Facebook posts directed towards the CIA, pictures of suspicious cereal packets in your camera roll. Welcome to psychosis, or rather, see you next time, psychosis.
What I would give for my episodes to be brushed under the carpet. I pine for the fictional stigma I’ve read about in books. Being stuck in the attic sounds much better than video calling your boss while naked and going out in your dressing gown and sunglasses.
After enough psychotic episodes, — for me it’s 6, and counting — you learn to live with these things, or brush them under your own carpet. So here’s what I’ve learnt in my time becoming a mental health hag.
Shrug it off
As Shaggy would say in his mental health classic “it wasn’t me”:
We should tell her that I’m sorry
For the pain that I’ve caused
You may think that you’re a player
But you’re completely lost
Yes Shaggy, I know I need to apologise to the people I’ve hurt. But at the same time, people who aren’t ignorant of the psychotic experience will know it wasn’t me. I hate the people who think “so that what she’s REALLY like.” Fuck off. I don’t end up in hospital because I’m being my true authentic self.
The worst part is that at the time of spicy thoughts, it all feels right. You’re a paranoia player but you’re completely lost — “the people need to KNOW about this!” but as we tend to realise once we come to, it was dopamine bollocks. Thanks, brain. I try not beat myself up about this. That’s the ignorant people’s job.
Don’t overcook it
The thing is with psychosis, very often there isn’t a Why. Yes, you may have been exposed to your triggers, not got enough help in time, but the fact is that psychosis sometimes just happens and there’s nothing you can do about it.
What’s worse, is that the psychiatric establishment doesn’t know how the illnesses work, or the treatment for that matter.
Unfortunately you can’t cut open mentally ill people’s brains as often as scientists would like to see what’s really going on up there. Any more.
Bloody ethics. To reiterate, I miss my romanticised version of the past. Man, the attic would be warm and dark. Padded rooms look comfier than those psych ward rubber mattresses. Would a strait jacket feel like a hug? Guess us youngsters will never know.
It is very difficult to explain to other people if you can’t even explain it to yourself: “well Debbie, my brain did a bad bad and I thought you were a lizard for pretty much no reason — can we be friends again until next time?”
Perhaps it’s not you who’s lazy
People have perfect access to Google and not using it is hugely lazy. If you think about how long you’ve probably spent researching your illness, getting to appointments, waiting on hold for doctors, it becomes ludicrous that people can’t search how to get support for themselves, or even how to support you.
I should probably end this article with some helpful pointers on what to do or how to help. But to be honest, what is there to learn? The mentally ill people reading this have done monumental amounts of hard work and don’t need any further reading.
And for the allies reading this. You already know what people need. What does anyone need? Food, clothing, shelter. The odd meme, playlist, drawing, anything to just show them you care.
Or a soundproof room with a locked door. Either/or.
Jojo Chinaski is a comedian with Bipolar Affective disorder. She shouldn’t drink coffee, but if you’d like to buy her one she might write more articles.
She is under the handle @jojochinaski everywhere.