Psychosis: My Trip to Reality
When bipolar makes you think your husband wants to kill you.
******TRIGGER WARNING******
My first and only psychotic episode happened when I was 30. I got paranoid and thought my husband wanted to murder me.
One clue was an article he cut out of the newspaper about pesticide use in third-world countries. He read that empty pesticide containers were used to transport water. He was concerned about the lingering effects of those pesticides. I read the article he saved and was sure it was going to be pesticides that he was going to use to murder me.
There were auditory hallucinations. People were murmuring in the other room. I couldn’t hear the words distinctly, but there must be people assisting my husband with his pernicious conspiracy.
My psychiatrist asked me if I really believed my husband had all these dark plans. I realized from the outside my conjecture might seem bizarre, but I saw this as an acceptable conclusion in my growing paranoia. What were all the horrific real-life mysteries on television but preposterous tales of murder and mayhem conducted by the most incredible suspect?
When I overheard my husband calling my psychiatrist to make an appointment to find out why I was falling apart, (thank you, HIPAA), he got no answers about my case. But I didn’t know that at the time. He was trying to make an appointment to discuss murderous methods that could be employed. I became extremely frightened. Was she knowledgeable and perhaps assisting my husband with his deadly intentions?
I thought my psychiatrist was a safe person for me to confide in, but now she was working with the enemy. I so thoroughly believed my erroneous thoughts. Did the whole world know about this nefarious conspiracy and participate in it? Every situation and person provided a clue according to my twisted thoughts.
I became obsessed with finding circumstances leading me to the conclusion of the enormity of this cabal. I couldn’t handle the pressure coming from my diseased mind. I attempted suicide to relieve myself of the voices and obsessive thoughts.
After that attempt, I was put on medication that offered me relief from my all-consuming thoughts and fears. I started thinking rationally and the yammering voices inside my head began to taper off. I regained trust in my psychiatrist and put my faith of recovery in her hands. It was a turning point to realize she was not part of my husband’s machinations.
But then, if she wasn't involved in the poisonous project, was my husband, really?
My current medications (found through a year of trial and error due to side effects) led to clarity of thought. I no longer heard the murmuring group of accomplices; my husband’s voice stopped being full of hidden meanings regarding my demise; I could fully trust my psychiatrist and learned important tools in Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT). I chose to continue the DBT for a full two years, until the therapist retired (not because of me).
Now I can look at life in general and my own life, in particular, with clear eyes and normal brain synapses buzzing about. The gift of reality and realistic thinking came back into my life, and now my husband and I are ready to celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary (June 8th).
