When engineer graduate Valdo Calocane carried out the brutal attacks in which three people lost their lives, he reignited an old debate about the mentally unwell, their care, and their capacity for harming others. This is despite the fact that people with mental illness, including psychosis and psychotic disorders (such as paranoid schizophrenia, with which Calocane was diagnosed) are much more likely to be victims of crime than perpetrators, and most people with these conditions will never be violent. When violence towards others does occur, there are other factors at play, such as a co-existing substance abuse problem, or anti-social personality traits. One in five people with psychosis attempt suicide, and one in 25 will end their own lives.
Nevertheless, with such distressing attacks on the public that every so often are highlighted by the mass media, it is no surprise that there is so much misinformation and confusion around the experience of psychosis and psychotic disorders. Stigma and discrimination help no one; it can worsen someone’s symptoms and discourage others from associating with those experiencing them, or possibly employing them or believing they should be employed. I was once told I would not have been given a job if the manager had known I had a history of psychosis.
Given that paranoia is a symptom of psychosis and social isolation can be caused by the condition but also cause psychosis-like experiences, it makes sense that being literally avoided due to stigma will not help anyone, including a person who may harm themselves or others. This is why I feel prompted to be open about my psychotic episode, and how it affected me – if it helps others to understand, be more understanding, or feel less alone in their mental health journey.
Medication minefield with psychosis
It is difficult to pinpoint where my psychosis journey truly began, as I was always a socially-isolated child; at first by choice and secondly through long-term school bullying. It may be that this made me less trustful and more wary of others at an important stage of development. The symptoms didn’t start until, rather ironically and with the aid of doctors, I had been fully weaned off medication I was taking for other, neuroses-based, mental health issues. The drug was an antipsychotic and was supposed to ‘augment’ the efficacy of an antidepressant I was concurrently prescribed. I had become clinically obese and was unnaturally tired and fatigued as a result of the antipsychotic; indeed weight gain and sedation are common side effects of these types of medications. It had thus been agreed that I could gradually reduce and eventually discontinue the drug.
I don’t think any doctor expected me to end up having a psychotic episode but this is exactly what happened. Research shows regardless of why people take antipsychotics, they can experience psychotic symptoms as a result; possibly because of too-rapid a period of withdrawal. After using the internet and googling the withdrawal effects of antipsychotic dose reduction and discontinuation, I had asked a doctor if I could have psychosis and he replied that he didn’t think so. At the time I wasn’t able to sleep at all, had racing thoughts and couldn’t switch off thinking about certain topics (including politics and people I knew on a personal basis), which I spoke about manically and at length. I had dreamt odd dreams which I was convinced were premonitions, related to these topics, and made life-changing decisions on the basis of these dreams, including ending a long-term relationship and employment.
Losing my mind, finding my voice(s)
About this time, I also had boundless energy, and my weight dropped off quickly and significantly – probably partly due to just stopping the antipsychotics and losing my appetite, but also feeling the need to exercise in the vain hope of sleeping for at least a few more minutes at night. Nights were long, full of intrusive thoughts and irrational conclusions. Days and hours merged into each other and I lost track of time. I began believing that others were talking about and spreading gossip regarding my personal life. I ‘heard’ random people discussing things I considered sensitive issues – now I can see I was hearing voices – and at one point was close to attempting suicide. At this point I told my family how I was feeling and, obviously upset, they called mental health services, who involved their ‘crisis team’, which I now consider fortunate, given how many struggle to access any help. Inwardly I was a wreck – my emotions were all over the place, laughing one minute, crying the next, and accusing my family of saying things they weren’t, as well as other people. My parents tried their best to cope with me but they had never seen me like this nor had the knowledge of how to deal with it.
Hospital, healing and hope
In my mind the government were employing people to sit outside the house somewhere in cars and ‘tune in’ to the ‘frequency’ of my thoughts, and that, for some reason, MI5 was ‘protecting’ my family and myself from being harmed by them. At one point I had a long ‘conversation’ with an ‘MI5 agent’ outside my bedroom window and I had to pray for other people I felt were in danger. This included individuals who I worried were being ‘given’ psychotic symptoms so they would be incarcerated in hospital, and eventually ‘euthanised’ by the State. I believed others could communicate with me telepathically, and ‘read my thoughts’, and that I was having a ‘spiritual awakening’ – again, through spending a long time on the internet.
This was all very frightening and stressful, and when I ended up voluntarily entering hospital, I think my willingness to go was partly influenced by who would be there but also that I had to get others out – it felt like I had some sort of part to play to help others and this was a theme that ran through both my episodes of psychosis. But I was in for a shock – all I became was paranoid and isolated, and when I tried to leave, albeit peacefully, I was sectioned. It took about five weeks, increasing doses of antipsychotics, and lots of sleep, for me to recover from it all. For me, however, the process involves so much more than a malfunctioning brain and it has meaning. Organisations like the Hearing Voices Movement have done a lot to promote this idea, and I have met many influential people over the past few years who have encouraged me to believe I have hope, value and worth – something that I sadly didn’t often experience in mental health services as someone with psychosis.
There is more I could say about my journey into the depths of a psychotic episode, including its impact on others around me. I just hope this helps others in some way, to connect with and feel connected to others, families, carers and those experience the symptoms every day.
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