I read the last post and man, do I sound paranoid. I just wanted the readers to know that after I posted that, I was sternly told by a family member to go take my medicine. I did so. I then went to a used record and movie store and shopped. Shopping makes me feel infinitely better. It makes me impoverished, but in that moment when I am seeking a new material item, I feel healed.

I bought some used DVD's (Criminal Minds series and Law and Order series:Criminal Intent). Maybe those choices were not the most cheerful DVD's, but I was happy because I got each season for under 15 bucks, used, and that is better than I could find on amazon dot com.

Walking around the aisles, nobody looked at me askance. Nobody had any clue that I was a paranoid schizo-affective. I was calm, together, and at peace. Just the little act of being treated like a normal human being in a used record and movie store made me feel one with society.

I guess I will just have to put up with any bizarre laws that go into effect, put in place by hysterics and nay-sayers. So it goes. Ah well, they'll get sued eventually anyways.

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I am taking a pre-calculus class this semester and I am worried that I will do poorly. I am decent at math, but I have this horrible insecurity that my brain will reach its limit of comprehension---like it will just putter out on me. Luckily, if that actually happens, there is a tutoring center on campus. I had bad experiences with student tutors in the past, but maybe this time will be different (one tutor laughed and said "man, you are totally going to fail the exam," when I came in to the learning center after a 2 and a half week hospitalization that occurred during the semester). But that guy probably just had a huge chip on his shoulder, no empathy, and a really bad attitude.

Here's to math! yay!

Holiday Blues

It is a little hard to write when my personal life (being a former mental patient) bleeds over into the national political hot zones. Bear with me, I'll try to keep it on point.

Christmas is very difficult for me. I think I have emotional issues from my childhood that never quite went away. I struggle with depression during this time of year. I feel so dumb, being 29 years old and still feeling like bursting into tears whenever a Christmas carol plays on the radio, but what can I do? My therapist is away on her holiday vacation.



The thing that sort of fills the void is online shopping. I shop like a new book is the thing that will keep me whole, keep me centered, keep me sane. I must be the only one who thinks that a book on multi-variable calculus is a life-raft.

Two of my five classes have posted grades officially. I have an A and a B. I already know I got 2 more A's that still have to officially post, and the fifth class is a toss up between an A and a B. I didn't fail miserably. I did not have a nervous breakdown. I did not wind up in the hospital corridors, cowering in the corner, mumbling about telepathy and thought projection. Instead, I am a little blue, but sane, nonetheless, sitting in my grandmother's room watching a guy talk about blueberries on PBS.

Blueberries.

20 mg of Abilify later....

I feel much more at ease with society. I took my medicine last night (having accidentally skipped it for the previous two nights), slept until far too late, and woke up feeling refreshed and at peace.

I got a decent grade in my toughest class. I got a B+, which is not an A, but it's close enough to where I can feel proud about it. I got an A in an undergrad class, a prerequisite for my major, and I am still waiting on grades for the other three classes.

My medicine makes me sooooo groggy, but I guess the pay off is that I remain stable and functional. 

Returning to Life

I'm done with term papers. Now I have nothing to do but exercise and sit at my computer reading through the comments on news websites. They really, really depress me, those comments. Whatever.

My mother told me stop reading the comments. I really cannot help it; I need to know the level of ignorance my fellow skitzes and I face. Believe me, the comments are not pretty.

I was going to quit blogging but I thought better of it. I've been blogging about my life and struggles with schizo-affective disorder for about a year now. I feel that I will be more productive to society if I prove that not all skitzes are sadists. Plus, if there is some skitz who is sitting at home, contemplating  suicide because of what society is telling him about himself and his medical condition, I want him to know that there is a path towards hope, healing and regeneration.

I was 19 when I had my first psychotic episode. It was my first year in college. I am 29 years old now. I still have the condition but it is in remission and has been for the past 3 years. I have my bachelor's degree, as of this spring. No, it's not from some shady online course. It's one of the Cal States. I worked periodically through the past ten years---no real careers, just cashier, pizza thrower, that sort of thing, but I held on to my jobs for years at a time. I have had a variety of romances, maybe one too many. I've also lost 25 pounds since last year, and I'm 158-160 right now. I am not defined by my mental illness. I am a graduate student, a laborer, an artist, a loyal daughter, and a supportive friend.

If you feel like you are having trouble with positive self-identity, please take the time to do what I just did: list all the positive things about yourself then write your name above the list. That list is you.

Good luck.

Stress=light mania

I keep waking up at three in the morning. I wake up alert, refreshed, and unable to go back to sleep. It might be the end of the semester or my natural bipolar cycles. Whatever it is, I have been more productive because I am awake for longer periods of time and I use this time to work on my graduate term papers or to exercise. This productivity is both a good thing and a sign of bad things to come. Increased productivity and less sleep is an early warning sign of impending mania. I must make sure to get at least 6.5 hours of sleep, as opposed to the 4 hours I got tonight. The normal sleep period is 8 hours, but that is unusual for any full-time graduate student, let alone a bipolar graduate student.

While I was up I watched a documentary about Bellevue psychiatric hospital. I found it to be totally triggering. It reminded me too much of my own experiences and the sight of a woman being strapped to a gurney was especially hard for me. Oh, the injustice of my misunderstood existence....but enough whining.

I often worry about how I come across to others. Do I seem bizarre and freakish? Do I stand out? Do people hate the sight of me? Do I come across as weird, troubled, bossy, eerie? I will never know for sure. The only thing I can do is to monitor my behavior, obey social etiquette, and smile.

Anyways, back to working on my term papers.

Gaining Again

I gained 8 pounds in the last three weeks. From 155 to 163. That puts me back in the obese category. I feel like a failure. I succeed in school but fail in my personal life....or else it is the other way around.

My boyfriend is an amazing cook. He cooks delicious, aromatic food and then serves me as much as he eats. He then offers me seconds...dessert...full sugar soda. I am having difficulty saying no. I see it and know it is too much. I tell him I can't finish but he insists. I have this obsession with really tasty food. If it is veggies or even Panda Express I can control myself. I just stop when I am full and throw the rest away. But with home-made, spicy food I fall into this vortex of consumption. I love to eat good, home-made food. It makes me feel loved and nurtured. Then, at the end of the night, I see my belly and I am ashamed.

I lost one pound last night, so I'm 162 at the moment, but that is still 25 pounds more than my goal weight. I want to be 135 again. I was under 115 until the age of 22 or 23, when the psychiatrist put me on Zyprexa, an anti-psychotic that is notorious for massive weight gain. At the age of 24-ish or 25, I lost a lot of weight and weighed in at 133. Of course, I was floridly psychotic and malnourished from my once-a-day meal diet and I was quickly institutionalized, but I still want to be that weight again. I don't want to be 115 or below. I just want to be 135. I like having curves, but I must be in the normal BMI range. I must.

It is sad that I am content not seeing my boyfriend for the next two days because I get to go back on a low cal veggie and yogurt diet. I like his company, but I fear his two entree dinners. There must be some middle ground?

Classes are going very well. It was difficult to adjust to the new standards at first. It took a good two months to get accustomed to the daily readings of academic journals, but it was worth it. I studied hard, I read a lot, and now I have excellent grades. Term papers are coming up, and then that is the end of my first semester as a graduate student. I just have to work my butt off coming up with a good analysis of the data I accumulated.

I am feeling better about being a person who has bipolar-disorder with psychotic manias. I am beginning to see that there is a life outside of drama and madness. There is a life of productivity, moderate amounts of energy, and success. Now, if only I could lose the 25 pounds....

The Future as Bright and Promising

Well, I improved my grade in that graduate class that I had gotten a C on the first exam. From a mediocre, failing C to a perfect score on my second exam! Now my grade is an 85%, up 15%. I got a perfect score! I am still proud of this. My future in the graduate program seems to be promising.

Also, I inquired to my Department of Rehabilitation counselor, my out-patient service providers, and my therapist, if a 5150 or a 5250 appears on a background check. They all said no, it is part of my confidential medical records. I was so scared before, thinking that my chances of employment were marginal, at best. Thank goodness for that one medical legislative measure that ensured our privacy! God bless the USA!!

The only thing I cannot do is serve in a position that requires a firearm. I accept this. I do not want a firearm anyways, those things are dangerous. I do not mind not being allowed to work for the police department, that is alright.

I am so grateful that I can be a teacher! I will take my medicine as prescribed, no missing, and I will monitor my mild symptoms. I vow to keep up with my regiment. :)

I am very happy. Only criminal charges show up on background checks, and I have no criminal record whatsoever. I do not even have a single speeding ticket on my driving record, and I worked as a delivery driver for around 3 years.

I now have a car I bought used. I spent hundreds of loan dollars fixing it up, but it runs reliably and more importantly, it is a Kia that is good on gas.

Yay! 

Doing Well in Graduate School

I am getting good to excellent grades thus far. I have studied so much I barely have to time to fit in my exercise regiment of walking and using my stationary bike at least 3 times a week. It has paid off, though! I am doing good. I just need to keep up with my readings and work on my term papers. So far, I have had a positive experience in the graduate program.

I feel like I am doing something noble by continuing with my higher education. Not only am I a first-generation Mexican-American to finish a B.A. in my extended family, I am also a person who lives with a genetic mental illness. This makes me sort of a double minority in Academia. I try not to see this as a thing to feel bad about, but rather something that I can be proud of---I am paving new ground!

One of my heroes, Elyn R. Saks, a schizophrenic who completed her law degree at a prestigious University, was featured on "TED." If you have not heard of TED, it is a program that you can download to your cell phone or tablet. It is a database that is filled with geniuses talking on various subjects, from the law to the internet. It includes many leaders in various fields (i.e. techno-geniuses and others). Elyn R. Saks is video taped on TED giving a speech on her struggle with mental illness, her success as a lawyer and professor, and how this relates to our policies and views on people with a mental illness. I highly recommend this talk!

Thanks for reading!

Controlling Symptoms on a Daily Basis

For anybody, graduate school and financial strife is stressful. For me, someone who has bipolar disorder with severe manic episodes (my schizo side of schizo-affective), stress takes on new meaning. Yet even this double amount of stress is possible to manage.

First, it is crucial to develop social skills required for college and life in general. This means learning to read people's body language, backing off when they turn away, smiling in return to a smile, and knowing how to understand a social boundary and where the boundary is drawn for different people. This can be a chore. It can also be embarrassing. When I am manic, I tend to be very extroverted, gushing over everybody, texting everyone on my cell phone, and generally being obnoxiously cheerful. When severely manic (read: psychotic) I withdraw completely, too afraid of being hurt that I retreat into the private domain of my bedroom. I dive into the intricate internal world of madness, denying the existence of real people in the process. When depressed, I also retreat into my bedroom, only to mull over the hopelessness of everything in general. As you can see, this affects my social life.

Learning to manage symptoms related to social skills is critical for well-being and a healthy recovery. I have to consciously remind myself that I must not raise my hand at every question when I am manic, or stare at the floor during an hour and a half lecture with a pained look on my face while depressed. It is all about moderation. Learning to compartamentalize the struggle of having a mental illness is important because it allows for appropriate social interaction. I understand that I am different and I try to "box" the parts of me that are illness-related. So, when I am manic, I put half my enthusiasm into a "box" and tape the lid down, mentally. When depressed, I put the sadness into the box and make infrequent eye contact with people around me, as I would normally do when in a neutral state.

I am still learning how to navigate around the world. My therapist says I have good social skills but I am still very nervous about my social skills. I like to practice on them by periodically taking up a conversation with someone I am not familiar with. I tend to smile and greet them, then ask them how they are doing in our classes. Then I back off a little or pretend like I need to go to the bathroom in order to make my escape.

So, I have found that with medication, a supportive network (I am lucky to have a great therapist and this blog), it is totally feasible to live a healthy life with friends and mentors. Thanks for reading!

So much caffeine it now puts me to sleep

I haven't pulled an all-nighter in grad school---yet. I did try. I pumped my body full of caffeine through various methods: Red Bull, Monster, iced coffee with a shot of espresso, and over-the-counter headache medicine that is mostly caffeine. I did all this so I could memorize a short story in a foreign language. It did not work. I must be building up a tolerance to caffeine. As soon as the caffeine kicked in, my anxiety let up and it felt perfectly natural to put my head down on the bed and fall asleep until 9:30 a.m the next day. How late did I stay up? Barely midnight. It was alright though, in a state of panic I managed to memorize 10 sentences and regurgitate them for my oral exam.

My doctor has added a mood stabilizer to my med cocktail. It made me grumpy the first few days. I was working on installing car speakers into the used car I recently purchased, and every so often I would get totally irritated, throw my hands up, and retreat into the quiet domain of my room. Usually I have a lot more patience than that. Then, about four days into the new treatment, I felt wonderfully enthusiastic about life. It finally kicked in!

I really needed that boost because I got a horrible grade on the first exam for one of my grad classes, a C!!! Yes, that's right, I failed miserably and got a C. In graduate school, a C is like a D-, maybe even an F.  The feedback said I should write in a more organized manner but that my arguments were convincing.

I cannot help but wonder if my schizo-affective thought pattern surfaces when I am writing essays. Maybe my thoughts come out out of sync with logic and that is what ends up in my essays. For the next class exam, I am more prepared. This time, I started early (she is letting us do a take-home exam so long as we do not communicate with our classmates). If I start early I can re-read it before submitting it in order to catch the little slips of disorganization. This is just part of my cognitive disability---leaps of ideas, from topic to topic, without clear associations. It is a notorious symptom of both my bipolar disorder and my psychosis. I really have to watch myself. I am going to request a piece of scratch paper for my upcoming in-class midterm in another grad class. I will need it to sort my thoughts prior to scribbling my answers.

Anyways, I feel much better. Some jerk's comments about obese people does not send my into conniptions anymore (see :Trolls on youtube suck). I feel more balanced, more mellow, and a little sleepy. So it goes (to quote Kurt Vonnegut Jr.).

In other news, I highly recommend that series "Homeland." NAMI nominated the cable show for a NAMI award for its touching portrait of a C*A officer with bipolar disorder. It is a little interesting to me that the character is only on an anti-psychotic, or at least that's what was said during one episode. Usually, bipolar people get cocktails of anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, or mood stabilizers. They go up, they go down. Treating only one end of the continuum can cause the other end to spiral out of control. But mental illness comes in all shades, in all manners, so maybe taking just an anti-psychotic makes sense.

Watch it!       :)