I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia. I can do everything I am supposed to do, like take medication, eat right, and have a good sleep schedule, but I can still experience some paranoia. One of the things that has helped me cope with my paranoia is reading about other people’s experiences with paranoia. When I read what they have experienced, it’s an “aha” moment – ??“Oh, I’m not the only one who has this symptom.”
A few days ago, I drove to the dry cleaners to pick up some stuff. I assumed they would be open. Even though I was early, the doors were locked. As I was leaving, I saw a car with a license plate that said “Army Veteran” on it. I immediately thought this person was the owner of the dry cleaners, and somehow they had heard me coming and closed early, so I couldn’t get to the dry cleaners. I had paranoia on the way home. I saw people in their cars and thought they were wondering what I was going to do next. I really had to focus and block out the paranoia so I could get home safely.
Sometimes during my paranoid thoughts, I hear voices. A voice says, “You’re not schizophrenic,” and it makes me laugh. I first started hearing it when I was leaving the military, but I still hear it occasionally.
Part of my paranoia has to do with a girlfriend I had years ago. Sometimes at night, there are cars with their headlights on in front of my sliding glass door, and I think they’re her friends following me. I look at them for a few seconds and try to block out the paranoia. What helps me cope with this type of paranoia is to distract myself by listening to jazz or watching TV.
I can get paranoid when I see people around my car in the parking lot. I know no one is messing with my car, but it’s hard to come to that conclusion when I’m paranoid. When they finally leave, I get out, walk to my car, and examine the scene. I check the tires and the paint, to make sure everything is in order. I can avoid this paranoia by looking for evidence. I live in a very safe neighborhood, and the parking lot is well lit. I park under a street light, so there’s no logical reason to think someone vandalized my car.
When I drive, I often think I’m being followed. On days when I don’t get much mail, I can easily get caught up in thinking someone has taken my mail. When I use my credit or debit card on the phone, I get anxious because I fear someone is listening in. I’ve had occasions where I think someone in the kitchen has contaminated my food before it’s served to me. I always get paranoid when I see a police officer, so I’ve conditioned myself to take a deep breath and wave at them.
I’ve talked about some ways I cope with my paranoid thoughts. Sometimes, I call my family to talk about the incident that’s worrying me. One of the most important ways I cope with my paranoia is to examine the evidence. I ask myself questions about the reality or unreality of what’s happening. I also practice being present by focusing on what’s real around me. What can I hear, see, touch, or feel?
Those of us diagnosed with schizophrenia can get lost in the symptoms of paranoia, but for me, it’s important to ground myself in reality – what’s happening around me. I experience paranoia because of my diagnosis, and for no other reason. Reading stories of paranoia helps me understand that this is a common symptom in the schizophrenia community. By sharing our personal stories without fear, we learn how to confront our paranoia.
There’s More to My Schizophrenia Than Voices and Hallucinations
With my last change of medication and more recently my increased dosage, I remember suffering from a lack of energy, motivation, and sexual desire more than I was bombarded with voices and the occasional visual hallucination.
Schizophrenia—especially schizoaffective disorder for me—is much more than just positive symptoms. In life, in the media, and among my peers and family, I’ve seen these positive symptoms over-represented in discussing and understanding not only my schizophrenia, but also schizophrenia as an illness that affects so many others. People often assume that if a person with schizophrenia isn’t actively psychotic or hallucinating, they must be fine. For some, this isn’t the case. There are days when I have to really, really fight with myself to get something done. I don’t have the motivation or drive to do something as simple as a quick homework assignment, or doing the dishes becomes a monumental task. Some days I feel like I’m floating; like I’m outside my body and can’t connect enough to get dressed. Other days, I’m filled with a huge void so deep and dark that I have to search for myself again. Through dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), I’ve learned to cope with my hallucinations. I’ve learned to process them in a way that allows me to live with them instead of fighting them. But no amount of coping or awareness gives me the energy to do what I need to do. It’s a miracle I’m not falling behind. I spend most of the day fighting myself for 10-minute tasks, half asleep, trying to force myself out of bed when I want to give up. And it’s not easy.
How would you describe a complete lack of motivation? It’s a feeling of absence, of want, of need, but not being able to find it. It’s wishing someone would tie a rope around your waist and you could follow them. Needing to do something and not being able to do it. Struggling with an invisible part of yourself. And it’s endless.
I’m good at keeping up appearances. It takes an hour to clean the house, and I spend six hours trying to convince myself to get up and do it. But eventually, it gets done. It’s easy to take a nice Instagram photo and write a nice caption. No one needs to know. Even if they did, I wonder if they really get it.
You hear a lot of people say, “It’s okay if all you do today is breathe.” But they don’t understand the shame of just breathing when the world is moving without you. It’s okay if all you do is breathe. Sometimes, all you can really, honestly do is breathe. It’s okay if all you do is take a shower, do a few dishes, or finish a paper. It’s okay even if you don’t feel good. I think people who say these things often don’t understand the incredible burden of illness. The incredible agony of trying so hard and not achieving anything.
I get it.
And that’s really okay.
Just breathe.
Tomorrow is not going anywhere.