"When I lost my mind, I knew I was in for a long ride" part two
I would like to talk about the other half of my illness, the manic phase. I have only had one manic episode, and some people doubt whether I am truly manic depressive, but nothing can dispute what happend to me in the fall of 2001...
As already alluded to, I was going through a rough period in the suimmer of 2001. Depression, anger, and alcoholic self-medication took their toll and I decided to go back on my meds. I went back on Paxil, which made me nauseous, and, worse, seemed to increase my insomnia. At the behest of my mother, I started using homeopathic remedies to help me sleep and detox my system. It worked for the first few days but the problem persisted soon afterwards. I went to my GP to seek a solution. She put me on a stronger anti-depressant which was to be taken in addition to my paxil. It seemed to be thhe perfect thing. I was able to sleep, and even better, I seemed to be more energetic and productive. But as things ostensibly improved, it became clear to those closest to me that as the days progressed, this solution was turning into another, moreformidable problem.
All of this was taking place at the dawn of my first year in university. I was learning alot and I was beginning to feel like I belonged in an academic environment. I started writing what was at first a schematic for the essays I would write, fused with the story of my life, but as the mania began to build it went from my thesis to my doctorate and then my political manifeto, then he evidence that I was the most important person in the world.
I hadn't seen my friends, Sean, and Chalmers, in a while and we agreed to meet at Tim Horton's one night. As we talked, and drank our coffee, it became clear to them that the Todd they knew was gone, replaced by Taedus Christ. Chalmers later described that night as like talking to some sort of prophet. I was dominating the conversatin and was speaking in parables, telling them I had found the way. I called myself the Doctor after my favourite fictitious character, Doctor Who.
Everything canme to a head at Thanksgiving. My parents tried to tell me that my behaviour was strange. I wore a long scarf, an Ozzy Osbourne shirt, trackpants, a hippy, bead necklace and a top hat. My mind raced such that I felt like I had two voices in my head. I talked too much. I took apart my room. My mom said I was acting eccentric. "I AM ECCENTRIC!!" I said and stormed out of the house, and although, at first, I didn't know where I was going, I instinctively went to my grandmother's place. She took me in, and she could tell I was upset. I told her I thought I was Christ reborn and, that she was shaman and I needed healing. She told me to go lie down and not to talk, but to just rest. She put a wet cloth on my forehead, and called my parents. They came with my brother and sister, and we were going to have Thanksgiving dinner, despite my disruptions. I went into the bedroom and paced around and occassionally made salutary gestures to my grandmother's statue of Jesus. That day my grandmother said something to me that I'll never forget, and it is one of the reasons I take my pills. She said, "You are not being my Todd".
That night I decided to leave home. I packed my things and as I was leaving my dad came out and tried to stop me. I walked out and down the road and waited for them to follow me. After several minutes, I went back home laughing. I don't really remember what about it I found funny, but I guess when you are in a state of mania a lot of weird things can be amusing. I told my dad that night or the next day that that Eva (my sister) and Gordon (my brother) would leave my parents for good, and that they were the ones you had to be worried about. I would always come back.
The next day I got ready for school, and my dad told me to stay home. I watched Doctor Who and then my parents and I went to see a counsellor at school. I told her that I had had a nervous breakdown which I guess is true. My memory is spotty from here on in because my mind was racing too fast to record all the events happening. I had gone for a walk to deliver a letter to Aleks, who was living in Germany at the time. I came home and decided to leave home again. I wanted to go downtown to spread my gospel. I got my gear together and my dad asked me if I wanted a ride. As I got in the car, I knew where we were going. As we arrived at the hospital, I could feel as if I'd made a oparamount decision in my life: getting help, or running away to a life on the streets.
We kept coming and going from the hospital. Some days I'd be home and whole hours would be black out. I'd look at the clock at one point and fade from consciousness (and I don't mean I was asleep) and and consciousness would return and I'd be in the middle of something, and I'd look at the clock and it would be hours later. One time I was in the basement and I thought I saw the eyes of God.
I eventually was admitted and spent several weeks there. The first day, I woke up after a long sleep, and I could not remember who I was. After that, I played musical rooms until I finally got my own room. I wrote alot and played guitar that sounded to one of my fellow patients like "East Indian Blues".
I got out of hospital and I went back to school. Unfortunately I had to drop some good courses. A few weeks later, the worst day of my life occured: the day my brother committed suicide.
It started off as an ordinary day. I woke up and had breakfast. My mom was agitated because my brother was suposed to do something for my grandmother and he was nowhere to be found. I had a shower thinking about the future and how I wanted to be a prof. I got out of the shower, and I heard loud screams and sobs coming from downstairs. Eva grabbed my hand and led me into my room and told me, in the m manner of the playground leader she once was, to get dressed and come downstairs. I obliged. I went downstairs and the police were there. My momwas on the floor sobbing uncontrollably screaming "NO".
Between sobs she told me what happened. Sometime in the night, Gordon hanged himself by the school near where we live. I broke down immediatly. It is a hurt that will never go away only become easier to endure.
To get out of this hell, it took a long time, and alot of courage. Many thanks to the people who helped me get through these days, most especially the Essex family who took me in and let me stay with them while all the craziness went on after Gordon died.
The thing I am congratulated the most about is that I returned to school after all this happened. The truth is I had no place else to go, but I recognize that I could have given up, but that isn't my way.
As already alluded to, I was going through a rough period in the suimmer of 2001. Depression, anger, and alcoholic self-medication took their toll and I decided to go back on my meds. I went back on Paxil, which made me nauseous, and, worse, seemed to increase my insomnia. At the behest of my mother, I started using homeopathic remedies to help me sleep and detox my system. It worked for the first few days but the problem persisted soon afterwards. I went to my GP to seek a solution. She put me on a stronger anti-depressant which was to be taken in addition to my paxil. It seemed to be thhe perfect thing. I was able to sleep, and even better, I seemed to be more energetic and productive. But as things ostensibly improved, it became clear to those closest to me that as the days progressed, this solution was turning into another, moreformidable problem.
All of this was taking place at the dawn of my first year in university. I was learning alot and I was beginning to feel like I belonged in an academic environment. I started writing what was at first a schematic for the essays I would write, fused with the story of my life, but as the mania began to build it went from my thesis to my doctorate and then my political manifeto, then he evidence that I was the most important person in the world.
I hadn't seen my friends, Sean, and Chalmers, in a while and we agreed to meet at Tim Horton's one night. As we talked, and drank our coffee, it became clear to them that the Todd they knew was gone, replaced by Taedus Christ. Chalmers later described that night as like talking to some sort of prophet. I was dominating the conversatin and was speaking in parables, telling them I had found the way. I called myself the Doctor after my favourite fictitious character, Doctor Who.
Everything canme to a head at Thanksgiving. My parents tried to tell me that my behaviour was strange. I wore a long scarf, an Ozzy Osbourne shirt, trackpants, a hippy, bead necklace and a top hat. My mind raced such that I felt like I had two voices in my head. I talked too much. I took apart my room. My mom said I was acting eccentric. "I AM ECCENTRIC!!" I said and stormed out of the house, and although, at first, I didn't know where I was going, I instinctively went to my grandmother's place. She took me in, and she could tell I was upset. I told her I thought I was Christ reborn and, that she was shaman and I needed healing. She told me to go lie down and not to talk, but to just rest. She put a wet cloth on my forehead, and called my parents. They came with my brother and sister, and we were going to have Thanksgiving dinner, despite my disruptions. I went into the bedroom and paced around and occassionally made salutary gestures to my grandmother's statue of Jesus. That day my grandmother said something to me that I'll never forget, and it is one of the reasons I take my pills. She said, "You are not being my Todd".
That night I decided to leave home. I packed my things and as I was leaving my dad came out and tried to stop me. I walked out and down the road and waited for them to follow me. After several minutes, I went back home laughing. I don't really remember what about it I found funny, but I guess when you are in a state of mania a lot of weird things can be amusing. I told my dad that night or the next day that that Eva (my sister) and Gordon (my brother) would leave my parents for good, and that they were the ones you had to be worried about. I would always come back.
The next day I got ready for school, and my dad told me to stay home. I watched Doctor Who and then my parents and I went to see a counsellor at school. I told her that I had had a nervous breakdown which I guess is true. My memory is spotty from here on in because my mind was racing too fast to record all the events happening. I had gone for a walk to deliver a letter to Aleks, who was living in Germany at the time. I came home and decided to leave home again. I wanted to go downtown to spread my gospel. I got my gear together and my dad asked me if I wanted a ride. As I got in the car, I knew where we were going. As we arrived at the hospital, I could feel as if I'd made a oparamount decision in my life: getting help, or running away to a life on the streets.
We kept coming and going from the hospital. Some days I'd be home and whole hours would be black out. I'd look at the clock at one point and fade from consciousness (and I don't mean I was asleep) and and consciousness would return and I'd be in the middle of something, and I'd look at the clock and it would be hours later. One time I was in the basement and I thought I saw the eyes of God.
I eventually was admitted and spent several weeks there. The first day, I woke up after a long sleep, and I could not remember who I was. After that, I played musical rooms until I finally got my own room. I wrote alot and played guitar that sounded to one of my fellow patients like "East Indian Blues".
I got out of hospital and I went back to school. Unfortunately I had to drop some good courses. A few weeks later, the worst day of my life occured: the day my brother committed suicide.
It started off as an ordinary day. I woke up and had breakfast. My mom was agitated because my brother was suposed to do something for my grandmother and he was nowhere to be found. I had a shower thinking about the future and how I wanted to be a prof. I got out of the shower, and I heard loud screams and sobs coming from downstairs. Eva grabbed my hand and led me into my room and told me, in the m manner of the playground leader she once was, to get dressed and come downstairs. I obliged. I went downstairs and the police were there. My momwas on the floor sobbing uncontrollably screaming "NO".
Between sobs she told me what happened. Sometime in the night, Gordon hanged himself by the school near where we live. I broke down immediatly. It is a hurt that will never go away only become easier to endure.
To get out of this hell, it took a long time, and alot of courage. Many thanks to the people who helped me get through these days, most especially the Essex family who took me in and let me stay with them while all the craziness went on after Gordon died.
The thing I am congratulated the most about is that I returned to school after all this happened. The truth is I had no place else to go, but I recognize that I could have given up, but that isn't my way.
posted by The Doctor at 3:16 PM
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