Introduction

I am 24 years old, and I live with Schizoaffective Disorder - Bipolar Type. Here's my story.

I rang in 2019 by starting my first semester at a university I'd been working to get into for three years. By February I was crawling into bed at 5:00 PM and barely making it to class the next morning, abandoning all of my school work, and avoiding all social interactions that were beyond what was necessary. I was experiencing some weird symptoms that I just didn't know how to talk about, and my resources were limited, so after just a month of living in a new place, I left school and moved into my boyfriend's parents' house back home. With my academic plans demolished and no hope for my future, I spent the next two months in bed – really, I would even move my car slightly in the driveway to make it seem like I had gone out during the day because that was the most I could muster with the energy I had.

In April, it became apparent that I wasn't going to snap out of this and I needed some help. I dragged myself to a general practitioner who informed me that I was depressed, and she prescribed me a low dose of an SSRI that I had previously been on for anxiety then sent me on my way. A couple of weeks later, I returned to tell her I was not improving or really functioning at all. I left with a prescription for a higher dose of the SSRI and an extremely sedating antipsychotic which I was told would calm my anxiety. It just made me sleep even more. I started looking for a mental health specialist that could hopefully be of more help, which was a daunting task considering making even one phone call per hour seemed impossible.

I landed at the County Behavioral Health Unit where the social worker who hosted my intake appointment predicted that I have Bipolar II Disorder after I had described the cyclical nature of my suffering over the past couple years. An appointment was made with a nurse practitioner for a few weeks out, and things started looking up. Unfortunately, things were looking too up; in that first week of June, I had my first full blown manic episode. It was really intense, and I still have a scar on my hand from being thrashed into a rock by a wave because I thought I was invincible to the dangers of the ocean. I later made it to the appointment with the nurse practitioner where she officially diagnosed me with Bipolar I Disorder.

Throughout the next year, I saw a slew of different doctors, and I tried out loads of different medications. Some worked, some didn't, some caused unbearable side effects. I opened up to my doctors and my therapist about what I now know were psychotic symptoms, which we all presumed were being caused by my uncontrolled mood episodes. We later considered this might not be the case.

Today I am still a student. I'm studying Engineering at a new university. I'm still trying to find the right combination of medications. I still experience mood episodes and psychotic symptoms, sometimes together and sometimes not. I still have hard days, but I have easier ones too. I've been working with my doctor and therapist consistently, and we've landed at the conclusion that I am living with Schizoaffective Disorder, and I'm learning to live well with it.