Home at last
Home again and heading back towards normal. I think I've learned so much but it's been a road through hell. The first four days of observation, on a ward with eight others was hardest. I thought at first that I was having a severe relapse as I was overwhelmed by the noise in my mind. New voices speaking paranoia, terror, lonliness and desperation. I couldn't cope and became almost catatonic. Even my brief sessions with Dr. Morten were hard although the voices were quieter as soon as I was out of that ward. The doctor couldn't grasp my sudden fear of being there and yet I could understand him better than I had ever done. I could comprehend the intent behind every question and I started to see the glowing pathways of diagnosis. I was convinced this was just another symptom and tried to remain honest with him. This didn't satisfy him though, he thought I was projecting and creating an adversarial intellectual relationship.
Not only that though. I seemed to be developing symptoms of other disorders and the doctor kept asking me not to over identify with the other patients, but I couldn't. I told him I couldn't stand to be around them and that I certainly couldn't communicate with anyone on the ward, thankfully one of the nurses told him I was out of it when I was on the ward. I think that was when he decided I was a hopeless case and decided to try isolating me and giving me EST.
I don't know why but after I had the first treatment the dreams began. They were unfocused and difficult to grasp but for days afterwards I would keep catching myself in a reverie of overlapping stories. Monologues from other peoples lives sometimes happy sometimes sad. Just day to day stuff really nothing outstanding but so detailed. But as with any dreams they faded quickly, all of them that is except the strongest weirdest ones. I would catch my self thinking about strange things. It began with a strange revolted craving for nicotine a feeling I can strongly remember from when I used to smoke forty a day before my first diagnosis - Dr Morten said that smoking was often a coping mechanism that gave you a physical distraction from the moment to moment possibility that the sounds would begin again - so I gave up there and then, the withdrawal was distraction enough until the medication was right. But it was mixed up with other fears and hopes that didn't make sense. I couldn't bear to look in mirror for fear that someone else would be looking out at me.
Isolation was a relief from the ward and gave me time to think. I began to see that Dr Morten wouldn't let me go unless I conformed to his diagnosis and prognosis. The terror of sinking deeper into my own delusions became stronger everyday as I gave in to the different mental pressures put on me by the disease. I let the different thoughts wash through me and out again and learned to ignore them. I don't know now if it was me, the treatments, the isolation or the new medication but tuning out the words and images became easier and eventually I could block them out. It wasn't like last time when, once the meds were right, there were no more distractions and there was nothing missing. This time it was always there but sidelined, tuned out and sometimes I would tune it in. I carefully played along with Dr Morten, no sudden recovery that would be unbelievable but a slow crawl back to balance and sanity. After the third EST treatment Dr Morten suggested I go back on medication. After eight days on medication of differing doses and types I found one that seemed to be bearable and played the part of the improving patient.
And now I'm home. I don't know whether I'm mad or sane anymore and I don't care. The old delusion seems to be more real than ever before. I have powers no one else has and there are others like me out there too, I know. I can feel them, sense their thoughts, their hopes and mostly their fears as they come to realise they are more than human and I know there are others looking for us not yet aware, quite, of what we are and where. But why is it that I keep seeing that small square of smashed pavement in my dreams?
"Case Notes on Daniel Vincent"
Not only that though. I seemed to be developing symptoms of other disorders and the doctor kept asking me not to over identify with the other patients, but I couldn't. I told him I couldn't stand to be around them and that I certainly couldn't communicate with anyone on the ward, thankfully one of the nurses told him I was out of it when I was on the ward. I think that was when he decided I was a hopeless case and decided to try isolating me and giving me EST.
I don't know why but after I had the first treatment the dreams began. They were unfocused and difficult to grasp but for days afterwards I would keep catching myself in a reverie of overlapping stories. Monologues from other peoples lives sometimes happy sometimes sad. Just day to day stuff really nothing outstanding but so detailed. But as with any dreams they faded quickly, all of them that is except the strongest weirdest ones. I would catch my self thinking about strange things. It began with a strange revolted craving for nicotine a feeling I can strongly remember from when I used to smoke forty a day before my first diagnosis - Dr Morten said that smoking was often a coping mechanism that gave you a physical distraction from the moment to moment possibility that the sounds would begin again - so I gave up there and then, the withdrawal was distraction enough until the medication was right. But it was mixed up with other fears and hopes that didn't make sense. I couldn't bear to look in mirror for fear that someone else would be looking out at me.
Isolation was a relief from the ward and gave me time to think. I began to see that Dr Morten wouldn't let me go unless I conformed to his diagnosis and prognosis. The terror of sinking deeper into my own delusions became stronger everyday as I gave in to the different mental pressures put on me by the disease. I let the different thoughts wash through me and out again and learned to ignore them. I don't know now if it was me, the treatments, the isolation or the new medication but tuning out the words and images became easier and eventually I could block them out. It wasn't like last time when, once the meds were right, there were no more distractions and there was nothing missing. This time it was always there but sidelined, tuned out and sometimes I would tune it in. I carefully played along with Dr Morten, no sudden recovery that would be unbelievable but a slow crawl back to balance and sanity. After the third EST treatment Dr Morten suggested I go back on medication. After eight days on medication of differing doses and types I found one that seemed to be bearable and played the part of the improving patient.
And now I'm home. I don't know whether I'm mad or sane anymore and I don't care. The old delusion seems to be more real than ever before. I have powers no one else has and there are others like me out there too, I know. I can feel them, sense their thoughts, their hopes and mostly their fears as they come to realise they are more than human and I know there are others looking for us not yet aware, quite, of what we are and where. But why is it that I keep seeing that small square of smashed pavement in my dreams?
"Case Notes on Daniel Vincent"
posted by Gun Lore at 5:01 pm
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