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Part 2 – Schizophrenic…
I never expected for this type of diagnosis. My psychiatrist said it. It reminded me of Sybil. But she had MPD (Multiple Personality Disorder). It’s also known as (DID – Dissociative Identity Disorder). Part of me didn’t believe the diagnosis for that either. My psychiatrist didn’t think it was there either. So they labeled me bipolar with schizophrenic traits.
We tried meds for about 10 years, and different doses. It seemed like I was treatment resistant, because they were still trying to figure the correct diagnosis. Diagnosis = right meds, and dosage. After 10 years, they still could not figure me out. Some psychiatrists (I’ve had 6 or 7) couldn’t put me in a box that they designed.
Sometimes the psychiatrists would get upset, because I was confusing. Some of them told me that they believed I was lying. There were times that I got frustrated, because of the delay in the right treatment, because I was enrolled in classes in the forensic unit, and they were supposed to help. Alas, that did not work either.
The Forensic Unit was where the mentally ill could receive treatment if they had a crisis. The police would be called, and a crisis counselor would follow. I seriously hurt my wife, and I was charged with Domestic Violence in the Presence of A Child, and Disrupting a Emergency Call.
I went to jail for 45 days. It was to prepare the case for the attorney.
I was released into the custody of my parents. The judge told me that they were going to get me help. I never remembered anything, hardly, when my attorney took out a 5 inch binder. Full of notes and comments. She finally said ‘This Is Jason Salaz’, and I was shocked. I was in shackles when I went to court. My mom cried when she saw me. She knew something was wrong, but she never expected that big of a binder.
The prosecutor didn’t care. He did not believe I was mentally ill, and was putting up a front to deceive the judge, my attorney and my mother. He wanted me to stay behind bars for 5 years. He wanted me to stay there, as a means to reflect my history, that I was a violent perso. I was under the impression that I had to of done something wrong. That night, during the the incident I was delusional, and in my own little world. I thought I was Christ, and I was going to travel home with the help of my angels.
The blinders came off when I was in my new cell, after they gave me some strong meds. It worked, but for a little while. They gave me meds, and they worked only for a short time as an initial assessment was made. It was a sad thing; to see me in jail. It was all so confusing.
My dad asked me if I would like to get some things out of the commissary. His calmness was nice of him. I told him yes, and I blew the money when the commissary orders came out. I spent every penny.
My cellmate was a heroin addict that was an LDS missionary before he ran into a dealer and bought some. The court placed a monitor placed in his car, and he ripped the thing into shreds the night before. It had a tamper proof sensor, and the police came and got him. I was with him for the duration of my ‘stay’.
He was not a bad guy.
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