Breaking Point

There's a fine line, in my life, between keeping and losing my mind. I don't mean this figuratively, but quite literally. My brain has a chemical imbalance, a few in fact, and there isn't a lot of wiggle room on a good day, let alone when my world is slowly crumbling. Finally, 10 days ago, I lost that balance and had the first psychotic break I've had in years.

Before I continue, you're probably saying, what's a psychotic break? Again, I'm not a doctor, so I can't give you a medical definition. But for me, it's my mind falling apart "piece by piece and row by row, I don't know, I don't know, where the fucking pieces go" (Next to Normal).  I lose touch with reality and see things in a warped and fucked up way.  Imagine you're driving along the highway at 80 mph, and suddenly a rock hits your windshield and it cracks--spiderwebbing instantly, faster and faster until the road and the outside world cease to exist, because all you can see is the shattered glass, and feel the imminent terror of knowing it's going to explode in on you at any moment. That is exactly what it felt like--my brain was the shattered glass all around me, and instead of the fear, it actually started to explode inward, and I couldn't find any way out--except death. 

The only reason I am not dead is because I have been blessed with, and I still don't know why, a small little group of friends who have become my family--I am closer to these people than I am to most of my blood family. KB is one of these friends and she rode out the explosion of my break right along with me as far as she could, and then said: "You need help Kel. I've never seen you like this. You need help." She sat for hours telling me how much I'm loved, how important I am to so many people, how people care about and value and love me. She tried to make me laugh, but when none of that worked, she told me to unlock my phone. I don't know why I did, to be honest, because I really just wanted to wait till she left and kill myself, but I did, and she called my stepmom and told her how bad the situation was. Together, they figured out how to get me into Carrier Clinic, and Karen sat with me and kept me calm during Carrier's intense phone intake. When I was accepted, she helped me pack, dealt with my dad's anxiety, and cleaned up the chaos I caused while looking for my wallet. Even though I kept apologizing, she kept saying: "Stop. I'm not here because I have to be. I'm here because I want to. You're not keeping me here, I can go any time I want."

The drive to Carrier was a tense one at first, just being me and my dad. We never saw eye to eye on mental illness, he's a "you just need to stop being depressed or manic or whatever." I'm living through it, and it's not exactly easy to do that. "If you yell at me," I told him as we started driving, "you're just going to make things worse." He shocked me. Instead of getting mad, his default emotion when under stress, he got emotional. "I hate seeing you like this. I know I don't know I just want to help. I don't understand. Help me understand." He never said that to me before, and I got emotional back. So we scrounged up a bunch of loose change (neither of us had a lot of money) which was enough to buy us a Quick Check sub we shared, and before we got to Carrier we sat in the parking lot of Quick Check and talked for the first time in forever. I don't know if he fully understands my struggles, but he listened actively and that is a huge accomplishment. 

Carrier Clinic is in the middle of nowhere New Jersey. We were driving through the jungle (really it was the Pine Barrens, I think) but it was a sea of green and then BAM! This large campus looking building suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It was a nice looking place, not hospital like at all. It more resembled the resort from Dirty Dancing. I know that sounds weird, but it was so true. My father also had to protect me from a live peacock (they have several around the hospital). I've never seen a live one in my life, and was fucking terrified.

Once inside Carrier, I knew from the first minute, this was going to be a turning point in my life. Everyone was so caring it was unbelievable, from the intake nurse through all the techs to the cleaning people. But no matter how caring everyone is, and no matter how much it seems more like a hotel than a psych ward, everything had great wood paneling, was new, and my room had a shower and writing desk inside (they even give you welcome kits with all toiletries), it is still a psychiatric hospital: Lonely, isolating, terrifying places.     

My psychiatrist, Dr. Michelle Grant, literally gave me my life back. My first day at Carrier, she listened to all that I told her, was appalled by my med changes that had previously happened (she kept apologizing that it even happened), and said: "Don't worry, Kel. We've got this." (You also meet with your psychiatrist every day in Carrier, and a weekend one on the weekends. I've never had this happen in any other place, so it was pretty incredible). She safely detoxed my body (even though that was brutal) and we started back on a combination of Lithium and Lamictal (we added a third drug but I'm allergic to it. I puffed up like a pufferfish!) And within days, the cracks went away, and it was like my brain got a new windshield around it. 

The group therapists were really awesome too, and the Carrier model is pretty unique.
You own your illness, and then you work on steps to heal. The groups were informative, helpful and made me think about how much I let things affect me that I shouldn't. I also looked at my own lack of coping skills and worked with therapists to develop better, safer ones that work for me.

In spite of always having groups, and being able to socialize with people, Carrier was still a lonely place. Being it was so far from everyone, it was hard to have visitors, so you can imagine how stoked I was when my parents were able to visit, and I spoke to them on the phone every day, which was awesome, but it's hard being in your head all the time, without much to do. (The library at Carrier is my ONLY criticism).

I've got some other friends who have become family members, AM and B, who saved my life by taking my calls and calling back, AND by sending me, via my dad, a collection of 11 books. I'm a huge reader, and when I got that bag, it was like I was once again a little kid at Christmas. I had a hard time deciding what to read first, as all of them looked intriguing. 

The books were amazing and I read through two of them while I was at Carrier. B called once to see how I was fairing and we were able to discuss one of the books, Running with Scissors, briefly, which was a nice change of pace. My days at Carrier were suddenly easier with good books, and dealing with the side effects of treatment, was a lot easier being transported to a new place while reading, and being able to forget, for a while at least, where I was. The books became so vital to my healing that I slept with the one I was reading just so I had it and could hold those characters close. I was in a psych ward, after all, where people were hallucinating and stuff all around me. The books grounded me, and I didn't want to let them go--I firmly knew the difference between fiction and fact. 

Treatment at Carrier went well, but was going slowly. I filled my days meeting with my doctors, going to groups, taking my meds, reading, eating, reading, napping, eating, groups, reading, reading, socializing, naping, groups, meds, reading, sleeping. But I kept realizing that every day I was seeing a major improvement in my mood.

After 8 days, they finally released me--I'm stuck doing a secondary program but that's another entry--and when my dad picked me up, he grinned at me. I asked him why he was being weird, and he said: "I'm just so happy to see you look like you again. I know it sounds weird, but you look like you...my kid." I knew what he meant because it was the first time I felt like my old self in about two years. I know I've still got a long way to go before I'm back and "better than before" (Next to Normal) but I finally feel like I'm on a positive, solid and stable road to recovery. My last day, I actually hugged my psychiatrist, and said: "Thank you for giving me my life back." She actually got tears in her eyes and hugged me back. "Thank you, that means a lot. I'm so glad. Good luck to you."

So thank you to my family, my friends, my friends that have become family, and Carrier Clinic for getting me back on my feet. Huge thank you to KB, AM and B for getting me there, and helping to make the Carrier days easier.