Dear Schizoaffective Disorder – Letters to My Illness

Dear schizoaffective disorder,

You are the worst roommate I have ever had. You took up residency in my brain, but refuse to pay rent. I know there’s no evicting you. And I know you’ll probably never play by my rules, but we need to find a way to live together. 

Dear schizoaffective disorder,

You’re a bully. You lie in wait until you see my edges fraying. Then you come at me, claws out. There is no valor in preying on the weak. And I can barely imagine the suffering of the people without effective treatment on whom you prey. 

Sometimes I fight back. But sometimes I don’t have the energy and I’ll let you walk all over me. I can’t help it. There are times where getting back on my feet to challenge you is just not possible. But in time I will. I have no other choice but to keep trying to live, one unsteady foot in front of the other.

Dear schizoaffective disorder,

I can’t stand the physical effects you and your medication have had on me. I knew my metabolism would slow down eventually, but medication ground it to a halt. Yes, I lost most of the weight. But not until struggling through an eating disorder. I know it’s pretty much under control now, but you will never appreciate just how much that weight gain stole from me or how much I worry about it coming back.

Let’s not forget the dulling of my fine motor skills from your medications or the accent it created for me. It’s amusing when people try to guess where I’m from, but slurring the name of the retailer I worked at when I picked up the phone was mortifying. Once upon a time I had excellent diction. Not anymore. It took work, but it’s a little better now. You are not forgiven though.

Dear schizoaffective disorder,

You did not make me who I am today. I know I’ve said otherwise in the past, but, looking back, I can see how wrong I was. You tortured me. And still do sometimes. You turned my entire life upside down and shattered every corner of my mind. But you do not deserve credit for any positive change. I did that. It was me who picked up the pieces and found help putting them back together. I’m the one who keeps going. I’m the one who faces this struggle with whatever strength I have. And it was me who discovered I could use these experiences to try to help others. You didn’t build my confidence. Sure, you were the trigger, but you are not the one who made me. I am.

Dear schizoaffective disorder,

I wish I knew why you did the things you do. There have been times in the past where I blamed myself. I told myself it was because I was weak. I assured myself that I was worthless because I could not keep you from touching my life. But it was you all along. You made me believe those things. You sent those symptoms into my life.

Sometimes I wonder if you sat back and laughed as my world fell apart. But I wish I knew why. I mean, I know I didn’t win the genetic lottery with the amount of mental illness in my family tree. But, growing up, I kind of wanted to believe that I was safe from things like you. I had a supportive family, a roof over my head, never wanted for necessities. So I wondered, why me? But the longer I live with this disease, the more I realize you do not and never will play fair. Especially when you consider that there are others who were in similar circumstances growing up from whom you stole much more than you took from me. Nobody deserves this.

Dear schizoaffective disorder,

You fill my body like murky water, rising higher and higher until I’m struggling to breathe. My nerves light up, bright and electric. I am reduced to panic, curling myself inward as I stand before dropping to knees then hands. Sometimes I don’t know how I’m going to survive. Your waters always recede eventually, but somewhere in the middle of drowning in a room that’s on fire, my hope begins to dim. I worry that life will never go back to the way it was before whatever episode I find my self in. I think there are a lot of people who see me as as strong and courageous. But when I’m curled up on the floor like that, I feel anything but. 

Dear schizoaffective disorder,

I know I cannot fully separate myself from you. I accept that you are my unloving life partner. But know that I will fight back whenever possible. You can, and probably will, knock me down countless times. I’m under no impression that things will go back to the old normal. But, if I am able, I will always get back up. I don’t have bootstraps to use to pull myself up, but I have support, treatment that works pretty well, a fair amount of insight, plus a little bit of fear driving me. I may sit on the ground for days, weeks, or years, but that doesn’t mean I will never get up again. You may steal life, but you will not be the death of me. And it’s time we do something to keep you from stealing the lives of others. No one deserves the pain you inflict. 

Sincerely,

Katie

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