3 Sep 2016

Why I became psychotic (Part 2)

When people talk about traveling you rarely hear anything negative what it comes to pack your bags and take off to somewhere new. It may be a long planned leisure holiday, extempore trip or low-budget traveling like backpacking. However, my story continues with the last one. I was quite relieved leaving the city, to leave the drug bubble and the anxiety behind me. I decide to enjoy my life with my peers and drink goons til late at night. Most importantly, leave my traumatic experiences behind and move on. Funny enough my "best friend" (and the worst enemy) was the one taking me to my bus. (Later on my psychiatrist has equated our "skewed" friendship with him to a domestic violence. I trusted him like a family member, buried all mental pressuring and abusing like it never happened. Always forgave him and couldn't see there was something wrong. He played a total game with me. I'll probably wonder the question "why didn't I see it?" til I'm lying in the grave.) And so I left.

But it didn't go quite as I planned. During those three months I drank more than ever. It was the only way keep my head blank. To be like others, to have fun and to embrace my "freedom". I started to lose lots of weight and get more and more anxious. Surrounded by all those people, constantly sharing a room with someone (because hostels...), keeping it going and moving all the time from place to place. As I was traveling alone the first time like that it started to feel harder and harder. I was constantly wondering what should I do next, where am I gonna sleep the coming night, should I go alone or with someone and what if I run out of money. I even managed to lose my wallet once. Luckily my friend found it but the worry and stress lead me to drink my head down for full weekend. The last morning I got my first panic attack in three months. It didn't take long until my head couldn't take it anymore (and by IT I mean the whole process; traumatic happenings, drug use, constant stress, anxiety and hypomanie which was getting worse and worse). I fell into some sort of psychotic stage. I believe my hypomania turned into a depression, to a mixed episode. (What happens then it's easier if you search from google.) It felt like a panic attack hit me, but like the one that didn't go away in a long, long time. It was the biggest battle of my life (in addition to I was traveling alone). For three weeks I somehow kept functioning by praying god and running in doctors who just wrote me prescriptions for diazepam. Well, it didn't go away, my head and thinking didn't return normal, I literally felt like I was dying. Then I called him. I locked myself into a hotel room, stayed there for four days until he flew there. To save me...

Long story short, I kept getting a massive panic attacks when I stayed at his place for two weeks. I started to be really psychotic and started to become suicidal. He kept pressuring me to please him and tried every single mental way to break me. But I didn't break. My family member flew to take me back to Finland and piece by piece I told them what had happened to me. I told them everything. 

Then started my another (long, long) journey of recovering and readjusting to myself and life. And that's the path I'm still on. Somehow functioning but most importantly, alive.

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