Saturday 24 November 2012

What happened

About 6 years ago I woke up in a gutter.
When you wake up in a gutter... Well, I say when but I hope it never does happen to you, so let's say if, if you wake up in a gutter, you will know something is seriously wrong.
Not the kind of wrong that comes from being a normal fucked up brat in their 20s. There had been some regular mistakes; dropping out of university (twice), taking too many party drugs, drunkenly sleeping with a random ferret-faced Irishman. Waking up in a gutter is different.
Prior to my rude awakening I had slept a total of about 10 hours in 10 days, I had partied, drunk and fucked my way through the inner suburbs of Melbourne and most unusually I had decided that a colleague was trying to poison me.
I had previously been diagnosed with major depression but after this episode I was re-diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
My diagnosis was a double edged sword. It was a great relief to know what was wrong and be able to seek treatment, but bipolar also sounded so serious and crazy. But then the treatment started to work. And my life turned around.
I was able to hold down a job, I lost the impulse to drink with the same desperate fervour I'd previously had and I felt like I finally had some control.
I stayed stable for months and then a year and decided to trial myself off medication. Unmedicated I felt my creativity flourished and I still felt in control enough to function. 
I had a number of good years. No, that's an understatement. I had a number of brilliant years. I was accepted into the ATYP Fresh Ink playwriting mentorship, I began working for Melbourne Theatre Company, I returned to study, I had my work published in the Text Camp Reader and then I lived in New York for a year.
It was upon my return from New York that things started to crumble.
I felt like the Melbourne I returned to was a hostile place. I struggled to find a job and a place to live, my friendships seemed strange and strained and I desperately missed the dear friends I had made in the States.
I rapidly sunk into a stubborn depressive episode. I started back on medication, but as is the nature of mental illness, there's a lot of trial and error before the doctor gets it right.
I finally found a combination that worked and started improving. My improvement was great enough that I was able to return to work and reintroduced myself to my social world.
Then... There's no other way of saying it I suppose; I got caught in a shitstorm.
In the space of a few weeks every aspect of my life seemed to blow up; work seemed uncertain, my apartment was vandalised, my health was ailing and personal relationships were fraying. Through all of this I tried to behave like nothing was wrong and I could handle everything but the stress became too much and my brain chemistry went crazy.
I had a psychotic episode.
I thought somebody was implanting thoughts in my head, reality started splitting and I felt like I was going to kill myself if I stayed in Melbourne and let my thoughts be controlled. I booked the first available flight out of Melbourne then left my phone and a rambling, nonsensical note at my apartment and flew to Launceston. I spent 3 days there feeling like I was dying. I was rapidly detoxing off my medication so my head felt like it was being cracked open and my body felt like it was falling apart.
I was unaware that the police had been notified I was missing or that it was all over the news and facebook. The police found that I'd been using my bank card in Launceston (to buy apples, almonds and chicken, the only things I could stomach when I was able to eat) and told my family.
My parents, along with my older brother and sister flew to Tasmania. At the same time the Tasmanian police tracked me down at the hostel where I'd been staying. They told me people were looking for me and to call my sister.
In my paranoid state I panicked and ran away and went and hid in the hollow of a tree in a  nearby park. When it got dark and I thought it was safe to come out of hiding I went to a payphone and called my sister. I yelled at her for calling the police on me then she talked 
me down and got me to tell her where I was. She came and found me and took me to hospital. I spent a week in the psych unit of Launceston General Hospital, the first two days 
of which I slept solidly. I was then transferred to The Melbourne Clinic where I spent another week recovering and having my medication adjusted.
I was discharged this morning.
At the moment I wish for my family's sake that I hadn't gotten sick, because I can see in their faces and their hesitating ways that they were scared shitless by what happened, and probably to an extent, still are.
Me? I'm embarrassed and saddened and tired and angry and hopeful and thankful all at the same time .I'm sorry to those I frightened and thankful to those who love me, even at my worst.
I feel like I'm getting better. If I am then I hope I stay well. I'm hoping that writing things down will help me make sense of it all.
So, that's us about up to speed I should think.

No comments:

Post a Comment