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In 2002, following a three month humanitarian trip to Nairobi, Kenya, I developed schizophrenia. Upon my return home, I lived in a world of delusions—fixed false beliefs that were as certain to me as mathematical equations. What I witnessed in Africa became the foundation of my delusional world. I expected to become the next Mother Teresa, and send billions of dollars to Africa.
Although my desire to become like Mother Teresa was admirable, it progressively grew into an all-consuming obsession. I thought about her all the time and spent hours online, researching humanitarian aid projects in Africa.
I told myself a college degree was unnecessary because I was becoming like Mother Teresa. At the time, I did not realize how desperately ill I was becoming.
When I developed these delusions, they shut out everything else, including my true personality, and my family. No longer did I find pleasure in playing the violin, spending time with people, or studying for my classes. My position as concertmaster of my university’s community orchestra was left behind. No longer did I thrive in school or enjoy long walks and ice cream with close friends. The altered perception of reality drove me into isolation.
In March of 2003, deep in a world of delusions, I came to believe my future husband would miraculously meet me at the Boston airport if I just boarded a plane and flew there. I flew from Los Angeles to Boston, where I spent twelve hours waiting at the airport for someone who did not exist.
During the next two years, my delusions became increasingly more convoluted. I firmly believed I would become a world famous humanitarian, sending millions or perhaps billions of dollars to relieve poverty throughout the world. I thought my crowning achievement would be to personally broker a peace deal between Jews and Palestinians in the Middle East.
During these years of illness, I never shared my bizarre expectations with any other person. Remarkably, I had enough insight to know that claiming to be the first Biblical prophet in the last two thousand years would sound crazy to other people. I also did not share with anyone the fact that I was homeless. It was reasonable to me that when the miraculous future events unfolded, everyone would see.
Delusions differ from regular thoughts in that they are associated with actions disconnected from reality. A dream to become more like Mother Teresa may have enriched my life. But flying to Boston to meet an imaginary person indicated that I probably had a mental illness like schizophrenia.
My life plans including finishing college and working were postponed by years of delusions and hallucinations. However, in my case, medication allowed me to reclaim my life. After a few weeks on antipsychotic medication, in 2007, my delusions disappeared completely. I regained the ability to play the violin, and reenrolled in college. I loved being in college again.
Today, I enjoy watching the news closely to hear updates on the peace process in the Middle East. I understand that I will not have a personal part to play, but I like learning about the developments. I also communicate with a friend who serves the mentally ill as a psychiatrist in West Africa, and enjoy receiving updates on her work.
Many people, like me, will only recover from delusions on medication. Newer medications available today offer hope for recovery.
I’m grateful every day for the medication I take that heals my mind. I have realistic goals and dreams, and I feel content with this new life I live every day.
I am happier than I have ever been, living a fulfilling, ordinary life.
