My therapist at the time saw it coming, sent me to a one-time visit with the pdoc that worked with her program, who put me on seroquel because I wasn't sleeping, but I refused to take it. Fast forward a few weeks and I had painted rabbits all over my walls, hadn't slept for about a week, was walking an hour across the city every night because I couldn't go outside during the day. Somehow I still kept my job through all this, though I was only working two days a week. It all broke when I got on the subway after work one day and all of the sudden I could HEAR people's thoughts when I looked them in the eye. They told me to kill myself. I didn't have enough seroquel so I picked up some over the counter sleeping meds on the way home, and was ready to do it - to this day I don't know what saved me, but it occurred to me that my therapist had been saying this was going to happen and that I should take myself to the psych hospital when it did. So I went, and they admitted me. I was there for 3 months and they tried meds and observed. Several professionals agreed before I got the diagnosis, a social worker, psychologist and several pdocs.

Funny, I thought I wasn't one of those people who had crazy stories, I was like "wow you all have so much drama"... but my story is kind of dramatic too. Damn.