The pressure death

The new way of committing suicide I believe is to keep allowing life to add pressure when you know that you can’t handle anything else at the time. We have to prioritize our own state of wellbeing before we can continue to add issues and stress to our already overwhelmed bodies and minds.

Now I know things like to happen all at once but we have to respect the fact that relapse or worse is bound to happen if we don’t put some stuff down and deal only with what is absolutely essential. And sometimes that means going back into the hospital in order to just make it all stop and sort through the really important tasks until you have a clear view of things. We know the voices never really give good advice but sometimes it just seems like everything they are saying holds some merit in a weird sort of way.

So why is it so hard to ask for help? For me it was my daughter’s 10th birthday and her crying because she didn’t want mommy to go away. I didn’t go to the hospital. I should have gone nothing has really changed since last Wednesday night. I’m still under immense pressure between work home life, the kids and my husband there’s nothing I can just put to the side without backlash or major issues arising from doing so.

I don’t really know what I need to do now, but maybe I’ll figure it out before it actually kills me (mentally, emotionally, and otherwise). I am still entertaining the hospital avenue but I really hope something gives so that I don’t have to. I would like to think that if it’s truly the right place for me to survive then I’ll know and go without hesitation but if I fall into another delusions I might not be able to see the dire situation I’m in.

If you have a friend who’s always in the pressure cooker and seems a bit depressed or overwhelmed be sure to tell them that there is help for them all the time and you’d be happy to lend an ear if they need one.

Holding on to what I’ve got. Even if it kills me,

Schiz & Giggles

What Helps Me?

A long time without knowing

Acceptance and Patience.


I was formally diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder in March of 2011. However that is not when things started to get better. For starters, my schizoaffective disorder is essentially a mix of schizophrenic symptoms and bipolar symptoms. In my case it was paranoia and delusions, mixed with bipolar depression and manic symptoms that were rapid cycling. Meaning my mood went from crying over everything to feeling like I could be the President of the United States and solve the world’s problems all within a period of a week to a month. The paranoia and delusions however would last for months to a year or more.

In 2011 I was so delusional I didn’t believe my diagnosis was real. I believed that I had discovered some hidden information and that my doctor and my husband were just trying to convince me it wasn’t real in order to keep the secrets hidden. I refused to accept that I was schizoaffective. So my condition while seemingly began to improve was actually getting worse because I wasn’t receiving treatment. What happened was that I had snapped out of one delusion and my symptoms became dormant, but that just convinced me I didn’t have a problem. The next time it would appear was a lot worse, voices, hallucinations, delusions. At that time I even believed I was talking directly to God himself via my email inbox and junk mail folders on the computer. I believed the headers and file names were in a specific order and the pattern was the message from God.

I heard voices warning me about terrible things that were going to happen what I should do to escape these terrible events. At one point I even left the house believing the pizza delivery guy was coming to kill me or kidnap me and take me somewhere they could cut my head open and experiment on my brain. Then my mother came to visit. As we were driving down the road back to the house from the airport I began to tell her about the emails being from God and the Pizza guy trying to kill or kidnap me and I remember the look on her face being very confused. No matter how much she tried not to look shocked or sad I could tell what I was saying was very off the wall and probably not very possible and I knew what the doctors had said in 2011 was exactly what I was going through at that point. There was no more denying the diagnosis anymore.

What ended up helping me the most was being able to hear myself say what was happening and have understanding however untrue the understanding was from my loved ones. While they didn’t truly understand me because what I was saying was, forgive me for lack of a better word crazy, it was real. They did their best to just listen and show compassion when I felt trapped and scared. Scared to sound crazy, and trapped by my delusions but not judged by the ones who meant the most to me was the true way I was able to begin the healing process. I didn’t accept my diagnosis because I was afraid I would lose my ability as a person to have a perspective on anything. Or that I would lose my children or my husband because of my diagnosis. Those things still scare me to death but they are things I have accepted as possible outcomes should I chose to forget what cards I have been dealt and not continue my treatment. Those are the things that helped me the most.