My last episode didn’t last very long, but got out of hand rapidly. I hadn’t slept for days and intrusive thoughts were getting more and more frequent. I decided to call in the crisis team for medication. This, by the way, took remarkably long where I live. My mother took care of it, making the phonecalls. She had been on the phone for an hour or so before they decided to send someone over, which took another couple of hours. Maybe this is normal, I have no further experience with crisis teams, but in case of a ‘crisis’ this seems a lot of hassle to me.
Anyway, I was getting worse and worse while waiting. Losing the battle to my intrusive thoughts, turning more and more paranoid. I was torn between two worlds when the crisisguy came with his medication. Everything in his appearence triggered more paranoid thoughts in me. He was very poorly dressed, which did not give me the impression this was a professional I was dealing with. The other thing was, he had a phone from the stone-age, I had not seen such a phone since childhood, some 20 years ago. Gave me the impression this guy was some kind of scam. Pulled out his pills from a plastic bag. A plastic bag! Some shady drug-dealer, I thought. I recalled that drugcriminals are quite fond of the phones from the mid-nineties. This didn’t look good. Things got worse when I asked if he had risperidone. Sure, the guy said, and pulled out a strip of what looked like pieces of chewing gum. That’s not risperidone, I said. Sure it is, he responded, have one and suck on it. That were his words, literally, the guy told me to suck on it.
I was perplexed, how could my parents let this figure near me in the state I was in? I want my risperidone, I told my parents, and they drove me to my appartment to pick them up. When getting back at my parents’ the shady drugdealer had disappeared, but some pills were on the kitchen counter.
By this time, I had truly lost my mind - every thought that occurred to me was intrusive, violent and shocking. I felt these weren’t my thoughts, but they were the only thoughts I had. I had taken the risperidone and went to bed, hoping for the best. My mother had been urging me to take the shady drugdealer’s pills, they would help me sleep, she said. Sleep for ever! Was what I got out of it, and refused. But this thing wasn’t over yet. Voices kept encouraging my intrusive thoughts, claiming they had full control and were about to make me kill my parents. I couldn’t think straight, every thought I initiated ended up somewhere I didn’t intend it to, confirming the moves suggested by the voices. It was then when I decided this was no way to live, I’d rather sleep forever than live like this, I figured. I said goodbye to my parents, told them I loved them, and went to kill myself with the shady pills the drugdealer had left.