Submitted Stories

I was crazy from October 2005 through June 09, of 2010. Which is almost five years.

I am no longer crazy, and I would like to say, when the "craziness" goes, you'll know.

I need the crazy person to know and whoever supports the crazy person, that people do haze and tease and bully because of the craziness. And recovery from the craziness is possible. Like I said I was only crazy for almost five years, I was 16 it stopped at 21, people were hoping I'd stay that way, but I knew I would recover. I am NOT the person I was at 16 I've grown. And I'm ready to live the life I want to live. I AM NO LONGER CRAZY, and to the "crazy" person, it feels exactly how you think to not be crazy.

You do feel crazy.

They will induce the crazy.

They will laugh.

Family and friends will turn their back.

Take life however you wish whenever you're sane or normal or whatever again.

I'm sane at the moment and I Still hear voices becuase of people.

But i choose to love and accept them, I remember life now.

Good luck, don't end it, keep pushing for what you want. be cool. be calm. you'll be fine.

some people will show genuine love.

the story seems to be the same.

love and peace. continue.

I am a real hip hop fan and was influenced by the rappers smoking marijuana. i started smoking the stuff through waterpipes every day and this lead to a mental illness called schizofrenia. The only thing is that i didn't know i had schizofrenia for many years.

i was having thoughts of suicide and self loathing for a long time. i just kept going with my butcher apprenticeship and kept these thoughts to myself. these thoughts soon turned homicidal. I wanted to commit suicide with a monsterous passion and these sick thoughts put me right on edge.

i was sure that people were trying to bring my mood down and therefore personally messing with me. I thought that i was the wrong person to mess with and wanted to physically hurt these people. these thoughts turned murderous and i literally wanted to kill these people who weren't even messing with me. it was part of my shizofrenia.

i was thinking about killing myself every single day and therefore my whole world was surrounded by black. my problem was not the guts to actually take the final step and kill myself, it was that i didn't have a method that i was comfortable with. i didn't want to attempt to kill myself and live therefore making me into what i thought would be a social outcast and a weak sort of person or physically disformed. i wanted the death to be final. on many occasions if i had a gun i would have definatrly shot myself in the head. guatrenteed death and also painless. i was scared of the pain associated with slicing my wrists.

I refused to get help by telling people of these dangerous thoughts and thought i had to man up and get on with me life by going to work even though i was going through absolute hell.

as my schizofrenia got worse i started believing really strange concepts and still had a violent urge to kill people. i had formed a conception that i was a laughing stock not only at my workplace and family but also in my social circles and the more i thought of this the more i wanted to kill.

i started thinking that people at my work were talking in code about me and that all of these words were going over my head but that they were all laughing at me. i was thinking they didn't know who they were fuc*ing with and fantisized about killing them for most of the day.

i came soooo close to taking over the butchershop with a knife, taking the workers as hostage and charging the cops with a knife when they came so that i could be killed with their guns. i fantisized about this alot and was completely ready to flip out at them if they pushed me in any way.

i found myself getting incredibly angry at work to the point where i desperatly wanted to kill and maim. the only thing stopping me was prison.

i wanted out of my job but didn't want to look weak infront of my family by quitting.

i was finally suspended when i had a run in with my boss and decided i wasn't going back. i was given alot of crap from my family for not working and constantly abused by my older brother for being lazy and living off the parents when he had to work even though he knew i was going through suicidal thoughts and had issues. this made me feel like sh*t.

i could have signed up for the australian dole but didn't know how to get it and was in no mindframe to deal with office people and the like. my parents didn't help me get the dole and i found myself dirt poor.

my family were never very well off and couldn't afford a stocked cupboard and drink other then water. i found myself hungry, cold (no heating, middle of winter) suicidal and homicidal. i was literally going through mental hell. i always had a great, large plate for tea but not long after shopping day the noodles that were there for lunches were gone. cerial was always there but i just did not feel like eating the low end cerials that were in the cupboard

my condition worsened.

i started beliveing that i was trapped into an incredible conspiracy where i was some kind of messiah and the evil people of the world were trying to eliminate me. i started questioning wether my parents were my real parents and deeply belived my father was trying to make me commit suicide and this was the course of my suicidal thougths. i was deeply deeply hurt by this delusion and desperattly wanted to get him back for the pain i imagined he caused me.
 schizofenia is a terrible, terrible thing.

My brother was pissed off that he had to work and i didn't so wouldn't even give me fifty cents.

he would drink and eat infront of me without giving me a single thing. this messed with me deeply. i was now sure that he wanted me to commit suicide.

i started staying up all night and fantasizing about killing my father and brother. i would think myself into a rage and be ready to stab them but the fear of prison would always stop me from going through with it. if i had a gun i would have shot them and then i could have escaped the consequences by killing myself.

I ended up assulting my brother and father and found my self on the streets with little suppirt from mates as i had become to strange to be around them.

(i punched my dad and brother in the stomach and on another occasion fought my brother resulying in punching him in the face several times when he was on the ground) this messed him up.

i was quite a drinker like most teenagers are and feeling as terrible as i did i wanted more then anything to get drunk. my brother would get drunk infront of me and wouldn't give me a single beer. i hadn't had a single beer for months and when he finally gave me a beer one day i was over the moon. i thought we would drink up together. he refused to give me any more and this taste made me want to get drunk more then ever. i chucked something at him swore at him and called him names. he wanted to fight from my provoking. i said "lets fight then). he worked himself into a rage and went out side smaking his fist into his palms, really worked up. i didn't like my chances and locked him outside. when he got back inside we started pushing and i headbutted him. i was quick with the fists and let out my anger into his face.

(the end result is that i didn't leave any marks but he says it messed him up in the head.)

my parents then changed the locks on me and i was sleeping in parks and infront of buildings on cardboard boxes. my parents would give me 50 dollars when i went around there but wouldn't let me sleep on the premise. if i tried they would call the police.

There was a homeless centre that i stayed in for two nights but i was so mentally ill i thought i was under surveilance and that the people there were trying to make me commit sucide. these paranoid thoughts resulted in tears and i vowed to never come back.

one morning i was walking down a city main street named Hinely with all my bags of clothes and i said to a couple of guys "whats up c*nts. they punched me in the jaw and dropped me to the ground. the fight was knocked out of me and i put up the peace sign so they they wouldn't finish me off with their boots. they walked off.

when i finally got my first dole payment (it took me two weeks) i took up residence at a homeless center.

I visited some people i knew one night but my mentally ill mind somehow came to the conclusion that the guys there were abusing one of the girls living there. (delusion). when he rubbed a wet flannel in her face i stuck up for her and threatened to smash the guy if he didn't leave her alone. He told me to step outside where he said he would bash me. I was outnumbered three to one. I punched him in the face and then got him in a headlock. i started punching the hell out of the top of his head and the girl who i thought i stuck up for came at me with a pole. she told me to get the f*ck out of there and i said "alright, I'm leaving" i thought that was the end of that.

as i was walking down the street i heard the three dudes behind me. i ducked into a persons front yard and looked for a weapon. there was nothing except a massive pot. i picked it up and told them that if they came any closer i would kill one of them. they kept coming closer and i through the pot at a guy (dislocated his shoulder) the other two were armed with beer bottles.

they cornered me on a doorstep and threw the bottles at my face. i managed to block each one with each hand and ended up gushing out with blood. the fight was knocked out of me and i told them to "just piss off".

when i got back to the homeless center i took a shower and washed the blood off. i didn't want to make a fuss so i didn't wake anyone up. anyways the fire alarm started going off (someone was smoking in their room) what a stroke of luck this was, now everyone was up i could get them to bandage me up. the worker bandaged me up and sealed the bandage with duck tape. i went to sleep.

i was soon kicked out of their for flipping out at a staff member (an ex boxer) who threatened to smash my head in.

i walked to my grandpa's house and he put me up for the night. it took me alot of courage to go there as i wasn't sure what the parents had told my relatives about the assults on my family. (i even slapped my mother)

i ended up getting my grandpas caravan after spending almost a week in a tents.

i still had a murderous rage building up inside of me and had to hold myself back from killing random strangers i'm sure were fuc*ing with me.

My father tryed to get me help but there wasn't mush he could do as i was top notch at acting normal and keeping my twisted thoughts to myself.

words cannot describe the delusional thoughts i was having and the mental hell i was experienceing but the delusions go deep, very deep (i won't get into them, i could write a book on my twisted thoughts).

my father ended up coaxing me to go to a meeting that he said would get me a house and when i got there, there were three people who were trying to get me to speak my mind. one of the chicks there was hot and i started to tell them of my murderous thoughts. i was kinda tring to impress the blonde.

i was at the point where i knew i needed help but didn't want to get locked up so even though i knew something would happen when i spoke my mind i kind of wanted some sort of help.

I was telling these people that i was on my way to becoming a hitman and would have no problem in killing anyone of them right now. I told them that i was a special kind of person when it came to murder and would have no problem killing a child if i had to. thats the way i felt. filled with a murderous rage and completely menatlly sick and twisted.

the result is that i was locked up in the psyche ward via ambulance and police escort and stayed locked up there untill i was better.

i went back to my caravan and saw completely through every delusional thought i ever had. it must of been the rispiridone medication they put me on. i still held on to the delusions a little bit and wasn't completely sure if my dad was evil or not but over time my mental health improved and i didn't believe any of the delusions that i once suffered even in the slightest.

i am now fully recovered and my old sick self has been bought back to health in the mind.

i have support workers who help with anything and have just stopped regular appointments with the doctor.

i am now a caring and loving person thanks to my spiritual studies and love my parents as much as i now love myself. i have gotten over my suicidal fantasies and no longer have any murderous thoughts at all

the doctors say i am fully recovered and no longer a threat to anyone. i am back to the same healthy happy person that i was before i became mentally ill.

the wonders of medication. and thats my story.

thanx for reading
Casey Gray

I have just graduated with a degree in mental health counseling in Rochester, NY. I saw your film and , I wanted to thank you for taking the time and energy to put your experience into film for the whole world to see!

My uncle has schizophrenia as well so I know some about the illness, as well as how many people who do not have experience with mental illness struggle to understand what it means to have one.

I greatly appreciated the fact that your film was so honest and in my opinion, you've helped show the world that people with schizophrenia are not crazy, but human beings no different than the rest of us! Thank you so much for sharing your experience!

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Revelation 9:6  'In those days men will seek death and will not find it; they will desire to die, and death will flee from them.'

My demon of Major Depression has tortured me over the years since my mother's death on January 1, 2002.  I constantly sought death but death would not take me.  My demon was feed by self hate; the resentment I had for life.  For many years I regretted being born.  I was angry with God for taking away the ones I loved.  Life was all about me.  My needs for love and acceptance from others, but I had no love for me.

You may say I picked a strange verse for this topic.  I do not believe that this scripture has come to pass yet.  Death took a holiday in my life because it was not my time to die.  I believe even if I had put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger, I would still be here because my purpose for life has not yet been met.

I believe that we all are immortal until our purpose in life has been fulfilled.  We will not die until the time appointed by our father in heaven.  So if you like I have not died despite of the effort of trying maybe God is not done with you yet.

I had this demon putting thoughts in my head.  Saying, "You are better off dead.  Go ahead and kill yourself.  No one will miss you."  I could since his presence all around me.  I would see him in my picture staring from my eyes laughing at me; the same was true from my mirror.  His was staring from my eyes laughing at me.  Some would say I was psychotic, but I am convinced that I was being oppressed by a demon; maybe Satan himself.  The demon wanted me dead, but God would not let him kill me.

I had a death wish every since 1996 when I first tried to take my life.  I did not like me.  I had unrealistic goals for my life and if I did not meet these goals I judged myself as a complete failure in life and that the only alternative for me was death.  I had to be perfect to satisfy a perfect God.  Failure was not an option.  I felt that God was waiting for me to make a mistake so that he could punish me.  I had no clue what the grace of God was about.  I thought the only way to please God was to try to live a sinless life.  All I did was set me up for failure and I tried to kill myself because of it.  I had no clue that Christ lived the perfect life so I did not have to.  I felt destined to die by my own hand.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result each time.  Over a decade I made the same mistakes over and over again expecting a different result.  I was miserable and I constantly wished for death.  Suicidal Ideation was a daily thing for me.  Nothing brought me any lasting joy or relief from my life.  Don't get me wrong, there were moments of happiness in my life, but it did not last long.  I looked for happiness in women, people and things but it was all vanity and nothing lasted.  I had suicide attempt after attempt and hospitalization after hospitalization, medication after medication, ECT and more ECT, but nothing worked.

Do not get me wrong, I do think medication has its place but nothing was going to work for me until I got my life right with God, not until I started to value the life that he has given to me.

In December 2009, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.  Something had to give.  My life had to change.  I did not know what to do and I was desperate.  God helps the desperate.  When you reach the end of you, God begins.  I needed to change but I did not know what to do.  I said God he I am hospitalized again, what do you wants me to learn from this?  Please change my life for the good.

I got myself out of bed and I attended the groups at Peachford Hospital in Atlanta, GA.  We had a group on forgiveness.  It was at that moment I learned I had to accept God's mercy and forgiveness.  I had to learn to accept the life that God has giving to me.  I was very angry with myself and I had to forgive me for my failures.  I realized that God had accepted me as I was already and because of that I could accept myself.  I had decades of negative thinking to change.  I started to use in DBT what we call opposite action.  I replaced my negative thinking with positive affirmations.  It did not happen instantly, but my life change for the better.  It took months to start thinking positively about life.  Soon my suicidal ideation went away.  I found a good support program in Celebrate Recovery.  I have learned to enjoy my life.  I found happiness I did not know exist.  In one week I will pick up my chip for 9 months of recovery from depression.  I no longer hate me, this started because I learned to cut myself some slack.  It all started with forgiveness.  Forgiveness has truly set me free.

That is my depression and bipolar recovery story, you can take it of leave it.  If you suffer from chronic depression, perhaps you could use the forgiveness of Christ in you life.  I believe that happiness is a choice and to be happy you must have an attitude of gratitude and it starts with forgiveness.

 Amen

by David Wayne McCannon

Copyright © 2010 AthensMentalHealth.org

I am still in the throes of the illness at age 46.  I was diagnosed with the schizoaffective disorder in 1999.  As early as five I heard voices.  I didn't speak in school, teachers hated me.  We moved every year to make matters worse.  My parents we missionaries, we moved to South America and were thrown into another culture. I have struggled with depression all my life.  I can't remember a time when I haven't been depressed.  My home life was pretty unhappy also.  

When we returned to the USA in 1977, I began self mutilate.  It was the only way I could release the pain I felt inside. I was bottled up inside, the voices were unusually mean and a torrent of insults everyday.  The teenage years were hard enough, along with the voices.  My mother was pretty abusive.  

I struggled through high school, an athlete.  In college,   I ended up for the first time in the hospital.  I have since had six stays. (I must say to finish college...SC Rehabilitation helped me finish college, art school for that matter).

I married a stable man, for that reason.  My home life growing up, had never been stable.  I've had five children, (I got on medication) had years of therapy, since THEN I've home schooled for fifteen years.  I'm currently applying for an assistants job at a Kindergarten in a local school.

My outside face is OK.  Inside, the voices I hear are tormenting me now....and I'm struggling. I put one foot in front of the other.  I have "two rooms" I go into during the day.  One is an outside face one where I face the world "NORMALLY".  The other is my "safe room," It is where my mind goes for safety, in the midst of the  "noise."    

I feel like I have been running all my life.  At full speed.  Running away from something I didn't even know existed.  My father ran from it. My mother ran from it. My brother has been caught, and my sister, well, I am not certain about my sister.

Where it began, I cannot say for sure. Based on what I know, it probably started at least a generation before my parents, but few people talked about those things back then. When they did speak, it was in hushed terms about someone so ill that only the treatment gained during incapacitation would bring them back to sanity. More typically, suffering individuals were said to be "moody" or were thought to lack a "coping" mechanism. In those days, admitting to a mental problem or worse could get you admitted to an institution, often against your will. People were said to be in a "fit" of depression, but fit they were not. 

What have I learned from my experiences?  You can't run from yourself ... from your demons. You cannot escape what is inside of you. I have firsthand knowledge of the persistence of wavering moods that frighten with experience and I know that denial, at any level, will be brief. 

Living a lifetime of flying just below the radar allowed me to experience a constant flow of clever ideas, inventions, and great inspirations that kept me moving at a speed not even I could keep up with. But the cleverness turned into confusion, the inventions into frustrations and the inspirations eventually into irritation. While not particularly faceless, my difficulty remained nameless for many years. It didn't deserve a name, not from me, at least not up until now.  But lack of knowledge does not nullify the force of genetics and it is apparent that some facet of our heredity exists in me.  

My parents relationship followed that of my grandparents. It was volatile and extreme. We were a family filled with dysfunction and at a young age the children were spent. By experience, parental violence and discord affects and destroys. Like poison to a flower, it is easier to wilt than to thrive. 

In childhood, there was an undercurrent of melancholy with intermittent happiness. The awfulness of manipulation and violence between my parents made me lonely and as I socially separated from others, I became more dependent on them.  As a teen, illicit drugs and my father's stash of Miltown's (downers) would bury the memories I struggled to forget.

As the years moved on, there was a marriage and children and a divorce. Sometime after the divorce, I began to morph.  Often euphoric, the highs were incredible and when I combined them with random sex and cocaine, it would take my breath away. Slowly... an ugliness, and then irritability.  The risky life, I am aching, the moment was over; nothing would satisfy the most dangerous girl on the block.

With a clear slate, I married again but struggled. The children grew. I buried my pain in work and community. Never getting over the emptiness in my heart - always wanting to alter those senses, never satisfying, my moods were getting more intense but he loved me just the same. 

It was in the year of my forty-eighth birth. My father had just died and on that day a part of me died too. I made all of the arrangements, I was empty; he was a king to me, and I was his baby girl. Although they both suffered from nervous breakdowns, father was the stable one. He hid his demons well and was successful in everything but his marriage. 

The pivotal point in my life was when my brother moved home to steal our mother's money. The stress and circumstance would be my "nail in the coffin."  I began to move from a type "a" personality to something more menacing.  Symptoms of agitation and irritation were a mainstay but paranoia and hallucinations, compulsions and obsessions, road rage, religiosity, hypergraphia, hypersexuality and more were intense; I was becoming confused, and struggling for a cover. Grocery shopping, the same three things every day. Suicidal ideation and tries quickly followed. In depression, the bowels of hell but in mania the glorious Universe where I spoke with God. Thinking it was death, please don't send me back. At the same time, I was writing constantly and as the prose began to flow, bleeding upon the paper; evidence, it was my life I began to expose.

Just in time, a masterful psychiatrist would guide and teach. Dedicated to my life, she gave it a name and a DSM number and with script in hand, I began to re-assemble my brokenness.  In nine years, I have ingested more pill combinations than acorns on my tree, patience. I have exposed my self to my psychiatrist in more ways that I thought possible, trust and I have come to terms with the changes and the challenges, faith.

There is no quick fix in Bipolar Disorder. Based on a trial and error methodology, this spectrum illness has variables unknown and that is why competent medical counsel is vital for wellness.  My psychiatrist is a masterful decoder of my mind's complexities. She insists I am her hero, but clearly she is mine. 

In adversity, my father would recite an old cliché, "there is light at the end of the tunnel" or "every cloud has a silver lining." but I like mine better, "Απο μικρό και απο κουζουλό μαθαίνεις την αλήθεια" a greek proverb which means "From a child and a crazy person you learn the truth."

Living ... is all about love.  It is the reason why I share my story; not only it is for the benefit of others, but for the forgiveness of myself ...

(this is an excerpt from my book  "Life is Like a Line: A Memoir of Moods, Medication, and Mania)