Mental Illness Precursor

I'm hoping to maybe complete a mini 30 day challenge to the beginning of my diagnosis showing the steps and such of things that I've gone through.  Maybe it'll help or inspire others, maybe it will spread understanding, maybe it won't do anything, but it is my wish that it does.

It's probably best that I start with history.  This will add both to understanding and the stigma associated with mental illness.

Mental illness has been prevalent through most of my life, though not in a good way and not associated with me directly.  My Aunt was diagnosed with schizophrenia paranoia when she was in her late 20s.  She was extremely high functioning even before medication or treatment.  She completed a Master's degree in Psychology.

Her illness got the better of her though.  She called all hours of the day and night.  She claimed that we were hiding money from her.  We all needed liposuction (though none of us are extremely obese).  We were all out to get her and she was determined to prove it.  Well, in one attempt, she landed herself in jail in/near my hometown.  The local church leader bailed her out against my family's pleas.  She went off to cause my grandmother's death.  It was an event that caused a great rift between my best friend's family and mine.  She was relentless.  We got a few free weeks a year where she found someone else to badger, but for the most part she would call several times a week.  We learned to simply answer and put the phone down while reading, cooking, or doing anything else.  She only wanted someone to complain to.  We came to learn of the different people and personalities in her head.  We knew what kind of people they were and by name we knew which direction the conversation would lean, whether positive or negative.  None of those people were real, but she landed just about everyone in my family in real trouble.

At 13, I was questioned by police regarding a break in to her apartment in Washington DC (I lived in Ohio).  The story was that I had hopped a bus to DC, broke into her apartment, didn't touch anything, but did it just to spite her.  She claimed she had evidence, that never came to light.

My parents, Uncle, and Grandfather carried the brunt of her claims.  All have been in trouble with the IRS for 'hoarding her money'.  All have been accused of stealing, fraud, and all other manners of trouble.

It is no wonder that at age 6, my mother tried everything in her power for me never to be labelled.  She described to me that with my birthday in October (cut off for school in the district was Sept 30), she wanted me to go to school with others my age.  As a teacher, she set up a special meeting with the principal to see if she could 'squeeze me in'.  At said meeting, I wouldn't sit at all.  I was constantly in the drawers and asking questions.  The final verdict- I was too 'immature' to go to kindergarten.  It would benefit me to wait another year until I calmed down some.

I never really did.  I always remember being described as 'rambunctious' and 'overly imaginative'.  I was always dreaming, always coming up with stories.  In first grade, I was part of a 'special reading program'.  It wasn't that I couldn't read, but I was slower than some of my classmates.  My mother removed me from the class early that year, stating that I would have to be part of that class until 5th or 6th grade and that wasn't anything that I wanted.  So I stayed in regular class and struggled some.  I know now that part of it was dyslexia- only because I struggle with it today.

2nd grade, was the first grade that we switched classes for English and Math.  I was always in the top math classes, not sure why.  Math was very black and white- right or wrong; a complete opposite of my life.  English class I was grouped with the 'average' group.

As time went on, I surpassed expectations (of who, I don't really know- maybe my parents?).  I was put into advanced Algebra by 8th grade (highest class offered) and completed several AP courses in high school.  At 16, I completed a class (a 4.0 even) at the University of Wisconsin at Steven's Point.

Ok, so I described myself as a normal or advanced student- yay?  Does that make me a drug-seeking 'normal' person?  Not quite.

When I think back of the majority of things I did in school, I can't remember most.  I never read a novel to completion (high school level).  Even now, I've never read a classic.  It would take me hours upon endless hours to read textbook chapters to the point, I didn't read them at all.  I would take the assignment questions and look them up specifically under headings and subtitles.  This is how I got myself through nursing school.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a real nurse.  I passed the NCLEX.  I put in the necessary bedside hours.  I was blessed enough to have completed years as a medic, nurse's aide, EKG tech, and first aid/CPR instructor hands-on to give me the additional necessary knowledge and skills to be a successful nurse.

Ok, what does this have to do with anything?

Like it or not, there is a fear- stigma even for people with mental health issues.  I am blessed enough to have reached some level of functionality.  Sadly, it stemmed from necessity rather than the help that I probably needed so badly.

I've mentioned it before, the threats from my father.  It was always a fear that while I displayed similar characteristics of my Aunt that I would turn out as she did.  I would be a menace to society and debilitating to my entire family.  My father didn't want that kind of drain.  He had told me numerous times that he had put me in the world and that he would take me out as well- rather than have me cause problems.  I was his responsibility and he would take it regardless of the cost.  He would rather kill me and rot in jail then to unleash another Aunt to the world.

With this stigma, I grew up in fear.  My mother was my father's balance.  She is a special education teacher.  While most suffered from specific types of mental disorders, most were mentally growth restricted and all were low-functioning students.  My mother was the epitome of tolerance and patience, well, mostly.  I know I got on her nerves.  I feel that her training probably is what helped me function in a 'normal' world.

When Did I Know?

There were a few events that lead to me realizing that I couldn't be experiencing a normal level of inattentiveness.

First, was a horrendous fever.  I was probably about 12 or 13.  I'm not entirely sure what brought on the fever, but I was very sick.  It was my highest ever recorded temperature, also for the hospital that wasn't heat related - 106.9.  I'm not sure if it got higher than that, sadly.  When calling the doctor, he told my parents not to let it get to 107 as it was the beginning of irreversible brain damage.  Awaking from a fitful nap, I went to get up.  The room was boiling, literally.  I couldn't stand.  I fell to the ground and dragged myself to the top of the stairs.  I was delirious.  I was crying out, tears down my face- I honestly had no idea what was happening.  My sister found me first and only sat by me while me father picked me up and dumped me in an icy tub clothes and all.  I remember enjoying that bath- my sister had to coax me to come out after about 20 minutes of ice.  The fever didn't return and normalcy didn't either.  I lost the ability to remember things, well, better than now.  I had a near photographic memory that was now lost.  It made tasks different and difficult.

Second, was my ovarian mess.  It was a tumor.  It wasn't cancer, but it was.  Whatever.  I missed my senior year activities for pelvic oophorectomy (ovary removal), cystectomy x 2, and back surgery.  I don't know if the effects came from prolonged bedrest or the sepsis that wreaked havoc through my body for weeks.  I was in recovery for nearly half the year- and I will always be in remission.  From this point, it was my focus.

Finally, it was studying in nursing school.  I was top of my class in mental health nursing.  I joined the throngs of students that seemed to experience every symptom listed for illnesses.  My professors urged me to become a mental health nurse, but after some not-so-pleasant experiences in ITA (intensive therapy) at a lockdown unit, I just didn't have what was needed.

From mental health nursing and aside from everyone claiming to have every disease ever, I learned some about a certain diagnosis- schizophrenia.  What I learned scared me.  There are different types, such as catatonic; where people would hold unusual and uncomfortable positions for hours simply because they literally can't move.  They had no desire to.  These people, sadly, aren't able to function.  Upon further studies, I think my Aunt actually qualified for disassociative personality disorder- for the multiple persons she can hear, portray, or would occasionally take over her.  True cases are said to be incredibly rare, but my parents were quick to discard it as it wasn't her 'official' diagnosis.  As a kid, to my parents at least, I didn't know what I was talking about.  The kicker was a study I had read about the families of those with schizophrenia; there is a lesser form.  Most family members actually exhibit some lowered inhibition when it came to 'clutter' inside their head.  It wasn't so much they heard another person's voice or even their own, it was just a constant stream of random information.  As I knew that my mind was CONSTANTLY all over the place, I knew that this had to include me.  With schizophrenia becoming prevalent and diagnosed in a person's early 20s, I was absolutely petrified.  I somehow knew this was going to be me.  It was my goal to hide it from the world.  I wouldn't allow it to be me.  It just couldn't be.  I even thought of taking my own life to save my father the condemnation of killing me.

Nursing school made sure to fill me with horror.  As the time ticked on, I worked harder and harder to get through my classes.  I also suffer from notable hearing loss stemming from tube placement as a child.  The wax buildup had irreversibly damaged the drum as well as the sensing hairs.  I tested for a hearing aid my sophomore year when I was having trouble with a thick accent of a teacher in the lecture hall.  My hearing aid didn't help as much as I would have liked, but at least I quit asking for repeats.  I remember when I was told the story of a case.  I couldn't find the exact one we discussed- but others are still out there: Southeastern Community College v. Davis, 442 U.S. 397 (U.S. Supreme Court, 1979).  The first story was about a nurse working in the hospital way back when (I'm assuming like 1940-50- cuz that's what it was in my brain).  There was an emergency on the floor.  A patient was barely, audibly crying for help from a massive heart attack.  The nurse, who was hard of hearing, didn't hear the person call her.  Another patient in an adjacent bed called for a different nurse to help the person.  The nurse never realized what was happening until it was a big commotion.  Her license was revoked for being 'unsafe'.  It was then decided that nurses hard of hearing and requiring devices could have their licenses revoked or not even issued initially.  From that moment on, I never wore it again.

Lastly (and completely out of order of this entry), for my NCLEX exam, nursing school application, and EVERY nursing job I have ever applied for: they all ask if you have a mental disorder (with a list)- "it won't proclude you, but will be evaluated as part of job criteria" aka- you're not getting this job.

I had been thoroughly warned that if you had any major disorder (manic, hypomania, schizophrenia, tourette's, antisocial, severe anxiety) you need not apply.  What I didn't understand was any level of depression.  The fear is that you would end in glory- bullets and as many people as possible because you decided you can't handle life anymore (that's how it was actually explained to me).  I was unofficially diagnosed with depression through a research study in nursing school, but never pursued it for this reason.

With my decreased memory capacity, lack of focus, trouble with dyslexia, and the constant 'gotta do this, move here, and get this done' mentality, I knew, if anything, there was something.  It wasn't something that I just 'made up' or 'fit me' for a time and I would outgrow.  This was something out of my control.  As best I could, I completed life day to day.  Which leads me to where I am now.

Don't think that success came easy.  I failed out of nursing school first.  I begged, petitioned, and ate a large amount of crow, rules, and all sorts of other legalities for a second chance.  I sat out a year of school (which I completed some stuff at community college), quit my job, took out massive loans that ruined my credit, and had an immensely difficult time in finishing.

I worked hard and endured much for the little successes I've had in life.  I don't want the silly stigma of 'oh, she has a mental illness' to stand in my way and cost me my goals.