I had another psychotic episode because my medication stopped working.  Equinox, who normally only talks when I am filling my med planner, began telling me several times a day to kill myself.  I was struggling to cope with tactile hallucinations that had been going on over a month.  I also had a delusion that I was going to die a violent death very soon.  I became suicidal because I wanted to kill myself in order to be in control of how I die.  I don’t want to die violently or in pain.

When I realized that all of this was a problem, I called my caseworker.  She told me to go to the mental health clinic and get screened for admittance to the hospital.  I spoke with a psychologist.  Despite telling him that I wanted to kill myself and had a plan, he felt that my outpatient services were enough.  I disagreed.  I headed to the psych hospital and they screened me then contacted a psychiatrist.  The psychiatrist felt that I needed to be admitted and so I was.

After adjusting my medications and adding a new anti-psychotic to aid the one I was already on, my hallucinations and delusions finally disappeared.  It was such a wonderful day when I didn’t have a delusional thought or a single hallucination for over 24 hours!  I especially did not miss Equinox.  In fact, I still haven’t heard from her since I left the hospital despite having filled my med planner since being discharged.  However, the tactile hallucinations have returned in full force.

Here there is a problem.  Whenever you are released from the psych hospital, they try to schedule you to see your psychiatrist within a week or two.  By doing this, they make sure that the medicines are still working and don’t need to be adjusted.  Currently, my psychiatrist is in the hospital because he has cancer and his health is declining.  My mental health clinic is now relying on a Nurse Practitioner to handle ALL the patients at the clinic…and this is a rather large clinic.  So I don’t see him until the middle of May.  Which means, unless someone cancels, no one can adjust my meds to deal with this returning of symptoms.

I know that it is unlikely that I will ever be completely free from hallucinations or delusions, however…I can tell the difference between day to day hallucinations that frankly bore me and hallucinations that are troublesome.

The second setback is related to the Intermediate Western Equitation class I took this semester.  I have ridden horses off and on throughout my life so far and always loved it.  However, that recently changed.  When the semester started in January, I had some minor confidence problems regarding my riding.  The professor tried to help me deal with this.  However, a month ago the horse I was assigned to ride, Buddy, changed the entire situation for the worse.

I was using mounting steps to mount Buddy.  I lack the strength needed to mount from the ground.  Buddy took a couple steps forwards as I mounted and I told him to Whoa.  He then took a step backwards and hit the mounting steps.  At that point, he panicked.  He began backing up very quickly and I didn’t know how to stop him.  He then reared up.  After that, I remember being on the ground.  As soon as I realized what had happened, I had a panic attack.  Once I was calm, the professor told me what happened.  I stayed on while Buddy reared up but when he landed the saddle was crooked and he couldn’t get his footing.  Therefore, he fell over.  At some point, I got myself out of the saddle and launched myself away from Buddy.  Physically, my only injuries were a few cuts on the elbow that I landed on and some bruising.  Mentally, I haven’t gotten over it yet.  In fact, my fear of riding has gotten completely out of hand.

Last Thursday, I was riding Buddy again.  We were just warming up by riding around the edge of the arena.  Suddenly, Buddy started tossing his head and then ducking it really low to the ground.  I stopped him and then realized I didn’t know what to do.  I was afraid that if I urged him forwards he would buck.  I was afraid if I tried to pull his head back up that he would rear up again.  I dismounted Buddy and began hyperventilating.  I couldn’t handle the situation.  While one of the more skilled riders in the class rode Buddy around to make sure everything was fine, the professor told me that he felt I should not come to the last three classes.  He could tell that I was very anxious on the horses and concluded that riding was not fun for me anymore.  He was right.  I can’t even sit on a horse without anxiety.

I am not the type that gives up.  I usually get so stubborn that I won’t allow myself to give up.  But this time, I think I am giving up.  I can’t see this turning out to be a positive experience.  My therapist reminded me that I have faced my fears over and over this semester.  She wants me to remember that and realize that I am not giving up.  I still feel bad though.  This will likely be the last time I get to ride a horse.  I don’t want to end that part of my life in this manner.  Regardless, I think it is time to accept the inevitable and recognize that I gave it my all until it got to a point that was no longer safe.  Accepting this is going to take some serious time.

So I’ve had setbacks these past couple weeks.  I’m ready to get past them and move forwards with life.  I need to find more ways in which I can be proactive regarding schizophrenia and service dogs.  Hopefully some opportunities will arise over the course of the summer.  I just need to start moving forwards again.  I do have faith that things will work out.  I strongly believe that when I have setbacks…I have them for a reason.

Right now, I most often deal with visual and tactile hallucinations.  The visual hallucinations deal most with seeing spiders and other bugs in my apartment.  A couple weeks ago I opened a freshly popped bag of popcorn and saw a spider dive into the popcorn.  I had to tell myself that spiders cannot survive in a sealed bag of popcorn.  Even if they did, being in the microwave would kill them.  Therefore, the spider in my bag of popcorn could not have been real.  But, I still had doubts.  I dumped the whole bag into a bowl and never found a spider.  Only after that visual confirmation was I convinced enough to eat the popcorn.

The tactile hallucinations are one of the worst to deal with.  I will feel like bugs are crawling up my arms and legs, or that bugs are biting me.  My instinct is to brush them off of me or smack my skin to try and kill the bug.  Two weeks ago, my therapist gave me some advice on how to deal with such hallucinations.  She asked me to look at the body part that feels like it has bugs on it.  If I don’t see a bug, then resist the urge to brush the hallucination off or slap at it.  This is hard to do.  It require impulse control.  Even a neurotypical person would want to brush away something they felt crawling on them.  They have no reason to think that something is not crawling on them so that is a normal reaction.  So I have to fight the impulse to brush away a bug and instead, pause to see if something is even there.  Unfortunately, looking at whatever body part felt the hallucination does not make the sensation that something is on me go away.  I have to wait it out or go ahead and swipe at my skin.

Now that it is spring, it is even more difficult to ignore these hallucinations because there is a very real chance that the bugs I see or feel or real.  I’ve killed spiders and other bugs that I find in my apartment already.  At least when it was winter, it was unlikely that a real bug be in my house.

I do still hear auditory hallucinations, but not as often.  Equinox continues to tell me to overdose whenever I am handling my medications.  Usually, I only hear Equinox when I am filling my med planner for the week.  However, sometimes she bothers me when something triggers me…like reading about someone that killed themselves or reading about other people that are psychotic.  In these instances, Equinox often urges me to kill myself.  Equinox also likes to play off of my delusions.  When I walk Sheriff for his final potty time at night, Equinox sometimes tells me that people are hiding in the woods waiting to kill me.  To deal with this, my parents have to pay my best friend to help me walk the dogs at night whenever my parents go to visit my brother on the other side of the state.  I am unable to go outside of the house at night if no one is home.  The paranoia simply becomes too strong.  Even Sheriff can’t make me feel safe enough.

I am also dealing with some very intense anxiety this semester.  I am taking a class called Intermediate Equitation.  I have ridden horses off and on since I was 5 years old.  However, for some reason, I have started to become very anxious around them.

The last time I took a horse riding class was two years ago.  At that time, I was still engaged.  My fiance was taking the class with me.  He helped me saddle my horse because I was not strong enough to lift it onto my horse’s back.  He helped me understand some of the exercises we had to do.  Sometimes, when maneuvering the horse requires several body parts to do different things, I get confused.  Decreased cognition due to the powerful medications I take to control my symptoms and prevent psychosis.

This time around, I don’t have him in the class with me.  I am saddling my own horse (and growing some muscles!) and working through the exercises despite my problems with understanding.  It takes me longer to catch on but eventually I understand what to do.  However, I am extremely anxious while riding.  I am afraid I will fall off.  I am afraid my horse will fall.  My professor has noticed this anxiety and is working on helping me work with it.  From what I learned in psychology, repeated exposure to a stimulus should cause a decrease in anxiety as long as the stimulus does nothing to increase fear or anxiety.  This isn’t so in my case.  It is part paranoia and part anxiety, and those two put together make for a very difficult anxiety to control.  I often find myself on the verge of a panic attack or feeling so anxious that I am nauseous while I am riding.  Sometimes I feel that I should drop the course and give up…but I took this course for a reason.  I want to complete this course so that I prove to myself that I can do it without help from a fiance or friend.  So despite wanting to drop the class, I’m not going to under any circumstances.  I know that if I get through this class despite all the anxiety, I will have proven to myself that I really can face a fear and push through it…deal with it…manage it.

Additionally, I found a volunteering position for the summer.  I am going to volunteer at the college Equine Center in exchange for more chances to ride the horses.  I truly do love horses, despite this anxiety.  I don’t want to stop working with them.  Besides, my summer would be awfully boring without something to do.  I need a reason to get out of bed and start my day.  Volunteering will do that for me.

So that is what victory looks like for me.  I still deal with hallucinations.  I still deal with paranoia.  But through the medicine and by using my coping skills, I am learning to avoid the hospital and have faith in myself that I can get through these crisis.  I know how to find help when I am suicidal.  I have developed techniques to combat the hallucinations.  Sheriff helps me largely to control the paranoia when we are in public.  And I have a great support system through my family and friends.

Here’s wishing that I’ll make it another six months without a hospitalization…that would set a new record for me, a full year without a hospitalization.

I feel vulnerable.  I feel weak.  I feel inadequate.  I feel undeserving.  I feel useless.

I need my therapist.  I need someone that can help me get through this.  I do not have the strength to do it alone.  I feel that I am too far gone to find an inner strength without help.  I sent her an email a little while ago that she’ll receive tomorrow morning.  I practically begged her to find an opening to see me before our usual appointment.  I told her I didn’t care if it was just for 30 minutes or if it was 8am.  I simply need to see her.  I’m worried that as the days pass, I regress to the point of hospitalization.  It is already a tempting idea.

I’m hedging all my hopes and dreams on things that are not concrete.  This isn’t healthy.  It puts me too much at risk for disappointment and I’ve put too much work into these things to deal with the disappointment of nothing coming from it.

I can’t work Sheriff right now.  He has a particularly difficult ear infection and is quite uncomfortable.  I don’t want to stress him with public access work while he is in this state.  I am isolating more at a time in which I really crave the support of people…the honest interaction.  That is a rare craving for me.  It is evidence, I believe, of knowing that I don’t need to be alone right now.  Or at least, as little as possible.

When I do have to be alone, I become much less stable.  I find myself in tears again.  I have cried several times today.  Each time, longer and with more strength.   I used to pride myself for being in control of my emotions.  Once upon a time, I didn’t cry.  Once upon a time, I was stoic and took things as they came with a weathered mind and expression.  Like a soldier constantly in battle, I put my head down and bull-headed my way through life.  I don’t think I can do that now.

In all honestly, I am writing through tears and wracking sobs.  I’ve had a panic attack.  I am trembling with pain and sadness.

I was always the type of person that set goals in life…big goals with concrete steps on how to reach them.  I graduated high school, one step towards my goal.  I started college aiming for a degree in Biology.  Took a bit of a stumble there when I realized that wasn’t the major for me.  I switched to Psychology which I instantly fell in love with.  I was still in line with my goal.  I just needed to graduate.  Then, I was going to move to Florida and get a job at Busch Gardens.  I was going to be a zookeeper working in the Education Department.  It seemed like the best job ever.

But then it hit me.  Schizophrenia.  It stripped down my life until every day was a struggle to stay out of the hospital…and most days I lost that battle.  Eventually things got better.  I was quick to pull myself up and start advocating for myself.  I started helping my friends understand what I was going through.  I tried to help my parents as well.  I educated myself, reading every book remotely about schizophrenia so that I could understand the path set in front of me.

I reached out to a local dog trainer to help me train Sheriff to become my service dog.  After a few months, he was trained and I returned to class with him.  Slowly, I started gaining momentum.

Then, little blessings started falling into my lap.  I randomly came across a website asking people with service dogs to submit autobiographical short stories or poetry about life with a service dog.  I submitted a story and it got accepted to be published in a book.  Several months later, I was reading my own story in a real book.  I was actually a published author!  Then another opportunity fell into my lap…one that I can’t talk about yet but I can’t wait for the day I can share it with you guys.  Just recently, I was selected to be profiled in Schizophrenia Magazine.  There will be an article about me in the April issue.

The goals I had set since high school are gone now though.  I’ve had to change my path of direction.  I’ve also had to learn to stop thinking so far ahead.  I have to take one day at a time.  Sometimes, I take one minute at a time.  Tonight is one of those nights.

I never allowed myself to grieve my diagnosis.  After 3 years, it is finally hitting me.  I’ve said before that schizophrenia is a blessing, but it is a prickly one…like a rose covered in thorns.  Tonight it feels like a huge weight.  It has never felt that way before.  I look to the future and see myself struggling to maintain sanity and a life I want to live.  I don’t want to live off the government forever.  I want to reclaim my independent, stubborn self.  That seems so far out of reach though.  I feel lost.  I had this amazing life planned and I lost it.  Although, life with schizophrenia and a clown for a service dog has had its amazing parts.

Really, it is hard to express my feelings.  I mourn the life I thought I would live.  I fear the future and the troubles I will inevitably face.  I grieve for the person I thought I was.  I feel guilt for having to rely so much on friends and family.  I cry out in anguish from it all.

I have my moment of weakness and then I hope I’ll put myself back together and continue on.  Nothing else is acceptable at this point.

I met with my psychiatrist a couple days ago.  He said I seemed to be doing better but he did suggest that we look into increasing my dosage on my anti-psychotic.  He made this suggestion because I hallucinate at least a couple times a week.  90% of the time, I hear Equinox telling me to overdose or kill myself.  It is tough to hear that on such a regular basis but I refuse to increase the dose on my medicine.  It leaves me so sedated that I am not safe to drive and I can barely function due to how exhausted I am all the time.

In reality, I’d like to taper off my anti-psychotic.  I doubt my current psychiatrist would agree to let me do that.  Frankly, I am afraid that I will have another psychotic episode if I don’t take my medicine.  But I also know that I can have a psychotic episode on this medicine anyways.  It can happen either way.  I just feel like I am poisoning my brain with these drugs.  We talked about the memory problems I have and the cognitive problems.  He stated that it was most definitely caused by my medications.  He also told me that Xanax drops your IQ by about 5 points.  I laughed, I thought he was joking.  But no, he told me he was serious.  So now I have stopped taking Xanax during the day (it did nothing anyways).  Now I only take it at night.

So…three years.  Three years ago I was completely psychotic.  On a Sunday morning I was supposed to go to work at 8am.  I woke up my fiance when my alarm went off.  I knew I couldn’t work.  I knew that I was too far gone.  I had been suicidal all weekend.  I told him to call the behavioral health hospital and find out what we needed to do in order to get me admitted.  He talked to them while I took a shower.  I remember shivering while I was showering because I was so scared.  I couldn’t find my foothold on reality.  I believed the police were searching for me.  I believed that my therapist was searching for me.  I was afraid they would find me.  I didn’t know what I thought they would do but it terrified me nonetheless.

The hospital told my fiance to bring me in to be evaluated.  About a month prior to this, I had been evaluated at the same hospital.  They had referred me to a psychiatrist.  I had met with her once before we went in for this second evaluation.  After asking me several pages worth of questions, everything from what symptoms I was experiencing, how suicidal I was, if I’d ever been abused, and if I did any drugs or alcohol, the evaluator called the psychiatrist on call…who just so happened to be the one I’d seen just a couple weeks prior.  She remembered me and wanted me admitted.  After I signed all the necessary paperwork, they let me hug my fiance goodbye and also give him my jewelry, wallet, cell phone, and everything else I had on me that was considered contraband.

I remember being terrified.  I was led to my room and I simply sat on the bed, staring at the wall across from me.  My mind raced, the auditory hallucinations were relentless.  Delusions quickly started flooding in.  I thought there were cameras watching me in my room.  I cautiously looked up at the ceiling to check.  Nothing looked like a camera.  I thought they were going to keep me forever.  I thought they were going to send me to the state hospital.  I thought that the other patients were going to kill me.  I thought my boss would find out and fire me.  Most of all, I thought that my life was over.

By the time I was summoned by a nurse to be asked more questions for the intake assessment, I had lost the ability to speak.  I literally could not get a work to come out of my mouth.  I tried but it wouldn’t happen.

I was allowed to go to morning group.  People went around the room talking about why they were in the hospital, how the previous day had gone, if they had slept well, etc.  When it came my turn, I said nothing.  I still couldn’t speak so I focused my attention to making patterns with the panels in the ceiling.  I made a maze through the panels, one that avoided the fluorescent lights and air vents.  I would do this repeatedly during my stay in the hospital.  I would also try to count the ridges on the panel that separated the group room from another room.  I always lost count.

Eventually, after several days, I got my voice back.  Actually, there were two people in which I could communicate with before I started speaking regularly.  I could briefly answer questions from my psychiatrist.  I had to, they kept switching my medicine around, leaving me with bothersome side effects such as dizziness and nausea.  I could also talk to my therapist.  Actually, talk is an understatement…words flooded from my mouth when she met with me.  I had to make sure they wouldn’t send me home soon because I knew I would kill myself if they let me go home.  She said I would only be discharged when I was ready and no longer felt that way.  She was kind.  I felt safe talking to her.

That hospital stay lasted 11 days…something that is rather unheard of these days.  It was followed by 12 more hospitalizations that year.  Aside from that year, I tend to average 2 hospitalizations a year.  I am considered disabled.  I’ve been tossed around from mental health clinics all around town.  I use a service dog.  Life with schizophrenia is simply not easy.

At the same time, so much has happened as a result of having schizophrenia and using a service dog.  I wrote a short autobiographical story that got published in a book called Two Plus Four Equal One.  I will be profiled in the April issue of Schizophrenia Magazine.  I have another HUGE project that I am involved in but I don’t think I can talk about it yet.  I get the chance to help educate the public about not only service dogs, but about schizophrenia and mental illness in general.  I have this blog where I can share my life with others…the good and the bad…making a true portrayal of life with schizophrenia and a service dog.

I would not take back the last three years of my life.  I would not give my diagnosis up if some cure came along.  I appreciate and respect who I am.  I truly believe that there is a reason for me to have schizophrenia.  I see it unfolding on front of me and I follow the path it leads me down.  These past three years have been packed with experiences that have made me a better person.  I have more patience.  I have learned to appreciate every day I have.  I have learned not to stereotype people with any kind of disability, diagnosis, or illness.  I have learned techniques that strengthen me as a whole person.  I have learned to trust myself.  Really, I can’t even write all that I have learned and gained.  It would take forever.

Three years.  I count them as a victory and I hope I make it to the fourth anniversary.

First, I went to a concert all by myself!  My parents were really worried that it wouldn’t work out.  The concert was at the New Daisy on Beale Street in Memphis, TN.  My mom was convinced that Beale Street is full of crime and such.  Well it isn’t.  Too many police walk around and patrol it.  Additionally, the concert was on a Monday evening, not so many people hitting the bars on Mondays.  My dad was quite concerned that I would get in a wreck.  I’m not sure why.  I know the area very well since I love downtown Memphis.  So my parents lectured and voiced their concerns but in the end, it was my decision and I chose to go.

The bands that played were Ann Arbor, Downtown Fiction, We The Kings, and Mayday Parade.  I was mostly interested in We the Kings.  I even bought the VIP package so that I could meet the band (and Charles Trippy!!!!).  It was so awesome to meet them.  They were all very nice.  The lead singer walked straight up to me and gave me a hug!  I also brought along a pigeon decoy (they decorate the tour buses with them) and the whole band signed it!  I also got a signed poster, a t-shirt, and a wristband.  Additionally, I bought another t-shirt and another wristband.

Since the Meet and Greet was at 4:15 and the concert started at 5:30 (about 6:15 in reality), everyone that was a part of the Meet and Greet (11 people) got to pick out where to stand in the venue.  Obviously, we all chose right up front at the stage.  We could touch the stage…there was no barrier.  The first two bands played and I didn’t know any of their songs, but it was good music.  Got to touch the hand and guitar of members of Ann Arbor and Downtown Fiction.  I also got kicked in the face by a person who was crowd surfing.  I had no idea I’d gotten myself into a mosh pit!  Unfortunately, I learned that mosh pits are mean.  They will spit you right out.  Literally.  I got shoved off the viewing platform and into the aisle just as We The Kings came on stage.  I couldn’t squeeze back into the crowd and a bouncer had to catch me when I fell into the aisle.  So, I had to watch the band I was there to see over the heads of the crowd.  Not fair.  But I did meet them so that makes up for it I think.  And I still got my pigeon!

When all was said and done, I left Memphis safely and got home safely.  Of course, I didn’t rub it into my parents’ face but I hope that if I ever decide to do this again they will be less concerned.  I think I proved that I can handle myself.

Another accomplishment is an ongoing one.  I am taking Intermediate Western Horseback Riding this semester.  I am riding a horse named Buddy.  He is a slow horse if you let him be.  He is actually quite smart.  He figures out how much you will let him get away with and tests you in every new lesson.  Last week I rode him on a lunge line and had to lope (canter).  I am really not comfortable with loping…it feels too much like I am flying on top of a horse and I don’t want to fly into the ground.  Buddy does a pretty good left lead lope but he hates doing the right lead.  I couldn’t get him to do it while on the lunge line.  In fact, it very nearly caused me to have a panic attack.  However, I am bound and determined to not finish this class until I can get him to lope on that right lead correctly.

Today, Buddy tested me again.  Everyone had their horse set up in a circle.  One at a time, a person would ride their horse around the circle and practice speed control…walking slowly then moving into an extended walk, same with the trot.  Buddy, being lazy and testy, decided that with every chance, he would try to drop his shoulder and get back into the group of horses instead of letting me ride him in circles and focus on speed control.  Eventually, the professor showed me that when he drops his shoulder to get to the group of standing horses, I need to make him turn in a complete circle so that he picks up that shoulder and has to work harder because he tried to be lazy.  He kept testing me but eventually, as I continued to make him do circles, he started to get the idea that I wasn’t going to give into his tricks.

I find it amusing.  I’ve always heard people complain about Buddy.  But the more I ride him, the more I like him.  He tests my skills, which I definitely need.  He is easy to work with when you know how to handle him…which I am quickly getting better at.  He is a dependable horse…even if I am just depending on him to be lazy.  Really though, he isn’t that bad.

Another adventure!  I am going to have an article about me in the April issue of Schizophrenia Magazine.  I did a telephone interview about 2 weeks ago.  As I was talking to the writer, I brought up the fact that I use a service dog to help with having schizophrenia.  I gave the whole “Who Rescued Who” story and talked about how Sheriff and I save each other.  The writer liked it so much that he said he wants to use “Who Rescued Who” as the title of my article!  Since I am not subscribed to the magazine, they are going to send me a couple copies so that I can see my article.  I am excited!

Those are my adventures.  I would say that everything else in life is going great but there has been one particular bump in the road.

For the past year, I’ve had 2 therapists.  One I see for free through the campus counseling center.  One my insurance covers that I see through the community mental health clinic that I go to.  The latter therapist talked with her supervisor after our session in which I was still struggling and mentioned having some suicidal thoughts with no intention to act upon them.  Some where in the conversation it came up that I have another therapist.  (Both therapists new about each other)  As usual, this was not taken well.  At my last meeting with the therapist at the community mental health clinic, she told me that I had to pick between her and the campus therapist.  I’ve been seeing my campus therapist for 2.5 years now.  The decision was easy…stay with that therapist.  The latter therapist expected this and so now I no longer see her.  The decision doesn’t affect my freedom to have a caseworker or nurse practitioner or psychiatrist through the community mental health clinic, I just can’t see 2 therapists.

I never understand this.  The campus counseling center also thinks it is stupid…or at least those that know about this consistent problem I keep running into.  My campus therapist says that if I wanted to see 10 therapists I could…as long as I wasn’t billing my insurance for more than one.  So technically, I could pay cash for one therapist, have my insurance cover another therapists, then see as many free therapists (mostly found at area churches) as I want to.  But somehow ethics play into this repeatedly.  I am consistently told (by the people saying I can only have one therapist) that it is unethical to have more than one.  They make their point by giving this example: What if I talk to one therapist about a problem and they tell me something to do to fix the problem.  What if I tell the other therapist about the same problem and they tell me to do something different.  There is a conflict of interest and I would be left confused about what I am supposed to do.

There are flaws in this thinking.  First, therapists don’t TELL you what to do.  They make suggestions.  I am a big girl, I can decide which suggestion suits me the best.  Also, I don’t always bring up the same topics with both therapists.  I sometimes play to their strengths and choose my topics based upon those strengths.  That completely eliminates the conflict of interest.  When I had 2 therapists, we were often working on 2 different things.

Regardless, I can’t change the way the system works.  I’m just glad that I get to keep the rest of my treatment team.  The last time I had to choose therapists, it was all or nothing.

But that summarizes the past couple weeks for me.  As I said, things are going well and I am enjoying these little adventures.

When I took my boyfriend to meet Sheriff, he was no longer the calm, laid back dog I had originally met.  Even making eye contact with him caused him to urinate in fear.  Not a good sign.  Frankly, a horrible sign.  This dog had some serious issues.  The kennel workers told me that he was probably not far off from being euthanized.  Not only do people tend to avoid big, black dogs…they tend to avoid dogs that pee everywhere in a panic.  My boyfriend likely thought I was nuts for wanting this dog, but my mind was not changed.  Over the next couple weeks, we were allowed to take Sheriff to the local park.  He rode in the car great and his fears were not as severe once he was leashed and outside the kennel environment.  But, he was still a very fearful and under-socialized dog.

At one point, while I was at work at Petco, my boyfriend decided to bring Sheriff to Petco since my shift was ending soon.  At the same time, a local rescue was setting up for an adoption event.  One of the volunteers dropped a folded metal crate right next to Sheriff.  Sheriff was so startled that he backed out of his collar and took off running.  My boyfriend and three rescue volunteers took off after him.  They followed him across a very busy road and to the back of an ancient apartment complex…which ended with a drop-off about 8 feet down into the next shopping strip.  Sheriff paused long enough at that drop-off without leaping for my boyfriend to approach him and get him leashed again.  That experience really cemented the fact that this dog needed a lot of help.  I don’t know how I did it, but I convinced my boyfriend that we were his forever home…with my dog training knowledge, I could turn this dog around.

On January 31st, we officially adopted Sheriff.  We took him to our new apartment…where we were still unpacking.  I accidentally knocked a notebook off the back of the couch and onto the floor.  Sheriff’s response was to run in circles around the couch while peeing, and then into the bedroom to continue fearfully peeing while he hid behind the bed.  I added falling notebooks to a quickly growing list of things to desensitize him to.  Later, stepping on manholes, leaves blowing nearby, meeting new people, balloons, kids, loud noises, eye contact, and toys would be added to the list…as well as most of the day to day happenings in an apartment.  We tackled every item.  If making the manhole clang 100 times would help Sheriff no longer fear it…then I would make that manhole clang 100 times.  As the year progressed, Sheriff slowly started to become less fearful.  As his trust in me grew, I started adding obedience training.  As a dog trainer, I wanted his obedience to be solid.  He would be my evidence that I, as a dog trainer, could own a highly trained dog.  So we continued to desensitize and train.  It became more and more apparent that there was a loving, smart, and clownish dog hiding under all the problems.  I wanted to allow that dog to flourish.

Understand, I had no idea that I would ever need a service dog while all of this training was going on.  Never would I have adopted a dog with such severe anxiety and fear with the intention of using it as a working dog.  However, after a year and a half of owning Sheriff, I started looking for a private trainer familiar with service dogs.  In March 2009, I had suffered my first psychotic episode which resulted in an 11 day stay at the psychiatric hospital.  Often and repeatedly, I had to return to the hospital for various reasons.  I was having trouble stabilizing.  My boyfriend gave me the idea of using a Psychiatric Service Dog (PSD) and I pitched the idea to my psychiatrist.  She agreed, after reading the information I brought her, that such a dog would likely be very helpful to me.

Around June, I found that trainer.  By then, Sheriff’s fears were virtually non-existent.  His obedience was solid.  He was polite around strangers and other dogs.  He appeared to be willing to work.  All summer we worked on task training and public access training.  In the end, Sheriff took to it quickly and flourished even more now that he had a job to do.  It was like he had found his element.  Whenever I got out his service dog vest, he would literally jump for joy and wag his entire body.  He loved going into public with me and very quickly he learned how to do his tasks in response to my emotions.  Rarely did I need to ask him to complete a task…he was intuitive enough to do his tasks without direction simply by reading my body language.

Over time, it became evident that Sheriff and I had helped each other face our biggest fears.  I am quoted in the book  Two Plus Four Equals One as saying, “I began working with my dog when I realized that even though I had rescued him, he was ready to rescue me.”  This statement took on a mind of its own.  I tell people now that when I got Sheriff, I showed him that the world was not as scary as he thought it was.  In return, Sheriff shows me that the world is not as scary as I now think it is.  It became a question of “who rescued who,” in which I don’t think a definite answer can be found.  Perhaps I saved Sheriff from euthanasia.  I know he has saved my life on numerous occasions.  Now, my car is adorned with a paw print bumper sticker that states “Who Rescued Who?”  Recently, I bought a collar for him that also asks, “Who Rescued Who?”  It is our mantra.  We are a team and that phrase is what binds us.

Recently, Sheriff was needed to take a large role in helping me stay out of the hospital.  Every semester since 2009, I have been hospitalized at the beginning of the semester.  This semester, all the pieces started falling into place to indicate it was getting time to go to the hospital.  However, I saw the symptoms in time to give notice to my treatment team.  My caseworker, therapists, and team leader began seeing me nearly every day for about a week and a half.  Each one had their own theory about what was going wrong.  “You are starting to become psychotic.”  “You need to learn to handle stress better.”  “You don’t eat enough fruits and vegetables.”  “Your sleep pattern is wrong.”  They also had their own ideas of how to get me through this rough patch.  However, that didn’t work for me.  I didn’t want to simply use coping skills to wait out this critical time.  That, in my opinion, was not enough.  When I saw my nurse practitioner last Friday, he suggested that I probably needed to go to the hospital.  That was the final straw for me.  I sat in my car for about 5 minutes, thinking about giving up and just admitting myself.  Then I drove home.

I thought long and hard that evening about what I needed to do.  The reason why I was headed into crisis needed to be dealt with head on.  Using coping skills to simply ride it out was not working.  I felt that was a backwards approach.  I decided that the intense paranoia and anxiety I was feeling needed to be dealt with in a manner that eradicated them, not managed them.  Therefore, I took the weekend to get my head on straight.  I didn’t go anywhere without Sheriff, he was constantly at my side.  Using the skills I have learned through Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, I began to ignore the scary thoughts and the anxious thoughts.  I would replace them with more rational thoughts or simply not entertain a thought at all.  I felt like I was taking a fly swatter to the thoughts in my brain.  It was difficult.  I had to analyze my patterns of thought over and over to assess if they were healthy or not.  Most of the time they were not healthy.  I spent extra time with Sheriff at home, mostly using him for emotional support.  I brushed him extra long.  I sat on the floor with him and gave him a massage.  We worked on some maintenance training.  Through changing my thought patterns and spending time with Sheriff, I beat back the incoming crisis and instability.

By Monday, I was free.  My anxiety was down to a tolerable level…its usual level.  My paranoia was back to its normal level of disabling but not debilitating.  I could function again…and not just barely.  I was in higher spirits than usual.  I had beat back a hospitalization.  I had diverted a crisis.  I was free to live without the fear of an incoming bout of psychosis.  I had taken the skills I’d learned in therapy and used them to the degree that I was more mentally stable than I have been in a long time.  I cannot convey the idea of how empowering it feels to beat what seemed like an inevitable trip to the hospital just like it always occurs.

As usual, Sheriff (and myself) had rescued me.  “Who Rescued Who” continues to be our mantra because it is how Sheriff and I lead our lives.  I am there to rescue him should he ever need it and he works to rescue me on a daily basis.

However, I don’t view it as a battle anymore.  I view it as a way of life.  We all have our good days and our bad days.  So what if my bad days include suicidal thoughts, psychosis, intense anxiety?  We all have our struggles.  Additionally, I don’t believe that I have these struggles for no reason.  I cannot live my life thinking that I just have bad luck, that I am doomed to suffer from a severe mental illness for the rest of my life.  I choose not to suffer.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Acts 17:11

I was not given schizophrenia to make my life miserable.  I was not given aspergers to make my social life a wreck.  I was not given severe anxiety to make me fear so much of the world.  I was given these things to do something with, to build upon.  I can already see the prospering that these diagnosis have given me.  Nearly daily I receive messages from others with schizophrenia or their family members, thanking me for writing in this blog, or even more often, asking for advice.

I have hope.  People contacting me shows me that people are stepping outside the boundaries of stigma and admitting that they or a loved one is sick.  People are asking me for information about these illnesses.  They don’t want to hide the secret person with schizophrenia.  They want to shine some light on the situation and take hold of hope for themselves and their loved ones.  I have a future.  I don’t know what exactly it entails but I see it coming, lights shining brightly as my purpose is revealed to me.  My purpose to help eradicate the stigma of schizophrenia.

I am not broken inside.  I wish that every person with mental illness could see that in themselves.  We ARE NOT broken.  We have a purpose, one must only search inside to find it.  Not every person is meant to be an advocate for mental illness.  Whatever purpose a person with mental illness can find in their life is wonderful.  Perhaps it is simply getting your GED.  Perhaps it is graduating from medical school.  Perhaps it is being a friend to others who are sick, lonely, destitute, homeless, lost, etc.  Perhaps it is simply living a life that inspires others, in whatever form that may take.  None of that suggests that a person is broken.

If you feel that you are broken inside, you can change that.  YOU can change that.  No drugs or therapy can do that.  These things can set you on the right path, certainly.  However, if you do not take an active part in changing your inner mindset, you will never heal what you think is broken.  If you break your foot, a doctor can tell you about all the treatments available to fix your broken foot.  But, only you can agree to the treatments and say “Yes I will let you set the bone.  Yes I will wear a cast.  Yes I will use crutches.”  Only you can fix yourself.

When I go to the hospital due to psychosis or suicidal ideations, I have reached a low point in my illness.  Some may view that as broken.  I view it as a tune-up, just like vehicles need.  I lose sight of the goal, the purpose I have been given, but that purpose has not disappeared.  I simply need a few tweaks to set me back on the right path.  No low point can convince me that I am broken, because I know that I am not.  I have hope.  I have a life that I live to inspire others.

This is a mindset that you must believe for yourself.  If you believe that you are broken, who is responsible for picking up the pieces?  What caused you to become broken?  You can’t place blame on whatever you believe broke you.  When you blame a person, you believe that they are responsible for fixing what they have broken.  That doesn’t work with people.  Only you can decide in what way you are broken and how it must be fixed.  You may have been raped, bullied, assaulted, abused, etc. but you are still the one responsible for learning that you are not broken.  You have been impacted by the event, certainly.  However, I was impacted when my parents bought me a new computer.  Every day events impact us.  The value, whether positive or negative, that we give these events determines how we will allow them to affect us.  And in turn, how we will allow them to not break us.

This holiday season, take the time to look inside yourself.  Give yourself some credit and see that you are not broken.  Decide that you are going to take responsibility and find the purpose in life that you have been blessed with.  I tell you, that is the best gift you will receive.

Anyways, I didn’t start a blog to ramble about cranberry sauce.  I started a blog to talk about Thanksgiving.

I have so many things to be thankful for.  Of course, I am thankful for my family and friends.  This includes my biological family, and the friends I have all over the world that I may never meet but I know they care about me as much as I care about them.  I’m thankful for Sheriff, who lays curled by my chair as I write.  I am thankful for you guys, the people who read my blog.  Without you, it wouldn’t exist.  I am thankful that I can receive mental health care because there are so many severely mentally ill people who get no help at all.  I am thankful that I live in a beautiful home and am not homeless.  I am thankful for the many opportunities that I have been given, especially over the last year.  Some big projects are in the works and I am so excited about that.  And since I mentioned them, I am thankful for these projects that constantly remind me that I am more than I give myself credit for being.  I am very blessed right now and that feels amazing.  A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed that so much good could come from such a terrible mental illness.

Because we are now past Thanksgiving, I am really feeling the oncoming holiday season.  My mom has already put up three Christmas trees in her house!  Soon, wreaths will appear on doors and windows.  I need to get a Christmas tree for myself since last year’s is spider infested.  Slowly, Christmas lights adorn homes and businesses.  The Christmas parade is next week, I think.  The famed “Kier and Rosemary’s” Christmas party is next weekend!  I have two Mexican Danishes to make; one for the party and one for my family.  I am also really looking forwards to the Service Dog Central card exchange/Secret Santa/Santa Paws events.  I love getting Christmas cards in the mail from all my friends…and sometimes from friends in different countries!  I very proudly display them in my home.  Oh, and now that it is close to Christmas, I can sing all the Christmas songs I want without driving everyone else nuts because those songs are usually stuck in my head in the middle of the summer!

Well, forgive me for having a short post today.  I find myself growing tired and I don’t want to ramble on and on.  Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

One of the opportunities that has recently popped up is a way for me to express my passion about mental health recovery/management.  This is just in the very beginnings of getting started but I really hope it grows bigger.  I want to be a motivational speaker.  I want to inspire people, mentally ill or not, and show them that they can get through whatever life throws at them.  This message is important for all age groups and something I really want to help people with.  I believe that, once I get my brain organized into speeches, I could have a powerful message to share with people.  Scratch that.  I KNOW I have a powerful message to share with people.  Finding the outlet and fine-tuning my speaking are the obstacles I have to resolve now.

I do have an opportunity coming up in the next couple months in which I could talk to anywhere from 20-50 people.  Sort of a baptism by fire test drive.

I find it amusing that this is where life is taking me right now.  I used to hate public speaking.  I’ve always been awkward at it.  However, one thing I have heard over and over in my research for motivational speaking is that even if the presentation is a little wonky, the passion of the message is what really shines through and sticks with people.  I have passion.  Deep passion.  Therefore, I can do this.  I already know that I can talk about what I am passionate about.  That is easy.  And if my message reaches only one person…only changes one person’s life, then I’ve done my job.  Because passion can spread like a wildfire.  Once you set fire to your own light, it begins to set fire to others.  And then they spread their own light.

I can do this.  This is where I am being led.  It sounds good to me.  I’m ready to change the lives of however many people want to listen to me.