Category: Schizoaffective Disorder

The Four Types of Schizophrenia

Mental Health, My Schiz Life, Schizoaffective Disorder, Schizophrenia

People with schizophrenia may hear voices or noises; become very paranoid; believe they have unusual powers; think others control their thoughts, or vice-versa; or believe world events are connected to them

It can be a long road to diagnosis however. Patients — and families — are often in denial. After all, it’s a tough diagnosis to accept.

“We don’t label it schizophrenia right away; the diagnosis can follow a person throughout life once it’s in their chart,” says Dr. Minnie Bowers of the Cleveland Clinic.

Schizophrenia looks different from one person to the next. Here are the four main categories patients fall:

Paranoid schizophrenia: The person’s paranoia may be extreme, and they may act on it. “They may show up at the door of the FBI and ask, ‘Why are you following me?’” says Dr. Bowers. They may also behave oddly, have inappropriate emotional responses and show little pleasure in life.

Catatonic schizophrenia: The person shuts down emotionally, mentally and physically. “People appear to be paralyzed. They have no facial expression and may stand still for long periods of time,” she says. There is no drive to eat, drink or urinate. When catatonia lasts for hours, it becomes a medical emergency.

Undifferentiated schizophrenia: The person has various vague symptoms. “They may not talk or express themselves much. They can be confused and paranoid,” says Dr. Bowers. The person may not bother to change clothes or take a shower.

Schizoaffective disorder: The person has delusional thinking and other symptoms of schizophrenia. “But they also present with one or more symptoms of a mood disorder: depression, mania and/or hypomania,” says Dr. Bowers.

Source: The Cleveland Clinic

In Response

Mental Health, Poetry, Schizoaffective Disorder

Her words seep through my skin

Fermenting in my mind

Bringing forth the juxtaposition

Of culture and reality

As I slowly fade into the story

I melt from my own existence

And become a voice in

A world not my own

As I regain consciousness

I still hold a piece of my experience

From the words that flowed

Through her lips

The crisscrossing melding of two cultures

Fades into my perceptions

Carrying with it thoughts and ideas

A moment of realization

To carry with me

And become a part of what I want to be.

A Day In My Life: My Most Common Delusions

Delusions, Essays, My Schiz Life, Psychosis, Schizoaffective Disorder

A Day In My Life: My Most Common Delusions

Having delusions is one of the most feared and fear mongered symptoms of Schizophrenia and Schizoaffective Disorder. Some people believe God is speaking to them directly or through a TV or through the radio. Some people believe they have supernatural powers or is a chosen one to lead a religious or secular special mission. There is an incredible variety in the delusions which may afflict people. When properly medicated many people have these delusions completely disappear and then there are some that don’t.

I am one of those that always has my delusions in varying degree no matter what medication cocktail I have tried. Thankfully when medicated I know they are delusions and not part of reality, although everything around me, my feelings, my thoughts tell me they are true. Sometimes it’s a vicious fight between the part of me grounded in reality and the part that isn’t. The level of stress and anxiety I am going through largely determines which part of me will win the fight.

Thankfully I rarely have delusions like those I previously referenced. My delusions can be summed up as thought broadcasting and thought insertion which drives my paranoia. Thought broadcasting is when I believe that other people can hear or read my thoughts. Whereas thought insertion is when I have thoughts that feel foreign to me and seem as if they have been inserted by an outside person. I rarely have both at the same time, but when I do it is crippling. Having either of these delusions can lead me to isolating from society, my support structure, my friends and family, and even the people I believe are controlling or spying on my thoughts. It’s not often, but the more I am unable to separate reality from what I’m feeling the more paranoid I become.

As much as my medication cocktail helps me survive everyday life and be a functioning member of society it never fully eradicates either my delusions or auditory hallucinations. I find myself reality testing when I’m dealing with thought broadcasting by thinking nod your head if you can read my thoughts. Of course nobody ever does which only feeds my paranoia that they don’t want me to know. When my meds aren’t working I’ve narrowly escaped going inpatient in a mental hospital on multiple occasions. I have had several partial hospitalizations though where I spend my days at the hospital, but am allowed to sleep at home.

My Voices, My Dear

Auditory Hallucinations, Mental Health, My Schiz Life, Poetry, Psychosis, Schizoaffective Disorder

When you are gone

I shudder in the corner of my existence

They point at me

I stand strong to the accusations

Then they laugh

I wilt into the corner

Through the walls and through the floors

Alone

Alone without them

Without you.

Crisscrossing

The crisscrossing clash of tiny dishes fall about my feet

As an echo bounces off the walls of my own sweating intolerance

My palms have become cold

While the heat of my frustrations boils to the surface

I repress the tears rolling down my face

Pulling them back inside me if I only had the patience

The slam of the door silences your exit

And I slouch into the floorboards alone

Alone at last.

Please, Just Let Me Fade Away

Alcoholism, Essays, Mental Health, My Schiz Life, Schizoaffective Disorder

July 23rd, 2009

Ugh,” it was a long night even though I came home early and now this knocking on my door. Just ignore it and they’ll go away. Persistent buggers they are. Squinting I open my eyes the room has a faint light through the fog or is it smoke. It’s much too early to get up. I glare at the nearly empty bottle of Jameson, my hands are shaking more than usual I need a shot. This endless cycle of drinking needs to end, but not today. I’ll close my shop for half an hour and drive to East Main Liquor. What happened last night after I got home it’s all still so hazy?

I puked. I remember that. How could I forget one hand braced on the bathtub and the other on the sink as I heaved until my throat was sore. Blood. I threw up blood and lots of it everywhere, the toilet overflowing as I couldn’t stop. Blood and vodka. That’s why I’m so weak this morning, I can hardly lift my arms. I’ve cheated death again I wasn’t supposed to wake. I puked at the bottom of the stairs too. I remember mopping it up, smearing the blood everywhere. Bookshelf, I knocked over a bookshelf. I must have been really drunk or is it the blood loss. Maybe I’ll just close the store for today. I need a break a day off just to sleep.

“Mark open up,” a familiar voice calls from outside my apartment door.

“Dad,” I groan, “must be dad.” I grab the Jameson bottle setting it on the floor in a vain attempt to hide it. My apartment hasn’t been cleaned in weeks. There are empty liquor bottles strewn everywhere, an overflowing ashtray, clothes piled anywhere and everywhere I felt like tossing them, piles of books, and trash everywhere. It was in a word revolting, only an insane alcoholic could live this way. I used to be such a germaphobe how did I let it get to this?

I struggle to sit up and get to the door. The knocking is much louder this time, hurried and concerned. Can knocking be concerned? This one is. Yesterday was my birthday and I hardly even spoke to my parents. It’s way too early for a lecture. I unlatch the door and collapse back on to the bed my legs unable to support my weight. I can feel the wave of unconsciousness coming over me. Must stay awake. I see the disapproval in my father’s eyes, no it’s concern, downright worry. I must look worse then I thought. That’s when I remember the blood. Blood everywhere downstairs. He had to walk through the dried caked on blood covering the floor and splattered up the walls.

“Put on your socks,” he pleads. I’m fading everything is going dark. The fog is creeping in burning my eyes. Unable to see. “Mark we’ve got to get you to the doctor, to the hospital. Put on your socks.” I’m fading further into the darkness. Maybe this is it, what I’ve been waiting for. Not like this, not with an audience. Would he cry? My father never cries, not when someone dies, not when he’s frustrated, never. I grab my socks tugging them on, tightly on my hands and up my arms. Later this will be humorous, but for now his youngest child’s life is in danger. Delay could mean my death.

I’m fading ever closer, closer to the brink. It’s welcoming me to the other side. Screaming, blood curdling anguished screaming. Someone shut that person up! “It’s cold,” the voice cries inside my own head, inside my body. I’m the one screaming my eyes flash open. I’m in the ER now, how did I get here, doctors and nurses huddled around me. A large IV piercing my vein as they dump the blood into my body. I’m near death and they’re saving me. Jerk out the IV and let me fade, fade away from this world. This isn’t how I wanted to go. I thought I’d go silently into the night, not with a struggle, not a fight.

Somewhere in the darkness of my mind Anne Sexton speaks to me, “Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea… all there, says kill me, kill me.” I’ve been reading too much of the confessional poets lately: Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell. They speak to me, to my depression, to my hallucinations, to the people implanting thoughts in my head I can’t control. Would a therapist have made things different for me, a different outcome. Am I simply too proud to seek help, too stubborn, too foolish, too drunk.

Time passes fast and slow depending upon your mental state. For the next day I’m certain it crawled by for my parents as they awaited an update. For me it flew by as I faded in and out of consciousness a multitude of medical procedures performed. Before I was able to answer the doctor’s questions they performed an endoscopy banding my varices in an attempt to stop the bleeding. I was given seven units of blood, your body holds ten.

Common Types of Delusions

Delusions, Mental Health, My Schiz Life, Psychosis, Schizoaffective Disorder

Common Types of Delusions

Ideas of reference

A person may believe he/she is receiving special messages from the TV, radio, or music. Alternatively, he/she may believe that colors, words, or other things in the environment have special meaning just for he/her.

Paranoia

A person may believe that friends, family, government agencies, or others are trying to bother him/her or harm him/her even when it is not true.

Thought broadcasting

A person may believe that other people can hear or read his/her thoughts.

Thought insertion

A person may have thoughts that feel foreign to him/her and seem as if they have been inserted by an outside force or person.

Grandiose/religious delusions

A person may develop a belief that he/she has a supernatural power, is famous, or that he/she is the messiah or a chosen person with a special mission.

A Second Chance Whether Deserved or Not

Poetry, Post-Transplant Depression, Schizoaffective Disorder, Sexual Assault, Trauma

A Second Chance Whether Deserved or Not

Jerked awake in the stillness of the dark of the night,

I’m soaked in sweat, my clothes clinging to me like a wet sack,

Closing my eyes I attempt to stop my hands from shaking,

Tears slowly drip down my cheeks taunting my grasp on reality,

I choke to breathe feeling the knife once again back at my throat,

All I had to do was lean forward and this torment would have been over,

I can hear his fucking voice in my head, mocking me nightly.

I grab your picture on my nightstand, gazing into your eyes,

Dare I tell you of my feelings of inadequacy, is it what you want to hear,

How can I not after all you’ve shared with me,

Surely I’ll be better tomorrow; I know it is a lie,

My trembling fingers caress your cheek down to the line of your chin,

A tear drops onto the glass blurring your lovely face,

I close my eyes hoping to still see you there.

Alcohol used to always make it easier to get through the night,

Just a drink and I can push these thoughts out of my head,

My body lurches forward at an all too familiar thought,

My stomach gurgles in agreement that a drink is not acceptable,

I glance at my picture of my niece and then to you my love,

Am I so weak that I think a drink or a drug would help,

Years of self-medication die hard, but die they must.

My fingers trace over the scar across my belly,

Someone died so that I might have this second chance,

I cannot and will not make the same mistakes this time,

I won’t throw away a second chance at happiness, at love,

Love the word ferments in my mind as I gaze upon your loveliness,

I feel like I’m disappointing you even considering a drink for an instant,

Do I tell you how weak I am, how scared I am without you.

I’d welcome back the physical illness to get rid of the mental,

I am always so filled with doubt, did I deserve this chance,

I’ve done so many truly horrific things in this life,

Is it possible to be forgiven, can I forgive myself,

People tell me I am so strong, why can’t I believe that,

Did I only fight to prove those wrong that said no,

There has to be a reason I was given the chance to survive.

I’d like to drop to my knees and beg your forgiveness,

I’d like to go back in time and change that decision, make it right,

One desire is impossible, the other simply unfair,

The thought of my disrespect, conjures up my feeling of inadequacy,

Maybe I never deserved you in my life as I half fear and believe,

Would you be better off without me – I hope not,

With every fiber of my being I dream of the day you believe in me again.