When I think back in time to that cold day in February 1999, my eyes begin to tear up. The memory of my first episode psychosis is entrenched deep into my psyche. It’s layered with so many complexities, so much stigma and so much hurt. After all these years, I know intellectually it was not my fault that I had a psychotic episode. In the past I contemplated if I was responsible for taking care of myself, I couldn’t help but wonder how I could have let something like that happen to me. The remnants of self-blaming thoughts I finally have broke free from.

I can see myself sitting in the community hospital bed, hoping to get some relief from the overtly painful gynecological symptoms I was feeling. I can feel the shots of demoral sting into the side of my hips. Over five days, every four hours a potent dose of opioids ran through my blood and began to cloud my brain with confusing thoughts not based in reality. Though it was a gradual onset of psychosis, beginning first with paranoid thoughts and escalating into a full blown psychotic episode.

By the time I left the community hospital I had temporary nerve damage from all the shots they had given me. I was basically a victim of poor healthcare with no recourse and at the time no ability to hold my doctor accountable for addicting me to pain medicine and causing life changing onset of a serious mental illness.

My next stop was my first dreadful visit to an aging psych unit. Before being admitted they stripped search me to make sure I wasn’t bringing any drugs onto the unit. Even in my state of mind I found it humiliating. And it was certainly a traumatizing event, given my history with past sexual assaults. I was vulnerable, violated and in no position to stand up for myself. The people responsible for advocating for me were no where in sight. For two nights, I was left alone mortified and trembling all night long in an extreme activation of my stress response system.

At the time, my partner and one of my sisters thought it was a good idea to spring me from the hell hole psych unit and drive me two hours away to Johns Hopkins Mood Disorder Clinic. All the sudden everyone was diagnosing me with bipolar disorder. Not taking into account the atrocious amount of opioids that had been put into my body.

While the facility at Johns Hopkins was much newer and cleaner, it was shocking to be given a tour of the dining facility. I remember the huge padlock on the refrigerator door, as I was on a unit for both mood disorders and eating disorders.

Within two days of being on that unit, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, told I was addicted to pain medicine and accused of using steroids. I was given a cocktail of four high dose psychotropic medications, and injected with buprenorphine to treat the withdrawal symptoms.

After five days on that unit, I was released from the hospital. I was confused, not stabilized and completely overwhelmed with the entire situation. What made matters worse was the people in my life were ill-equipped to help me make sense out of what happened to me. There was zero acknowledgment, compassion or even an ounce of grace given to me for all that I had experienced in such a short amount of time. I was left by myself to sort it all out.

Looking back, I’d say it was a kind of cruel abandonment. The kind of thing I’d never do to someone I cared about.

After that cold day in February, my life was forever changed. It was a collision course with a domino effect. Most of which could have been avoided with a certain safety net in place.

Instead, I had to learn how to advocate for myself. I had to learn how to overcome all the trauma inflicted upon me, without any acknowledgement or compassion from others. I had to dig deep and fight back if I was ever going to have a life again.

Sometimes life changes come as unexpected surprises that end up bringing us to a pathway we were meant to be on. Because one way or another I feel as if I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I would never have chosen this path, but the path chose me. I have a responsibility to advocate for those who have no voice.

In my upcoming book “Unsilenced,” I give a voice to the woman inside of me who wanted to speak her truth. I hope when the book is released you’ll pick up a copy and take a walk down my journey with me. My hope is you’ll become “Unsilenced” too!

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