Living with Schizoaffective Disorder is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Life will never, ever be the same again. I mourn my old life and my old self daily. My husband says that different doesn't have to be bad. I agree with him, but this different is a hard pill to swallow.
Up until this week, I had been doing "alright" for a few months. No major highs or lows, just some dysthymia and a few cases of minor psychosis. I was smiling more and some people even commented that they could tell I was doing some better. While this change was welcome, it still wasn't the same. My smile could only last so long and my happiness was always dampened by the overwhelming reality that I have a serious mental illness that will never change. My husband and I even enjoyed a cruise in March but my happiness could only go so far. The last time I felt true happiness, joy, elation even was on the verge of my psychotic break in 2016. I have yet to feel that type of emotion since. My family means the world to me and my two little boys are the reason I'm still here, but admittedly the feelings of happiness associated even with that are limited. It's like there is a roadblock in my brain that won't allow me to feel more than a fraction of what I used to feel.
Then, this week, depression, anxiety, and symptoms of PTSD came down on me, hard. I can't seem to find a reason why it hit this time. It seems like this is just part of my life now: be "okay" for a little while and then feel terrible for a while longer. I know that spirituality is a trigger for me now, but I don't know why all of a sudden the symptoms came when they did. As most of you know, my relationship with God has greatly changed since I became ill. I have a fear of becoming too close to God because of the role religiosity played in my psychotic break. I won't rehash the details since most of you have read all about that, but if you haven't you can start here: https://wisdomwrinkles.blogspot.com/2017/07/part-1-of-5-living-with-serious-mental.html. I haven't sang a solo in church since, and I have even stopped singing with the congregation. It's hard to admit all this, especially since my husband is a pastor. I feel as though I have failed him as well as everyone at our church. I feel so disconnected and conflicted that there are times when I don't even know what I believe anymore. I know I believe in God, and it is important to me that our children are in church and learning about God, but I do not have a peace in my spirit. Reading the Bible feels
stagnant, and I rarely do it. I sometimes pray, but I feel guilty about praying and asking for things when I feel so far from God. I struggle with the fact that he hasn't healed me and probably never will.
I've been having flashbacks of my psychotic break and the events surrounding it. Even though it's been over two years, it feels as real as yesterday. The thoughts interrupt the most basic of tasks. I become so depressed that I literally feel like I can't do anything but sleep. I slept 3 hours during the day yesterday and would have slept more if I didn't have to get my kids to and from school. My anxiety keeps creeping up to the point that I can't handle it (even more than usual), and I struggle to breathe normally as these thoughts invade my head. Part of me thinks that I've been subconsciously distancing myself from God to keep from dealing with all of this, because thinking about God dredges it all back up. Additionally, this week I've been disoriented while driving and unable to figure out how to get to routine places. It's beyond scary.
I often wish I were dead; more so this week. I'm not actively suicidal as I don't have any plans or a means specified, but just the thought that I'd be better off dead pervades my thoughts regularly. I know it has to be exhausting living with me and the constant issues that come with mental illness, and I feel like me being gone would be a much-needed respite for my family. I'm not a good mother. I don't say that for attention or for compliments. It's how I genuinely feel. I'm not nurturing, I don't keep routines with them, I can't keep house, and my fuse with them is short. I wish I was the mother I dreamed of being. As much as I want to change, my illness holds me back. I have little energy and motivation. Despite this, as I mentioned earlier, the only things that keeps me from being actively suicidal are my children. I know that they are already predisposed to mental health issues, and losing a mother to suicide would only bolster their chances of struggling with mental illness.
I'm not really sure the purpose of this post other than trying to cope with everything that's going on, and continuing to shed light on mental illness. I welcome questions and comments, so feel free to give me a shout.
