Samantha Jane Buice

I know it was their job. I know it was because I wasn’t taking my medication. But they didn’t have to enjoy it.

While in the hospital, having been in seclusion for several months, I wasn’t taking my medication because I thought the doctors were trying to poison me. I thought they were evil monsters out to get me. Some of them were. I wasn’t in my right mind. I couldn’t be held responsible for not complying, even if they were trying to help me. It was not my fault that I wouldn’t take my medication. It was the result of Berman’s (my mental illness) hold over my mind and body. I could not escape him. He filled me up and I was drowning.

I don’t think that anyone could ever really understand—no matter how I try to explain it—the pain and fear I experienced while being held captive; of being alone in such a fragile state. The magnitude of memories lost forever. The inability to comprehend the concept of food; the purpose of a plastic fork. The most frightening thing about starvation is that I was unaware of how close I was to death.

More devastating than almost dying is not recognizing your parents. A lifetime of memories wiped from my brain by a mixture of psychosis and electro convulsive therapy. I would wake up in my hospital bed with a headache so horrible it felt I had undergone brain surgery. Maybe that was another reason not to trust the doctors involved.

The worst thing about those doctors is that they played along with my delusion. They never told me that everything was fine. The world was not ending. My family was safe. I was not really the antichrist. They pretended to believe me. So I was more afraid.

Because I didn’t take my medication, I was injected with doses of tranquilizing anti-psychotics. It was painful. It was never a gentle, friendly nurse administering the shots. The large men came into that tiny room with smiles on their faces. One horrible, grinning fat man sat on my back, crushing me to the point that I couldn’t breathe while another struggled to keep me still long enough to give me the shot. It seemed like they looked forward to it. Like I was being punished and they had won a battle. Because I won more battles than they did.

They had to double team to put me down. I was a force to be reckoned with. They didn’t just lock that door behind them. They would head for the door without turning their backs to me and try to close the door quickly enough that I could not escape. They locked that door, planted themselves in front of it, and hoped I wouldn’t break it down. They were afraid of me. I’m sure they enjoyed every moment that I was trapped underneath them, gasping for air.

I won. I escaped. Finally. After several months, I was free to go. Not because I was healed, but because the hospital decided I would heal better at home than I would if I stayed in the hospital. After a while, they were right. But I still feel violated by monsters. I will never forget that. I will never forget their smiling faces. I will never forget being overpowered by two large smug devils. But I will also never forget that now, I can shut the door on them. Because I learned to swim.

—SJB

*When someone is suffering with delusions, it is of utmost importance not to play along and feed the illness. Make sure that person feels loved and safe. Tell them they are loved and safe. There is really not a way to calm a person’s delusions other than to wait them out or to tranquilize them. Many people take medications to avoid delusions. I do. So I know that someone having a delusion believes the delusions wholeheartedly; that something is real when it isn’t. It really is almost impossible for another person to talk them out of what they believe to their core. But it is important that you try to make them feel like they are in a safe place and that you are there for them. Do not pretend that the delusions are real and that the person having them is in their right mind. It is scary to be in that position. Terrifying.

I befriended myself. She was all I had. In a tiny room with no one else, I came to know her better than I know anyone. She is my best friend. When you think about it, in the end, we only have ourselves. Who truly knows oneself on a level so deep that they no longer feel alone even when they are surrounded by darkness? I have known that loneliness, looked it in the face, and overcome it.

When I began to truly know myself, I found true freedom. I regained bits of my memory one at a time, slowly and over the course of several years. I repeat myself not to hear my own voice, but because I need to unleash some of the trauma. Also, my memory is so damaged that I cannot remember which stories I have told and to whom. You may hear several versions of the same story and I apologize, but it is part of my healing process.

Unfortunately, freedom is not free. Freedom from society’s opinions about us. Freedom from the bondage of our expectations. Freedom from our disappointments. Freedom from poverty, depression, anxiety, and other forms of mental illness.

Stand up for your freedom. For me, freedom means overcoming fear and adversity; accepting my truth and sharing it with the world; lifting the burden from my shoulders. Telling a secret that should never have been kept hidden.

Freedom means fighting to regain the wings that my mental illness stole from me; earning them back by recovering who I am.

Find yourself and you will find your freedom. Remember who you are and draw strength from that knowledge. You are never alone, whether you are in a crowded space with other people, or locked in a tiny room with no one but you.

Reach inside for your freedom, and never stop chasing it. That is my challenge for you today and for the rest of your life. Find yourself. Truly know yourself; and no one can take that away from you. Fight for your freedom.

—SJB

The other day, I was watching one of my beloved childhood movies starring Robin Williams. He was so funny and so endearing. He was such a great actor, and he reminded me a little of my dad. Every time I watch one of Robin Williams’ movies these days, there is always a point where I cry because of our loss.

Many people are very skilled at hiding their mental illnesses. I never imagined that underneath all of that comedy was a man in so much turmoil. Sometimes we are blinded to the truth because it is hidden in plain sight. It seems that Robin Williams hid his pain behind his sense of humor; filling the world with laughter, but secretly suffering.

There are so many similar cases like this in our world. We have to keep our eyes and ears open to those we love, and those who make us laugh. We must pay attention and listen to the struggles of others, letting our own troubles take a back seat for a bit. Everyone needs someone with whom to talk.

Pay attention to the needs of others and you may give someone a little joy that they are lacking in their lives. Listen. Be aware. Sometimes the loneliest amongst us are the people trying desperately to hide their pain. I am not suggesting that you could save someone from suicide just by being a friend– and I don’t know all of the facts about Robin Williams’ death–but holding a hand can strengthen a bond and pull a person further away from the edge.

I am sad about what happened to Robin Williams, and I think that his life brought the world so much happiness. I only wish he could have directed some of that sunshine his way. I also think we can learn from him; from his life and from his death. He sets the example of giving others hope and laughter. He shows us how to identify some of the signs of a person dealing with serious issues. He will not be forgotten. He lives on, not only in his role as an actor and comedian, but as a human life led selflessly and courageously.

—SJB

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988

Available 24/7

When I was very young, I was playing in the sand at a playground near our house. I was maybe two years old. My parents took me there quite often. I came upon a sandcastle. I didn’t build it, but being two years old, I instinctively wanted to destroy it with my bare feet. So, I did.

There were much bigger kids on the monkey bars looking down at me. They were the sandcastle construction workers. They were, understandably, angry with me. But I didn’t understand. I was also too young to understand the term “stupid,” which they projected down to me from their perch.

When it was time to leave and my dad was fastening me in to my car seat, I said to him, “Daddy, I’m stupid,” to which he replied,” No, you aren’t! Who told you that?” I told him my version of the story and he went back and had a talk with those kids.

Ever since that day, in the back of my mind, there is a brand that won’t go away. STUPID! I have never been able to shake it. No matter if I did well in school or if I’m able to solve problems outside of the structured learning environment; always that critic in my head creeps to the surface. Especially when I come upon a problem I can’t fix, or a question I can’t answer.

Words have a lot of power. Even more than we know. On a playground thirty years ago, a few kids called me stupid and it stuck. Everyone should know the potential damage that their words can produce. Words have the power to destroy and to create. We decide what comes out of our mouths and we have the power to change lives with our voices.

Let your voice be heard, and let your words be kind. Change the world one person at a time and we could reduce the hate and the societal stigma that surrounds the mentally ill, the less fortunate, the races and the sexes different from our own. Create positive change.

—SJB

I speak often of my time in the hospital, which was a fate worse than death. I don’t know why I am still talking about it. It was such a long time ago, and so much has happened since. I suppose people grieve in different ways. I wrote a book, and I continue to write an article each week about my experience with mental illness, but I have made happier memories since those six months of pure hell.

It is really hard to move on when you have been exposed to so much trauma, but I am recovering. I now recognize my parents. I can sit still long enough to read a book. I have built social skills, and made a few friends. I have traveled. I got engaged! I have not been manic in a very long time. When I get depressed it is with reason. I wish I could say I am a better listener, but I am working on that. I am stable, and my life is happy. It took me a long time to get here.

My life lately, as I’m sure most everyone can relate to, has been drastically different from “normal” since this pandemic. I have gotten a little depressed and anxious on some days and have definitely suffered my share of cabin fever. But my life right now has many happy aspects to it as well. I am spending more time with my dog, Logan, every day. My future husband has been unemployed, so he is home. I am enjoying my time with him. I will miss him quite a lot whenever he is able to go back to work, though I hope that day is coming soon.

We are getting married, so that is something to look forward to. I don’t know when it will be safe for our families to gather safely in a church in order for this to happen, but I look forward to it and it gives me hope that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I do miss going on vacation and going about daily life the way we previously did; but right now, I am enjoying being stable, relatively happy, and hopeful.

I like to remember events in my past fondly, knowing that those days are over, but being filled with joy that they happened.

I am enjoying some good books, going for drives in the car without destinations, and being outside in the sunshine whenever possible. Rush and I have started cooking together and building new happy memories.

I am sick to death of television. As of late, I have been working out while I watch tv so that I feel productive instead of lazy; so that my brain doesn’t turn to mush.

I have been illustrating, sketching, and being creative.

I guess I just wanted to let you all know that I am living outside of the “box” now, no matter how much I talk about it. It feels like coming back from the dead.

I hope everyone is finding ways to stay sane right now. I want you all to know that writing these articles helps keep me that way. So, thank you for reading. Stay safe!

—SJB

I have not ever been truly alone, even when it felt like my world was crashing down around me. There are people in my life who love me and make it known; not only with their words, but with their kind acts.

I am blessed with two happily married parents, three sisters, and have acquired three brothers. Whenever I call one of my sisters, and she cannot talk in that moment, she texts me to ask, “Are you okay?” because if I wasn’t, she would drop whatever she was doing in order to help me. It is moving to know that I am loved so deeply.

My life has definitely not been perfect, and I have not walked the path I would have chosen as a younger person starting out. But I am overcoming obstacles which seemed impossible at one point in my life.

I have forged a new path as I travel on; knowing that every decision I make can change my world, and that much of my life is without my control. I have finally achieved many of my goals in a round-about way. I suppose that maybe the path is a loop with several forks in the road. Either way you go, you end up where you are meant to be. Maybe.

I think that the people in our lives make our life worth living. Traveling the path of life, you acquire people along the road, no matter which way you turn at the fork. I have been blessed with a great support system. Family with whom I have the honor of sharing life.

Not everyone is so lucky, and I hate that. I have friends who struggle with mental illness and poverty. I wish the world was fair and that all doctors could help people with their specific needs, but there aren’t enough good ones out there, and not many that are affordable. All I can do is support the friends and people I meet in every way I can. Support is so important. Many people are in distress. Let us help those we are capable of helping, spread the message of hope, and build bonds of love in a world filled with hardened hearts.

—SJB

Sometimes I can still feel the shots in my rear end, years later. I had felt so violated, and pain memories run deep.

I tried to face the world without medications, after years of being stable on the drugs I had been prescribed. In the hospital, refusing medication granted you a shot in the butt and a good long nap in an uncomfortable chair surrounded by troubled strangers.

My psychiatrist at the time was negligent; one of those doctors who doesn’t genuinely care about your health, but just wants to write your prescriptions and watch you walk away.

He went on vacation after changing my meds in a drastic manner. I couldn’t reach him when I needed him most. He was too far away to care, and when I was in the hospital, he never visited even after his vacation.

I was experiencing all of the symptoms of mania. I had no appetite. I did not sleep, unless I was sedated. I talked constantly. My handwriting was so sloppy it couldn’t be deciphered. My judgment was flawed. I had a higher sense of confidence. I was hyper sexual. I had SO much energy.

I kept a sketchbook and put my creativity to great use, which kept me busy. My manic energy was pent up and I couldn’t even go outside. There was no exercise regimen. I had extreme cases of cabin fever.

I could not concentrate well enough to read. I prayed a lot. I went to group therapy, which helped immensely. I made a lot of new friends. It is easy to make friends when you are stuck in a room with them all day and prohibited from returning to your bedroom.

Mania escalated to psychosis quickly, due to refusing medication. I was lost for a very long time. My strength ultimately came from those who love me. Staying alive and escaping the hospital became a goal I needed to reach in order to return to them. I fought for them. Knowing they were waiting and hurting on the other side of those walls gave me courage and saved my life.

I know from experience that you can live with mania without drugs, but it will suck the life out of you. I needed help, and I know that I will be taking medication for the rest of my life to keep it at bay. There is no shame in getting help when you need it. Have courage. Take control of your life. Don’t let Berman win.

—SJB

*Berman is mental illness personified.

Once, there was a little girl named Sam. I was not quite a teenager, so some of my feelings were probably due to hormones in the early stages of puberty. But I was sad, quite frequently.

I had a wonderful life. I had two parents who were happily married and argued infrequently. I had beautiful sisters, inside and out. My whole family loved me. My childhood was coveted by the children who witnessed the bond my family has; a bond so powerful it could not be found elsewhere. I had no apparent reason to be sad. But sometimes I was miserable.

I cried myself to sleep each night, drifting off to my favorite CD, believing I could not be heard weeping. But every night, there was a soft knock on the door and a sweet little voice asking me if I was okay. I was not. But there was nothing that sweet little girl at my door could do to help me. Or so I thought.

I made good grades; I had friends, and on the outside I seemed like a perfectly normal twelve year old girl. Except for the fact that I did not often smile. That didn’t go unnoticed by my teachers or my parents. My little sister, Jessica, noticed this before anyone else, because she is my best friend, and we spent the most time together.

I once thought that my little sister could not help me with my pain. I was most certainly wrong. Jessica cheered me up when we played with dolls, climbed trees, ran together through the woods, and invented new games. Jessica not only made me smile. She made me laugh.

Jessica was also a very good listener. I could not explain the sadness inside me, and at the time no one was equipped to really do anything about it. But trying to explain it, and having someone to share the pain with worked wonders.

Jessica brought happiness to me in my time of great need, sharing precious moments and beginning my healing. Jessica’s love and devotion sent me out of my dark place and began steering me into the light. There was no longer a shortage of smiles.

Jessica has since grown up and launched a career helping people with similar problems like my own. She is one of my strongest, bravest, kindest heroes. I am so blessed to have Jessica in my life.

—SJB

*Depression cannot be cured, but it can be treated. The best way to speed up that process is to heighten the presence of endorphins in your brain. Laughing can make that happen. One person cannot be held responsible for curing another of her illness, but it certainly helps to feel understood and to have someone lend an ear. A small gesture can go a long way. A little person can make a big difference.

*If you read my book, you know that I have personified mental illness, and his name is Berman. If you didn’t read it, this is relevant information for the following article. But that is all you need to know to make sense of this character.

I was in my yard today, thinking about how my inside dog relies on me to take him outside. He can’t go out without me. I have the power to keep him inside until it’s convenient for me (not that I ever do that, of course). I had that thought and for less than a minute I wondered what that must feel like.

Then, I abruptly remembered that I have been in the same position before. The hospitals in which I was kept allowed patients to go outside for ten minute intervals very few times a day, but only if they smoked or had been on their best behavior. I want you to know that my family had no idea about this and had little control over what happened inside those walls.

In one of the hospitals I was locked in a tiny room by myself, guarded by two large men so I couldn’t get out.

I didn’t see the sun but once in the few months I stayed in that hospital. A few months in a room alone with your thoughts and fears feels like an eternity.

I know what it feels like not just to be denied access from the sun, but also to be locked in a “cage” for longer than I care to remember.

I plotted my escape every minute of the day, and several times outwitted the guards and forcibly let myself out, once even tearing the sleeve off one of the guards’ uniforms.

But by escaping that cage, I was reminded of the larger one I wouldn’t escape, unless by some miracle I was able to “behave.”

Asking a woman having a psychotic episode to behave and then punishing her for not cooperating by keeping her inside is unjust and inhumane.

Sunlight has healing powers. I just had to learn how to be powerful without them. I befriended myself when there was no one else. I became well acquainted with her on a deeper level than many people ever reach with themselves. Ultimately, that is where I gained my strength.

The “cage” was so small, and Berman took up most of the room. When I found my strength and continued to fight, he grew smaller with time. Then, he really stood no chance of defeating me.

My advice to you is to befriend yourself so that Berman will shrink into the background of your life, and you can remember who you are without him. Love yourself. Take care of yourself. Never let Berman lead.

Be strong. Stand tall. Join the conversation that will help you cope with your emotions and assist your loved ones. You are not alone. Carry that message in your heart, and spread it wherever you go, to everyone who needs to hear it.

—SJB

I welcome comments, questions, concerns, stories, and book reviews. Let’s start talking!

I grew up watching beloved animated movies and believing in fairy tales, even when childhood was very much in the past. For a few months, I used my knowledge of these stories to make sense of my life and my situation.

I inhabited several hospitals in 2013, and made lots of friends. Friends I will never see again, most of whose names I never knew and will never remember. Psychosis will do that to your mind. Erase memories of past events, acquaintances, friends.

I tagged people with fairy tale nicknames. There was a girl with a red hoodie sweatshirt. She was red riding hood. I called her “Lil’ Red.” My own hoodie was gray, and she called me “Lil’ Gray.” There was a nurse I remember as the “Blue Fairy.” A friend named “Cinderella” had jumped out of a moving car and landed herself in this hospital with me because she was suicidal.

Of course I wouldn’t reveal this information if I remembered the woman’s real name. But giving these people fairy tale names did help me to remember their real names, and as I write this article, this very moment, I remember the name of the nurse, and I remember Cinderella’s name as well. We used to color together. We shared secrets. We told stories. We kept each other company. And I felt less alone when I was around all of these friends. Even though it was really great news when they got released, it made me a little bit more lonely each time.

At the time, and for years to come, my dark side came out in the form of a Big Bad Wolf I call “Shadow.” He was inside my head, driving me ever closer to insanity.

I couldn’t sleep. I wrestled with Shadow all night. I would wake at the mandatory hour of six in the morning, after very few hours of sleep, with a bed clearly showing signs of a struggle. I fought that wolf and tried not to let him take over. It was extremely difficult.

That is why I was so afraid when he showed himself once more after my release. I didn’t want to go back to that place inside myself; the place I had tried so hard to escape.

Eventually, I did escape. But I can’t run anymore without Shadow. So I don’t run anymore. Mental illness has taken so much from me. I will not pretend that I have fully recovered from my trauma and that everything in my life now is perfect. I still struggle every day with depression and anxiety, mania and delusions. Though there is no cure for mental illness, I do the best I can to tread water and most of the time I float. All of the time, I breathe.

Fairy tales may not be true and stories don’t always have happy endings, but it comforts me to tell my tales in a way that is easier to swallow than the darkness. I am stable. I am happy. And I am not alone. I don’t think any fairy tale can compete with that.

—SJB