Schizophrenia Bulletin Advance Access published February 3, 2015 Schizophrenia Bulletin doi:10.1093/schbul/sbu145
First Person Account
The Journey
Dominic Hanley
Preface Life was easy, and then it wasn’t. High school was so structured. The routines of playing sport, learning, and socializing at specific times on specific days were the structures of my life. Yes, I embraced this life and did so willingly, but once these routines no longer existed, I was left behind. Little did I know; these routines would lay the foundation of a successful life after school. Having no clear direction ahead, the influence of “peers” forced me to become complacent about my early childhood experiences and this was when illicit drugs entered my life—disastrous decisions and dreadful outcomes. Recreational use was enjoyable, until it evolved into an addiction. This is where I began to struggle. Before I even realized it, drugs had got the best of me. They changed me. I forgot who I was and what I stood for. I lost my sense of identity. Not only did I lose that, takings drugs took a toll on my studies as well. I couldn’t concentrate and completely lost all of my interpersonal skills. I lost contact with almost everyone I was associated with from school, and making new friends became difficult—this made me feel excluded. The only people I now associated with were those who also used drugs and in a way, this validated that my lifestyle and choices were the right ones. It was difficult to interact with others and live a normal life. I had no idea who I was anymore.
My Story My life hasn’t been easy. Although I came from a privileged family where we were sent to private schools and brought up with religion, I have experienced so many things in my life that most people don’t have to. At the very young age of 8, I was tormented and physically harmed by my older brother. His name will not be mentioned as the events that occurred between my brother and I were dangerous and could potentially come back to haunt me. I was traumatized to the point where I was crying excessively and had spontaneous emotional outbursts. This made going to primary school and making friends difficult for me. This occurred countless times throughout my childhood up until my brother was sent to prison for other matters. Every single day, I had to choose either “fight” or “flight.” In most cases, I chose to fight and stick up for myself, whereas in the particular predicament where I was being chased out of the house by an angry, drugfueled teenager with a butcher knife, I chose flight. This is my most hated memory of my brother. I waited on the street for 6 h until my parents got home from work. I felt sad, lonely, and worthless. When waiting, I wondered why on earth I was receiving this treatment to then have come to the realization that this was the life I was born into, and nothing could have changed that. From that day on, I never chose flight. After escaping death at the age of 11, I learnt that this was not just any normal family— this was sibling vs sibling in full on combat. With everything I was forced to experience, came resilience, mental and physical toughness, courage, vigilance, and perseverance. Although I showed all these traits, they were only truly evident in my character when I had made a relative recovery from the posttraumatic stress disorder I developed owing to my brother’s actions. For years on end, I exhibited one emotion—anxiety—unless I was playing rugby, where the emotion was aggression. I developed the ability to switch on my aggression when I wanted to, as this was self-preservation behavior to living with my brother. On the field, I never backed down. In my opinion, it was either “go hard” or “go home.” When not on the rugby field, this anxiety made me continue to use “fight” or “flight” as my main instinctual fall back plan.
© The Author 2015. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the Maryland Psychiatric Research Center. All rights reserved. For permissions, please email: [email protected]
Page 1 of 4
Downloaded from http://schizophreniabulletin.oxfordjournals.org/ by guest on November 15, 2015
“Schizophrenia is a severe mental disorder characterized by two kinds of symptoms; positive psychotic symptoms - thought disorder, hallucinations, delusions, and paranoia - and negative symptoms – impairment in emotional range, energy, and enjoyment of activities. For a formal diagnosis, these symptoms must persist for at least one month and usually result in severe impairment in job and/or social functioning. In other words, Schizophrenia is a particular form of psychosis, a term encompassing several severe mental disorders that result in the loss of contact with reality along with major personality derangements.” – Health Central Encyclopedia (2014)
D. Hanley
Page 2 of 4
me. I was surrounded by likeminded “friends” who could portray “how the world worked” to only add to my comfort in using drugs. By August 2011, I was smoking cannabis every day. It was safe to say I was addicted. I got through the school work and sport, to arrive at tertiary study. My being under the influence of cannabis for almost 6 months straight made simply enrolling and attending university an effort, let alone actually studying. Although I could see I wasn’t achieving what I was capable of, I didn’t cease consuming the drug. In fact, I increased my intake. With the addition of tobacco to this, came my smoking addiction. Of course, with the addition of other certain drugs throughout 2012, only further compounded my lack of motivation. I began to experiment more with illicit drugs almost instantly after my high-school graduation. I tried more powerful hallucinogens, followed by stimulants. These chemicals got the best of me. Almost immediately, I was addicted. Due to my extensive experimentation with illicit drugs, I became psychotic. To be psychotic does not mean you are a psychopath—it means you have experienced what is referred to as a “loss of contact with reality.” I didn’t realize I was experiencing this at the time it was all happening. In other words, to me, I wasn’t mentally ill, these weren’t symptoms and I definitely didn’t experience a drug-induced psychosis. They were real life. The symptoms of paranoia and anxiety, combined with the delusions I was holding on to at the time, equated to the fuel source to the severity of my altered reality. It wasn’t until I attempted an act of suicide that I was hospitalized. The cause of this decision was due to the severity of my symptoms, and the reality I was facing was owing to the large dose of lysergic acid diethylamide I consumed. This was full-blown psychosis. I was feeling things that simply weren’t there. I was also experiencing disordered thinking, loss of appetite, and changes in behavior and mood. Paranoia was by far the most developed symptom, being the reason I attempted to commit suicide when combined with the delusions I had. I believed things other people didn’t. I started to believe people were talking about me wherever I went, as if they were plotting something against me. I believed the televisions in my house had secret cameras to spy on me and my family, as well as, television hosts sending me hidden messages to stop taking drugs and start playing sport again. I had the firm belief police were after me due to my illicit drug use and that they had a warrant for my arrest. The idea of being sent to prison was horrifying for me, for obvious reasons, adding to my paranoia. The feelings of worry and guilt were always 2 steps behind me. I could not distinguish what was real from what was unreal. These symptoms persisted for a prolonged period of time, resulting in a diagnosis of schizophrenia. I lost all contact with reality. This altered reality was the most difficult world to live in. In my eyes, my life was over. Everything I had dreamt of doing, and all my aspirations in life, were now nonexistent. I felt completely nullified.
Downloaded from http://schizophreniabulletin.oxfordjournals.org/ by guest on November 15, 2015
My reactivity to danger was exceptional. For so long, my brother was the danger, and as I entered high school (age 12–13), the danger disappeared. My quality of life got increasingly better. I excelled in sport, made friends and learnt to be a teenager. The days following the sentencing of my brother were the most peaceful days of my life. I was upset; to think, the benefits of my brother being sentenced to imprisonment outweighed the consequences of him not being in prison. As my life got better, so did my interpersonal skills. High school was a roller coaster of fun, until I had my first experience with cannabis (tetrahydrocannabinol [THC]). At 15 years of age, I had my first hit of THC. I was immediately debilitated. This drug made me laugh, feel happy, be accepted into certain peer groups, and make terrible decisions. Somehow this was enjoyable, although I wasn’t achieving anything. For a goal-driven person, this was different from what I was used too. As I entered senior year, I became a chronic cannabis abuser. It wasn’t until August 2011 that I began to see the adverse side effects that consuming a mild hallucinogen would cause someone. I lost muscle, gained fat, and suffered from a decreased lung capacity due to the method in which I consumed this drug. This made representing my school in sport more difficult than it should have been. With this drop in physical fitness, came a drop in mental toughness. I lost my aggression on the field, which subsequently made me lose my confidence. I became a bystander, rather than an impact player. People began to speak to me less, and my academic performance declined. When cannabis entered my life, I was put into reverse and I began to roll backward. My usual “fight” or “flight” response had deserted me. I had become complacent. I thought I was in control. I had forgotten how I had suffered as a result of my brother’s drug use, and here, I was following the same path. Everything I stood for and all the positive characteristics I gained through my experiences with my older brother went straight out the window. I had changed, without knowing it. I thought I was still the same person, but I wasn’t. I was viewing life through the haze of cannabis and this affected how I felt about my family, school, and old friends. The only thing that now interested me at my “prestigious private school” was the sport and my “new found friends” and drug use. I participated in sport all year round which made me extremely happy. The distance between my brother and I grew as the years went on as he purposely delved into deeper criminal activities, which ultimately, has just kept recycling him through the criminal universities, ie, the prison system. My family adjusted to living without him at home. Everyone was relieved of the stress that living with him exposed us all too. My family became reliant on each other, as a basic social unit. This made us feel like a “family” again. Even this noticeable change at home and realization of what my brother’s life had become, was not enough to deter
The Journey
police officers. I sat there and waited, and waited, and waited some more, until I was eventually taken inside the emergency room. As impatient as I was, bouncing my legs and scratching my head vigorously, I battled these delusions until I was in the mental health ward going to sleep. While I was in hospital, I was frightened but at the same time I felt safe. I knew the workers were there to help me but I just couldn’t trust anyone. I was so confused. I could not think clearly. I had an idea as to why I was in hospital, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. My thoughts were racing and I couldn’t control them. The idea of police being after me and people plotting against me continued for quite some time. I was so paranoid that I couldn’t sleep without strong sedation. A team of doctors and psychologists diagnosed me with a drug-induced psychosis, which later on developed into schizophrenia. I was told that I was very ill and that there is the chance that I will never recover from this episode. Struggling to understand what this meant, I just went along with it. The anxiety was overwhelming to the point where I had to take part in the activities in hospital just to keep my mind distracted—I wondered if I was ever going to recover; I wondered if I was ever going to be normal. The voice inside my head kept telling me, “you will get better,” “just persist with it” and that “things are going to be okay.” These voices were encouraging me to not give up the fight for sanity. While I was in hospital, I read books and played table tennis, and incorporated exercise back into my life. I didn’t talk to the other patients as I was too anxious and paranoid to speak to anyone, especially when the conversation was going to revolve around how I wound up in a mental health ward and why I was on an involuntary basis. At this point in time, I was in the early stages of acceptance and did not want to talk about my decisions and actions at all. Although I was struggling to accept my new reality (diagnosis etc.), I just spared a moment here and there to think about what life would be like to be mentally stable again. These ideas of being healthy gave me courage and this made me smile again. These voices were my support team, even though they were disembodied and inside my head. These voices were allowing me to block out a lot of negative energy that had built up since the end of 2012, which motivated me to put all of my effort and time into becoming mentally stable again. I felt hope for the first time in so long. I learnt to cope with my symptoms and implement strategies to reduce them. This was different from what I was used to for the 12 months following my secondary education. I saw the light. The lanterns which were guiding me through the darkness were shining bright. These lanterns were looking after me. Their brightness found its way under my umbrella of psychosis, to find the handle, and completely upheave the umbrella and it’s symptoms over the course of 12 months. A lot of effort, time, and thought went into my recovery. My team took excellent care of me while I made my way back to normality. These people Page 3 of 4
Downloaded from http://schizophreniabulletin.oxfordjournals.org/ by guest on November 15, 2015
The people around me saw that I had changed, and so, they began to separate themselves from me. I lost all hope for myself and I lost my ability to enjoy the company of others. I became a worry for some, and got left in the dust by others. This loss of friendships, combined with the struggle of finding my own 2 feet outside of school, made things even more challenging. Not only were there significant changes in character, but my behavior became antisocial. I discontinued seeing friends, I stopped attending university, and I even stopped talking to my own family. My life had come to a halt and I started going backward. My lack of honesty with myself translated into the rest of my life, and I did nothing about it. This complete loss of identity was what made my hospitalization quite difficult. I couldn’t even remember my own contact details or address. My thinking was so disorganized that I could barely process what people were saying to me. When taking drugs, I was choosing to be something that I was always against. The duplicity of this contributed to my self-loathing and I hated what I had become. I had betrayed myself. I showed no loyalty to my family and friends, or my reputation. I lost all of my desirable characteristics. To me, my identity was now unknown. I had forgotten who I was and what it was like to be happy. I had forgotten how to enjoy life. I knew something was wrong, but the addictions said otherwise. I began to tell myself that things were okay when they weren’t. Drugs had become a firm part of my daily existence and this is when I realized, things aren’t okay. This was when I realized, I needed help. People think that suicide is the cowards’ way out, but it is most certainly not cowardly. As I had the knife against my throat, I wondered how on earth my life got to this point; the point where suicide is the only option. In this emotional state, I began to have flashbacks of my life to when I was just a child all the way through to the present. These flashbacks were what saved me from myself. I recalled spending time with my family and friends, and I remember seeing myself playing sport, and wondered why I chose the path I did. Diving into my childhood memories and seeing how happy I used to be made me decide not to commit suicide. I chose life. It took immense courage for me to throw the knife on the floor and face my fears. Although these fears were in an altered reality, they were very real to me at the time. The severity of my paranoia and delusions pushed me over the edge. I had nothing left to give anymore. I traveled into the depths of hell. I could feel the essence of what was my mind and soul, leaving my body. When I threw the knife across the floor, I felt empty. Whatever was remaining of the Dominic Hanley that we all once knew was now nonexistent. I was reborn that night. It took me a while, but I did get brought back to life. Waiting in the sitting area in the emergency room, I was so paranoid that I was even suspicious of the nurses and doctors walking around. I thought they were undercover
D. Hanley
Page 4 of 4
hope. I found myself, which allowed me to find others. In my current reality, I study full-time, I work a job I enjoy doing, and I play competitive sport again. I exercise every day, and I refrain from using illicit substances. Although these lifestyle habits are relatively consistent with my previous way of life before the addition of drugs, I am a completely different person now. I have more empathy for others and have a deeper understanding of what the human body is capable of. These components that make up my reality, to me, are the essence of life. With the aid of medication, I have made a full recovery. Something I’ve come to realize is that this has just been the beginning; I’ve only lived a quarter of my predicted life. I can honestly say, now that I have made a full recovery, I am looking forward to what lies ahead of me. I can see the importance in implementing healthy lifestyle choices, which in turn only bring me happiness. This new found level of being content has pushed me to achieve things I never thought was possible. I am at peace with myself, my family, and my friends. I am just so grateful I gave myself another chance at life. For so long, I wondered who I was and what I was doing with myself, but now I know. My name is Dominic Hanley, and I am proud of who I am. ***** I hope that reading my experience with mental illness has given you a glimpse into the harsh reality that is mental illness. If you are seeking help, not only find your lanterns that will guide you through the darkness, but read these pages through the dark times to reassure yourself, that things can get better. May this story shine light upon your world as you travel through the darkness. *****
Downloaded from http://schizophreniabulletin.oxfordjournals.org/ by guest on November 15, 2015
found me, which enabled me to find myself. Upon doing so, I pulled myself out of the depths of hell and into the atmosphere of depression. Although I had recovered from the psychosis, my depression was still very present. Pulling me out of the train wreck that was my life wasn’t easy, but with the help of 2 very important individuals in my intervention team, I did it. It was the toughest thing I’d ever done. I achieved something the night I almost committed suicide. I broke the boundaries and created new ones. In saying that, those boundaries will never be breached again. From that night on, I knew I was never going to be the same—I knew I was always going to be different. Although being different, I knew that if I lived a happy, functional life, it would make up for all the differences I perceive within myself. I may not be the smartest, or strongest, but I am certainly tough. To push through the barrier of depression and fight my agoraphobia, conquer my paranoia and delusions, and to rid my senses of any hallucinations I was experiencing, to go on to achieve the things I have done, makes me proud of whom I am. Being diagnosed with schizophrenia made me feel out of place and not accepted among the community, but then I realized that I am who I am. Learning to accept my new self was difficult. Without any hesitation, I took it in my stride. With no support from the people I was associated with, I had to conquer these demons on my own. In saying that, I’ve learnt more about myself in the past 12 months than I’d ever known before. I did a lot of work on myself—I changed my lifestyle. In doing so, I was able to discover who I really am. I have accepted my diagnosis and have come to the understanding that it is a part of me. When I stopped experiencing all of my symptoms, I found my identity. With finding my identity, came courage and
First Person Account
The Journey
Dominic Hanley
Preface Life was easy, and then it wasn’t. High school was so structured. The routines of playing sport, learning, and socializing at specific times on specific days were the structures of my life. Yes, I embraced this life and did so willingly, but once these routines no longer existed, I was left behind. Little did I know; these routines would lay the foundation of a successful life after school. Having no clear direction ahead, the influence of “peers” forced me to become complacent about my early childhood experiences and this was when illicit drugs entered my life—disastrous decisions and dreadful outcomes. Recreational use was enjoyable, until it evolved into an addiction. This is where I began to struggle. Before I even realized it, drugs had got the best of me. They changed me. I forgot who I was and what I stood for. I lost my sense of identity. Not only did I lose that, takings drugs took a toll on my studies as well. I couldn’t concentrate and completely lost all of my interpersonal skills. I lost contact with almost everyone I was associated with from school, and making new friends became difficult—this made me feel excluded. The only people I now associated with were those who also used drugs and in a way, this validated that my lifestyle and choices were the right ones. It was difficult to interact with others and live a normal life. I had no idea who I was anymore.
My Story My life hasn’t been easy. Although I came from a privileged family where we were sent to private schools and brought up with religion, I have experienced so many things in my life that most people don’t have to. At the very young age of 8, I was tormented and physically harmed by my older brother. His name will not be mentioned as the events that occurred between my brother and I were dangerous and could potentially come back to haunt me. I was traumatized to the point where I was crying excessively and had spontaneous emotional outbursts. This made going to primary school and making friends difficult for me. This occurred countless times throughout my childhood up until my brother was sent to prison for other matters. Every single day, I had to choose either “fight” or “flight.” In most cases, I chose to fight and stick up for myself, whereas in the particular predicament where I was being chased out of the house by an angry, drugfueled teenager with a butcher knife, I chose flight. This is my most hated memory of my brother. I waited on the street for 6 h until my parents got home from work. I felt sad, lonely, and worthless. When waiting, I wondered why on earth I was receiving this treatment to then have come to the realization that this was the life I was born into, and nothing could have changed that. From that day on, I never chose flight. After escaping death at the age of 11, I learnt that this was not just any normal family— this was sibling vs sibling in full on combat. With everything I was forced to experience, came resilience, mental and physical toughness, courage, vigilance, and perseverance. Although I showed all these traits, they were only truly evident in my character when I had made a relative recovery from the posttraumatic stress disorder I developed owing to my brother’s actions. For years on end, I exhibited one emotion—anxiety—unless I was playing rugby, where the emotion was aggression. I developed the ability to switch on my aggression when I wanted to, as this was self-preservation behavior to living with my brother. On the field, I never backed down. In my opinion, it was either “go hard” or “go home.” When not on the rugby field, this anxiety made me continue to use “fight” or “flight” as my main instinctual fall back plan.
© The Author 2015. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the Maryland Psychiatric Research Center. All rights reserved. For permissions, please email: [email protected]
Page 1 of 4
Downloaded from http://schizophreniabulletin.oxfordjournals.org/ by guest on November 15, 2015
“Schizophrenia is a severe mental disorder characterized by two kinds of symptoms; positive psychotic symptoms - thought disorder, hallucinations, delusions, and paranoia - and negative symptoms – impairment in emotional range, energy, and enjoyment of activities. For a formal diagnosis, these symptoms must persist for at least one month and usually result in severe impairment in job and/or social functioning. In other words, Schizophrenia is a particular form of psychosis, a term encompassing several severe mental disorders that result in the loss of contact with reality along with major personality derangements.” – Health Central Encyclopedia (2014)
D. Hanley
Page 2 of 4
me. I was surrounded by likeminded “friends” who could portray “how the world worked” to only add to my comfort in using drugs. By August 2011, I was smoking cannabis every day. It was safe to say I was addicted. I got through the school work and sport, to arrive at tertiary study. My being under the influence of cannabis for almost 6 months straight made simply enrolling and attending university an effort, let alone actually studying. Although I could see I wasn’t achieving what I was capable of, I didn’t cease consuming the drug. In fact, I increased my intake. With the addition of tobacco to this, came my smoking addiction. Of course, with the addition of other certain drugs throughout 2012, only further compounded my lack of motivation. I began to experiment more with illicit drugs almost instantly after my high-school graduation. I tried more powerful hallucinogens, followed by stimulants. These chemicals got the best of me. Almost immediately, I was addicted. Due to my extensive experimentation with illicit drugs, I became psychotic. To be psychotic does not mean you are a psychopath—it means you have experienced what is referred to as a “loss of contact with reality.” I didn’t realize I was experiencing this at the time it was all happening. In other words, to me, I wasn’t mentally ill, these weren’t symptoms and I definitely didn’t experience a drug-induced psychosis. They were real life. The symptoms of paranoia and anxiety, combined with the delusions I was holding on to at the time, equated to the fuel source to the severity of my altered reality. It wasn’t until I attempted an act of suicide that I was hospitalized. The cause of this decision was due to the severity of my symptoms, and the reality I was facing was owing to the large dose of lysergic acid diethylamide I consumed. This was full-blown psychosis. I was feeling things that simply weren’t there. I was also experiencing disordered thinking, loss of appetite, and changes in behavior and mood. Paranoia was by far the most developed symptom, being the reason I attempted to commit suicide when combined with the delusions I had. I believed things other people didn’t. I started to believe people were talking about me wherever I went, as if they were plotting something against me. I believed the televisions in my house had secret cameras to spy on me and my family, as well as, television hosts sending me hidden messages to stop taking drugs and start playing sport again. I had the firm belief police were after me due to my illicit drug use and that they had a warrant for my arrest. The idea of being sent to prison was horrifying for me, for obvious reasons, adding to my paranoia. The feelings of worry and guilt were always 2 steps behind me. I could not distinguish what was real from what was unreal. These symptoms persisted for a prolonged period of time, resulting in a diagnosis of schizophrenia. I lost all contact with reality. This altered reality was the most difficult world to live in. In my eyes, my life was over. Everything I had dreamt of doing, and all my aspirations in life, were now nonexistent. I felt completely nullified.
Downloaded from http://schizophreniabulletin.oxfordjournals.org/ by guest on November 15, 2015
My reactivity to danger was exceptional. For so long, my brother was the danger, and as I entered high school (age 12–13), the danger disappeared. My quality of life got increasingly better. I excelled in sport, made friends and learnt to be a teenager. The days following the sentencing of my brother were the most peaceful days of my life. I was upset; to think, the benefits of my brother being sentenced to imprisonment outweighed the consequences of him not being in prison. As my life got better, so did my interpersonal skills. High school was a roller coaster of fun, until I had my first experience with cannabis (tetrahydrocannabinol [THC]). At 15 years of age, I had my first hit of THC. I was immediately debilitated. This drug made me laugh, feel happy, be accepted into certain peer groups, and make terrible decisions. Somehow this was enjoyable, although I wasn’t achieving anything. For a goal-driven person, this was different from what I was used too. As I entered senior year, I became a chronic cannabis abuser. It wasn’t until August 2011 that I began to see the adverse side effects that consuming a mild hallucinogen would cause someone. I lost muscle, gained fat, and suffered from a decreased lung capacity due to the method in which I consumed this drug. This made representing my school in sport more difficult than it should have been. With this drop in physical fitness, came a drop in mental toughness. I lost my aggression on the field, which subsequently made me lose my confidence. I became a bystander, rather than an impact player. People began to speak to me less, and my academic performance declined. When cannabis entered my life, I was put into reverse and I began to roll backward. My usual “fight” or “flight” response had deserted me. I had become complacent. I thought I was in control. I had forgotten how I had suffered as a result of my brother’s drug use, and here, I was following the same path. Everything I stood for and all the positive characteristics I gained through my experiences with my older brother went straight out the window. I had changed, without knowing it. I thought I was still the same person, but I wasn’t. I was viewing life through the haze of cannabis and this affected how I felt about my family, school, and old friends. The only thing that now interested me at my “prestigious private school” was the sport and my “new found friends” and drug use. I participated in sport all year round which made me extremely happy. The distance between my brother and I grew as the years went on as he purposely delved into deeper criminal activities, which ultimately, has just kept recycling him through the criminal universities, ie, the prison system. My family adjusted to living without him at home. Everyone was relieved of the stress that living with him exposed us all too. My family became reliant on each other, as a basic social unit. This made us feel like a “family” again. Even this noticeable change at home and realization of what my brother’s life had become, was not enough to deter
The Journey
police officers. I sat there and waited, and waited, and waited some more, until I was eventually taken inside the emergency room. As impatient as I was, bouncing my legs and scratching my head vigorously, I battled these delusions until I was in the mental health ward going to sleep. While I was in hospital, I was frightened but at the same time I felt safe. I knew the workers were there to help me but I just couldn’t trust anyone. I was so confused. I could not think clearly. I had an idea as to why I was in hospital, but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. My thoughts were racing and I couldn’t control them. The idea of police being after me and people plotting against me continued for quite some time. I was so paranoid that I couldn’t sleep without strong sedation. A team of doctors and psychologists diagnosed me with a drug-induced psychosis, which later on developed into schizophrenia. I was told that I was very ill and that there is the chance that I will never recover from this episode. Struggling to understand what this meant, I just went along with it. The anxiety was overwhelming to the point where I had to take part in the activities in hospital just to keep my mind distracted—I wondered if I was ever going to recover; I wondered if I was ever going to be normal. The voice inside my head kept telling me, “you will get better,” “just persist with it” and that “things are going to be okay.” These voices were encouraging me to not give up the fight for sanity. While I was in hospital, I read books and played table tennis, and incorporated exercise back into my life. I didn’t talk to the other patients as I was too anxious and paranoid to speak to anyone, especially when the conversation was going to revolve around how I wound up in a mental health ward and why I was on an involuntary basis. At this point in time, I was in the early stages of acceptance and did not want to talk about my decisions and actions at all. Although I was struggling to accept my new reality (diagnosis etc.), I just spared a moment here and there to think about what life would be like to be mentally stable again. These ideas of being healthy gave me courage and this made me smile again. These voices were my support team, even though they were disembodied and inside my head. These voices were allowing me to block out a lot of negative energy that had built up since the end of 2012, which motivated me to put all of my effort and time into becoming mentally stable again. I felt hope for the first time in so long. I learnt to cope with my symptoms and implement strategies to reduce them. This was different from what I was used to for the 12 months following my secondary education. I saw the light. The lanterns which were guiding me through the darkness were shining bright. These lanterns were looking after me. Their brightness found its way under my umbrella of psychosis, to find the handle, and completely upheave the umbrella and it’s symptoms over the course of 12 months. A lot of effort, time, and thought went into my recovery. My team took excellent care of me while I made my way back to normality. These people Page 3 of 4
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The people around me saw that I had changed, and so, they began to separate themselves from me. I lost all hope for myself and I lost my ability to enjoy the company of others. I became a worry for some, and got left in the dust by others. This loss of friendships, combined with the struggle of finding my own 2 feet outside of school, made things even more challenging. Not only were there significant changes in character, but my behavior became antisocial. I discontinued seeing friends, I stopped attending university, and I even stopped talking to my own family. My life had come to a halt and I started going backward. My lack of honesty with myself translated into the rest of my life, and I did nothing about it. This complete loss of identity was what made my hospitalization quite difficult. I couldn’t even remember my own contact details or address. My thinking was so disorganized that I could barely process what people were saying to me. When taking drugs, I was choosing to be something that I was always against. The duplicity of this contributed to my self-loathing and I hated what I had become. I had betrayed myself. I showed no loyalty to my family and friends, or my reputation. I lost all of my desirable characteristics. To me, my identity was now unknown. I had forgotten who I was and what it was like to be happy. I had forgotten how to enjoy life. I knew something was wrong, but the addictions said otherwise. I began to tell myself that things were okay when they weren’t. Drugs had become a firm part of my daily existence and this is when I realized, things aren’t okay. This was when I realized, I needed help. People think that suicide is the cowards’ way out, but it is most certainly not cowardly. As I had the knife against my throat, I wondered how on earth my life got to this point; the point where suicide is the only option. In this emotional state, I began to have flashbacks of my life to when I was just a child all the way through to the present. These flashbacks were what saved me from myself. I recalled spending time with my family and friends, and I remember seeing myself playing sport, and wondered why I chose the path I did. Diving into my childhood memories and seeing how happy I used to be made me decide not to commit suicide. I chose life. It took immense courage for me to throw the knife on the floor and face my fears. Although these fears were in an altered reality, they were very real to me at the time. The severity of my paranoia and delusions pushed me over the edge. I had nothing left to give anymore. I traveled into the depths of hell. I could feel the essence of what was my mind and soul, leaving my body. When I threw the knife across the floor, I felt empty. Whatever was remaining of the Dominic Hanley that we all once knew was now nonexistent. I was reborn that night. It took me a while, but I did get brought back to life. Waiting in the sitting area in the emergency room, I was so paranoid that I was even suspicious of the nurses and doctors walking around. I thought they were undercover
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hope. I found myself, which allowed me to find others. In my current reality, I study full-time, I work a job I enjoy doing, and I play competitive sport again. I exercise every day, and I refrain from using illicit substances. Although these lifestyle habits are relatively consistent with my previous way of life before the addition of drugs, I am a completely different person now. I have more empathy for others and have a deeper understanding of what the human body is capable of. These components that make up my reality, to me, are the essence of life. With the aid of medication, I have made a full recovery. Something I’ve come to realize is that this has just been the beginning; I’ve only lived a quarter of my predicted life. I can honestly say, now that I have made a full recovery, I am looking forward to what lies ahead of me. I can see the importance in implementing healthy lifestyle choices, which in turn only bring me happiness. This new found level of being content has pushed me to achieve things I never thought was possible. I am at peace with myself, my family, and my friends. I am just so grateful I gave myself another chance at life. For so long, I wondered who I was and what I was doing with myself, but now I know. My name is Dominic Hanley, and I am proud of who I am. ***** I hope that reading my experience with mental illness has given you a glimpse into the harsh reality that is mental illness. If you are seeking help, not only find your lanterns that will guide you through the darkness, but read these pages through the dark times to reassure yourself, that things can get better. May this story shine light upon your world as you travel through the darkness. *****
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found me, which enabled me to find myself. Upon doing so, I pulled myself out of the depths of hell and into the atmosphere of depression. Although I had recovered from the psychosis, my depression was still very present. Pulling me out of the train wreck that was my life wasn’t easy, but with the help of 2 very important individuals in my intervention team, I did it. It was the toughest thing I’d ever done. I achieved something the night I almost committed suicide. I broke the boundaries and created new ones. In saying that, those boundaries will never be breached again. From that night on, I knew I was never going to be the same—I knew I was always going to be different. Although being different, I knew that if I lived a happy, functional life, it would make up for all the differences I perceive within myself. I may not be the smartest, or strongest, but I am certainly tough. To push through the barrier of depression and fight my agoraphobia, conquer my paranoia and delusions, and to rid my senses of any hallucinations I was experiencing, to go on to achieve the things I have done, makes me proud of whom I am. Being diagnosed with schizophrenia made me feel out of place and not accepted among the community, but then I realized that I am who I am. Learning to accept my new self was difficult. Without any hesitation, I took it in my stride. With no support from the people I was associated with, I had to conquer these demons on my own. In saying that, I’ve learnt more about myself in the past 12 months than I’d ever known before. I did a lot of work on myself—I changed my lifestyle. In doing so, I was able to discover who I really am. I have accepted my diagnosis and have come to the understanding that it is a part of me. When I stopped experiencing all of my symptoms, I found my identity. With finding my identity, came courage and
