A Work in Progress

I was date raped my freshman year of college by my friend’s roommate, ‘Todd’ (not his real name). I did nothing about it. I didn’t have to see him because he was older and didn’t go to my school. I just tried to put it behind me. I was very active on campus; performing opera, singing in choir, and representing our school’s LGBTQ group in the Student Government Association. I was a resident assistant my sophomore year, responsible for forty-four women on my dormitory floor. I worked as a nude model for campus art classes, lifeguarded at the campus pool and waited tables nearby. 

During my junior year of college, I became very depressed and withdrawn for the first time in my life.  I was a Speech Pathology major/Spanish minor, and it was a struggle just to attend class. I started an antidepressant and managed to keep up my grades. My mood improved, I fell in love and got engaged.

My senior year of college, three years after my rape, ‘Todd’ began to attend my very large state university. Of all the buildings on campus, he ended up in mine. I had to see him. On the stairs, in the computer lab; every time I saw ‘Todd’ it both frightened and enraged me. He never looked at me, and I avoided him. One sunny day in March, we physically ran into each other in the parking lot in front of our building. I remember he dropped his keys, and I immediately began to hit and kick him while yelling, “You raped me!” over and over. 

I became manic. I was psychotic; paranoid, delusional, overtly sexual, speaking rapidly, overspending, getting drunk and high, not eating and not sleeping. I punched a window out in my house and stood at my door with a knife, certain that ‘Todd’ was coming to get me. I thought I was the next Christ, soon to be sacrificed for the good of all mankind. I decided to run for mayor of the city, topless. My friends called my parents and they came to town. We drove home and I reluctantly signed myself into a local hospital psych ward. I was diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder, and began a regime of an antidepressant, a mood stabilizer and an anti-psychotic medication. I spent two weeks in the psych ward, then returned to school to take my finals and graduate. My fiancé broke up with me. I started to gain weight from depression and the new meds. I applied to graduate school at my university, and was denied.

After graduation, I moved home with my parents. It was difficult to adjust to my new life. I waited tables, taught preschool, and became an aid in special education. I went to the psych ward one time for mania and twice for depression.

I met a super guy a couple of years later and ended up getting my Masters + 15 in Special and Elementary Ed. at a university in town. I taught special education for about six years with the help of a psychiatrist, therapist, medication, no alcohol and support from friends and family. I was married, we bought a house and got a dog. I made good money and my husband and I were pretty happy.

My depression caught up with me again when my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Last March, I was admitted to the psych ward for the first time in ten years due to suicidal depression. After I was discharged, I shook for nine months. I couldn’t use stairs or stand up to shower, I couldn’t drive and I had to use a walker for a time. I was fired from my job because I was too ill to work, and had to apply for disability. My tremors were so bad that strangers would stop me on the street and ask if I was cold, nervous, impatient, needed to urinate, or had Parkinson’s or Restless Leg Syndrome. My psychiatrist thought it was akathisia due to withdrawals from my anti-psychotic, or early onset Parkinson’s. She gave me a bunch of Parkinson’s medications that made me fall asleep as early as 5pm. My severe tremors continued.  

I switched psychiatrists, saw two neurologists and got an MRI before finally being diagnosed with Functional Neurological Disorder, also known as Psychogenic Movement Disorder. It is a very rare disease, caused by stress. I got on anti-anxiety meds and they helped me a lot. I rarely shake. I became my father’s caregiver.

I loved teaching special education, especially middle and high school, and not being able to do so lead to more depression. Watching my father’s health decline was especially difficult. I grew suicidal and had a plan to jump off a bridge after Thanksgiving. My new psychiatrist recommended ECT treatments, and after much research and deliberation, I received ten treatments over the span of three months. It has been the strangest experience of my life. My short term memory is limited and I’ve lost about three months of memories from when I was at my lowest. My journal has been a lifesaver as far as to what occurred. However, I am glad I went through with ECT, because before it I was suicidal and now I am not.

I’ve lost eighty pounds in the past year through diet and exercise. I still take bipolar medication, do not use alcohol and see my therapist and psychiatrist regularly. I sing and play guitar at weddings and funerals. I’m doing better and taking care of my dad. He is about to enter hospice care. My husband, friends, family and dog have been lifesavers. Every day is new. This is what keeps me going.