Lost in my Mind (Part I): The Onset

“Someone once asked, "If you could take it all back, would you?" At the time I didn't know. Now I do. I wouldn't take that terrible experience back for anything in the world. Too much light has come out of my darkness.” 

― Susannah Cahalan, Author of Brain on Fire

You can’t appreciate the anchor without weathering the storm, and you can’t appreciate light without darkness. As mentioned previously, this blog will walk the line between light and dark. I didn’t say it quite like that before, but I am now. I’ll be posting some lighter topics that are fun & easy to read. Here’s your fair warning though, this is not one of those posts. 

We are about to go on a journey together down the road less traveled. We won’t stay here, but I promised not to leave you on the shore where the water is warm and it’s easy to soak in the view. This post is an account in the depths because, if you want the most honest version of me, we’ve got to get real, real quick. I believe if I shelved this topic now, I would be remiss and you’d be missing overwhelming context for other things I feel it necessary to talk about.

I’m going to take you back to the time when I broke into a thousand pieces. If I don’t start here, you won’t have the authentic backstory on who I’m becoming, and why it matters so much to me. This is the first of three posts about the year 2009, when my life and my entire identity got rerouted. After I share this story, I’ll shed light on how I was slowly, tediously put back together to regain a sound mind, but first I have to let you know when and how I lost it.

To be clear, I’m writing this both for you and for me, because I know someone could benefit from hearing it. For me it’s a release and a self-check; call it a look in the mirror. I’m praying as I write that you can get something out of this, whoever you are, whatever circumstance you’re in. It may not be you exactly that I need to talk to, but maybe a friend, a family member, a coworker… or maybe it is you. No matter how it resonates for you, remember that someone out there needs to hear this, that they’re not alone.

So allow me to lay it out like the best children’s books do… once upon a time I was a bright-eyed 18-year-old fresh out of high school. I had just graduated as a salutatorian of my senior class and had a full tuition scholarship to college. Things were more than favorable for me. I was about to head off to college, only knowing a handful of people, but I wasn’t nervous. I was elated. If high school had taught me anything it was that I could do anything I set my mind to. Sounds cliche, and it is, but it was true for me then. I could make friends with almost anyone, get whatever grade I set my mind on, and do as much as the next person. I felt accomplished and confident that the next chapter was going to be my best yet. I was flooded with wonder and hope.

My first semester was the best season yet. I made new friends quickly, and went on weekend trips often to visit my new friends’ hometowns. I joined a sorority and was excelling in my honors classes. I was a part of the very selective group called the University Fellows-- it was the university's take on an honors class, but it was less than 20 of us out of a several hundred freshman students. I wasn’t sure if I really deserved to belong there at the time, but, regardless, I was doing well. I had joined a church I liked a lot, and felt at home being forthcoming about my faith.

It was easy to just be who I was. I had my health in all regards: physically, emotionally, mentally & spiritually sound. Everything was seamless and felt perfectly secure, untouchable almost... until it wasn’t anymore; until I wasn’t.  Little did I know then, my life and my identity as I understood it were about to be undone in the coming months.

My second semester I got really sick really fast, first physically, then mentally. At the time, the whole student body was preparing for our largest annual fundraiser called Step Sing (very similar to other campus’ greek sings). My sorority-- shout out Chi Omega-- was participating and I was a part of the group performing. I remember vividly being stuck in bed during our final practice before the first show. It was our most important run-through yet, and I could barely move my fingers and toes; I felt nearly paralyzed. I laid there for nearly 48 hours, with a fever well over 102 until I finally mustered the energy to see the on-campus nurse. She never said what I had exactly, but after quick consultation she resorted to giving me a steroid shot to clear things up. I had taken my fair share of steroids before, and was eager to do anything that would allow me to perform in the show, so naturally I didn’t hesitate. (It wasn’t until months later that I discovered this particular shot could’ve very well been the catalyst for what I’m about to share.) I felt better almost immediately and was able to perform as schedule. Not even ten days later though my life took a sharp turn-- some call it sickness, some call it madness, some call it miraculous… maybe it’s a combination of all three. I’ll let you decide what to make of it for yourself. 

I remember it was Friday, February 20, 2009 around 6:30 a.m. I was sitting in the campus coffee shop, hair pulled back, headphones on, staring at my computer screen desperately trying to put words on the page about a passage of scripture in Isaiah I’d been tasked with writing about. I had pulled an all-nighter working on said paper talking about the meaning of Immanuel for my Christian history class. What happens from here could be described as ironic, or divine, but I’ll admit I lean toward the latter.

Then, something uncanny happened. I can almost hear it now… a voice I’ll never forget. I heard “It’s me. I’m talking to you,” as clear as a bell. I knew immediately I was the only one who heard this; it wasn’t like it was coming from a radio or something external… it was within me, but it was most certainly not my voice either. I almost responded back out loud, but internally asked this voice, “Who are you?” The voice said almost the same thing again but with overwhelming clarity, “It’s me— God.” I was dumbfounded. Since I was nine years old, I’d been a praying person. I’d always asked for help and thanked God for gifts, but never in my life had I heard this pristine, peaceful voice. I knew instantly it was not my subconscious or a part of an inner monologue. Again, it was calm and tranquil, so I engaged. 

“Why are you talking to me?” I asked, still stunned. “Because you have a child-like faith,” it replied. (Note: I say “it”, because the ability to discern a gender wasn’t clear.) This dialogue continued as I shuffled my things together at the coffee shop and raced up to my dorm where I collected myself as best I could to go to the class where I was late and the paper was due. The voice continued pointing out little things as minute as the type of trees I was walking past. Additionally, the voice started foreshadowing things about my future. While my mind was still relatively clear, I was physically exhausted and emotionally wrecked— what was even happening to me?

I went about my day trying not to show my disconcerted demeanor but it was nearly impossible. I had friends ask all day, “What’s wrong?” and “Are you okay?” I was obviously frazzled and finding it difficult to focus and stay attentive in conversations. I tried to explain what was happening to me to a few, but all I got was puzzled looks and blank stares (I can only imagine how I would’ve reacted to the news of, “Well, I’m hearing a voice claiming to be God..” Yeah, right.)

So naturally I began to keep this dialogue between me and this voice mostly to myself, but I kept listening. It (the voice) started pointing out people, their pasts and things that would happen to them. On a couple of occasions I can remember having conversations with friends where I was foreshadowing their futures and/or highlighting events of their pasts. Mind you, I, Kelsey, was not doing the talking in these conversations. My lips were moving and my voice was being used but the words coming out were not mine. Each time it occured, I remember pausing afterwards and staring at the person, as awestruck and bewildered as they were about what had just come out of my mouth. I was embarrassed and unnerved as I felt increasingly out of control.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t sleep either. I just couldn't. I tried, so hard, but every time I laid down, my mind just raced… new information I’d never thought about before was now top of mind, and it was an onslaught. I was so distracted mentally that I was nearly unconcerned with eating, and I honestly wasn’t hungry. It was almost like I could feel my body burning calories faster than ever before, and I had an obscene amount of energy.  All the while, I had become increasingly disheveled physically, mentally and emotionally. At that point, I hadn’t slept in over 48 hours. It’s not a surprise then that I was becoming undone, even the voice aside. That amount of sleeplessness will destroy even the most sane person.

I began to unravel. 

The hour by hour recounting is hazy now, but the next thing I can clearly remember was calling my mom before church that Sunday morning. I did my best to try and string together my million new ideas and synthesize my thoughts into something cohesive to say. Everything was coming out sideways, I failed miserably, but I knew that. I just couldn’t stop trying, I felt like I had to at least try to get out what I could. I remember spouting off numbers to her, laboriously telling her about church history and my birthday being a marker of some kind and how every number had a divine meaning… I was rambling and I knew it but I couldn’t stop. It was like I was given pieces to this grand puzzle but couldn’t see the big picture of what I was making, but still trying, desperately, to assemble it.

A few hours later, I went to my church with a couple friends, even later than usual. I remember the pastor going through the great commission and talking about making disciples of all nations; he was compelling but it was convicting too. There was a timeline of church history on the front screens, and it was eerily silent-- you could’ve heard a pin drop. When he paused after it seemed like the sermon was nearing the end, I stood up and pointed at him and I said, “Listen to him. Don’t look at the girl talking, or what she is wearing. Listen to him!” And then I sat down, but I was trembling from head to toe. What in the world had I just done? Why did my legs do that, just stand up? How was my mouth speaking without me willing it to again? This was the most out of control I’d felt yet. It was like my body had been overtaken, but my mind, while racing, was still functioning, albeit at a break-neck speed. And my spirit… well it felt like it had woken up from a deep sleep that I never knew I was in. 

Then a man came up and sat down directly in front of me. He turned around and quietly said, “I’m a prophet of this church, and you can’t do that here.” I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean any harm,” still shaking as I couldn’t believe myself or the situation I was in. He left and didn’t come back. My friends who had come with me found other ways back to campus, and I was alone… or so I thought. As the service ended and the chairs emptied furiously, a woman sitting to my left a row in front of me came and sat next to me and said, “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for doing that.” With what little of a sound mind I had left, I thought, “What in the world is going on? I don’t know this woman so why is she glad I stood up and made a fool of myself?” Despite my confusion, I stayed and talked with her. I wish I could remember details of the conversation, but it’s fuzzy. All I can remember is that we talked about the moment in her life when she found God for the first time, and I, somehow, described the room she was in when this happened. I don’t know where this image came from, or how I was able to describe it to her, but I did and she cried and smiled as if I witnessed it myself. Yeah, it was really strange to say the least. Eventually, after the janitor came by (at least an hour had passed) we wrapped up our conversation and headed to the parking lot. 

That’s another thing-- I lost track of time. It was almost like it didn’t exist; I knew it was there but I grew less and less concerned. While I could say I had lost my mind, it was more like I was lost in my mind. I was trying desperately to come up for air in the “real world” but I was stuck in the gravity of the cyclone of my thoughts.  I felt like I was stranded without a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean, trying to tread water to stay afloat but still drowning because the storm wouldn't stop. While the voice would let up from time to time, my brain was still on overdrive and would not let up. It was processing like a computer trying to download 100 things at once while keeping 20 windows open… I was about to crash and lose all ability to function at all.

When I got back to campus, I couldn’t find anyone I knew. It was like everyone was hiding. (Shocking, right?) No one knew what was happening or what to do, they just knew I wasn’t right. I’m certain I terrified a lot of people during that time, but especially that day. I would’ve been terrified too. I went up to my hall in the dorm room and the Resident’s Adviser greeted me and quickly escorted me to her room. She told me my parents were on their way. I mean I knew why, but also felt like I was getting in trouble for something that wasn’t my fault. I knew that standing up in church was unspeakable and very weird, but it’s not like I wanted that to happen. I didn’t know it then, but with every word I said, I was casting myself away from any degree of normalcy and into the realm of insanity.

As I waited for my parents, I can remember watching the Academy Awards in her room. She was trying to be calm and very polite, but I knew I was rattling her just being in the room. As I watched the nominees accept their awards, I remember feeling like I was watching a movie too… like my brain was bouncing back and forth between memories and present day, weaving together a narrative where I wasn’t sure what reality I was in. Things were getting muddier by the minute.

My parents finally arrived and chauffeured me to the nearest hotel to try and get some sleep. It was late, and they were exhausted I’m sure. While I was physically spent beyond compare, I still could not turn off my brain if my life had depended on it. And, in many ways, my life did depend on it. They must’ve thought if she can just sleep even a few hours, maybe this will all slow down. If she can just push the restart button, we will be able to reset and get a grip on this. Well, that did not happen. We were past the point of no return.

The next day as we drove home, I didn’t realize that we were in fact going home to Louisville. I thought we were going on a trip of some kind, somewhere fun. In case it wasn’t apparent already, my recognition of reality was fading, fast. I spent around a week at my parents house where I’d grown up. It was familiar, but felt so different to me. There was an ominous feeling I couldn’t shake. A heaviness that I knew only I could feel, almost like an evil presence… but no one else sensed it. I felt so alone. I remember praying in bed one night for this presence, this dark weight, whatever it was, to leave. I prayed in the name of Jesus. I said, “Leave me!” All I can say is the presence that was in the house lifted. I finally felt a glimmer of peace, but my brain was still on fire.

Little did I know then, this was only the beginning of the journey.

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(To be continued…)