Suffering from frequent night-terrors, I managed to secure a one-bedroom apartment my freshman year of college. This was in sharp contrast to the dormitory requirement my fellow freshman had to occupy. I would later learn that this was more than likely the worst decision I could have made, and would ever make, in my life.
Living alone, and being rather bashful, I was not having an easy time making friends in those first few months. In fact, I later gave up altogether and lived in total solitude in my second semester. This resulted my depression, which I had been a sufferer of since the age of ten, to worsen immensely, as I felt completely alone. Several months passed and I stopped going to classes—only participating in exams.
By my sophomore year, I was a total shut-in. I would go to the grocery store once a week to buy six oatmeal packets along with one loaf of bread—which made up my entire diet. I quickly lost forty pounds and was severely malnourished, worsening my mental health. In mid-semester I began sleeping less and hearing peculiar voices coming from the walls, but assumed it was my neighbors and bore them no mind.
This continued on for a few weeks before I was jolted from my chair in the middle of the night when I felt someone’s head next to mine and heard them whisper “go to sleep.” I jumped from the couch and spun around—but no one was there. Shaken, I sat back on the couch and figured I must be more sleep deprived than I thought. I drifted to sleep but was awoken a few hours later by a loud noise coming from the kitchen.
I jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen area. In the middle of the floor was a box of oatmeal that had fallen from the top of the refrigerator. Frightened and confused, I placed it back on the fridge and laid in bed—unable to fall back asleep. The frequency of these occurrences rose rapidly towards the end of that semester, and strange noises, things moving, items disappearing, and whispers through the walls became normal. I felt it then—I was being haunted.
I buried myself in research on ghosts and spirits, trying to learn how to purge them from my home. After finding the information I was looking for, I set a circle of candles around myself and at the hour of midnight sat in the center and asked repeatedly if there were any spirits in my home. This went on for approximately half an hour without answer—until there was one.
“Candle.” It called out. But not only did it speak, the thing manifested before my eyes and appeared a mere three feet from me! My heart stopped for a moment and I stared in awe at the figure standing before me. I asked him why he was here and what he wanted from me, but he stood still and stared into my eyes, unblinking. “Please! How do I get rid of you?” I plead. He raised his finger and pointed to the bathroom, then in a booming whisper (yes, that is correct) said “mirror.”
I stood immediately, bringing a candle with me, and walked to the mirror. As soon as I looked into the mirror, I could see him standing behind me, and I said, “what now?” to which he replied, “blow out the candle.” Immediately, smoke filled the air, and everything went black. My breathing became heavy and my heart hurt from the anxiety. I rushed to click on the light and when I did—he was gone. Relieved that it worked, I laid in bed and drifted to sleep a few hours later.
Around this time, I became obsessed with cleanliness and order. I no longer watched television or used the computer. I spent half my time cleaning and half my time reading books on math, though I still don’t know why that subject became suddenly more interesting to me. The apartment was quiet then, and I had peaked in my loneliness, and began contemplating suicide every day—fantasizing about it, even. This continued on for another month or so before the spirit returned with his friends.
I heard the microwave alarm go off, alerting me to my now ready oatmeal, but when I opened the microwave…it was not there. Confused, I looked around and thought that perhaps I was so tired I had forgotten to even put the oatmeal in, in the first place. It was only when I walked into the bedroom that I saw it—my oatmeal sitting on the desk, without me having put it there. This rattled me, but I had only been sleeping a couple hours a night by this point and I rationalized this as being the product of my sleep deprivation.
It was later that night I saw it for the first time—a demon standing unmoving in my kitchen. It looked skeletal and fleshly, its head twisted upside down and its limbs lanky. It had no eyes or teeth, nor did it have hair or a nose. I watched as it slowly moved onto all fours in a crab-walk stance. I could hear my heartbeat in my head and am certain there was no color to my skin; I was bracing for a very painful death.
I shook in terror at the walls bending in, the lights flickering, and as cobwebs fell from the ceiling onto my body. Though I tried desperately to get them off, they seemed permanently stuck to my skin, and it was a fruitless pursuit. I quickly fell to the ground and the demon was swept from my vision for a moment. As I regained balance, the walls returned to normal and I could no longer find signs of the demon or the cobwebs I had been surrounded by. I broke down crying and proceeded to un-eat the slice of bread I had for dinner.
I could not sleep that night, or the next, or the next, and I broke down and cried at all hours of the night. Panicking that I may die from sleep deprivation, I went to urgent care and spoke to the doctor there, who determined I may be suffering from bipolar disorder, and refused to give me any medicine without a psych consult—which wouldn’t be possible without an appointment…one week out. I pleaded for anything she could give me, even if it were a single dose, but to no avail. I stayed awake for five days before I finally lost consciousness (while standing upright) while making my morning oatmeal.
Periods of little sleep and high energy, followed by a depression that can’t be put into words—greater than anything you could possibly imagine, began rapidly cycling back and forth for the next six months. During these depressive episodes, I would hear voices whose only motivation was my death, without pause. I cried relentlessly and was immobilized for periods of 12 to 48 hours, unable to eat or sleep during these times. After handling this for six months, I decided to end it all—but thought at the last moment that maybe I could try a psychiatrist.
I met the psychiatrist one month later and, without telling him of my hallucinations, which occurred many times a day, all day, every day by this point, and were horrifying in nature, was diagnosed with bipolar type I. My reason for withholding information was the extreme fear of being locked up or placed on strong medications. I then went through a series of mood stabilizers from Depakote to Remeron, but there was no relief. Feeling paranoid that the psychiatrist was doing this purposefully, I stopped taking my medicine and no longer visited him.
Another few months passed, and I continued putting off my termination because I felt just some small shred of hope that I could get better, and I turned towards trying various drugs and supplements to relieve my symptoms. These included taking mass amounts of B12, L-theanine, 5-HTP, and hemp oil, and while they lowered my anxiety, it brought about no change to the depression, mania, sleeplessness, or hallucinations. In spite of the benefits of those things, they were not enough, and I decided to see another psychiatrist.
A brilliant man he was, and he had me take an anti-depressant that aided in sleep called Trazadone, which immediately helped. Once I was sleeping again, my hallucinations were significantly improved, along with my mood. He then put me on an anti-depressant called citalopram, and again, I quickly began feeling better, euphoric even. I had not remembered what happiness was like as I had not felt it in over three years. Later, I was still placed on a mood stabilizer, and it had no noticeable side effects, and seemed to agree with me. I have been ‘normal’ ever since and have not had a single episode or bout of depression nor have I been unable to sleep since that day.
I should mention that, in total, I had tried over ten medications before landing on just the anti-depressant and mood stabilizer. I had, on several occasions, been put on anti-psychotics once the psychiatrist learned about my hallucinations, which were independent of any manic or depressive episode, and changed my diagnosis to schizoaffective disorder—a type of schizophrenia. However, these drugs were too strong for me, and I tried to get on without them. It turned out that, being happy and well rested had enormous benefits to other areas of my mental health, and although I had hallucinations from time to time, they eventually disappeared after a year or so of being on the medicine.
If you or someone you know is exhibiting strange behaviors, such as isolating themselves, acting paranoid, not eating or rapidly losing weight, or seeming eccentric then please try to help them. Had I had even a single friend looking out for me during this period of my life then my mental health would not have gotten so bad, and I would have had a more normal college experience—something I will never get now.
50% of people suffering from schizophrenia do not seek treatment, and its estimated that there are currently over 21 million sufferers, with the average age of onset being in the late teens or early twenties.
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