A Conversation With Marie

A Conversation With Marie

An Interview by Ann Palmer
I spoke with my friend Marie (not her real name) in early 2001.

When were you first hospitalized?
November, 1979. I was 18 years old. I had just started college. I was taking seven courses and I guess it was just too much for me. College is nothing like high school. The transition was difficult. Maybe if I hadn’t taken as many subjects, or so many difficult medical subjects, I would have been all right.

Then I had a lot of added responsibilities because my mother was working. When I got home from school, I wanted to study. My mom wanted me to put dinner on the table.

How did you know when you needed help?
When I started hearing what I thought was the devil’s voice telling me I should kill myself. One day I called my cousin and I told her that I wanted to hurt myself. She drove me to the hospital and told the nurse. He said he would admit me for a few days because I was suicidal. I had to be admitted for observation. That was the point I realized there was something wrong. I didn’t know much about mental illness, but I was taking psychology and reading about different mental illnesses, like depression. I said "that sounds like me," and that’s the diagnosis they gave me. They said I had depressive neurosis, among other things. Most of the diagnoses the different doctors gave me had the word ‘depression’ in them.

Did you ever have hallucinations or delusions, where you thought things that other people didn’t see or hear?
Yes. But I thought other people were lying to me by saying they didn’t see or hear them. I thought, "Oh, you’re just saying that; you’re just trying to get me upset." I thought people could hear my thoughts, that they were so loud that they could actually hear them. I thought people could read my mind. Whenever I would talk to psychiatrists, I would say, "Why should I tell you? You can read my mind." They told me they were not mind readers.

I would watch soap operas, and sometimes it seemed like they were talking about my life. A lot of things that happened to the character happened to me. I wondered "what the heck is this?"

What was the worst part about being hospitalized?
The fact that I didn’t have my freedom. They locked the doors. I couldn’t say "I want to go outside for a walk now." You can only get so close to the door and they’ll tell you to get out of the way. There was little privacy. They make you take medicine that makes you tired and could give you bad side effects. That happened the first time I was in the hospital. My eyes rolled up in my head and my neck was really stiff, so they had to give me a shot of Benadryl.

Some of the psychiatrists asked me very personal questions. The first time I was ever interviewed at the hospital, there must have been about 8-10 people in the room. There were doctors, nurses, occupational therapists, and others. The doctor asked me in front of the others, "Have you ever had sex?" I was eighteen years old at the time, but, to me, it was still a very personal question. At that point, I wasn’t a talkative person. I was kind of on the shy side, so it was difficult.

My experience in the state hospital was terrible. They had me with a roommate who was making a lot of weird noises. I couldn’t sleep. People were lying on the bathroom floors and sleeping. There was one lady who I thought was going to kill me. I thought I was going to die in there. I was petrified. I told the doctor the next morning, "You’ve got to get me out of here. I can’t sleep. It’s stressing me out too much to be in here." I think it takes courage. It’s a lot tougher to be on the inside than to be on the outside, because you’re dealing with people of all kinds, from all different walks of life. They could be violent. They could go off on you in a second. It’s very scary. I had some woman try to attack me a couple of times. She said I was talking about ‘her and her people.’ I was afraid that somebody was going to kill me or hurt me or say something to hurt my feelings. Mostly, it was physical harm I was afraid of.

Anything good about the hospital?
Yes. There were nice people to talk to. I remember one evening in the hospital, the nurse checked in on me and I said, "I made a mistake. I don’t belong here. There’s nothing wrong with me. Can you let me out?" She explained to me she couldn’t let me out. When I got better, she reminded me of that night and some of the things I said, in a nice way. A lot of people would remind me of the things I would say and do when I was sick. I would remember some of it, but not all of it. I said so many different things. My friend told me that people in the hospital were actually taking notes. It makes you feel bad because you don’t know who they’re going to show it to.

At the state hospital, they have what they call a nature trail. They also have all kinds of activities. They have a recreation building with a swimming pool, bowling alleys and a gym. That was nice.

How has your mental illness changed your life?
Well, I know what it feels like. I used to laugh at people who had mental illness because I had no understanding. I was ignorant. Now I know it could feel like torture; it can be very painful. There’s a lot of stigma with it and I wish people could be more educated.

If I got up enough courage, I could speak at different places and say what my experiences have been like, what it’s like to be mentally ill. Having mental illness is painful. It changes almost every aspect of your life, your being. You feel like you’re a disease and you’re not even a person. I have to take medication. I have to go to counseling. How long is this going to be? Is this going to be for the rest of my life?

When I was first diagnosed, my family didn’t believe it. They said "She’s lazy; there’s nothing wrong with her." But my mother, who was working the first time I went into the hospital, came to see me every day, religiously. She even brought me a whole new wardrobe.

What have you learned through your illness?
That I shouldn’t take anything for granted. That you should tell people you love them. You never know; it might be the last time you could say it to them. They might not be there the next day, the next hour, the next minute. Or you might not be there.