I grew up in the Van Cortlandt section of the Bronx. After graduating from S/A/R Academy, a Jewish Orthodox elementary school, I went to the Bronx High School of Science. English was my best subject in high school and I would later become an English major in college. My first romantic relationship was in high school and lasted for two years. I entered Lehman College of the City University of New York (CUNY) in the fall of 1994 and planned to graduate with a B.A. this fall.
My plans fell apart late in my third year of college when I started hearing voices. I had delusions to try to explain what was happening, believing I had a greater awareness and that the voices were the spirits of people trying to challenge me. I felt my emotions intensely and I believed I was intended to live life with intensity. Part of the experience was wonderful and spiritual, but part of it caused me to suffer through feelings of great fear and rage. I was paranoid. I believed that people on television and radio taunted me. They singled me out from all of their viewers because I was the only one brimming with energy.
My delusions and hallucinations affected my behavior, prompting my father to take me to Montefiore Medical Center where the doctor in the ER interviewed me. I told the doctor I was hearing voices. "What do they tell you?" he asked. I said, "They say things like, ‘He’s a man’ or ‘He knows,’ or ‘He’s waiting,’ or ‘He’s listening.’" I was angry with the doctor because he didn’t understand how tortured I was by the voices.
I stayed in the ER for two miserable days. My family agreed for me to be involuntary admitted so I was transferred up to the inpatient clinic. I felt so frightened and alone in the strange world of the hospital. I’ve been to hospitals for vaccinations, check-ups and that sort of thing. I would wait for a doctor to see me and then go home after the medical exam. I was never admitted to a hospital, never made to stay for more than a few hours. I was frustrated and angry with my family for making me go through this terrible experience.
My mother visited me. She encouraged me to "get better." Get better from what? There was nothing wrong with me. In no way did I have a mental illness.
The hospital gown I wore made me feel like a freak. I was given medication called Risperdal to swallow which took away my voices, but also my strength. I resented Risperdal because it drained my energy. My thoughts became slow and my movements sluggish. My enthusiasm for life was taken away. I used to have the energy of a genius! Instead, I became a zombie; an idiot. For two weeks I stayed on the unit, swallowing the doses of Risperdal my doctor thought were right for me.
I was discharged and enrolled in an outpatient program called Psych Systems of Manhattan. I stopped taking Risperdal as soon as I was discharged and my symptoms returned. After a week, I was readmitted to Montefiore. My second admission lasted much longer than my first, during which I was depressed and gained over 30 pounds from over-eating without exercise.
My father visited me and brought a video for both of us to watch. He told me about a man named Ken Steele who had schizophrenia and managed to help others with mental illness. We watched a program entitled "Four Stories," where Ken described his experience with schizophrenia and what he was doing after his voices disappeared. My father arranged for me to talk to Ken over the phone. Eventually, my mother, father and I would meet with Ken at his Manhattan apartment where I would attend my first Awakenings Group that night. Awakenings Groups: Living Successfully with Mental Illness are peer-run groups of 7-14 individuals who are striving to live, work and socialize independently in the community.
Upon my second discharge, Montefiore enrolled me in another outpatient program called Psych Systems of Westchester, where I got group therapy for people with mental illnesses. For the first two weeks, I sat alongside people who spoke too casually about their attempts at suicide. I never attempted suicide and felt apart from them and ashamed of myself.
I especially felt ashamed when I saw my best friend from grammar school walking down the street. I was going home in the outpatient van at the time. It brought me pain to see him, but I couldn’t turn away. He looked healthy. If he caught me on the street he would ask me how I was doing. What would I say? I would probably tell him the truth even though it would hurt. I would tell him I had been in the hospital with what was probably a mental illness. I am still undiagnosed, though they consider me schizophrenic.
I remember an old man who used to mop the floor at Nathan’s on Central Avenue. He had soft, but lively conversations with himself while he mopped, not noticing anyone but the invisible people he talked to. He had what they say I have: schizophrenia; a mental illness; a brain disorder; or malfunction or whatever. A schizophrenic with delusions and other symptoms is unfit for society unless he’s treated with medications and therapy. I still take Risperdal, but at lower doses. My schizophrenic symptoms of hearing voices and experiencing strong emotions have not returned.
Currently, I work with Ken Steele on the Mental Health Voter Empowerment Project and as the Coordinating Editor of New York City Voices. I began working with Ken after two weeks at Psych Systems of Westchester. Ken offered me the opportunity to work, something I needed to lift my spirits. Psych Systems arranged with Ken that I spend three days a week with him and two days with them. After six weeks, I was discharged from Psych Systems and able to work full-time with Ken.
Now I have a new therapist and psychiatrist, both with great reputations and I hope they will help me come to terms with what I’ve been through recently. I am slowly starting to accept my illness. I hope that with the right combination of medication and therapy, I can live a decent, even a successful life. I take Risperdal at a comfortable dose which keeps my voices and strong emotions away. It will be difficult to recover from mental illness, but I have to try.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
First Break: Where Do I Go From Here?
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Saturday, September 10, 2011
First Break: Where Do I Go From Here?
I grew up in the Van Cortlandt section of the Bronx. After graduating from S/A/R Academy, a Jewish Orthodox elementary school, I went to the Bronx High School of Science. English was my best subject in high school and I would later become an English major in college. My first romantic relationship was in high school and lasted for two years. I entered Lehman College of the City University of New York (CUNY) in the fall of 1994 and planned to graduate with a B.A. this fall.
My plans fell apart late in my third year of college when I started hearing voices. I had delusions to try to explain what was happening, believing I had a greater awareness and that the voices were the spirits of people trying to challenge me. I felt my emotions intensely and I believed I was intended to live life with intensity. Part of the experience was wonderful and spiritual, but part of it caused me to suffer through feelings of great fear and rage. I was paranoid. I believed that people on television and radio taunted me. They singled me out from all of their viewers because I was the only one brimming with energy.
My delusions and hallucinations affected my behavior, prompting my father to take me to Montefiore Medical Center where the doctor in the ER interviewed me. I told the doctor I was hearing voices. "What do they tell you?" he asked. I said, "They say things like, ‘He’s a man’ or ‘He knows,’ or ‘He’s waiting,’ or ‘He’s listening.’" I was angry with the doctor because he didn’t understand how tortured I was by the voices.
I stayed in the ER for two miserable days. My family agreed for me to be involuntary admitted so I was transferred up to the inpatient clinic. I felt so frightened and alone in the strange world of the hospital. I’ve been to hospitals for vaccinations, check-ups and that sort of thing. I would wait for a doctor to see me and then go home after the medical exam. I was never admitted to a hospital, never made to stay for more than a few hours. I was frustrated and angry with my family for making me go through this terrible experience.
My mother visited me. She encouraged me to "get better." Get better from what? There was nothing wrong with me. In no way did I have a mental illness.
The hospital gown I wore made me feel like a freak. I was given medication called Risperdal to swallow which took away my voices, but also my strength. I resented Risperdal because it drained my energy. My thoughts became slow and my movements sluggish. My enthusiasm for life was taken away. I used to have the energy of a genius! Instead, I became a zombie; an idiot. For two weeks I stayed on the unit, swallowing the doses of Risperdal my doctor thought were right for me.
I was discharged and enrolled in an outpatient program called Psych Systems of Manhattan. I stopped taking Risperdal as soon as I was discharged and my symptoms returned. After a week, I was readmitted to Montefiore. My second admission lasted much longer than my first, during which I was depressed and gained over 30 pounds from over-eating without exercise.
My father visited me and brought a video for both of us to watch. He told me about a man named Ken Steele who had schizophrenia and managed to help others with mental illness. We watched a program entitled "Four Stories," where Ken described his experience with schizophrenia and what he was doing after his voices disappeared. My father arranged for me to talk to Ken over the phone. Eventually, my mother, father and I would meet with Ken at his Manhattan apartment where I would attend my first Awakenings Group that night. Awakenings Groups: Living Successfully with Mental Illness are peer-run groups of 7-14 individuals who are striving to live, work and socialize independently in the community.
Upon my second discharge, Montefiore enrolled me in another outpatient program called Psych Systems of Westchester, where I got group therapy for people with mental illnesses. For the first two weeks, I sat alongside people who spoke too casually about their attempts at suicide. I never attempted suicide and felt apart from them and ashamed of myself.
I especially felt ashamed when I saw my best friend from grammar school walking down the street. I was going home in the outpatient van at the time. It brought me pain to see him, but I couldn’t turn away. He looked healthy. If he caught me on the street he would ask me how I was doing. What would I say? I would probably tell him the truth even though it would hurt. I would tell him I had been in the hospital with what was probably a mental illness. I am still undiagnosed, though they consider me schizophrenic.
I remember an old man who used to mop the floor at Nathan’s on Central Avenue. He had soft, but lively conversations with himself while he mopped, not noticing anyone but the invisible people he talked to. He had what they say I have: schizophrenia; a mental illness; a brain disorder; or malfunction or whatever. A schizophrenic with delusions and other symptoms is unfit for society unless he’s treated with medications and therapy. I still take Risperdal, but at lower doses. My schizophrenic symptoms of hearing voices and experiencing strong emotions have not returned.
Currently, I work with Ken Steele on the Mental Health Voter Empowerment Project and as the Coordinating Editor of New York City Voices. I began working with Ken after two weeks at Psych Systems of Westchester. Ken offered me the opportunity to work, something I needed to lift my spirits. Psych Systems arranged with Ken that I spend three days a week with him and two days with them. After six weeks, I was discharged from Psych Systems and able to work full-time with Ken.
Now I have a new therapist and psychiatrist, both with great reputations and I hope they will help me come to terms with what I’ve been through recently. I am slowly starting to accept my illness. I hope that with the right combination of medication and therapy, I can live a decent, even a successful life. I take Risperdal at a comfortable dose which keeps my voices and strong emotions away. It will be difficult to recover from mental illness, but I have to try.
My plans fell apart late in my third year of college when I started hearing voices. I had delusions to try to explain what was happening, believing I had a greater awareness and that the voices were the spirits of people trying to challenge me. I felt my emotions intensely and I believed I was intended to live life with intensity. Part of the experience was wonderful and spiritual, but part of it caused me to suffer through feelings of great fear and rage. I was paranoid. I believed that people on television and radio taunted me. They singled me out from all of their viewers because I was the only one brimming with energy.
My delusions and hallucinations affected my behavior, prompting my father to take me to Montefiore Medical Center where the doctor in the ER interviewed me. I told the doctor I was hearing voices. "What do they tell you?" he asked. I said, "They say things like, ‘He’s a man’ or ‘He knows,’ or ‘He’s waiting,’ or ‘He’s listening.’" I was angry with the doctor because he didn’t understand how tortured I was by the voices.
I stayed in the ER for two miserable days. My family agreed for me to be involuntary admitted so I was transferred up to the inpatient clinic. I felt so frightened and alone in the strange world of the hospital. I’ve been to hospitals for vaccinations, check-ups and that sort of thing. I would wait for a doctor to see me and then go home after the medical exam. I was never admitted to a hospital, never made to stay for more than a few hours. I was frustrated and angry with my family for making me go through this terrible experience.
My mother visited me. She encouraged me to "get better." Get better from what? There was nothing wrong with me. In no way did I have a mental illness.
The hospital gown I wore made me feel like a freak. I was given medication called Risperdal to swallow which took away my voices, but also my strength. I resented Risperdal because it drained my energy. My thoughts became slow and my movements sluggish. My enthusiasm for life was taken away. I used to have the energy of a genius! Instead, I became a zombie; an idiot. For two weeks I stayed on the unit, swallowing the doses of Risperdal my doctor thought were right for me.
I was discharged and enrolled in an outpatient program called Psych Systems of Manhattan. I stopped taking Risperdal as soon as I was discharged and my symptoms returned. After a week, I was readmitted to Montefiore. My second admission lasted much longer than my first, during which I was depressed and gained over 30 pounds from over-eating without exercise.
My father visited me and brought a video for both of us to watch. He told me about a man named Ken Steele who had schizophrenia and managed to help others with mental illness. We watched a program entitled "Four Stories," where Ken described his experience with schizophrenia and what he was doing after his voices disappeared. My father arranged for me to talk to Ken over the phone. Eventually, my mother, father and I would meet with Ken at his Manhattan apartment where I would attend my first Awakenings Group that night. Awakenings Groups: Living Successfully with Mental Illness are peer-run groups of 7-14 individuals who are striving to live, work and socialize independently in the community.
Upon my second discharge, Montefiore enrolled me in another outpatient program called Psych Systems of Westchester, where I got group therapy for people with mental illnesses. For the first two weeks, I sat alongside people who spoke too casually about their attempts at suicide. I never attempted suicide and felt apart from them and ashamed of myself.
I especially felt ashamed when I saw my best friend from grammar school walking down the street. I was going home in the outpatient van at the time. It brought me pain to see him, but I couldn’t turn away. He looked healthy. If he caught me on the street he would ask me how I was doing. What would I say? I would probably tell him the truth even though it would hurt. I would tell him I had been in the hospital with what was probably a mental illness. I am still undiagnosed, though they consider me schizophrenic.
I remember an old man who used to mop the floor at Nathan’s on Central Avenue. He had soft, but lively conversations with himself while he mopped, not noticing anyone but the invisible people he talked to. He had what they say I have: schizophrenia; a mental illness; a brain disorder; or malfunction or whatever. A schizophrenic with delusions and other symptoms is unfit for society unless he’s treated with medications and therapy. I still take Risperdal, but at lower doses. My schizophrenic symptoms of hearing voices and experiencing strong emotions have not returned.
Currently, I work with Ken Steele on the Mental Health Voter Empowerment Project and as the Coordinating Editor of New York City Voices. I began working with Ken after two weeks at Psych Systems of Westchester. Ken offered me the opportunity to work, something I needed to lift my spirits. Psych Systems arranged with Ken that I spend three days a week with him and two days with them. After six weeks, I was discharged from Psych Systems and able to work full-time with Ken.
Now I have a new therapist and psychiatrist, both with great reputations and I hope they will help me come to terms with what I’ve been through recently. I am slowly starting to accept my illness. I hope that with the right combination of medication and therapy, I can live a decent, even a successful life. I take Risperdal at a comfortable dose which keeps my voices and strong emotions away. It will be difficult to recover from mental illness, but I have to try.
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