My Introduction to Psychosis
I wandered aimlessly, with no laces in my shoes or string in my hoodie.
Pacing the hallway alone, without any option to reach out to friends or family, was not the scenario I expected to find myself at 20 years old. Having used my 15 minutes of phone time, I wandered aimlessly, with no laces in my shoes or string in my hoodie. Even the fresh air was taken away from me. Just as I began to list the reasons why I had the right to be miserable, there was a shriek that left me unable to focus on myself, and unable to concentrate on the world that was moving forward without me.
The man, who could have been mistaken for an old man in a child’s frame, was screeching so loudly that the noise was bouncing off the walls, reminding me of someone lost within his own mind. Given that I felt alone - recently a friend had said he would visit, but unfortunately, his exams took priority - I didn’t mind walking over to see what was going on. After all, I felt like I had more in common with someone struggling with schizophrenia than somebody outside the walls on their iPhone in their own living room, with strings in their hoodies.
As I approached him, his shouts settled into mumbling, and as I could tell he was not one of the “aggressive” patients, I decided to get more information. Naively, I thought I might be able to help, because hey, we were both dealing with serious mental illness! I found myself lost in the moment as he described seeing monsters down the hallway and children chasing him. The colorful, yet scary, scene he described struck me hard, as the hallways were empty and as sickly sterile white as ever.
The day after I met Franklin I wrote a poem in the hospital outlining my experience and hopes for our future friendship.
On that frigid February night, the world felt colder than ever. Here I was, unable to communicate with people on the outside, while on the inside, I was unable to communicate with this man who was in need. Feeling like my community was shrinking left me even more determined to connect with Franklin, the man behind the illusions. But, it’s important to acknowledge that in his world, these were not illusions, they were real.
The night went by with no successful connection, other than the shared experience of the UV- lit hallways, and dialogues and demons struggling for space in our heads. I sat and wrote a poem the next day, because I felt maybe that was one way I could feel a connection with Franklin.
Mental health journeys align, again.
Nearly four years later, February no longer felt so cold. Rather, it was perhaps the warmest month I had felt in a while. Walking into my new role in the mental health field made me feel proud, officially improved, and optimistic about health care. I guess those hallways offered some type of path toward recovery. But, I often thought about Franklin and predicted his recovery was probably not going as well. How can you go from seeing monsters and feeling chased by children who you thought would kill you, to recovering? Aren’t these the people shown in movies and TV shows who never improve? Aren’t they the ones who end up on the street? Aren’t these the type of people who drain the resources of the mental health system?
I had a strong desire for Franklin to improve. Of course, I hoped that everyone I crossed paths with in those hospitals and support groups would improve.
That first day of my mental health job, nearly four years to the day, was the day I started to believe. Not because I finally breathed the fresh air once restricted from me, but because as I climbed those stairs to my new career, I opened the door, and there, pacing the hallways with a big smile on his face, was Franklin.
The first thing he said to me was “Nice to meet you.” There it was — confirmation that he had never made a connection with me. Maybe I didn't exist in his world. But at that moment, I didn’t care because now I was his counselor, and now, together, we both had the power to be free, breathe fresh air, and escape the neglected hallways.
I had never had such an intense connection with an individual who didn’t even know my name.
I will forever be grateful to Franklin for greeting me on the first day of work, welcoming me to my new journey.