A Day in My Life With Schizoaffective Disorder – When Symptoms Flare

Mental illnesses affect everyone differently. When I experience symptoms, to outsiders it may look like nothing is wrong. Here’s a glimpse behind the curtain of what a recent flare up was like for me.

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I pushed my post-traumatic stress disorder yesterday. I went to a place that I usually avoid. I’m proud of myself for that, but I’m paying a price. I had flashbacks that evening, and symptoms of psychosis crept in, the tide rising on me today.

I take my time getting ready this morning.

In general, when I’m stressed or anxious, I feel better if I’ve put effort into my appearance; it’s a form of self-care for me. I’m pretty good with makeup, but still make mistakes. On the second eye, I smudge my eyeliner. Anxiety spikes, but I take deep breaths. This is easy to fix. I fuss with my hair. I didn’t wash it, but I’m actually surprised at how good it looks despite that. After pulling the sides back, I need to adjust a bobby pin, and the anxiety licks at my shoulders. I remind myself that I’m okay.

I sit at my desk at work, my thoughts aren’t racing, but they’re shifting like a rubiks cube someone is trying to solve.

They twist, turn, relocate, and mix together. At times they’re jumbled and fighting for space in my head. At others I’m thinking about everything at the same time. I keep going back to my task list to try and get myself back on track and focus on one project at a time instead of going haphazardly from task to task as my thoughts rearrange themselves. Anxiety rises towards the end of the day. Will I finish everything? With some help, I do.

I’m irritable, angry for no reason.

When my boyfriend is here during flare ups like this it takes a conscious effort to catch myself before I respond to something harmless with biting words. He’s done nothing wrong, but I can’t help the anger. It’s not violent, but rather a lack of patience with anything.

Today it’s just my dog and I. On walks, Moose likes to swap sides at certain points to sniff those very specific leaves and blades of grass. He’s not doing it any more than usual, but the irritation crawls on my skin. I have an inner conversation not unlike that of a parent to a child. Let this go. Moose has done nothing wrong. It takes a great deal of force to push this anger from my mind, and I have to focus on keeping it away.

When I’m home alone, music is on constantly.

Silence isn’t necessarily oppressive, but it is dangerous when I’m feeling like this. The type of music I listen to also impacts my attitude. While I would love to play music that reflects how I feel, I put on upbeat pop and hip hop. I make a simple dinner and watch music videos while I eat. I look at social media, but don’t have the energy to interact.

Walking in the evening before bed is typically my solace, but these last two days it’s been lashing out at me.

I hear people talking, I hear noises. Out of nowhere there’s a loud buzzing directly in my ear, but there’s no bug there. The highway by my building is roaring at me, but I lecture myself on assigning intent. The road is not roaring, it’s the sound of cars going by, and it has nothing to do with me. I have to repeat this to myself several times over the 45 minutes that I’m out there.

I hear people talking and I stop, turn, pause. Nothing. The sounds are overwhelming at times. The voices aren’t clear. They’re in my general area, but not close. It could be others out walking, but I’m not sure. I can’t tell what they’re saying, but I worry that it’s about me.

Across the way, I see a woman in a pink shirt, black pants, black hat, and possibly a fanny pack. She has blonde hair and it looks short. I’ve seen similar women out walking before and think nothing of it. But I round the corner and she’s suddenly walking quickly in the opposite direction. Her hair, while still blonde, is long, and she appears taller. I continue as she strides away into the shadows ahead of me.

Later, I see her on the cross street up ahead. Her hair is short again. She walks towards the intersection. As I cross the street, I look – she’s gone. I continue walking, craning my neck to check the parking lot and two paths she could have taken. Nothing. The road continues to roar. Tears crowd my eyes. I don’t know if any of these things are real. Sometimes that scares me more than when I know.

Back home it’s more music, more lights.

I will not give hallucinations anywhere to hide and I don’t want to allow for situations where I don’t know. When I can’t tell if it’s a person or shadow or if it’s sounds from the hallway or my own mind, I come unraveled. At least if I can identify if something is real or a product of my illness then I know how to handle it. But if I’m not sure I’m lost. If I treat something as a hallucination, then this is serious. I’m not doing well, I need to talk to my doctor, we can talk about it or make medication changes. The path may not be crystal clear, but we know what we’re dealing with.

But what do you do if you’re not sure? Am I unwell or am I just reading into things because I’m afraid of schizoaffective disorder? Do we increase my already high doses of medication? We can talk about it, but it might be a different conversation depending on whether the source was real or a product of my illness. The talking doesn’t hurt, but the stress does.

At a certain point I’m exhausted by all of it – the (possible) symptoms, the fear, the discussion. I sleep with music on quietly when I’m alone. My pets don’t seem to mind. They’re the only ones who are never phased no matter what happens. My dog just needs more belly rubs. If only that was the solution for every issue. I hope that tomorrow is better, but I’m not confident. I’m not always good at being optimistic.

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