A story to showcase how serious mental disorders manifest.

When did you first develop symptoms?

I started experiencing symptoms of hypomania and depression when I was 20. This was misdiagnosed as ADHD instead of Bipolar. Then in the summer of 2015 I experienced a trauma that resulted in PTSD. I was hospitalized three times for this disorder. Then in February I experienced psychotic symptoms for the first time. I was first misdiagnosed with Bipolar and re-diagnosed with Schizoaffective a few months ago.

How did the psychotic symptoms start?

February 2015, I was staying with my brother's in Utah while doing a program to treat PTSD at the University. Over the course of a few days I retreated into the guest bedroom writing long blog posts about PTSD. Then I started to write about spirits, astrology, savants, and the afterlife. One night I felt I was on the verge of a break through. I could feel "God" standing behind me, looking over my shoulder, reading what I wrote, because he approved of it. Then suddenly I heard his voice booming in the room. My heart was racing and all my senses were on edge. I was really excited, happy, restless... It was mania. I couldn't sleep for days.

God had me convinced I was a prophet and my job was to unite all the religions because they were all close to getting it right but hadn't yet. His voice boomed in my head constantly and it was very distracting. It was hard to talk to people and listen to him at the same time. Eventually he was telling me what to do and say all the time. Everything from how I dressed to what I ate. The more I followed the stronger and more clear the voice was. It filled me with peace and happiness to blindly follow the commands. I believed that God was built of all the positive spirits that had died over the years. And collectively God learned from humans. That God wasn't perfect which is why so many bad things had happened in the past but everything was getting better. I wasn't teaching God, but we were learning and realizing things together. How I perceived it all changed drastically in the following months, though.

Did you hear any other voices?

Since God was built of many spirits sometimes I heard different versions of him. When a strong version of his spirit wanted to talk. I heard my dead fathers voice a lot and I loved it. It was like he never died and I had my father back. When I didn't know who a spirit was it was hard to hear them clearly and understand them. I had to learn who they were in real life and suddenly there would be a break through, like a connection and I would feel and hear them very strongly. If a spirit wanted to talk to me, I felt they would guide me to learning about them first. Two examples would be Cameron Todd Willingham (a man I believe was wrongly executed in Texas) and Anneleise Michel (the girl the movie "the exorcism of Emily rose" was made about).

Did friends and family notice?

God told me that if I told the wrong people that I was a prophet the wrong way it would ruin my reputation and his mission. So some people, like my brothers, I spoke about it very vaguely. The spirits told me they were too atheist too believe me yet and I needed to start with other people who already had a connection to the spiritual world. That would make us all stronger so they would start to hear and feel spirits too. So he sent me on missions to learn lessons, gather followers and increase my connection to the spirits. I saw signs everywhere in everything, especially music. Different songs would come on the radio and they would be signs from God, or signs from spirits I didn't have a connection with yet that were trying to connect.

I drove around the city for days, going wherever the voices told me to go. I drove up the canyon looking for a guy I dated. Then I drove to the zoo and talked to my old bosses. Then I went to the Mormon temple and talked to random elders. I asked to speak to the leader of the church and security kindly escorted me away. I drove around to difference churches a lot, but if it was closed, I took it as a sign that it wasn't where I was supposed to be. I drove to a couple old friends houses, thankfully most weren't home (a sign they weren't ready yet) so I only told a few of them. I started out talking really vaguely and if the person was interested and believed me, I would tell them more and more. A few people (especially my closest Christian and Mormon friends) I told everything and they believed it was all real for months. I texted and called them with updates constantly.

Your brothers had no idea this was going on?

I was posting about it constantly on my snapchat. My brother's wife was paying the most attention, but she didn't know what to do. My brothers were busy, really focused on work, they just didn't seem to care. The weirder my posts were the more they seemed to ignore me.

Were the voices always friendly?

For the first month when I was following them so blindly. Then they started making commands, especially at night or in dangerous places, that I wasn't comfortable with. At first I was convinced that the Devil and God were one person. The devil was like God's cruel side. But it wasn't as bad as people thought because of reincarnation. He let bad things happen to learn things and those spirits got chances to live again. It all changed one night. It was the middle of the night and God kept demanding I go outside, he wouldn't be quiet and let me sleep. He was getting angry at my defiance. My friend called me and told me someone had been trying to break into his apartment and he was scared.

We talked for a while and that's when I decided the night voice might not be God, but some sort of imposter. I started to believe the Devil was a second spirit, powered by the evil spirits who had refused to be reincarnated so they could influence the living for a while. That's when everything stopped being fun and exciting, I got scared. My soul was at stake afterall, even if I was a good person, demons can be dicks sometimes. My friend was scared too. We started to think people were listening to the evil spirits the way we listened to good ones. I also thought that vulnerable people could have their thoughts and emotions so manipulated by these spirits, they could cause them to attack us on impulse. We decided the person who was trying to break into his apartment was possessed in this way and he wasn't safe. I told him the pin to my alarm and to go stay at my place. It was in a better area of town so the spirits would have less power there.

When I hung up the phone the voice was really loud. He was angry I had been managing to ignore him. I was right. God wasn't all knowing and he hadn't been aware the imposter had been talking to me at night. God's voice wasn't very strong at this time, so all I could hear was the evil voice. He made fun of me for believing him for so long. He continued to demand that I go outside. He threatened my brothers, saying if I didn't go outside he would send someone inside to kill us all. I thought it was a trap. My brothers were a really positive spirit, so I was protected there from possessed people with the positive energy. Except negative energy IS stronger at night and my brothers were sleeping, there energy was weak... The voice kept calling me a coward for putting my brothers in danger. I was pacing around the house looking out the window and I kept seeing suspicious figures. I decided to test the voice. Give him the chance to kill me so I wouldn't afraid of him anymore.

I took my service dog (trained to treat my PTSD) and stepped outside into the snow. I started to walk to the driveway and I heard footsteps behind me. I ran with her to my car and got in. I pulled out and looked in the yard, no one was there. Now I think it was an auditory hallucination, but at the time I thought it was someone sent to kill me. Delusion confirmed. I drove to the nearest hospital, I had gone there for a bad panic attack in the past and I trusted them. When I pulled into the parking lot it was empty. Then a different junk car pulled up next to me. I was so scared I almost left my dog. It took all my will power to walk to her side of the car and put on her leash. I felt at any moment the person in this car would jump out and kill me. Finally I started walking toward the entrance and went behind their car. Their reverse lights turned on and I was certain they were going to back up and run us over. I sprinted for the emergency room. I told the nurse the devil was trying to kill me.

What did the ER do?

They were always incredibly nice to me at that emergency room. They took me to the back and put me in a private room. A doctor came and talked to me. He was a Mormon and seemed to believe parts of my story could be true. Back then I had a really good way of talking to people about it, where I would ask them about their beliefs and speak to them about it in away that would confirm and challenge their beliefs at the same time. God told me to do it. We were all learning all the time. I'm not sure if they were just trying to make me feel safe, like I could trust them, or if they actually believed me. Eventually a crisis social worker came to see me. I told her everything. She said she believed me. She even said, "That doesn't sound crazy. That sounds like how you start a new religion."

I told her I felt safe now because it was past the most dangerous part of the night (am) and all the positive energy from all the good doctors there killed the negative spirits power. I could barely here the voice then. Like muffled shouting, in the distance. She decided I wasn't a risk to my self or others. Then a couple other doctors came to talk to me and my dog. Everyone always LOVED my dog. The first time doctor came into my room, my dog started growling at him, because I was scared of him and he was scared of us. Then when I felt safe around him, my Dog loved him and we all calmed down. I always felt my dog and I had this very strong connection. This love and energy that would protect me from evil spirits no matter what. With her I felt invincible.

So these professionals enabled your delusions. Are you angry with them?

A little. This disorder is very hard to manage and catch, especially during the first episodes. They were right, sick or not, I was not in a risk to my self or anyone else, so I didn't meet criteria to go to the mental hospital yet. I guess I'm mostly mad they didn't try to contact my family and tell them what happened. They let me go a couple hours later. Most of the ones that engaged me had a lack of training in mental health and knew nothing about schizophrenia anyways.

When did your family notice how sick you were?

The next day I started to believe in soul mates. That every spirit had a soul mate and they found each other in every life. The love and positivist from this bond protected you more than anything from negative spirits. I didn't feel safe alone. I became convinced an ex I had been dating briefly in Nevada was my soul mate. Before I went to visit my brothers, we had gotten into a fight and I had deleted his number. I decided I needed to speak to him before am the next day, since it was dangerous to be alone. I decided to drive back to Vegas (6 hours) just to talk to him. The problem was that my service dog always gets really car sick. No matter how long she is in the car she just vomits constantly. I thought I was going to go speak to him, get his number and drive back to Utah by the next day. I didn't want to subject my dog to all that driving so I left her at my brother's house. I am bipolar and schizophrenic, it's called schizzoaffective disorder. Which means I was very manic at this point, I lacked impulse control and my mind was racing. It seemed urgent, like my life depended on it.

What did your brother do?

His wife realized I was driving back to Vegas based on my snapchats. Everyone was texting me. "What about your dog?" " You have to come back!" I thought they were finally worried about my mental health and were trying to get me to go back to have some sort of intervention. God told me I had to believe in myself or no one else would. In reality, they still had no idea how sick I was. They were just mad at me for leaving without asking if he would watch my dog. I apologized and told him I had left her because I planned to be back the next day and I didn't want to make her sick. He was mad and I told him if he really wanted me to, I would turn around and get her, but I needed to go to Vegas no matter what and it would cost me a lot of time since I had already been on the road for hours. Plus she would suffer a lot. Finally he agreed to watch her for me.

Then about two hours away from Vegas I ran out of gas in Leeds, Utah (a couple hours from Vegas). I thought this was a major sign, that everything was LEADING me here. I started to think that all the mormons were in on it and had been watching me, testing me, leading me here for a test. The first gas station I came to was completely unmanned. There were no people anywhere. There were tons of signs everywhere, explaining the exact procedure on how to pay, get gas, etc. I started to believe that Mormon's religion were the closest to being "right" and they had designed secrets into such signs because they listened to spirits. My debit card wasn't working. It was really weird that I was there a long time and I saw no other people, no other cars. I thought this met all the mormons had been told not to go to the gas station and disturb me, because I was being tested. God's voice boomed in my mind and said it was a test and I had to figure it out on my own. He was laughing, in a light-hearted way.

What did you think would happen when you passed the test?

The elders of the Mormon told me I needed a pass to get into the temple. I thought that if I passed the test I would be rewarded with free gas and the receipt machine would actually print out my pass. I thought every Mormon had passed this test as the final part of joining the church and that's how they got their passes to go into the temple. That proved they had a connection with God and listened to him. I laughed at myself for thinking I was special or the only person who talked to God! How could I be so veign? Every Mormon had done this. All my siblings. All my Mormon friends. I tried to remember the lessons of the church from back when I was a kid. It was a long time ago, so I couldn't remember much. But I remembered how important family was, asking for help was, and becoming pure. I tried all sorts of things related to this to pass the test. Especially about becoming pure, like a baptism. I tried pressing the CLEAR button and entering 00000. God teased me, why wouldn't he just tell me the code? Because it was a test! Duh! So then I thought, I must need to ask for help.

I started calling my siblings and asking them if they knew what the code was. I would say stuff like "Haven't you ran out of gas in Leeds Utah? Don't you know the code?" After I called all three of my brothers, my sister and my sister-and-law, they started all telling me to call my mom. I thought it was part of the test and so I did. Side note: when someone calls you out of the blue and starts questioning you about codes, isn't that like a major red flag for a severe mental disorder? Apparently my family I no idea I was sick at this point. I certainly didn't realize it.

No one confronted you?

At the time I thought they were answering me because they were in on the test. Looking back, I can see that my Mom was afraid that if she said the wrong thing I might get mad, stop talking to everyone and disappear. She was really, really scared. She is a social worker and knew something was seriously wrong at this point. When no one in my family seemed to know what the test was, I started to think they weren't in on it afterall, so I told my Mom everything was fine and hung up. I guess my siblings were just apathetic.

My Dad started talking to me again. Before my Dad died, he was a successful code writer at BYU. He told me he had written the code that the machines in the gas station operated on. That if I worked them in a certain pattern, the machine would give me free gas, and this would prove to everyone my dead father could communicate with me from the afterlife. All of this was being recorded on security cameras and my snapchat. I thought the leader of the Mormon church had planned this with my mom and my Dad before he died, and the test was important and special after all. How silly of me. To think every Mormon that can go into the temple has run out of gas at this station.

I thought it must be a certain zip code I had to enter. The address registered to my card didn't work. My dad kept telling me the code had to do with HOME. Where was my true home? I tried everything I could think of. The zip code I grew up in, the zip code of the farm I used to work at, the zip code of the ex I was driving to see, but nothing was working. The machine kept saying. ASK FOR HELP or SEE CLERK. I called my Mom again. She asked me where I was and if she could call the police to come HELP me. Of course! That must be part of it. The Mormon police. So I agreed.

I did not suspect at all that the card had simply been frozen due to travel. Didn't even cross my mind.

The first police officer that came, I first asked him if he was Mormon and he said he was. So once again I thought he might be part of the test. He was really patient and kind. He tried to get gas with my debit card and it didn't work. Another officer showed up and did the same. They said there was another gas station down the road and we should try that one. They followed me down the road and I couldn't get that one to work either. Finally, they told me my Mom was driving from Vegas to get me and they wanted to escort me to the nearest hotel. What really got me at this point, was that I kept hearing God talking through their radios. I went with them, thinking that was the true test, my destiny for the night. They stayed with me while I paid for my room and then followed me up to the room, to make sure I was there safely.

I thought they were concerned because they knew I was a prophet of the Mormon church and that evil spirits were after me, which is why they were trying so hard to get me somewhere safe. My mom arrived a few hours later and we spent the night there. I thought the room would someday be a religious landmark. The code I had discovered because of the test was 0010. I rambled for hours about all of it's infinite meaning. We left my car parked at the gas station the next day and then drove back to Vegas. I was very manic and rambling about God, my dad, the spirits, everything, trying to explain it all to my mom and playing music. It was basically word salad.

Did your mom confront you?

She kept saying if I said these things to the wrong kind of people they would hurt or even kill me. I told her that if it happened it was God's will, lot's of prophets die as martyr's. But deep down I thought I was the first prophet that had a strong enough connection to spirits not to die. We kept getting closer and close to not killing Jesus each time he was reincarnated. I didn't believe I was the only reincarnation of Jesus either, I thought his spirit split into multiple people. I was at risk right now because I will still learning to communicate with the spirits in all there ways. She convinced me it was a good idea to go to the mental hospital I had stayed at to treat my PTSD. Those places have a ton of a security, so it would be a really safe place for me to be. I had actually been to a different hospital before that and I preferred that one (better atmosphere), I asked her to take me to that one instead, but she thought this other hospital was better because it was newer and bigger. I thought if I could prove I was a prophet to a mental hospital, everyone would believe me.

What happened at the hospital?

My mania was totally out of control. In the lobby I filled out the patient form with all my personal information, my address, social security, everything and posted a picture of it on twitter. God told me my house would be a religious landmark and there was nothing to be afraid of anymore. We had passed the test. We had proven I was stronger than the evil spirit. We could handle anything. My mom got really angry at me for posting my personal info and got the intake people to take my phone. I had this little rechargeable speaker. While we were waiting for the assessment, I kept playing music. I was basically doing only as voices commanded at this point. I did cartwheels in the hall way, danced to different songs, and asked for a cup of water. I then dumped it on my head and baptized myself. It took a while but they did the assessment and then took me up stairs to the psych ward.

They put me on an one on one. Which means one nurse had to have eyes on me at all times. I rambled constantly but I was talking to myself or talking out loud to the voices in my head. It was really overwhelming. Nurses kept coming over to the nurse assigned to stay with me and talking to them like I wasn't there. But I could tell they were still somewhat paying attention to my ramblings. I thought they were trying to tell me stories with their conversations. Every time they dropped a name (they talked about other employees and patients a lot) I thought it was a spirit that had to do with me. I would start rambling based on the name they said.

What were the other patients doing?

That first night everyone that wasn't out of it themselves knew I was totally out of it. The worse part was that I bled through my pants and everyone could see it. I am so embarrassed about this now! I refused to change them because God said it was all natural and women shouldn't be ashamed of periods anymore. My nurse was patient and eventually convinced me to change into a hospital gown and put a pad on, because otherwise people won't take you seriously. At least I never tried to sit anywhere or anything.

When I went to change my pad, I kept trying to hide the old one places instead of throwing it away. I thought I was related to reincarnations of Jesus and that people would test my blood to prove I was related one day. I thought the mental hospital would become another religious landmark and they would preserve it how I left it. I felt like I was Jesus, everywhere I dripped blood would one day be famous.

Did you get in trouble for that?

No. The one on one nurse checked the bathroom and found the pad overtime and threw it away. When I took it out of the trash, she emptied the trash immediately the next time. She never told me to stop doing it. She did a really good job. Looking back I could tell she really felt bad for me, for how sick I was, that I didn't know I was doing anything wrong. She was really patient and kind.

What did you think was going to happen?

The staff kept saying a patient was coming in on a special transfer. They said it while I was intake, they said it while I was upstairs for hours. I thought it was the ex-boyfriend I had driven to Vegas to see. That they were bringing him to me and we would stay together in a room at the hospital. I thought the hospital would just give us a safe place to work from. When I got upstairs, I really thought he was going to be in the room, but I walked in and it was empty. I kept thinking he was going to come any minute and he never did. As it got later, I thought instead one of the staff were supposed to let me go. I kept asking people for the key. I would hold out my hands. I started using a lot of made up sign language. I was having a hard time communicating with words. Later I thought the leader of the Mormon church was going to come speak with me since I had passed the test.

What happened when no one let you go?

I flipped really fast. As it got later at night, I thought the evil spirits were coming out. In the staff. In the other patients. In my mind. I got really scared that I was too late and my ex boyfriend had died before I had gotten there. The evil voice got louder and told me that he had relapsed when I didn't show up (I thought God had told him I was coming) and died in the hospital instead of being stabilized and transferred to the same mental ward as me. He had tricked him into doing it and the voice was taunting me. I stared sobbing uncontrollably. The nurse took me to my room and put me in bed.

Then I had a REALLY weird experience. I started to feel this really strong spirit of a black, mother slave, being punished in the 1800's. The spirit was trying to use the situation of being held against my will to show me what it was like and how she had survived. She had survived by teaching her kids to be silly when white people weren't looking. So I started making silly faces, jigs, and stuff when ethnic staff looked at me but not when white staff did. Like a private joke that slaves would have used to emotionally survive. I remember laying in my bed with the blanket over me and feeling like I was chained in a slave ship. How did they survive such a hardship? I knocked on the wood of my bed to my heart beat. I kicked my feat. In a rhythm, like music, like all the slaves working together to create music and survive such a horrible experience. I didn't even feel in control of my body. It was like this spirit had taken over and I was watching from the ceiling. My nurse was clicking her pen along with this beat. She might not have understood why I was doing what I was doing, but she was telling me she was there. With me.

Eventually I stood and started talking to the nurse like she was the child of the slave. I saw a scene from the spirits life. Her child was a grown teenager and had a chance to runaway on the invisible rail road. He had come to her in the middle of the night and tried to take her with him. But she couldn't leave the other kids. She was too old and too slow anyways. She kept telling him, "you gotta let me go". I kept telling the nurse this over and over. You gotta let me go. While crying and trying to move around her. She nodded no and tried to keep me in the room with her body, but she wouldn't grab me or anything.

Eventually I picked up my bed sheet and put it over me like I was ghost and walked by the nurse. In my mind, I was providing a distraction while my slave son escaped. I remember walking down the hallway and standing next to the door, like the staff couldn't see me because of the sheet and would let me out. Eventually one looked right at me so I ran down the hallway and jumped, the sheet flying off being me. Than I ran into my room and hid under the blanket like it hadn't happened. I laughed pretty hard. I hope it was as funny as it felt.

So you felt like you had been possessed?

Sort of, like a voluntary possession. It felt like I learned a lot, thought about what it would have really been like to be a slave. I have never been that out of control before. When I was a kid, I remember being shocked when another student walked out of class in middle school. I had always felt defiance to obvious rules was impossible. It blew my mind. I'm not rebellious and I don't like to cause trouble. I didn't think I was doing anything wrong or being hard on staff. I was manic and it felt amazing to be that free, to be living so in the moment and acting on every impulse. Now I can see that I was very hard to deal with that night and I really appreciate that they were so kind and patient with me. Finally, their patience ran out.

They were angry with you?

No, they didn't act like it was a punishment at all. I just wouldn't stay in my room and the other patients were sleeping. So they locked me into a solitary room. There was a table with four restraints but they didn't restrain me, I'm really glad for that, because I have PTSD and it would have really freaked me out. They left me in there for an hour and I didn't change at all. I was standing at the table and pretending my hand was a gun, shooting out the security cameras. I was actually just fascinated that if you aimed with one eye closed and then opened that eye and closed the other you were totally off aim. I was trying to understand how I had ever aimed a gun ever with this phenomenon.

A doctor came in and the held me down while he gave me an injection of a sedative. Finally I remember them taking me out of the room back to my room. God always told me to knock on doors, like, God is knocking. It was supposed to bring positive spirits to every room I did it too. So on my way down the hall (my room was last) I ran to each door and silently knocked on it. The patients were all sick and needed my help. The staff didn't see any harm in it and let me do it. I have no memory after that. The sedative hit and I don't remember anything until the next day.

What was it like waking up the next day?

It wasn't as clear. The voices weren't telling me exactly what to do anymore. It felt like I owed an explanation to staff for my behavior, but I couldn't explain myself. Instead I focused on talking to the other patients. I have never had more fun than I did those days with those patients. There were a couple patients I became really good friends with. We sang, we had rap battles, and we had random invisible light saber fights. I constantly made blatantly stupid escape attempts, like squatting under the door that staff entered from or flattening against a wall like it made me invisible. Most of the other patients enjoyed watching us.

Did you have any problems with any of them?

Yes, I felt really bad because two guys got into a fight one day. One was mad that we weren't taking the hospital seriously. He was like "This is real for some of us!" I was kind of with the attitude that we were all their against our will and it was ridiculous and stupid. I was totally in denial that I had a mental illness and didn't think about how it made others feel. But even though I was leading that attitude, the guy didn't want to fight with me, he wanted to fight with the other guy. He stormed out of the room after his outburst, but we apologized and we made up, and we all became friends after that. There was probably like 20 people in the unit and we had no real problems after that. I'm in awe at that, I have never been in a social situation that didn't have major cliques or bullying at some point. No one was left out. No one was trying to push anyone out. Sometimes people got paranoid or had a weird outburst, it was stressful being there. But we all worked really hard at being understanding and helped each other calm down much more than staff did.

What kind of care did you get during that stay?

I saw my psychiatrist most every night for a few minutes. He is the one that has all discretion in letting you go. It really messes with the relationship, because he is the one diagnosing you and deciding your medication. At the same time, you don't want to give him any reason to keep you for a few more days. So I didn't really tell him all my beliefs. I knew he would keep me longer if I told him I was hearing voices and thought I was the prophet of God. Had he been there the night I was admitted I couldn't have hid these beliefs from him or anyone, but he wasn't and the staff on hand did a poor job describing my actions to him. After the first night, I followed most of the rules, participated in groups, and told him everything I thought he wanted to hear. The only rule I broke is that sometimes I would hug other patients. He kept me for three weeks.

What did you think about the care?

I actually really trusted and respected the doctor, but after a few days I felt stable enough to go home under the supervision of my Mom. I believed him that I was bipolar and a manic episode was making me act that way. He told me I was still acting manic-y. Most of the group therapy is run by nurses. Outside of that, we are confined to a day room with a TV. We aren't allowed to have anything that could possibly be used to hurt your self or others. It's more restrictive than jail, so it get's really boring fast. He didn't even suspect schizophrenia because he didn't know anything about my other symptoms. I would have been really resistant to a schizophrenia diagnosis back then anyways. I was in total denial my hallucinations and delusions were not real but in all three weeks of my confinement, these issues were not addressed. Most group therapies focused on substance abuse which has never been an issue for me. Most patients are kept for too long and it's really detrimental to everyone. Schizophrenia is rare, even in mental hospitals, it's not talked about a lot. The whole, if you hear hooves think horses and not zebra. The horse in bipolar. The zebra is schizophrenia.

Why is extended stay in a mental hospital bad?

They are really only designed to hold people for 3-5 days, for acute care and stabilization. If they actually held people for that much time, I would have no problem getting admitted to one. Instead they keep people for weeks. They are basically warehouses that make it impossible for you to hurt yourself or others. They also force you to get on somewhat of a schedule for eating, sleeping and hygiene. That's all their purpose is. All the homeless and poor people got kicked out fast. While anyone with good health insurance or a ward of the state (like people ordered from court), got detained for weeks or even months. All the patients start to think they are being held to milk their insurance, not for our actual good. Considering there is a lot of down time with nothing to do and no one on one therapy, I completely agree with this. We're only allowed to have cheap pencils they don't have time to sharpen them. So I can't write or draw much, I would have killed for a pen. I also had no music at all the entire time. Music was so important to me, this killed me. Criteria for being held in a mental hospital is that: the patient is a danger to themselves, others or they can't take care of themselves. That's why it's so strict and bare. I no longer met this criteria at all after a few days. I wasn't completely healed, but I needed to get out of the hospital to get real treatment. I think I would have been open to it those first days too, however, when I had to spend weeks convincing everyone nothing was wrong with me, I ended up convincing myself too. I left stable, complying with my medication, but in firm denial of any delusions or hallucinations. I didn't even consider that I had a psychotic problem. I didn't think my bipolar was that bad and I thought the three weeks had just been overkill (it had).

What did your family think about the hospital stay?

They use any excuse they can to keep you longer because they have to keep coming up with reasons to justify it to the insurance. It's thousands of dollars a day because the care is supposed to be so intense. I kept thinking my Mom was exaggerating to the doctors and trying to keep me locked up, and they were using her comments against me. She promised me she was trying to get me out but I didn't believe her. Eventually I took away the doctors permission to talk to her at all anymore. I developed this really strong paranoia that all doctors would think I was a drug addict and try to lock me up at any opportunity to milk money off me. My mom was really angry when I spent week after week in there. She knew I wasn't getting properly evaluated and I was deteriorating with nothing to do all day. I didn't believe she wanted me out and stopped talking to my mom for months because she admitted me in the first place.

What should they have done differently?


They should have released me after 3-5 days; if I got worse after release, I would have returned on my own or my family would have submitted me. If hospitals had two or three wards with different security, they could justify detaining people longer to prevent relapse. But instead everyone who is inpatient is restricted and secured as much as possible the entire time.


For ex: They initially hold a new a patient in the "psychotic ward" but if they have no incidents in 72 hours they move to the "trauma ward". After 48 hours without incident they are transferred to the "partial hospilization ward" for up to two weeks but all of it is voluntary. The psych unit would be bare and highly secure, with a focus on safety. The trauma ward would be much more relaxed, just like a regular hospital but people can't leave. They can have their cell phones, laptops, computers, a variety of supplies, etc. finally in partial hospitalization people can sign them selves out during the day and discharge entirely whenever they feel ready.

I agreed completed with my first three days in every hospital, even when I didn't at the time. Even when it was hard, painful, humiliating or scary. That was inevitable when confronting my delusions and no ones fault; it's the painful part of schizophrenia. I thought they managed me the best they could and provided me with excellent care. What I disagree with was detention there for weeks after that, with no change in my care or environment even though my insight and behavior drastically changed. They should only detain people for weeks if they have such easily attainable "step downs". Since they don't, the should only detain the vast majority of people 3-5 days, all they are providing is acute care and most people only need acute care for this much time.

What happened when you left?

I first called my brother to get my dog back. I still have PTSD and could barely function without her. She is trained to do tasks that help me feel safe in public and ground me during panic attacks. My brother was claiming I wasn't fit to care for her. I got really upset. I have never neglected my dog and I only "abandoned" her because I was committed against my will. He even lied to people and said I hadn't asked permission for him to watch her for me. Granted, I did fail to ask him before actually leaving, but I offered to turn around if he really couldn't handle an extra dog in the house. He agreed to watch her. Which means she was not abandoned. Anyways, I was really upset. The dog was my best friend, I took her everywhere with me, running every day, brushed her teeth every day, bought her premium everything. I had invested thousands of dollars into her training and healthcare. He was refusing to ship her to me and I was so angry him. My other siblings just seemed to not care. I couldn't trust my mom. I couldn't trust the government. People were violating my rights already, by keeping me against criteria. My brother keeping my dog, my property, was simply against the law. The night I got out I also went to my ex-boyfriends place, the whole reason I had even been committed and he refused to talk to me. My only friends were the voices in my head, no one else seemed to care. No one else seemed to love me. I couldn't even consider them not being real spirits and beings. That would mean I was all alone.

So the medication didn't stop the voices?

Not at all. All the medication did was stop those hallucinations I would have sometimes, like seeing or hearing a figure following me. It also made me groggy, but I was still manic and having a hard time sleeping. They made my mind slow down and my words couldn't match my mouth. I struggled to not slur my words. I remember for a few days in the hospital when I was adjusting to this, my tongue felt heavy like led and I couldn't speak at all. I was struggling so hard to give one word answers to the psychiatrist to attempt to hide the symptom from him. After I left the hospital and wasn't unreliably bored anymore, I found it almost impossible to sleep, despite being on the maximum dosages of a lot of sedative medication. Medication alone does not prevent or reverse mania, it requires therapy I didn't receive. I still didn't really understand bipolar disorder. They didn't teach me much about it in the hospital.

You were still manic after three weeks in the hospital?

Yeah, I got a lot better but as soon as I left I relapsed, like the next day. I took all the medication that night and still didn't sleep. I laid in bed. It made me more tired, but still I wouldn't sleep, my mind wouldn't turn off. The next day my roommate had a friend in town and I didn't want to take my medication and be even more tired all day, so I didn't take my morning dose. I wanted to go out and have fun with them. I planned to take my nightly dose that night. Most people would have only gotten that dose in 24 hours anyways. I figured when I saw my psychiatrist in a few days this is exactly how he would adjust my medication, same thing, just at night instead of the morning.

What happened that day?

My mind was buzzing. I had a million tasks to complete, the voices were shouting at me. We all went to the store and bought some gifts for my friends still in the mental hospital so they would be less bored. Then I saw some chalk. God told me I was supposed to draw a picture to teach people a message, that peace and love equals freedom. I grabbed the chalk and went alone to Fremont Street, telling my friends I'd meet up with them in an hour. Silently I drew a picture. When security came I said it was a peaceful protest. They called the police. Two officers arrived and I was going to leave without fighting when they asked for my ID. By now a large group of people were watching. They walked away and talked to each other for a few minutes. Finally the officers came back and asked me to come with them. They walked me out of view of the crowd and handcuffed me.

You were arrested for drawing with chalk on a public sidewalk?

I told the police officers it wasn't illegal and they agreed with me and said they were charging me with something else. I asked him what and he said, "a 420 180". I don't know why he said that, but because I was manic I thought it meant something. You're really gullible when you're manic because you look for meaning in everything and you're mind races. I started to think it was some sort of charge for smoking weed at my brothers over a month ago. That started my mind racing. Had god started talking to me because of the weed? Did the government know? We're they taking me to be tested for powers? To assassinate me? Since I had no idea why I was arrested, my mind quickly started to think of all the possibilities. Which I rambled on and on about in the back of the car. It was actually a warrant for a ticket for expired car registration. Months ago I had paid the ticket and asked the DMV to fax my registration to the court. Apparently the court didn't receive the fax or failed to record it. While I was at my brothers, I got another ticket in the mail I never saw or new about. When I didn't respond to this ticket they issued a warrant for my arrest. I got taken to the jail and I had no idea why. Also I had been alone and no one knew I had been arrested.

No one told you it was for a warrant in booking?

We walked into the building and I was chained to a bench. They were really busy and I was left there for hours. I started singing and rapping. No one asked me to stop. They brought in a psychotic black women who was completely out of her mind. I thought she was possessed with evil spirits and I was yelling at them to get out of her. On the otherwise of the room a man was groaning loudly about needing pain medication. I called him a liar. He called me a where. I became convinced he was a serial killer and screamed at him. Finally, they brought me back to be booked. I asked why I had been arrested and when I would get my phone call. Everyone kept saying later. I trusted police a lot, so I assumed everything would be fine. After I changed they took me straight to a cell by myself. It was meant to be a holding cell for several inmates, it had benches instead of a bed and this was still the booking area. But they put a cot with a blanket in there, so I realized I was met to stay a while. I started to freak out.

I hadn't slept in two days and I hadn't had my medication in 24 hours. Sudden withdrawal from that medication is actually known to cause severe psychosis on top of nausea, headaches, chills, etc. The voice started to taunt me: No one knew I had been arrested. I wasn't allowed to make a phone call. No one would ever know. They were going to make me disappear. As the hours passed, I started to auditory hallucinate hearing the guards walkie talkie all the time. I could hear them talking about me. That they were going to torture me to death or let an inmate do it. I got really scared and hung myself with a towel. The guards noticed before it was too late and ripped me out of the cell. They moved me to "suicide watch".

What is "suicide watch"?

I was stripped naked and placed into a bare cell with a toilet, sink, smock and sleeping bag. A camera monitored me at all times and a guard looked inside my cell every 15 minutes. There was a steal door with a window and a slot that they opened three times a day for meals. From my window I could see three male inmates cell doors across from me and the guards computer down the hall. Most of the time the guards were sitting on the computer browsing the web and watching videos.

What happened next?

I spent the night there and I was tired enough that I actually got some sleep. The next day a psychiatrist stopped by my cell and I told him I was bipolar and all of the medication I was supposed to be on. He said he couldn't get me most of those but promised to give me something similar. I asked him about my charges and my phone call. He said he didn't know anything about that and I needed to ask a guard, then he moved on. Later I got my medications. I normally took five large pills, I was only given one small one, it did almost nothing to stop the withdrawals. The guards refused to talk to me. Later that day I soaked my toilet paper and lunch in water and threw it at the camera in my cell. They turned off the sink and toilet, and never replaced my toilet paper as punishment. I couldn't flush to the toilet. The excrement in the toilet and the food began to rot. They left me in there for 24 hours. I could only drink tiny portions of liquids with meals. I didn't eat because I couldn't clean my hands. When I walked out, an inmate cleaning crew was on standby waiting for me to be extracted. The guards didn't even have to clean up the cell, yet they punish me so harshly? Then they moved me back to a holding cell the next night and chained me to a bench for 12 hours. I yelled for water all night, since I hadn't had access to it in 36 hours. I couldn't sleep and I was withdrawing badly from the medications. I had the most intense hallucinations ever. I saw guards bringing family and friends by my cell. The voices told me if I didn't kill myself they would find everyone I cared about and torture them. The next day I was terrified, certain the government was torturing me until I killed myself. I did nothing for 24 more hours until I couldn't take it anymore. I stuffed my smock into the toilet and flooded my cell. Again they left me for 24 hours naked. I suffered hypothermia and it was too cold to sit on the wet ground, so I walked on my sore bare feet until I was crying and begging for mercy. At some point I smashed my head into the wall until I was bleeding and knocked myself out. Finally on the fifth day I was moved from suicide watch to regular isolation, I took a shower and slept for the first time in four days. I saw a judge and finally learned why I was there, I plead guilty and was told I would be released that night. For some reason I wasn't released until two days later.

How do you feel about the experience?

It was the most horrible traumatic experience of my life. The biggest problem was the lack of communication. I didn't understand why I was there and I got totally lost in psychosis. I have never been that out of touch with reality before. For one night I sobbed uncontrollably. I became convinced I had murder my nieces last Christmas and that was why they had arrested and tortured me. I mourned their death because I became certain I had killed them. Then the voices started taunting me, telling me they had possessed me and kill everyone I loved. I couldn't call anyone to prove to myself it wasn't real. The entire night I believed they were all dead. It was horrifying. I get that they have to reprimand people to control them, but I was obviously out of my mind. I wasn't taunting officers or trying to ruin anyone's days. I was talking to invisible people, wandering around the cell, just out of it most of the time. Not being able to sleep when I was so cold, so tired, when my feet hurt badly and I just wanted to sit for a moment... And it just went on and on and on. I was in total agony. It seemed like forever. I was so desperate. I couldn't imagine spending 5 more seconds there and I was forced to endure hours. It was wrong to do that to me, it's wrong to do that to anyone. According to policy I should have been taken straight to mental hospital for stabilization before they brought me to jail.

What kind of damage did this cause?

I was really scared I was bleeding into my brain, since they never had me checked after major head trauma. I had some bad skin infections from the lack of toilet paper for the week. My hair was completely ruined, it was just a solid matte. I ended up having to cut it all off. I came out totally delusional and manic. I was certain officials at the jail had intended me to die while I was there, but my suicide attempts had failed and they hadn't gotten an opportunity to kill me and stage it. They didn't want me to sue them for the abuse I suffered or that my rights were violated. I didn't think everyone was out to get me but I thought anyone could be. My PTSD was almost impossible to handle. I almost always had a panic attack, everything startled me. Any police officer, doctor, mental hospital, nurse, could want me dead. If they got an excuse to institutionalize me again, I would certainly be killed. At this point I thought that some people could hear the same good and evil voices I heard. Except they were tricked into thinking the evil voice was the right thing to do. So they could trick someone into killing me, not only to cover up the jail abuse but to kill a prophet of God. I was left convinced that I couldn't trust anyone but my family. I thought my family would be outraged when I told them where I had been and what had happened to me. I missed them very much and I was so sad that I had been missing for a week without them knowing where I was. I felt really bad about my brother taking care of my dog for even longer.

What did your family think?

I thought they would have filed a missing persons report and be freaking out looking for me. Since I disappeared and never got to call anyone. The jail dropped me off in the middle of the city and I called my Mom. She told me that somehow, my cousin who doesn't even live in the state, just so happened to be visiting Vegas and on Fremont street when it happened. So she had seen me arrested and my Mom knew I was in jail the entire time. In fact, she told me she called over and over trying to figure out why and even camped out in the parking lot as protest. While I was in jail my ex-boyfriend had texted me that he read my messages and wanted to get back together. My mom saw me texting him and got upset, she forbid me to date him. I got upset, mentally ill or not, I was still a 22 year old living independently. She brought me home and told me she wouldn't talk to me unless I stopped talking to him. At that point I thought he was my soul mate, that it literally went against God for me to not stay with him, so I felt I had to choose him over my mom. I told her bye. I immediately texted my brother about my dog. He didn't reply. I had just been tortured by the jail for a week and my family didn't care at all.

Before leaving the jail I had seen the psychiatrist one last time. I told him the exact prescriptions I was supposed to be on. He told me to start taking my medication or I would be arrested. He had me sign a paper promising I would. I was terrified of not breaking any rules, so that night I took the medication. Only I was on the maximum allowable dose after building a tolerance while in the mental hospital for a month. After detoxing all week, I took the medication and overdosed.

Did the emergency room hold you for suicide?

I thought the jail psychiatrist ordered me to take the medication knowing it might kill me. I was terrified going to the hospital and told all the medical personal it was an accident. I called my Mom and she came. When I told her I was still talking to my ex-boyfriend, she left me alone in the ER. The doctor really understood that I did not want to be put on psychiatric hold. She gave me her business card and told me I could always get emergency medical care from her and not have to worry. I trusted that because they let me go the next morning after observing me overnight. I took an Uber home.

What about your dog?

My brother still wouldn't text me back. At this point I took to facebook. I made a post, describing some of the torture I endured in jail and tagged my brother in it, calling him out for keeping my service dog from me illegally. He then accused me of abandoning the dog for a month without asking, which was pretty much a lie. I did ask for the first day and all the time after that was completely outside of my control. Anyways, he did finally start texting me. He said if I didn't have someone get the dog by midnight it was going to the pound. I was furious. I was originally going to use uShip to have someone bring her to me, but no one was available for that day. So I bought a list minute ticket to Utah, only first class was available and it was a lot of money. I would do anything for that dog. How dare he call me an irresponsible owner? So I flew to Utah and showed up on his door step a little bit past midnight. His wife answered and I was re-united with my best friend. After a month, nothing could make me happier. I hadn't been away from her for more than a few hours since getting her as a puppy.

Did they let you stay there?

His wife told me I could stay the night. I went into the spare bedroom where my backpacking gear for hiking was. She woke him up to tell him I was there and he started yelling. A few minutes later she told me I had to go. I told her fine and called an uber. I took my dog and my backpack to a nearby hotel. I felt safer in Utah, people had less motivation to kill me there. The emergency room I trusted was here. The psychologist I trusted who had been treating my PTSD was here. I decided to stay a few days and talk to lawyers about what had happened to me in the jail. Those were the best three days of my life. I spent every minute with my dog. She was a certified service dog and allowed to go anywhere with me. We swam in a lake, went for a hike, explored the city, and toured the brand new polar bear exhibit at the zoo. Polar bears are my favorite animals. The last night I took an Uber to Walmart and suffered a psychotic break.

How does a psychotic break start?

It's started the day before. It had religious importance because it was easter weekend. I thought holidays effected how strong spirits could be as well and since I was a reincarnation of Jesus, I was destined to relive the experiences of Jesus on such dates. That day I was really anxious. I was hearing the evil voice again and he was telling me my skull had been broken in jail and I was going to bleed into my brain. I was too afraid to sleep, thinking I might die in my sleep if I did. I finally went to my emergency room. They examined me and made me feel better. The energy was so positive there I couldn't hear the evil voice and I felt invincible again. My exboyfriend was texting me that he had been kicked out and was homeless. That it was raining and he was scared and alone outside. I thought this was a sign; the negative spirits had gotten him kicked outside where he would be vulnerable to attack! It was my fault and I must protect him. This is why I had been scared all day. I promised to send him a money order to get him a hotel for the night. It was a dangerous night. Something was about to go down. Yes now I realize he was manipulating me and my mom was completely right about the guy, but I was so gullible and vulnerable. More than anything I was traumatized that I kept telling the truth (as I could see it in that state) and no one believed me. I hated the idea of doing that to anyone else... so I wasn't going to question that he needed help. I took an uber to walmart to send him the money order.

What were your delusions based on?

I thought negative spirits could grow stronger around unhappy people, especially at night. There are a lot of unhappy people at walmart. I also thought both negative and positive spirits had the power to read my thoughts and see what I saw, especially when they were strong. They couldn't probe my mind and learn everything about me. But if they got me to think something and were listening in that moment, they could learn it. I had started to get afraid of thinking of friends or families addresses. If I did, I would play music in my mind. The voices would randomly ask me questions trying to trick me into thinking the answers. This went on constantly. I changed all my passwords to something random and forgot them, saving them to my phone. So the only way I could access any of my accounts was with my phone and I never had to enter a password and think about it. I thought that evil spirits could read my thoughts and broadcast them to people nearby me. Since I was manic, my positive energy was really strong and my thoughts were loud. This caused people in the area to hear my thoughts whether they wanted too or not. They were getting annoyed and they wanted it to stop, which meant killing me. When I got into the walmart, it felt very hostile, wrong, negative, scary. I thought I was attracting all the evil people in the area. All the people who were susceptible to influence by negative spirits or even people who were working with them, talking to them, targeting me. I started to think a lot of the people in the store were conspiring against me. That they wanted to trick me to go into an area where there would be no witnesses or cameras to see them attack me. I began to realize it was my destiny to be crucified like Jesus. I was terrified.

When did you start to panic?

It started when my uber driver texted me. He said he wasn't waiting anymore and my backpack was in the parking lot. My $1k laptop was in there. I never recovered it, but when you think your life is in danger it doesn't matter. My phone started malfunctioning next. Now I think this was visual hallucinations, but at the time I was certain the spirits were possessing my phone or evil people nearby were hacking it somehow. The screen was flickering, random buttons would press, apps would open and close, etc. I tried to call an uber but the app was acting really weird. At the same time it would start to work. Like there was a battle between the spirits going on in my phone. As the negative got stronger, the more out control my phone was, the positive spirits couldn't fight it anymore. I managed to get one but he was twenty minutes away. He even called me and sounded scared on the phone. I thought he was a person influenced by good spirits and had gotten feelings that I was in trouble. He asked me if I could wait twenty minutes and I told him yes. I texted my boyfriend: "Have no fear! I'm coming to save the day. I'll be like Django unchained only blacker and more accurate." Then I picked up a blacknight rises t-shirt. I got onto my phone and booked myself a very expensive last minute flight back to Vegas. I thought we were soul mates and when two soul mates separate, their spirits start screaming at each other in the universe. The only way I could stop broadcasting my thoughts and annoying people who could hear me, was by going back to be with him. That was the only way we could be safe, is if we were together. I felt I had solved the problem and everything would be over soon.

What else did you hallucinate?

There were two women in line ahead of me at checkout. I felt they were all talking to me indirectly. The checkout lady was moving really, really slow for no reason. I turned around to look at something. When I came back a few minutes later, I noticed there were a bunch of items that would make great gifts for my homeless boyfriend now stuffed in the checkout aisle that hadn't been there before. "I tried to pick out things HE would like." The women were saying. Like they had put the objects there because they knew I would like to buy them for my boyfriend. At this point I thought some people were still trying to help me. Then the lady in front of me snapped. "You don't have to move so slow just because SHE'S here." Then she looked back at me, like she had been waiting in line behind one person and it was all my fault. I think I must have hallucinated her saying that entirely. It doesn't make since any other way. I realized the checkout lady was working against me. By making people hate and resent me, bringing more negative energy into the area. I checked out and walked toward the exit looking at my phone. I realized it would die before the uber driver got here and he would lose my location. So I cancelled the ride and tried to call a new one. It was very strange and lucky? There was an uber super nearby, less than two minutes away now. I confirmed it and the driver called me. It sounded just like the checkout lady.

She was so nervous she yelled. "I can take you wherever you want to go, but we are going to go through an apartment first. Is that okay?"

"No thanks!" I hung up.

I turned around and the checkout lady was no longer at her stand. It was empty. No one was working the checkout stand, so why would she leave unless she had been the person on the phone? I went back to uber and tried to call another driver, but the same lady kept matching with me since she was still nearest. I realized there was a radius around my arrow. This must be the radius that uber drivers can call you in. I started walking outside, staring at the app, walking away from her car until it was outside the radius and I could match with someone else. Then it randomly shrunk right before I got to another car, so I had to walk even further! I was walking like this when I suddenly felt very cold and all my hair stood up. I looked up from my phone and realized I had walked into the dark side of the parking lot, they had closed it hours earlier and the lights were even off. It was a trap. I turned around and I swear to God I saw someone lunge at us, but my dog barked and jumped at the figure. I was to focused on running toward the door to look at it directly. I ran back into the store and realized uber wasn't going to work. My phone was too possessed by evil spirits. I opened text messages and I couldn't text anyone. The phone kept pressing random buttons even though I wasn't touching the screen. Finally I managed to send a text message to my boyfriend "NOT SAFE" and then to my brother "NOT SAFE" and my phone shut off.

Didn't it just die?

It still had more battery power and shouldn't have turned off then. I tried to remain calm and sat down at an outlet by the door, plugging my phone in there. I sat for what felt like an eternity but the phone wouldn't turn on. It just wouldn't charge. I started to really freak out. The voices were telling me this met they had won. Not enough positive people wanted to save me. A lot of negative people wanted me dead. They had voted and won by their choice to show up or not. The negative energy was so strong they couldn't even get my phone to work. It was over. I was already dead. I looked around at all the strangers, who looked at me with disdain. They wanted me dead. It had been a battle, whether or not I would be crucified again, we had lost. It was going to hurt a lot. That's what scared me. I knew that kind of death was destined to be really painful and slow. I walked into the store to the employee working self check out. I asked him if I could use a phone and he said the one in men's jewelry. So I went there and the phone wouldn't work. I dialed out as he told me too, but no matter every time I dialed I would hear a loud ominous alarm noise. I called my moms number over and over. Then I gave up and dialed the police. Still, I heard the alarm. I think this was an auditory hallucination. I asked employees several times how to dial out. I had dialed out the same way before with know problems, I knew what to do. The phone just wouldn't work. I was really scared.

I went back to the employee and told him the phone wouldn't work. I asked if I could please use his cell phone and he denied me. Looking back he probably thought I was going to take off wit hit. I asked two other employees, one looked up at a camera, like he had been instructed not to help me. His job was more important than my life. I started to think that the store would edit the footage to make it look like I had never bought my purchases. I had lost the receipt. I ran to a trash can and threw it all away. One of the employees swept a piece of chocolate in front my dog. He was trying to poison her. I started to think people had been feeding her chocolate all night. I asked the men why he wanted us to die! I realized I would die soon. Like the lynch mobs I had seen in Brazil, where a group of people just snap and beat, stab and burn someone to death. There was no good people left to stop it. I told the other employee if he didn't help me I would die soon. Then I walked away when he didn't respond. When the store closed I would be locked outside in the dark, kidnapped and murdered. There was no escape in sight. Then suddenly a teenage boy walked through the door straight towards me, holding out his cell phone like it was a gift. But I wasn't going to fall for a trick and get charged with attempted theft. I stopped the boy and begged him to call the police for me. Finally, he did.

Did you feel safe then?

No. I thought someone in the store would stab me before the police got there. The later it got the more powerful the spirits got. People wouldn't care if they got caught doing it. They would do it anyways because they would be totally out of control. I stayed with the boy and his mom, begging them to think positive things about me and my dog. Three police officers responded and I absolutely did not trust them at all. I accused each of them of trying something suspicious every time they moved. They locked me in the back of a cruiser until an ambulance got there. I didn't trust the EMT's either. Not even a little bit. They took me to a different emergency room than my emergency room. I did not like the energy there. I did not trust them. I thought someone would poison me or give me an injection of an air bubble. When they took my blood, I begged the nurse not to kill me and begged the tech to stay in the room and watch. It was only about 11 when I got to the hospital. The most dangerous part of the night was am. I was certain another patient or a stressed out worker would snap around that time, walk into my room, and murder me. The closer it got to that time, the more scared I was, I was having super intense panic attacks, the monitors were going crazy. My vision was even going black at the edges. I hadn't slept or eaten in 48 hours. I was dehydrated but chugged an energy drink at the store and I think the caffeine had a lot to do with that. I thought I was overdosing on fear and I was going to die of fear. The only thing in my system was a ton of caffeine.

What did the staff do?

The tried to get me to consent to treatment by filling out a few forms. I was scared if I consented, they would keep me on a psychiatric hold. I did not want to consent to that. Then I was afraid if I didn't sign the papers, that would be evidence that me being held by force was necessary. The charge nurse tried to get me to fill out different forms all night, I kept thinking they were traps. I would fill them out then scribble everything out and ask for a new one. I just wanted to charge my phone so I get call an uber, grab my stuff out of the hotel and catch my flight. But I had thrown away my charger when I was afraid of getting framed for theft. I kept begging nurses for a charger but everyone refused to bring me one. I sat in my bed and cuddled my dog, until the sun rose and I felt like it was sort of safe again. Then I finally started to trust the nurses enough to drink the water and not think it was poison, but I still couldn't sleep.

Did they evaluate you after you finally calmed down?

I really wanted to leave. I was certain if I got institutionalized I would die (not that I said that, I just said I didn't meet criteria and by law they had to let me go). A mental health worker or a vulnerable patient would be used to kill me. They posted a security guard and a nurse outside my door. The guard said his daughter "has what you have" and that he agreed, I shouldn't go to a mental hospital. He found me a phone chord and I finally started to charge my phone. My boyfriend had sent me several messages, accused me of cheating on him, was super pissed that I had abandoned him homeless that night and said we were over again. My brother hadn't even replied to my cry for help. The nurse kept saying I needed to talk to the crisis worker before she would discharge me. I sent my boyfriend about a thousand rambling text messages trying to explain what had happened. He called me crazy, told me not to text him anymore because he was blocking me.

What did that make you think?

I couldn't believe he would dump me like that. A new delusion sparked. I started thinking my roommate was killing everyone I loved out of jealousy. He was hacking my phone, so if I texted someone to warn them they would just become his next target. I thought he had killed people already and stolen their phones, pretending to be them so he could go on killing people before I realized. I thought he had just killed my boyfriend. I tried calling a few guys to warn them. If they answered I vaguely told them to "get a gun... protect your self" and hung up. If they didn't answer I texted them. If they answered that, I assumed it was my roommate and he wasn't answering because I would recognize his voice. I accused them of being my roommate. I begged him to stop killing people I loved. I told him to rot in hell. I started to worry he had killed my family first. I started calling all my siblings, terrified they had been killed. I realized I hadn't talked to my sister in over a month. I thought my roommate had killed her and my nieces a month ago. My family was being so cruel to me because they thought I was part of it! That I had asked him to do it! I tried to call her and she wouldn't answer. I called all my siblings and no one would answer. I thought they were all dead. Finally, my brothers wife answered. I was crying and asking her if everyone was alive, if everyone was okay. She said they were. I said I hadn't seen my sister in so long, I was certain they were dead. It took her a while but she convinced me they were alive. She asked me where I was and if I needed anything. I said I was at the hospital and I needed dog food. She came in later and seemed really hesitant. I thanked her. She asked me if I wanted her to stay with me or if she could go spend Easter with her husband. I told her she could go. She left. Once again, I don't know how you get that kind of call from someone and not realize they have a serious mental illness.

Finally the crisis worker came in. She didn't ask me a single question about how or why I had gotten there. I have no idea what the hospital put as my diagnosis or anything. No one ever evaluated me or asked me what was going on. I didn't care about explaining, especially if they weren't asking. My own goal was to get out. She said she had called six different mental hospitals trying to find one that would take me with a service dog. No one could. So they were moving me whether I liked it or not, and I wasn't allowed to take my dog. I started crying and frantically begged them to just discharge me. They said no. They started rolling my bed down the halls of the hospital. I held onto my dogs leash for dear life. It is illegal to separate a service dog from it's handler. I kept saying over and over again. My dog was my life. My source of unlimited love and happiness. Without her, I was powerless against the negative spirits that were so powerful right now. They would separate us. Then they would kill us both. We got to the ambulance and they loaded me inside. My dog tried to jump into the ambulance after me. I was crying uncontrollably. I begged the nurse to take care of her for me,. Please don't let her go to the pound. She promised me she would keep her safe. I had no idea I would never see her again. I was crying because I thought it would only be a few weeks. Forever? That was unthinkable.

What happened to the dog?

The nurse took her to the police, trying to fulfill her promise of keeping her safe for me. They somehow tracked down my brother and asked him to come get the dog. My mom told me later that he texted her and said 'I think I have to take this dog to the pound.' She told him to do what he had to do. My mom has seen me with that dog for two years. She knew she was everything to me. That I loved that dog more than anything on the Earth. I just can't believe no one defended me. No one said, hold on a second, let's try and figure out what is really going on here? I had only had severe mental health issues for a month. I hadn't been neglecting my dog for months and months. Incident after incident. I hadn't ever neglected her willfully, after years of failed intervention. If anyone had asked me, I would have signed my debit card out to them and paid to have her put at a Dog Hotel. It was actually very illegal for them to take the dog to the pound and claim she was abandoned when 48 hours hadn't passed for me to claim her yet. They were lying. My brother didn't do it for the good of the dog or me. He did it because he was angry. To teach me a lesson. I don't think I can ever forgive him for that and it's really hard, because I still love him with every bit of my heart. I'm just so betrayed and hurt. I didn't just lose my dog, I lost my family. They gave up on me after a month and it's hard to feel like you have a family after. I still love them, but they're like... Dead to me.

What happened at the mental hospital?

I was very defiant, but not in a rude loud way. Just stern. I refused to consent to treatment. They took away my phone and my possession immediately. I still kick my self every day for not thinking of calling a disability advocate about my service dog before they took my cell phone. In the ambulance I was still focused on calling everyone I loved, checking to see they weren't murdered and warning them to be vigilant. They definitely would have taken action for me to keep my service dog safe if I would have thought to call them. I can't believe I didn't think it at the time. The only way I thought I could keep her safe is if I got out immediately, took her back, and flew back and made up with my ex boyfriend so I would stop broadcasting my mind and I would live in peace. Which means I could not give them any reason to think I was a danger to myself, someone else or unfit to care for myself. I wasn't about to tell anyone I was hearing voices and convinced a group of people were out to kill me. I refused to sign any paper work or answer their intake evaluation. I sat in the intake area for a long time until they finally showed me my involuntary commitment paperwork; they were holding me 72 hours. Then they took me upstairs and dumped me into the psych ward with nothing but a hospital night gown.

How did you react?

I had been stabilizing and calming down, but as soon as I was behind held against my will again, I no longer felt safe. My rights were violated. Again. My service dog was separated from me, that was illegal. I didn't meet criteria for involuntary commitment, but I was committed anyways. I had no control over my life, no ability to keep myself safe. I called a few places and complained that my involuntary hold was illegal asking to be taken out. Everyone said they couldn't do anything because they couldn't. Once a doctor has made that determination, no one has the power to reverse it, too much liability. I became psychotic again.

I was convinced that everyone in the ward had already decided I was addicted to meth. That the only reason why I was so adamant about getting out was to avoid detox. I do not have a drug problem and was sober at the time, but me being so defensive of it made everyone assume that it was why I was there. Paranoia creates itself. I didn't realize and I thought the spirits were influencing everyone there to judge me. One of the patients was an older women and she was really cruel. She ganged up on me with another patient and they taunted me by saying "that's what a meth addict would say!" and stuff like that, until I was crying.

Did the patients continue to treat you this way?

I wasn't used to other patients being abusive, but it's bound to happen when convicted criminals are sent to the same psych wards as everyone else. Later one of those patients did apologize to me and gave me a t-shirt. Which was really nice of her because otherwise I would have only had the hospital gown the entire time I was there. The mean patient never stopped being mean to me. We were all dancing once, the staff wasn't watching, she moved towards me and punched me as hard as she could. I couldn't believe it. Another time she asked me to smell something and then told me she had peed on it, walking away giggling. Finally, later an older male patient actually was trying to get my personal information so he could stalk me outside the hospital.

On the first day he talked to me a lot and it creeped other patients out (I was gullible and oblivious like usual, other patients noticed and warned me not to trust him) then he gave me a piece of paper and told me to email him when I got out, promising he would pay for my college education. The email was something like Master.Good.Touch@Gmail.com. I freaked out and gave the paper to the staff and told him he was scaring me. He was always in a wheelchair and would pretend to fall asleep next to the desk, so if they asked me any of my personal information, he could hear it. She was friends with him and she stole my paperwork with my private phone numbers on it and gave it to him. She was always trying to take my folders. I had three folders of papers and stuff and I had to obsessively hold them all the time. I slept with them under my pillow. Imagine being psychotically paranoid around an actual threat to your safety.

How did your psychosis relapse?

The next day I was having a bad panic attack. The first emergency room had told me a list of symptoms and said if I experienced any of them, I needed to return for a CT scan, to make sure I didn't have a minor internal brain bleed. I told the staff this and that I needed to get an emergency CT scan. They denied me. My panic attack got worse and so my symptoms got worse. Also, it just so happened that a man with a large scar on his bald head was a patient on the unit. He told me the same exact thing had happened to him and if they wouldn't have taken him to get the CT scan he would have died. He told me to get really worried if one of my eyes stopped working. So of course, I started to lose vision in my right eye.

At that point I lost it and started sobbing uncontrollably, begging them to take me to an emergency room. They told me if I didn't calm down they were going to give me a sedative injection. I literally thought that was a death sentence. As a last resort I called 911. The cut the phone line and prepared the injection. It would force me to sleep and then my brain would bleed, and no one would know I was dying. I thought the injection would kill me so I begged them for my life and they gave me the injection. My dad died of a brain aneurysm and I was saying I didn't want to die like my Dad. I went back to my room thinking there was a good chance I would not wake up.

What was it like to wake up?

I was relieved to be alive, but my reputation with these patients was destroyed. They moved the man with the scar to another ward, but didn't move the man who I had actually complained about. During all of my other hospitalizing I had made really good friends with everyone and tended to be the center of a social group. People just migrated towards me. It was funny, one time me and other patient were sitting in the hallway. Ten minutes later we remarked that half the ward was now in the hallway. They were following me. I was manic. I was super friendly, social, positive, out going, and tried to make everyone feel included. I used to draw peoples portraits for them and people would sit around watching, chatting.

People migrated towards me and opened up around me. So far every other hospital had seemed to improve when I went in. I became friends with patients who were lost in paranoia or catatonic, and they vastly approved with my consistent empathetic attitude. I just had this ability to create a family. This did not happen at this hospital. I couldn't get past my first day. Everyone assumed I was a manipulative addict. I could feel them judging me. I became very introverted and kept to myself. Everyone scared me. I didn't make any friends and unlike the other hospitals, I didn't get a special meaning out of staying there. At the other places I felt like I helped people. I just feel like I rotted there.

What did you do about your dog?

The staff revoked my phone privileges because I called the police on the first day. Eventually, when I wouldn't stop asking, they finally said I was allowed to make three phone calls a day only. I called my mom. She broke the news about my dog. I was furious, devastated and terrified at the same time. I needed to call the shelter. I needed to call my brother. I needed to get out of here and rescue my dog. I yelled at my mom first when she refused to tell me what shelter it was. Staff cut the phone line and said no more phone for me that day. I protested and told them my dog was in the pound, they didn't care. I don't know how I managed it but somehow I managed to remain calm and I walked away. I knew if I escalated I would never get to call anyone again.

How was the treatment?

I didn't want to give them any excuse to keep me, so I complied, but I didn't tell them more then necessary when they asked me questions. They didn't ask me much. No one ever questioned why I was admitted to the emergency room in the first place. They asked me about my symptoms and put me on medication. I didn't see the psychiatrist every day here. Instead I saw him randomly, every several days. The rest of the time we had one large group, always dominated by depressed old women who were depressed about being old woman. Like literally, it was mind numbing to listen to them complain. I didn't have a chance to talk about my severe psychotic symptoms nor did I have any desire too. I didn't feel safe sharing that with those scary manipulative people that I was locked into a room with all day.

My diagnosis of bipolar continued and no one knew I was schizophrenic, including myself. Due to calling the police on my first day, I was deemed a flight risk, despite never trying to physically escape. Every meal the entire ward left the day room and went down stairs to a cafeteria, where they could choose between meals, have access to an open salad bar and a soda machine. They also had the option to eat out side and mingle with a different ward. I had to stay upstairs and eat a meal the nurse chose to bring back to me. Every other day we had yoga instead of art for our hour of recreation but it was downstairs in the gym room. I wasn't allowed to go. So every other day I wouldn't get to do anything at all, and I got no exercise. This went on for the first week, despite me complying completely the entire time and never attempting to escape.

What did your family do?

My siblings were all mad at me for blasting my brother on facebook. They refused to answer the phone a single time, but I wasted all three of my phone calls every day trying. Only my brother knew the name of the shelter she was at. I couldn't do anything without that information. When your in the hospital, your family can bring you street clothes, shoes without laces, soft cover books, certain art supplies and better soap/shampoo/etc. Since my Mom was out of state and my siblings weren't talking to me, I was the only patient who had nothing dropped off. The hospital gave me weird hospital pants and a pair of socks. I had to get up every other day, put on the hospital gown, and wash my regular set of clothing. Walking around in hospital clothing was like wearing a scarlet letter: I'm such a terrible person, my family won't even bring me clothes. This was really depressing when people in group talked about going through years of substance abuse, admitting treating their family horrible, but they still got supported. I lost all my support in a month and I never committed a crime.

What happened to your stuff?

My hotel room was left with a do-not-disturb sign on the door. I called them and told them to please store my backpack for me and any other contents in the room, I would collect them as soon as I got out and pay the other night my room had sent empty when I hadn't been allowed to return and end the stay. The cleaning staff simply replied, "You are no longer staying with us." She hung up. I wasn't allowed to call them back. When I finally got out I went to the hotel and my backpack was gone. It had over $1500 worth of backpacking and camping equipment.

I still had to pay for the extra night, though. My backpack with my laptop was lost at the walmart. Along with most of my art supplies, valued at over $500, not to mention a full sketchbook that was priceless to me. Plus the airline ticket I never used was nonrefundable. Finally, my car had been impounded while I was in jail. I hadn't found it before I decided to fly to Utah to get my dog. Family takes precedence. When I finally got back to claim it, I owed over $2500 in impound fees. It was really fun sitting in the hospital for three weeks knowing all my most valuable possession were being stolen from me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

What happened in the next three weeks? Did anything change?

The first two weeks were anguish. I felt abused, violated and betrayed in every way imaginable. I loved my family, but I could also never forgive them for making me lose my dog. I stopped being overwhelmed with terror after a few days. It's not that I stopped believing in the delusion that a lot of people wanted me dead, it was that I had nothing to lose, and I no longer cared that much anymore if I died. On my 23rd birthday, no one called me and the other patients didn't sing. They sang at a different patient's birthday a few days before, but not mine. I tried to not care and say I hated all the patients at this ward, but I'm not gonna lie. It's still hurt.

I kept holding onto the hope I could get out in time to save my dog: last I heard she was in foster care. Then one day I called my mom to demand again she find out where my dog was. She told me to it didn't matter anymore: my dog had been put up for adoption and placed the same day. Well of course, who wouldn't want a free immaculately trained pure breed golden retriever? Not going to lie, I blew up on her again and wasn't allowed to call her for a few days. During the last week I managed to be able to calmly speak with my mom on the phone, so I was able to call her. They stopped calling me a flight risk and I was allowed to go to the dining room and yoga. I made two friends from a different ward, we ate all our meals together. I was in the pscyh word so the people are usually less sociable. I got along really well with the people down stairs, we exchanged poetry and art. I begged to be moved but that was out the question.

How did you get released?

The hospital had srict rules about leaving. I had to make an appointment with a psychiatrist and therapist for a followup within a week of my release. Considering most offices had a wait list of 3-4 weeks and it wasn't exactly easy for me to look up places to call around, this was nearly impossible to meet, but I did it. Then I was told that I had to have at least one person from your support system vouch for you. At first I felt doomed. Then the psychiatrist told me that they usually have a family meeting 24 hours before your release. The main purpose is to explain the mental illness to the family and answer their questions.

I got really excited about this. My mom kept telling me my brothers and sister just didn't understand bipolar but they wanted to. After they understood that this wasn't all my fault, we could start working towards recovery and I could be in the family again. I understood it. It was a bad situation, no one knew how sick I was, no one understood what was going on. I didn't deserve to lose my dog, but they couldn't see that at the time. I could forgive if they were sorry. It was an accident. It was no ones fault. We could come back from this all they needed was a little bit of education. I eagerly looked forward to the meeting which was set for a few days. My Mom and sister even agreed to drive up from Vegas. I couldn't believe they would do all that for me. They really did still care! I was ecstatic.

What happened at the meeting?

An hour before my family meeting, I was literally sitting at the dayroom table staring at the wall. I couldn't wait another moment for my redemption. I couldn't focus on TV or drawing or reading, so I nervously stared and played with my hands. In 2 hours, my family would love me again. In 24 hours, I would go to the shelter and beg them to contact the family of my dog to see if they would voluntarily return her. I had watched the movie The Hangover a few days before and identified the "crazy guys" for the first time. I had worked really hard all my life and my eccentric behavior had cost me everything, even though it wasn't illegal or wrong. I never hurt anyone. I certainly entertained a lot of people. Now I was taking back what was mine. I might be crazy, but I still had rights. I hadn't deserved any of it. I didn't want them to feel like they had done me wrong... I just wanted them to realize I had not deserved it.

My social worker came in to talk to me. I was confused. I thought my psychiatrist would lead the meeting? He sort of understood my case, but I had barely talked to this social worker. She didn't understand my case at all. How would she explain anything to my family? I bit my tongue and went with it. I didn't want to come across as non-compliant or combative and risk my release. Then she dropped a bomb shell. "You're family has decided they will only agree to support your release if you go to a 30 day rehab. They have it all setup for you...." At my own expense, of course.

After two weeks involuntarily confined in a hospital where I only should have been held a few days, then being traumatically abused in jail for a week despite innocence and finally being held three more weeks at another hospital where I should not have been held at all, during which I lost everything I had left in my life that I loved, I was supposed to agree to another month of involuntary confinement? At an intuition designed to treat substance abuse, which I didn't even suffer from! I couldn't believe it. I needed to be free. I needed to try and get my dog back and find my car. She told me the rehab would be much more lenient than the hospital and I could probably take care of everything while in the program. They had a special psych program. It wouldn't be a waste of time. Yeah, because I'm really used to institutions doing what they promise they'll do. I had only experienced six, but I guess that doesn't make me an expert. I said I wasn't going to rehab, so I guess they had to keep me in the hospital forever. She finally left, saying she had to get the room ready for the meeting.

I watched the clock. The scheduled time for my meeting arrived, nothing happened. 10 minutes passed, nothing happened. I started pacing around the room, wondering if they had cancelled the meeting since I was already refusing rehab. 20 minutes pass and the social worker appears. She seems nervous. Sorry, some people were just running a a bit late. No problem. I've just been waiting three weeks. What a great start. I follow her into the room, where everyone sits in a circle of chairs. My Mom stands and hugs me. I felt stiff like a frozen robot. When was the last time I was allowed to hug someone? I had no warmth left to share. Everyone else just glances at me and then looks away. My sister is staring at her phone like a fucking bored popular girl in high school. I sit down at the chair and look at the social worker. She is the expert. She's the one that needs to run the show here... so?

Everyone wants to know how I am. I explain that I am wonderful and that I love the therapy through gritted teeth. The medicine works perfectly, because if I say anything to the contrary, how many more weeks might they keep me to adjust? Then my social worker moves right along and tells everyone I don't feel like I need to go to rehab. The room explodes. Everyone starts saying I have to go to rehab and I continue to say it is not going to happen. My Mom commands attention and informs me that if I don't go, everyone including her, not only will I not leave the hospital, they will no longer communicate with me. I stare at the ground for a few moments. "Fine. I'll go." I swallow hard, feeling close to tears, but I don't want to cry in front of these people. I don't want them to know how much I still care. How they can still hurt me. The room is silent and awkward for a moment.

Tell them what bipolar is. Lead them to ask questions. Give them some damn papers to read. Something? Anything at all? Apparently not. The meeting is over. I thought the whole point of this was to educate my family and that didn't happen at all. I would like to be able to say this was the most disappointing painful moment of my life but it just isn't, not after that week in jail or that night in walmart. I guess that's it, we all sort of say, and awkwardly stand. I hug everyone while refusing to look them in the eyes, then I run out of the room. What a fucking disaster.

How did you transition to rehab?

The next day a very nice looking man came to collect me. We go into a meeting room and I ask him if I will at least get my cell phone back so I can take care of urgent business. He says I will get it back a week into the program. I hesitate. He asks me if I really want to go at all. I tell him I have no desire whatsoever, but it's a condition to my release. He tells me it's nothing personal, but they don't take people who don't want to go. It's bad for the environment. I totally understand. We shake hands and he leaves without me. My psychiatrist talks to me a while after. His attitude has changed after the social worker described the family meeting to him. For the first time, I tell him about my dog and he actually listens. He tells me how sorry he is that it happened.

He even goes on to apologize for writing me off most of stay in the hospital, he thought I just wanted to get out, he didn't realize I was trying to save my dog. He also didn't realize (and never will) that I had just been brutally abused in jail or that I had experienced a complete psychotic break; being locked up made me fear for my life.but Instead he judged me on my first day of obviously manic and psychotic behavior, as described by the nurses, who probably claimed it was drug seeking behavior.I verbally accept his apology and smile, but nothing will fix what happened now. The damage is done. My dog is gone. He says he will now push for my release "really hard" and tries to call my mom to get her to agree to my release without rehab. I'm held for another day because we have to hold another officially empty family meeting over the phone this time and the person qualified to hold the meeting is gone for the day. My mom agrees to remove all the knives out of my house and we agree that I will take a cab from the hospital to my hotel since she is already back in Vegas.

What happened when you finally left?

Another girl from my ward was leaving at the same time. Her sister stepped out of their families van and hugged her with a smile. I told her good luck and got into a cab with a stranger. It was like the universe was always looking for a chance to flip me off. I fucking wanted to leave like that with my family. I love my family. Fuck. I took the cab to the airport and rented a car. I realized I couldn't leave until I attempted to get my dog back for a few days. I reported to the police that my brother had stolen my dog. He had because he claimed that I had abandoned the dog and he had the right to surrender it to the shelter without them waiting two days for the owner to claim (if the "owner" drops off the dog, they know no one is claiming it). But I had not legally abandoned my dog yet. I explained it to the police on the phone and they agreed with me. I wondered if by some magic my brother had actually kept the dog and just said they took her to the pound until/unless I went to rehab. An officer agreed to go to their house and ask if they had the dog or the name of the pound they took her too. I waited down the street. Finally the officer came to me.

First he took a moment to say,"They're saying they have more info for you after you go to rehab."

"Yeah I'm not going, I just need to know the name of the shelter."

Now he thinks I am a drug addict. What the fuck ever. Then he told me the name of the shelter. I drove straight there and went to the foster office. I told the lady my dogs name and asked her where she was. She knew my dogs name. She said "Ok ____? She was adopted." I already knew it. I told her it was an illegal surrender. The dog was stolen from me. I show her my dogs service badge, certification, registration, I keep it with me when I travel. She says she is sorry but there is nothing she can do.

The surrender was in fact illegal, but the adoption was legal, and the new family owns the dog. There is no taking it back. I break down crying and beg her to just call the family and ask if they will consider voluntarily returning the dog, for a sizable reward. They've only had her a week. They're not that attached... If they knew she was my service dog, my everything, the only thing I have left? She says she can't do it. I spent the next few days crying. The dog was supposed to be with me , by my side, 24-7. That means the only way she could die is if I died at the same time as her, in an accident. I thought there was no way I could lose her until she died of old age. I never imagined the next 20 years of my life without her.

You gave up then?

No. I got the idea to rent a billboard and put up flyers EVERYWHERE. I stared by making a graphic and posting it on facebook. No one shared it. No one cared. Suddenly I realized anyone who heard that story isn't going to care, not without all the details. They will think the only way a person steals a dog from their sister to throw it in the pound is if their sister is abusive of the dog and deserves it. No one would help me spread the news. The family wouldn't return her to me. I took 2000 flyers I had printed and threw them in the trash. It was over. She was gone.

What happened after that?

My ex-boyfriend unblocked me and talked to me. I told him to just go stay at my house. He tried a few hours later and said my roommate was there. I got kind of mad because before the delusion where I thought he was killing everyone we had a big fight. While I was in jail he had clogged up all the toilets (and then just proceeded to pile them to the brim with toilet paper and poop) and every single dish I owned was dirty in the sink. I came home to that and I wasn't pleased. I sternly told him it was very disrespectful, and I excepted it all cleaned and fixed in 72 hours or he should just get out, he hadn't paid rent yet. Then he disappeared for a day. He texted me that I was to mean to him and he was moving out. So I told him bye. Then I went to Utah.

So he told my my roommate was there and he didn't feel comfortable going inside. I had been there for an entire month, when he was supposed to be gone. It was just one more time people broke their word. He agreed to move out and didn't. I left that night driving straight to the house, worried that if he got the heads up he would take all my stuff and run. I was mad at him when he answered the door, but he apologized. He said he was worried about me, so he called my mom to ask if I was okay. I was in the hospital again. He asked her what he should do about my cats since he was moving out and couldn't care for them. She said take them to the pound. I can't even image, if she had done that to me, I can't even IMAGINE. He said, I can't do that to her and so she agreed to give him a copy of the key and let him live there. I thanked him profusely and felt like an idiot for being so mad at him. Then it was like we were best friends again. We just have no sexual chemistry, so we don't work as a couple, but he is a good looking guy and my boyfriend was jealous.

What did your boyfriend do?

I told my boyfriend when he was homeless that there was $400 of emergency cash in a specific drawer and he could use some of until I got back, but he would pay me back. He came to see me that day and I went upstairs to grab something for just a moment. I came back down and then we went out for the day together. He dropped me off the next day and my roommate asked me as soon as he left, "Are you disappointed that he took the money?"

My roommate isn't very good with words. Saying it this way made him look really bad. I didn't know the money was missing yet. Why was he so quick to assume I hadn't taken it? Why did he even check that it was missing? Why was it the very first thing he wanted to talk to me about? I texted my boyfriend and asked him he took it. He refused and then accused my roommate. I didn't know who to believe and the way my roommate had asked me made me suspicious of him. Over the next few months my boyfriend showed that he was very manipulative and a habitual liar. I became certain since then my roommate was innocent. I still remember what he said, "I don't care what you think about me. I just don't want to see you getting taken advantage of." Fuck. I'm sorry.

Well that ship had sailed. With the suspicion back, our relationship declined. My boyfriend kept saying he had stolen the money how could I remain friends with or trust him in my house. Finally he just disappeared one day, for good this time. He was my last real friend. Over the next few months, my boyfriend turned out to be a nutcase. He smashed holes in all my walls one day and strangled me. So I ran back to my Mom, he took me back in and helped me file a restraining order.

There is a stereotype that the mentally ill commit crimes. In reality we are more like to be victimized. We are easy targets, easy to manipulate, east to scare into keeping silent, and better yet, people don't believe us when we accuse others of abuse anyways. Since they don't understand that I can tell the difference between fact and fiction when I am not psychotic. My boyfriend picked up on my delusions and over time made me believe he could fully read my mind whenever he wanted. I felt totally hopeless to him, like he had complete control over me no what I did and that I literally couldn't even think about hiding something from him.

What about your other friends?

I used to train martial arts and I had a ton of friends in that hobby. I hung out with a few close friends a lot. I can't do it right now. I think the jail thing changed me the most. Ever since that happened I just don't know how to enjoy life anymore. They forced me to be come content with staring at a wall all day and it's like I can't undo it. Nothing is fun anymore. I don't like talking to people. I was a totally different person before that, but I was also manic then, too. I'm so young right now I don't even know who I am with or without this disorder. Before and after the trauama. It's just really hard to identify myself as anything but broken.

What does your family think now?

I haven't seen or talked to anyone but my mom since the family meeting. My sister recently moved and I did see her once before that to say goodbye to my nieces. I guess it's good I mourned their deaths so thoroughly because they might as be dead. I messaged my brothers a few weeks after and begged them to just say they were sorry. It was an accident, a misunderstanding, something, so I could forgive them. They ignored me and blocked me on all social media.

When did you realize you were sick?

I still knew I was bipolar but it took me a few months before my psychiatrist said schizoaffective. It took even more months to start to accept that this is true. In the span of a few months, all my beliefs about the universe change and I believed in it all completely. Everything was fascinating, beautiful, connected, had meaning, there were patterns everywhere. I couldn't stop. I had this amazing feeling of purpose, destiny, understanding and security. When I finally realized it was likely "all in my head" (literally) it was really hard to have my views change again. I kept talking to my Dad. But I kept getting sadder. One day I just said. "Shut up. You're not my fucking Dad. He is dead. He isn't a ghost. He is nothing. Nothing happens when you die. You're in my fucking head. He's gone."

He doesn't shutup, because like I said, medications don't really stop that. Deep down I really don't want him to go away. I don't want to be alone. I never fully believe it's him anymore either. I wish all the time I could go back in time six months ago and believe in it all again, if only for a day. Before it got scary. Before it got me hurt. When it was just magic. I will never feel that way again. If ever I am happy now, I am immediately afraid, because I know I am bound to lose whatever is making happy eventually. That's just what happens when you are schizophrenic. Nothing is safe, nothing will stay the same, nothing is sacred. You can't trust anyone, especially the person you will be when you wake up tomorrow.