Psychotisicity (I know it’s not a word)

I am crazy. When I first went to Vietnam in 2003, I had a psychotic episode that resulted in me believing, for eight years, that I had been the victim of a very well concocted scheme to drug me in my hotel room, rape me, and then spread the news all over Vietnam. This I believed for a long time, especially as I was delusional as well. For eight years I regularly experienced related hallucinations and delusions.

I went through the horrid process of “repentance” in the Mormon Church and then left the church. I even went through the events with a psychologist in California and no one had the idea that it might be a hallucination. I suppose I was that lucid.

I probably was, because in 2010, while living and working in Cambodia, I went crazy again. This time the psychotic episode caused me to focus on three possibilities. I was either being gaslit by my employers, the government of Cambodia, or the Mormon church. But there was so much more. There were incidents of knee pain. I thought for a good long time that I was dying from internal bleeding caused by the disintigration and separation of my knees. This left me bedridden over and over. I tried to kill myself with a torn Coke can, and I broke my glasses to try to get something sharp with which to kill myself. I figured a quick bleedout would be much preferred to a lengthy, painful death caused by internal bleeding.

None of these things worked and I continued my psychosis unhindered. I went to the American Embassy several times, once in my boxers, wandered around the city, going up and down from the embassy to my hotel and back. I had no money. I begged for green tea to drink as it was free and water cost money. I ended up in the hospital where they gave me pot pills for the pain, and where I hallucinated that I had to die for every sin I’d ever committed. I pulled an IV out of my arm and shoved a male nurse back with a fist. I’m not sure if I hurt him.

My cousin, who lived in Bangkok at the time, came to help me, but I quickly lost him in the city that I had walked through for nearly a year. It wasn’t until I got sane enough to wander back to the embassy and claim my passport missing that we got my final payment from my employer, paid for my hospital stay and got my passport back, and escorted me to the airport.

That’s a bit of my craziness, I’m sure more will emerge later.

 

 

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