The Neglected Choice

- 'The Hallucinating Socialist*'

History - 


The truth is I don't know what I have. Some say this, some say that but everyone has come to consensus that something is wrong with me. (Surprise surprise!) 

It took a while for my parents to get convinced to take me to a psychiatrist, only after the changes in my behaviour became a bit too drastic to handle. 

       I wouldn't know where I'd wake up the next day or in some cases with whom. Might've been the alcohol or might've been the delusions, who's to say? It was necessary, for whatever reason beyond my control, that I had to party; or at least get drunk. 

     I kept telling myself it's college and that's how it is but I knew I was running from something that had been haunting me for a long time. A childhood ghost if I may? Not as friendly as Casper, this. 


   I didn't know how to explain it to others that I'd been possessed. It sounds crazy, I know. I am.  

   In a metaphorical sense, I'd been possessed. Someone or something had taken over my consciousness and it was ruffled up so badly I couldn't pick apart ivory from ebony. 

See what I mean when I say it's hard to explain? 

End result was this - I'd jump from moving vehicles and run to corners of the city, or even other cities during fits of rage. Every night, drinking myself to oblivion was the only way I could stop myself from doing these things. So I had no choice but to drink. 

There's always a reason.  


Wrestling with secrets! (I'm gay, whole other struggle story for another time! Yay!)

The break up

Lost friendships

Unfulfilled dreams. 


My tolerance to every kind of booze in the market grew with each reason and I wouldn't get knocked out so easily anymore. The delusional incidents began again, only this time whilst inebriated. Whoopee. 


A suicidal rampage across the city, (some willing, most by serendipity) and after a loss of most my friends and an almost loss of my degree I visited the doctor. 

"Doc, something ain't right..." 

The diagnosis -


Initially in school they thought it to be depression, but later diagnosed it to being the side effects of "Arrogant teenager". 

Ha! Well, got you now.


Cuz now I have a whole bunch of other diagnoses to prove them wrong. 


I really wish I was just being a jerk, turns out I'm a sweetheart. Sucks big time. 


It went from being Bipolar to F 20.0 Schizophrenia to Schizoaffective or Bipolar affective. (I don't even know if that's a thing). But hey, I've got something to work on I guess. 


How is it now? 


It's been about a year since the diagnosis and there's been a lot of major improvement if I do say so myself. Meds opened me up to the possibility of what normalcy can look like and Therapy was a way to that state being myself. 

It can be a tedious process, one where it starts off by choosing to make the effort to understand your diagnosis and make the best of the situation. 

But to understand that the choice existed, was a hard task.


I've quit my job, I've found my solace in History, Philosophy and writing and now working towards being a writer/educator.

My undergrad was in Medicine and History. (Told you I was crazy) 

And although I can't say my episodes have stopped, I'm learning slowly everyday how to handle them better. And life has honestly not been this peaceful for a while.  


So yes, life will choose to push you off the plane and watch you plummet.


I discovered that I had a choice, one that did not have a very pleasant ending, and the other that could save my life, or at the least soften the blow for the fall. 


So I sought help. 


A hard choice since many often think "Am I worth it? " 


Long story short, you are. 

But that long story is necessary to understand that sometimes. 

*The author chose to remain anonymous.

© 2020 by Nishi Ravi Psychotherapy