I know how my schizoaffective disorder started.ript-to-the-core-post

When I was 7 or 8, my family and I moved away from the only home I was old enough to know, and away from my friends and girlfriend. The summer that we moved, I got athsma. I was asphyxiating to death and totally calm in the moment. At the hospital they gave me oxygen and it was like heaven – total bliss and relief. No one in my family talked with me about how I felt about moving. The emotional climate in my family was that I was distant from my parents and my older siblings picked on me, threatened me, and tickle-tortured me. I didn’t trust them and didn’t have a connection really with my parents. I was alone with my fear of leaving the only home I knew. We moved away.

The next summer, we camped for a week or so at a popular campground near to our old home. The older kids were away and I was pretty much unsupervised. I went for a brief bike ride.On my bike ride, I saw my girlfriend from my old home. She said hello, but I didn’t respond. My memory of this moment is so strange, like she is in a separate / different world, surrounded by friends, and I couldn’t really connect to her. She’s was visible but I wasn’t sure if she was real. Anyway, I didn’t respond to her, and have never seen her again. But I’ve also never forgotten about her. Each question about her in my mind is like a cancer lesion. I think about her, and repress it, but again it comes up. I’ll never truly be able to forgive myself for the mistake I made that day, it seems. I felt such a strong love for her but because I wasn’t sure if she was real, I failed to reply. And I was responsible to reply. If I had talked to her, everything could have been different from that day forward.

Instead, the world I should have lived in is lost. Forever.

This is the torment that eventually lead me to psychosis.

Psychosis was about 7 years ago now. At least, the doctors called it psychosis. To me, it felt like I was losing touch with the ground, and was going to go insane inside my body, unable to control it, yet still aware of my tortured state.

You see, the tension inside my body has been growing for years since I was 8. It seems that every time I think of what happened in any way, another smooth muscle in my head / neck / body has to tighten, to shut down another nerve which is connected to the thought. And so on and on the hypertension grew, until I could barely think or move or talk. Yes it was torture. Thank God I found my higher self in Christ before I came to the point where I had to make a choice between suicide or calling 911 (emergency). I chose to call 911, and that’s why I’m able to write this today.

It’s a crazy story. But after I called 911, they took care of me. Just before I called 911, I was homeless for a long time, during which I went on what could be considered a shamanic soul-recovery journey, during which I came to realize and accept that the world I should have lived in — with her — is gone forever. After accepting that, emotion poured through my body, through my heart, up the front of the left inner side of my body. And that emotion revived me. In that moment, I finally grieved my loss and felt great despair melting into sadness. When I finally allowed myself to accept reality, the emotions came through and the pain started to melt. And it was then that I decided that I wanted to live even though everything was gone, all was lost, and I had nothing. I decided to live anyway. The next day I phoned the only ones who I knew still loved me, my parents.

It was only a short time later that I came to the point of considering suicide. Instead of suicide, I chose calling 911 for help. They gave me sedatives, and eventually antidepressants and antipsychotic drugs. These kept me in a slow daze, which was better than being suicidal. But my head wasn’t clearing and they decided to offer me ECT (electro-convulsive therapy). After a few rounds of that, my smooth muscles were jammed so hard that I finally had some head space to think and/or feel. At least, that’s how it felt to me.

It was approximately 7 years ago that I left the hospital. I’ve never been back. I’ve been doing my kundalini yoga, meditation, stretching, breathing, liquidlight, and meditation ever since. I’ve been married in that time and had kids. I’ve been working fulltime for 5+ years. It has been good. I’ve been on my medication ever since the hospital, except for a day or two when I forgot it. And I know I function worse without it.

The psychiatrists didn’t want to listen when I told them that I had a spiritual experience. They told me that doesn’t have any effect on my medical situation. But I know that my choice to let go of the past and live despite my loss made all the difference in turning around my fate. Without that, I would probably have killed myself. God knows I was capable of doing so. And now, instead of that, I’m destined to fall in love with life. This has happened because I chose to put God first in my life and to follow Christ — whose Holy Spirit eventually led me to Yoga, Kundalini Yoga, and my higher self, which revealed to me that I had a conversion somataform disorder before I ever learned from the doctors that it was called schizoaffective. I learned to love God, love myself, and love others — despite what happened.

So that’s my story, in brief and/or in short. Maybe I’ll write more another time. But this is the essence. I’m interested to see if anyone has comments or responses.

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