Transcript
Schizophrenia…A Conquered Foe
The truth is the only pill that will set you free
Read the personal journey of one woman’s escape from a hidden hell.
My name is Bob and I’m a schizophrenic and so am I. So yeah, ya’ll know the line from What About Bob. How tantalizingly funny it sounds and looks. Yes, we have all laughed at that scene. Or have we? A yes or no question and well um…no. We all haven’t laughed at that scene even though it is hilarious.
I have not laughed at that scene. Maybe the nit grit cackle between my teeth of a bitter, solid, funny moment. And then the catch of my own bitter not so solid unfathomably sad reality. I was a “schizophrenic”.
Schizophrenic. Not a nice word. Even the word itself makes something besides your skin crawl. Perhaps it’s the intangible feeling of an untouched identity or the possibility of none. The stigma bites your nerve as soon as the word is spoken to those who know all too well the reality of its vice. The reality of an untied shoelace of one’s humanity and unprecedented jump into displacement. Yes. This is the skitsofrenik dilemma. And Bill Murray’s thespian fall.
So with an attempted allure of an intro now I get to offend you. Yep. And everything you don’t want to hear. It’s my job. I can’t get away from it so I might as well embrace it. You see my world is quite different from most humans on this planet. Yep. So before I go any further let my pop the bubble in your gum. No matter what I say you are going to think I’m a schizophrenic. I’ve accepted my lot so to silence all your critique on your opinions of me, I’ve decided on a rather sustainable option. The lights have been dimmed, the stage is set….cue the curtain Rafael!…..I don’t care.
Now. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty. Schizophrenia is an impossible disease. The medical field cannot do a thing for anyone in this area. Oh yes, they try. But they try in vain. And you can argue me and your intellect all you want but the fact is they try.
And try is the extent of their success. How do I know? I was one who suffered severely for years at the mercy of this diabolical disease we classify as mental illness. And at the hands of those who call themselves healers spending a vast majority of their lives to psychiatric research and self-proclaimed knowledge on a physical penetration of the mysteries of the soul.
Did they help me? No. Did they hurt me? Yes. Was I healed? Yes. Healed. All the way. Do you believe that? Probably not but I’m going to tell you anyway in the event that one precious person will read this and discover the amazing love of someone much greater than themselves or any medical professional. So here's my story. I suffered severely at the mercy of this horrendous disease. It was like overnight I had lost my mind. I was in my first semester of college and it started as depression. I had had depression for a while but by November 2002 it was progressively getting worse. Until one day I was just gone. Gone. Mentally I was frozen. My brain was in a lock down and there was nothing I could do about it. I would sit staring at a computer screen frozen not even able to type with my fingers. That is one of the many absurdities and bizarre things that would take place. To comfort myself I would sit for spaces of time I know not in the dorm showers. Under the warm water to feel peace of any kind. Before I knew it I had left the dorms and never returned to worried colleagues who had no clue where I had disappeared to. I was going to a friend's house on the weekends and by Christmas break stayed and never came back to school. I couldn't finish the semester if I tried. I was mentally, emotionally and becoming physically debilitated. There were dark forces surrounding me and I knew it. I just didn't know what to do about it. And those who claimed to know God didn't either. I very quickly became a comatose vegetable. I was catatonic, either having to be constantly moving or laying and doing nothing. There was nothing I could do to get out of it. I was trapped, imprisoned inside my own body. An invisible cage with steel bars became my existence. My aunt had had just about enough of my perpetual immobilization. I agreed to go to a rehabilitation center just for something to do. I knew deep down it wasn't going to do a thing for me but I had no other option at the time. I spent 2 months in outpatient rehab with a mix of people ranging from those whose brains had been fried from drugs to another with narcolepsy and a middle aged filthy rich man who was addicted to valium and would constantly work with no sleep. My veins were pumped with 7 or 8 different ant-psychotic drugs at one time. No one could diagnose me. Depression was evident but what was that? Compared to feeling
like your scalp was being skinned by an Indian that was peanuts. From Ambien to trazadone to Risperdal to every other pick your poison candy drug to counteract the ones that were given... I was a zombie. For a little over a year I existed. I breathed. I lost my hygiene. It is hard to describe. You just can't do it. You lose every ounce of life breath. I was a walking dead man. After months of downing hard chemical meds on my mind, body and emotions I came to a resolution one day in the spring of 2003. I figured I was going to die anyway so I decided to take out some savings from grandparents that I could only touch at the age of 18. I was 18 so I figures I'm of age and it rightfully belongs to me. I better take it and use it to live on because I had figured my life was over anyway. I was mentally incapacitated and knew my person, the real me was already dead. It's the physical wasting away that takes a lot more time. But I was sure it would come even though I could move more at this time. I had a friend from Kazakhstan who was working in Orlando for the summer, so I decided to take whatever money I had left to my name and fly down to see her. I was going against everything I had spiritually and morally lived for up until that point in my life. But that was all gone now. Stolen right before my eyes. I went looking for a good time. So whatever parts of my soul and pocketbook I had left, I took it and hopped a plane to Florida. Blew my money. On everything wannabe hedonism found. Got wrapped up in a guy from Europe who was there to learn English. Met a lot of people. Did a lot of stupid things. Abused the psych meds I had left at my disposal just to get sleep at night. I was a chronic insomniac for 2 years total. I was desperate for love. Who isn't or hasn't been who doesn't have it? I went to disgusting night clubs. Things I would have never done. I just wasn't that kind of girl. When you're life means nothing so does everything else. By the end of the summer I had become so entangled in the guys I was determined to keep it going as long as possible. So he went home to Europe. And I flew after him. I worked as an au pair for 4 months. I arrived in December spent Christmas there and when I finally had enough of the bad family situations I was finding myself in and accepted that the relationship was over. I left by March 2004. By that time I had bounced back. I didn't know what had happened to me except that my life had fallen apart and now I was rebuilding it. I worked tat summer to save up for my own place to live. Whatever had happened to me I knew I didn’t want to forget it. I didn’t want to forget the meaning and appreciation for life that I had because of it. And also the suffering of others. By January 2006 I had established myself with a job and nice apartment. I was even
able to travel a little bit. I had an experience that triggered some rejection in my life. It was enough to trigger me down the spiraling path again to despair. I didn’t know what was happening to me except that what had once threatened to win ruin my life forever had reared its ugly head again. All I knew was that whatever it was, I needed answers. And I needed them, or else my life was a goner. So I begged God. I begged God for answers. I told him that I didn’t know what was going on but he had to do something or I was screwed. For a second time I lost my ability to function. I lost my ability to work and provide for myself. The night terrors surrounded me, and before I knew it I once again became a prisoner in my own body. I could not believe it. I had just enrolled into art school and was accepted. By the time it came to secure me spot in school for the second time around I had to withdraw. I just knew not matter how much I wanted to do it I would not be able to handle it. I lived with a friend while I continued attending the church I was at at that time. I was desperate for help. I was looking for spiritual help. Because I knew everything in the past did nothing for me except make me worse. I did not know what was happening to me but I was trusting and believing that God did. I suffered for a long time. I had lost my physical strength and mental stamina. Up and down emotions see-sawed my mind and heart in two. Unwarranted physical pangs in my body were completely real yet completely phantom. I would lie in bed while my body would just writhe in pain. I couldn’t go to the gym because my chest and diaphragm would tighten up so much the lack of physical strength would zap the body dry. Insomnia was a steady companion. My mental response would become delayed. With a locked brain the thought process would slow down with delayed mental response. All of this of course gradually took a toll on my relationships. Isolation came as a byproduct to some degree but not necessarily by choice. I personally was driven to these points by something outside of my control. But in spite of that I still was seeking help for answers as I continually cried out to God. I was desperately trying to keep my head above the water. Being torn in two consistently with going in and out of your personality. I could seem normal on the exterior and at any moment whether in conversation or waking from sleep my thoughts and body would be seized by a force outside of my control. My mind would feel blank and so would my body. The only thing I noticed on this time around was that I managed to not lose my hygiene. I don’t know why but I somehow kept myself looking normal as my person faded into oblivion. Mentally I wasn’t completely gone contrary to the belief of some. Most think of a “schizophrenic” tat nasty label of someone beyond ability to understand and rationalize what’s happening to them.
It’s the exact opposite. There is a desperate mind race to deal with this and understand. I knew something was happening to me and was completely aware of the horrors it entailed, I just couldn’t always express that. I remember at one point I could not even talk. Physically, my vocal chords had been closed shut. It was hell. Something wouldn’t let me speak. I suffered with these types of unexplainable symptoms for a long time. I don’t even know anymore how long. Those years have become one big blur. But I kept crying out to God. I kept asking and asking him to do something. I wasn’t going to stoop until he answered. I didn’t care how long it would take. I knew it was my only shot of hope. No psychiatrist could do a thing for me. And I knew it. After months of agonizing searching, one day in January 2007 I saw a word on someone’s website. I saw the word “schizophrenia”. And I just knew. It clicked inside of me and I went on a mega search on all the info I could find on schizophrenia. I had all the symptoms and I knew I had at least a lead to this peculiar plague. With knowing that I had a lead to steer me in a direction I told my supposed “friends” at the time. I them what was wrong with me. They claimed to understand these things. They claimed to understand the spiritual connotations. One claimed to have been given the revelation of schizophrenia to him by God! Yet none of them cared to help me. They may have cared but they did not care enough to actually put to practice what they could preach all too well. By August 2007 my mental state had progressed so badly my brain had enough. I went into a full blown coma for 5 days. I freaked out and was taken by ambulance to the ER and then placed in the psych unit. I was being tormented by demons all the way up until this huge break down. Demons? Yep. Demons. I am telling you right now this ungodly disease we know to be schizophrenia is nothing more than a demonic problem. I know this now. I didn’t know it then. But they did. My “friends”, or so they claimed to know. Then why did they leave me to die in a hospital bed if they had the know how? Or did they? They claimed to know Jesus. They talked a good talk. I wanted to know who he was more. I wanted to know God and draw close to him. They knew a lot of things that I didn’t, about the demonic world and how it affects us. So yeah. The church gang left me to die in hospital. Wouldn’t have been half bad at that time. The horrors that I had endured up until that point were beyond belief and beyond my ability to cope with. Once I awoke there were more horrors ahead to fight. I didn’t want to recover. I would have to start all over again. Again. Going into the coma I was surrounded by a terror that goes beyond anything that can be humanly comprehended. It was other worldly and I wish it on no one. I saw a lot of bizarre things that were just not possible in the realm of the physical that we can see taste and touch. I was seeing into the spirit world.
I saw crazy things of course just so people can say I’m crazy if I speak them. So the whole you’re schizophrenic if you do, schizophrenic if you don’t my conclusion has become this: I don’t care what anybody thinks. I saw elements of the workings of the New World Order and our government being involved in 911 and links to Turkey. Switzerland too, has to do with money transfers. Everything happened so fast. It was like a 3 day movie. With no start or stop. My entire life flashed before my eyes as the finale of entering a world I could not exit. I was held in the hospital for a period of 10 days. I was in a coma for five and awake for five. I awoke to being tied down in a bed and doctors screaming my name to me and my date of birth. There was evil all around me. A priest came to my side to try and give me a prayer. I didn’t want it. There was something evil about him. I saw famous people who were trying to usher me into the New World Order. They were trying to initiate me. Think what you want. It happened. There were two men behind my hospital bed. I thought they were demons because I was surrounded by darkness but I later came to the understanding that they were Michael and Gabriel. Archangels from heaven. I was held in the hospital in torture. All I could do was pace or rock. At one point I was completely frozen. My mouth was frozen in a smile. I literally could not move my mouth. Bizarre. Absolutely bizarre. Pills were shoved down my throat. I was left to lie on the floor from powers/demons pushing me down to the ground. There were many horrors endured there. A lot is a blur. A friend came to pick me up who had to no avail “tried” to help me. He eventually told me he needed distance which was another way of saying I never want to see you again. And it has been so since. I don’t even remember how but I was sitting on a bench in a town and a man from church pulled up and said he had been thinking of me. I had been on his heart. He ended up taking me over to a little church downtown. I understood at this point that I had demons. It was at this little church they prayed for me and I received my first deliverance. It was not the first or last time demons would be leaving me. It was only the beginning. For the next 2.5 years I would be fighting for my life. And running. As the process went on I hopped from deliverance ministry to deliverance ministry. This happened because they would not believe me, or they thought I must have done something so bad. But it was not the case. The reality was I was suffering from demons tormenting me called schizophrenia that had been passed to me from my mother. And there were a lot of them. It was not a onetime done deal of prayer. It was going to take me 2.5 years of struggle and fighting to get free. I had to do it. I met a girl from Kenya at the little church I was taken to by my friend. She was
suffering from the same thing. We had each other’s backs and found common ground and support in one another in understanding what no one did. We found kinship because of what it would do to us and how others had treated and disbelieved us because of it. We would go to other churches and drive to other states desperate for deliverance because the little church thought that I was done and ok to go after one session of prayer. But fighting demons and mental illness demons are not a one shot deal. It takes work. I was a mess. A mess. A mess is an understatement. The idea of satanic ritual abuse being done to me came up in a deliverance session in Maryland. A couple ministered to me there and even took me into their home. That is until a phone call came from a family member stating that her mother had a stroke and was in hospital. They sent me away telling me I was free. I was not free. As I was driving home forces were trying to pull me off the road. I was driving a 4 hour trip back to my hometown in the pouring down rain at night on an interstate. I had to pull off the side of the road and call a friend or I was not going to make it. I barely made it home. I found another ministry in New Jersey while staying at another friend’s house and called them for prayer. They prayed for me right away and I knew I could go there. In January 2008 I was receiving prayer for deliverance in New Jersey. By March, I had landed once again in the hospital because once again, people didn’t think someone could be that bad or that the devil couldn’t do certain things to a person. He can do more than we know. I wasn’t in my right mind at this time obviously. I was in such a low mental state I was almost retarded. A man that was going to New Jersey also for deliverance decided that God had told him he was going to do my deliverance. This man played with the demons in me. I should have been kept at the ministry until I was safe until the demons were out. It was something that just wouldn’t stop. The man that decided he was going to deliver me ended up calling the police on me and I was handcuffed. Then I was put onto a stretcher and put into an ambulance. I remember being not able to breathe. I was holding my breath involuntarily. The medics creeped me out though they said they were there to help me. They were too on cue. And the policeman. It was like they had just been waiting for the phone call to come and haul me off. As I was lowered out of the ambulance I began to breathe again. I was put into a wheelchair and rolled into the lobby. I remember crying out the name Jesus Christ and everybody looked at me and laughed. I was then subdued and pushed down by medics in a solitary confinement room. They injected some heavy medication into my rear end and locked the door behind them.
I screamed out “Jesus Christ of Nazareth!” I kept screaming his name. I was banging on the door till my hands were blood red. A doctor came up to the window and taunted me about people I knew. Eventually I fainted and lay on the floor in a hospital gown and the cold. When I woke up I was in a hospital bed with nurses around me doing all kinds of tests. I was freaking out. I was being tormented by demons and it was so hard to know whether these people were on my side or not. They put me through all kinds of tests and scans. At some point I was put into a room with a bed with another patient. I was stuck in tis ward for a total of three days. The horrors are too much for me to write out. The third day my case was taken before layers about what they were going to do with me. The psychiatrist wanted to keep me for 22 days. If I would have stayed for 22 days I would have died. In the middle of the trial I remember confusion dropping like a cloud over the lawyers and one said to me, “I don’t want to hear anymore go…if you come back you will comply to all doctor’s orders.” I had walked into that room with one thing. A bible verse from Proverbs that said something like the Lord goes before me his is my confidence. And I walked out of that room and the hospital with my things. Jesus Christ of Nazareth had my back. He is alive and is everything he claimed to be in the scriptures the Holy Bible. No opinion or belief will change it. It’s fact. He opened the doors and let me out of that hospital. Otherwise I would have died and I know it. After the second round in the hospital I was back in Jersey receiving deliverance again. I then moved on to Richmond, VA where a friend lived and finished my deliverance there. For a total of 2.5 years I fought through hell on earth. And I won through the power of the blood of Jesus. Jesus Christ of Nazareth as completely healed me and set me free of schizophrenia. It is the only way to be free. He has completely healed my mind and I am free! There is hope only in Christ Jesus. The one of the scriptures. His power jolted through my being and healed my brain piece by piece. I have been robbed of a lot of life. I have fought through incredible darkness and came out on the other side. Schizophrenia is no joke people. If you knew the hell a person endures you would never call them a schizophrenic again. God is no joke either. There is only one true God and you come to him only through the blood of Jesus. Jesus is ready to wash you from your sin and heal you of your disease if you would just come to him. Too bad Richard Dreyfuss couldn’t get over himself and introduce Bob to the Healer.