My Second Hospitalization For Schizoaffective Disorder

As a hard-working engineering student, I long for my spring break every year. It's a perfect opportunity for a rest and a reset. My spring break of 2021 was just that. I went on a 3 day backpacking trip to a hot spring in the Sespe Wilderness, and I felt relieved of a lot of my stress from school. During the final few days of my break, however, I began experiencing a substantial increase of anxiety. I was happy with my grades at that point of the semester, and I was worried I wouldn't be able to keep them up. By the time I was getting back into my spring semester, I had let the anxiety almost entirely overtake me. My intrusive thoughts increased, my compulsive behaviors were getting out of control, and I wasn't sleeping well with my thoughts racing so aggressively. Most importantly, I was so preoccupied with my stress that I was forgetting to eat consistently.

Skipping a meal here and there might not have been so impactful to my wellness except for the fact that my primary antipsychotic requires that I take it with at least 500 calories of food or the medication could be excreted and stop working. This is exactly what happened to me, and this was the beginning of my downward spiral. While my anxiety and OCD symptoms were already reaching a high point, my other symptoms started increasing too. A common delusion that I have is that my medications are poisoning me or being used to control my thoughts, so out of fear of this happening, I stopped taking all of my medications. And yes, I know it is strongly not recommended to stop taking all medications cold turkey, but I was absolutely convinced they were harming me.

As you can imagine, things were really not going well after a couple weeks of not being on any medication. I had almost completely stopped sleeping and eating, and I was finding it to be extremely difficult to verbally communicate. I have since learned that poverty of speech is a typical symptom of my disorder. My partner was becoming increasingly frustrated, as it was apparent that I needed help, but I wasn't able to communicate to him what I needed. I don't think I even knew what I needed. I was agitated by my racing thoughts and the voices I was hearing suggesting that I end my life. In my confused state, this honestly seemed like the best option.

On April 13th, 2021, I had a video appointment with my therapist where I confessed to not taking my medications for a couple pf weeks, barely able to get out the words. She could see clearly that I wasn't going to be able to get myself out of the hole I had fallen into, so she suggested I go into the emergency room voluntarily. I reluctantly agreed, and she called my partner to inform him of our plan to make sure I would actually go in. Later in the day, my partner drove me to the emergency room where I slowly walked in with the bag that I had packed. I was met by a kind doctor who explained to me that he was putting my on a 72 hour hold, and I waited in the hallway of the ER for the next 5 or 6 hours until the paperwork was drawn up.

After spending that night in the holding unit in my county, I was transferred to a hospital where I spent the next six nights. This hospitalization was longer than my first, but it was overall a more positive experience. The first few day were hard as I was arguing with my nurses about every dose of medication I as being administered. The first few doses took about 20 minutes of coaxing me through my sobs, but I was eventually able to take my medication with only a little hesitation. I was more open-minded this time, and I participated in most of the group activities and talked to the other patients. I even made a friend with whom I am still in contact. It was difficult spending a week away from home, and I was constantly stressed about the school work I was falling behind on, but as my insight improved, I realized I was getting the help I needed.