Hello everyone, I have just registered on this site, to seek, with much worry and fear of the unknown, your much appreciated opinions on what has happened to me. I would be very grateful for your responses, and please, please, please be gentle and don't feed me scary scenarios.
So, here's my story:
I had smoked marijuana on several occasions during my early twenties, and never had any unusual consequences because of it. Then, after I turned 30, I started smoking marijuana every single day for almost 3 years. I would smoke from 2-3 joints up to 4-5 joints every single day for 3 years. I was really hooked on it, but I never thought that it is bad for me in any serious way. I believed all the propaganda and half-information that is in favor of marijuana. The smoking did not affect my work or social life. Actually, nobody noticed that I was a pot head, it was my own little secret that I would only share with my marijuana smoking friends. My true friends and family were not aware of this at all. This overuse of marijuana left me craving for something more. Because I was adamant that I would never even try some hard drugs, I started drinking. I drank, usually hard liquor, every day, for about a year and a half. My family started to get worried about me becoming an alcoholic. So, every day, I would drink in the afternoon, and smoke pot in the evening, whilst enduring the stress of keeping my night indulgence a secret.
Then, on March 15, 2014, at the age of 33, it happened. I suffered from an acute, violent psychosis. I was at my marijuana smoking friend's apartment, smoking marijuana with 3 other people. My brain conjured up this belief that I was on the path of attaining a higher state of consciousness, like some super being, and that I had to bring my friend next to me (a girl), to this elevated state or I would die. All this was accompanied with intense feelings that supported this belief. I stared at my friend and tried, in all crazy ways, to "enlighten" her, I must have looked very weird and scary, she kept telling me to stop acting this way and kept asking me what is wrong. Because my "attempts" failed, I felt the sharp and incredibly real fear of death. I felt my time was over, and that these are the last seconds of my life. So, I attacked her, I slapped her extremely hard on her face and body, and she fell on the ground. Our other friends picked her up and they quickly left the apartment. I also fell on the ground, savoring my last breath of life. And then, I stopped breathing. After a few seconds I could breathe again. I picked up my things and left for home, my mind was still a mess. My friends did not call the police, rather, they followed me in a car to see where I was headed. I came home. I used to live with my mother then. When she opened the door, I immediately thought that one of us had to die, it was either her or me. This second sensation was, emotionally, extremely potent and distressing. I actually chose to give my life so my mother could live. I fell on the ground, my face covered in tears, shaking and gasping, struggling for life...To cut the story short, I was taken to a doctor that evening. The talk with her and the infusion she gave me, calmed me down. I could sleep peacefully. The next morning, I woke up with another strong, distressing delusion, I thought that my mother is evil and that she was trying to kill me...I was hospitalized that afternoon. I did not hear voices or sounds in my mind, I just had these strong delusions accompanied with strong feelings. The doctors gave me a generous dose of Haldol, Mendilex, Mirtazapin and Prazin and put me in a room. After a long sleep, I woke up the next morning. Because there was nothing wrong with me my entire 33 years of living, I revolted that they took my shoe laces and my glasses away. The same day, the doctor let me go home and instructed me to take my therapy every day and come for regular check ups. They gave me diagnosis F23.1
After two days I went back to work (I'm a lawyer in my country), and I was very productive. I could handle my obligations diligently, and I didn't have any psychotic symptoms whatsoever. For the next year, I took my therapy, which was decreased in dose gradually. I did not consume any marijuana, alcohol or other drugs except my therapy. In mid spring, with the permission of my doctor, I dropped the therapy and felt fully recovered. However, at the beginning of the summer I started drinking alcohol again. It never occurred to me that alcohol had anything to do with what happened to me, I blamed only marijuana. Three months of occasional drinking had passed, and on the fourth month I drank hard liquor, every day, for a week. Then I started to have psychotic symptoms again. However, the symptoms were not acute and violent like in the past, so I could hide my state from my friends and family. Nobody noticed a thing, but I was suffering greatly. I had delusions and false beliefs again, but this time I would put them aside and not act upon them. I refused to believe all the convictions my brain started to conjure up, even though some of them seemed to real not to believe. I am an adamant atheist, and I only believe what has been scientifically proven. This time, I also had intrusive thoughts that seemed not to come from my mind but from someone else's mind, a person or a god like being. This period lasted for exactly two months, and I treated myself with 2mg of Rispiridon every day. I suffered greatly for those two months, but then I recovered again. However, I still take 1mg of Rispiridon every day.
I don't intend to drink alcohol or smoke marijuana, or take any other drugs for the rest of my life. The suffering is something I simply cannot go back to. I just can't go through that one more time. I intend to give up coffee as well, because it's a stimulant.
My question is, will I ever be safe, will I stay recovered? I cannot explain the great pain I feel from worrying and expecting new symptoms.
Thank you
So, here's my story:
I had smoked marijuana on several occasions during my early twenties, and never had any unusual consequences because of it. Then, after I turned 30, I started smoking marijuana every single day for almost 3 years. I would smoke from 2-3 joints up to 4-5 joints every single day for 3 years. I was really hooked on it, but I never thought that it is bad for me in any serious way. I believed all the propaganda and half-information that is in favor of marijuana. The smoking did not affect my work or social life. Actually, nobody noticed that I was a pot head, it was my own little secret that I would only share with my marijuana smoking friends. My true friends and family were not aware of this at all. This overuse of marijuana left me craving for something more. Because I was adamant that I would never even try some hard drugs, I started drinking. I drank, usually hard liquor, every day, for about a year and a half. My family started to get worried about me becoming an alcoholic. So, every day, I would drink in the afternoon, and smoke pot in the evening, whilst enduring the stress of keeping my night indulgence a secret.
Then, on March 15, 2014, at the age of 33, it happened. I suffered from an acute, violent psychosis. I was at my marijuana smoking friend's apartment, smoking marijuana with 3 other people. My brain conjured up this belief that I was on the path of attaining a higher state of consciousness, like some super being, and that I had to bring my friend next to me (a girl), to this elevated state or I would die. All this was accompanied with intense feelings that supported this belief. I stared at my friend and tried, in all crazy ways, to "enlighten" her, I must have looked very weird and scary, she kept telling me to stop acting this way and kept asking me what is wrong. Because my "attempts" failed, I felt the sharp and incredibly real fear of death. I felt my time was over, and that these are the last seconds of my life. So, I attacked her, I slapped her extremely hard on her face and body, and she fell on the ground. Our other friends picked her up and they quickly left the apartment. I also fell on the ground, savoring my last breath of life. And then, I stopped breathing. After a few seconds I could breathe again. I picked up my things and left for home, my mind was still a mess. My friends did not call the police, rather, they followed me in a car to see where I was headed. I came home. I used to live with my mother then. When she opened the door, I immediately thought that one of us had to die, it was either her or me. This second sensation was, emotionally, extremely potent and distressing. I actually chose to give my life so my mother could live. I fell on the ground, my face covered in tears, shaking and gasping, struggling for life...To cut the story short, I was taken to a doctor that evening. The talk with her and the infusion she gave me, calmed me down. I could sleep peacefully. The next morning, I woke up with another strong, distressing delusion, I thought that my mother is evil and that she was trying to kill me...I was hospitalized that afternoon. I did not hear voices or sounds in my mind, I just had these strong delusions accompanied with strong feelings. The doctors gave me a generous dose of Haldol, Mendilex, Mirtazapin and Prazin and put me in a room. After a long sleep, I woke up the next morning. Because there was nothing wrong with me my entire 33 years of living, I revolted that they took my shoe laces and my glasses away. The same day, the doctor let me go home and instructed me to take my therapy every day and come for regular check ups. They gave me diagnosis F23.1
After two days I went back to work (I'm a lawyer in my country), and I was very productive. I could handle my obligations diligently, and I didn't have any psychotic symptoms whatsoever. For the next year, I took my therapy, which was decreased in dose gradually. I did not consume any marijuana, alcohol or other drugs except my therapy. In mid spring, with the permission of my doctor, I dropped the therapy and felt fully recovered. However, at the beginning of the summer I started drinking alcohol again. It never occurred to me that alcohol had anything to do with what happened to me, I blamed only marijuana. Three months of occasional drinking had passed, and on the fourth month I drank hard liquor, every day, for a week. Then I started to have psychotic symptoms again. However, the symptoms were not acute and violent like in the past, so I could hide my state from my friends and family. Nobody noticed a thing, but I was suffering greatly. I had delusions and false beliefs again, but this time I would put them aside and not act upon them. I refused to believe all the convictions my brain started to conjure up, even though some of them seemed to real not to believe. I am an adamant atheist, and I only believe what has been scientifically proven. This time, I also had intrusive thoughts that seemed not to come from my mind but from someone else's mind, a person or a god like being. This period lasted for exactly two months, and I treated myself with 2mg of Rispiridon every day. I suffered greatly for those two months, but then I recovered again. However, I still take 1mg of Rispiridon every day.
I don't intend to drink alcohol or smoke marijuana, or take any other drugs for the rest of my life. The suffering is something I simply cannot go back to. I just can't go through that one more time. I intend to give up coffee as well, because it's a stimulant.
My question is, will I ever be safe, will I stay recovered? I cannot explain the great pain I feel from worrying and expecting new symptoms.
Thank you
