My Life With Schizophrenia That Does Not Respond to Medication

The incessant whispering, murmuring, half-heard insults always coming from behind me, yet no one is there when I try to see who it is. The other voice, the one who narrates my life, pointing out my failures and shortcoming, seems to enjoy exclaiming how I am too slow and too useless to figure things out and catch the whisperer. The final voice just continues to be itself, providing the background stream of insults and derogatory observations. Today, it seems to be really pushing how hopeless and useless I am.

Day after day, week after week, they continue with little respite. Sleep is no longer needed every day — just short naps — because I have to observe and watch everyone else; I know they want to hurt me. They can see the aura of evil that surrounds me like a dark cloud, and they know what I am; they know I am fundamentally evil, regardless of the good I try to do every day. I know I am like a demon who tries to work against their fundamental nature by doing good but whose mere presence causes evil to permeate all that surrounds me, bringing harm and bad things to those who are close to me. If I did not exist, this harm I cause would cease. I will take care of that after I find the source of the whisperer that continues unabated.

I know where the whisperer comes from: my flatmates. They are doing it, and they have hidden little speakers, which is where the whisperer comes from. Now to find the proof. Once I find it, the whisperer will stop. I know it will. I begin the search for the hidden speakers I know exist in the lounge room. I look under the sofa and chairs, I look inside the cushions, ripping them open so I can see. I cut open the back of the sofa; maybe they are hidden in there. I use a broom to check the ceiling, to see if I can expose them. I will fix the holes later — it is unimportant now, finding the whisperer is the only important thing. I destroy the wall unit, putting my fist through the four glass panels in my frustration. Now my hand won’t work, as I have cut the tendons in my knuckles. I never find the whisperer. My flatmates come home. They lock me in the house while waiting for police and ambulance to arrive. Off I go, my plans to cease to exist halted by the interruption of my flatmates.

The words above briefly describe my first major psychotic episode, leading to my first hospitalization. While this was taking place, it all seemed to me to be perfectly acceptable behavior. Destroying the lounge room was a needed consequence of the search for the speakers that caused the whisperer. For me, it all made perfect sense. All the racing, spiraling, cascading thoughts — the pure truth of my conclusions were self-evident to me. This was when my schizophrenia became evident. Clues had been there for a while. Two of the voices I hear had been popping up fairly regularly for years but had slowly become persistent.

This happened over 20 years ago. Since this episode, I have had others, some worse. I have experienced multiple admissions to hospital over the years, taken medication after medication, had ECT to break the psychosis. While this experience is mine and unique to me, the pattern of it is so similar to others who live with schizophrenia that only the details differ. The fear, confusion, loneliness, frustration, anger and racing thoughts are a common experience we who live with schizophrenia all seem to share. For many living with schizophrenia, antipsychotic medications seem to stop the worst of what I have described above. For some, the medications will stop the voices, relieve the paranoia and relax the delusions. For others, the relief will be minor. Maybe the voices are quieter, the delusions or paranoia may not have the same urgency or level of fear attached. For a very small minority, the meds do not seem to work at all. This is where I fall. Lucky me.

I have tried lots of different medications over the years. Sometimes they had shown promise, but sooner or later my symptoms would flare up, and I would be unwell again. Another stay in hospital would follow. This has gone on for a number of years before it was decided that my schizophrenia was treatment/medication resistant. This does not mean we have not tried different or treatment protocols. We do those things, just not as often. I am currently on no regular medication, yet I have managed to stay out of the hospital for six years. Because the medications seem not to work, I have had to find ways to manage my symptoms so I can function and have a life. The one thing that I think has made a huge difference is that early on in my illness, I agreed to work with a psychologist and have consistently continued to do so, especially when things start to go off track.

Working with a psychologist has helped me identify ways to manage my voices. They have helped me identify some beliefs that, while they feel true and self-evident to me, may not be as true or self-evident as I think. While the beliefs are still there, the fact that I can accept the possibility that they may not be true helps lessen their hold on me and the paranoia they feed. The things I have learned from various psychologists over the years have made my life easier to manage.

The other thing I have discovered in my journey with schizophrenia is that I can draw. Art has become a big part of my recovery and living with schizophrenia. I use it to express what is going on in my head, to distract and provide a focus away from my voices and other symptoms.

While my life may be far from easy and rarely free from symptoms of schizophrenia, it is still a pretty good life most of the time. It is far better than what I experienced in the early years of trying to live with schizophrenia.