It’s all about ME! ME! ME!
Delusions of reference are defined by the lovely people of Bipolar.About.Com as:
“Delusions of Reference refers to the strongly held belief that random events, objects, behaviors of others, etc., have a particular and unusual significance to oneself. For example, a person might believe that secret messages about him are broadcast in a weekly television show, to the point where he would record the programs and watch them again and again. When less firmly held or organized, these beliefs are called Ideas of Reference“.
In my saner and more cynical moments I would call this monsterous egotism. It’s all about you, isn’t it? The advert on that bus is about ME. The line in this song is about ME. The man in that car is signalling to ME! Jay-sis, it’s not all about you, you know! And etc. Delusions of reference, when you dare disclose your thinking to another person, will either give the impression of aforementioned monsterous egotism or complete mentalism.
Until I was diagnosed as manic depressive, I had no idea what delusions of reference were. (In fact, quite a lot of the terminology and psychiatry that is now at home in my mind was unknown to me a few months ago. I read, y’see).
However, I had unknowingly experienced both in myself and in my meeting other people, a happy past time I occasionally indulge in.
Leila
I met Leila in the psychiatric ward I was an inpatient on. She was tall, willowy and absolutely beautiful and, in that sickeningly “Girl, Interrupted” way, I was absolutely smitten with her. She was rather taken with me too. We consoled and cajoled each other, barbed and bitched, laughed and cried and occasionally raged and howled. She kept me from going mad (arf) in there.
Leila had problems with substance abuse and she was also manic depressive. When I was admitted, I was in a psychotic mixed state ( for the non Mentally Interesting, that is a state in which you are basically batshit insane: full of manic energy but unable to focus on one tiny thing, tormented by a million-mile an hour disjointed thinking, all of horrifically depressing and frightening things, twitchy, afraid, paranoid, very awake indeed, suicidal and hallucinating vividly- that’s how it was for me, it differs from person to person).
However, my psychosis had calmed down due to the magic combination of Haloperidol, Thorazine and various sedatives. I was still rather manic, but it was nothing compared to Leila.
Leila seemed to be resistant to every drug they forced into her. She would fight and hiss at 10pm when the meds were doled out and they never seemed to have much effect on her. She would be calm, quiet and sad for a few hours before being thrown back into her agitated manic state. She seemed to suffer from incredibly severe rapid cycling.
She gave me a lot of gifts while I was in there. She came into my room at 4am to give me stripey socks of hers I said I liked. She showered me with ornamental hearts to stick on my mirror. She gave me a skirt of hers to keep and some pipe cleaners so I could “make things, dinosaurs and stuff”.
Her hypersexuality was rampant, with her showing me her breasts (gorgeous, they were) in the smoking room. Mine was too, naturally I flashed mine in return.
Leila alerted me to the existence of delusions of reference when she came into the smoking room waving a receipt at me. The receipt was very innocuous but she was frantic. She kept telling me, “Read it, can you see what it really means?” and was convinced it had a special significance.
I got a look from the other end. As she ranted and raved about this receipt, I was thinking, “Cra-zy!” She told me I must understand. I nodded. I understood why she thought it would be significant, but not the significance itself.
In hospital, for the first time in my life, I was A Cutey. Sadly not in the way I had hoped for: I was an Acutely Ill patient. The ward I was on was filled with us- people with mental illnesses in severe episodes of illness. They calmed us the fuck down then turfed us out into the care of the community Crisis Team.
The ward mostly housed schizophrenics. Delusions of reference are most prevalent in schizophrenia. It’s your classic, “The TV is talking to me!” syndrome. Leila’s delusions were very clear because the subject was so innocent- a receipt. Some of the other patients, especially the schizophrenics, had more subtle delusions. You had to be very careful in what you said or did because some of the patients would think you were somehow trying to hurt them.
Schizophrenia terrifies me. I don’t mean that I am afraid of schizophrenics. The illness is terrifying. I struggle a fair bit being a manic depressive but it is a picnic compared to what the schizophrenic has to endure. Of course, there are a lot of schizophrenics in a kind of remission. With adequate treatment, people can be free of symptoms. But for those who aren’t, I imagine their world is very frightening. I have had voices whisper to me in my psychosis and I was petrified. To have that constantly would be hell. I know there are other aspects of schizophrenia but that one in particular- feeling persecuted or hated or never having peace- is really horrible.
Delusions of reference are just another part of the Crazy that people find hard to deal with. It’s understandable- especially when the delusion becomes frightening or threatening and the person can lash out- but frustrating.
My memory is shot due to the joy of Complete Manic and Depressive Memory Blank. My most extreme states had consequences but I was left thinking, “What the hell did I do?!” when I was saner. I do recall a few incidences where I had delusions of reference, but not so many. I’ve often felt, really believed,that I was responsible for everything bad that happened in the world, but that’s more monsterous egotism.
Ideas of Reference
Bipolar.About also defines Ideas of References quite concisely as:
“ Ideas of Reference involve the belief that casual events, people’s remarks, etc., are referring to oneself when in fact they are not. For example, a man reading a newspaper could incorrectly interpret a story to be about himself, or a woman might believe people were laughing at her when, in fact, they were laughing at a joke someone told. If ideas of reference reach the point of strongly held beliefs or cause impairment of functioning, they become Delusions of Reference.“
This I experienced and still experience an awful lot more. I think this is pretty common in the general population. People are both paranoid and self-obsessed, myself included, of course.
My ideas of reference are as above: if I walk past someone laughing, I will think they are laughing at me. I read newspapers or magazines and think they are refering to me or trying to tell me something.
More strongly, I often believe that parked cars are there to get me. I think someone is going to jump out at me. I sometimes believe that adverts and TV presenters are insulting me and constantly find hidden meaning in what people saw.
However, a lot of my ideas don’t escalate into being debilitating (except the parked car thing, this is often a problem) so they aren’t exactly delusions. This highlights the disparity between Leila and I too: she is at the extremely, extremely severe end of the bipolar spectrum. I am somewhere near the extreme end, but I am more self-aware. I have my few hours a day of clarity and I relish them. I take the time to think, write, drink tea and Be Normal before depression, paranoia, irritation, agitation and all their happy cousins come to ferry me away.
So, if you ever meet one of my mentally interesting comrades and they get a little bit…suspicious- it’s not all about you. Don’t worry.
Leila: Part Two
I got out of hospital and was released into the care of the Crisis Team. I had Leila’s number, but was too fried to contact her. I rang her mobile one day and got no answer. So, near Christmas, I rang the public telephone at the hospital, not believing for a second she’d still be there two months later.
She was.
After Psychosis
Delusions of reference, and sometimes ideas of reference, are part of psychosis. For the schizophrenic, psychosis can be an almost permanant part of the illness. For us bipolar folks, we are lucky in that we usually come out of it, either by medication or that psychotic mania or depression finally subsiding.
I watched This Morning…well, this morning. There was a fella on it who had been on Seroxat, the antidepressant I take. (And the one Robbie Williams is addicted to and in rehab for, fact fans). He was anti-psychiatry. He said if you leave depression alone for 16 weeks, it goes away.
Oh, how I laughed. If you’re a unipolar or bipolar type, you leave depression alone for 16 weeks and it will probably:
- Last another 16 weeks
- Kill you.
The psychotic part of depression isn’t usually present in the onset. Like with mania, it seems to progress into it, building up. You hear a voice, you hear the TV (switched off) and then as it carries on, there are people in your room, you are famous, etc.
That isn’t always the case, but it has been like that for me. It’s a bit like thinking someone might be following you, then turning round and seeing them do so, then running, as fast as you can.
The aftermath of psychosis is something, like most things, I tend to make light of. I’ve turned my most psychotic phases into witty anecdotes. Remember that time I held you hostage outside school and told you all about how I was famous and on TV? Haha. Remember that time I saw the little man float in my bedroom, waving at me? Haha. There was once this time I spent all night chasing Satan in my bedroom! Haha.
The darker side of it is something I and a lot of others tend to keep secret, except to those we know and love and who accept us. It’s shaming once you’re feeling more normal, it’s scary when you remember how real it was to you, how you truly believed it.
Non Mentally Interesting folks and those Mentally Interesting folks who’ve never experienced psychosis often say, “Did you really believe that, though?” And yes, in my case, I did. I really thought Satan was a coloured spot following me in my bedroom. I really did try to catch him, spent all night doing so. I really did think I was a famous novelist, a famous comedian, a famous actress.
And I expect it was the same for Leila. I never did find out what the receipt meant to her.
It’s all about ME! ME! ME!
Delusions of reference are defined by the lovely people of Bipolar.About.Com as:
“Delusions of Reference refers to the strongly held belief that random events, objects, behaviors of others, etc., have a particular and unusual significance to oneself. For example, a person might believe that secret messages about him are broadcast in a weekly television show, to the point where he would record the programs and watch them again and again. When less firmly held or organized, these beliefs are called Ideas of Reference“.
In my saner and more cynical moments I would call this monsterous egotism. It’s all about you, isn’t it? The advert on that bus is about ME. The line in this song is about ME. The man in that car is signalling to ME! Jay-sis, it’s not all about you, you know! And etc. Delusions of reference, when you dare disclose your thinking to another person, will either give the impression of aforementioned monsterous egotism or complete mentalism.
Until I was diagnosed as manic depressive, I had no idea what delusions of reference were. (In fact, quite a lot of the terminology and psychiatry that is now at home in my mind was unknown to me a few months ago. I read, y’see).
However, I had unknowingly experienced both in myself and in my meeting other people, a happy past time I occasionally indulge in.
Leila
I met Leila in the psychiatric ward I was an inpatient on. She was tall, willowy and absolutely beautiful and, in that sickeningly “Girl, Interrupted” way, I was absolutely smitten with her. She was rather taken with me too. We consoled and cajoled each other, barbed and bitched, laughed and cried and occasionally raged and howled. She kept me from going mad (arf) in there.
Leila had problems with substance abuse and she was also manic depressive. When I was admitted, I was in a psychotic mixed state ( for the non Mentally Interesting, that is a state in which you are basically batshit insane: full of manic energy but unable to focus on one tiny thing, tormented by a million-mile an hour disjointed thinking, all of horrifically depressing and frightening things, twitchy, afraid, paranoid, very awake indeed, suicidal and hallucinating vividly- that’s how it was for me, it differs from person to person).
However, my psychosis had calmed down due to the magic combination of Haloperidol, Thorazine and various sedatives. I was still rather manic, but it was nothing compared to Leila.
Leila seemed to be resistant to every drug they forced into her. She would fight and hiss at 10pm when the meds were doled out and they never seemed to have much effect on her. She would be calm, quiet and sad for a few hours before being thrown back into her agitated manic state. She seemed to suffer from incredibly severe rapid cycling.
She gave me a lot of gifts while I was in there. She came into my room at 4am to give me stripey socks of hers I said I liked. She showered me with ornamental hearts to stick on my mirror. She gave me a skirt of hers to keep and some pipe cleaners so I could “make things, dinosaurs and stuff”.
Her hypersexuality was rampant, with her showing me her breasts (gorgeous, they were) in the smoking room. Mine was too, naturally I flashed mine in return.
Leila alerted me to the existence of delusions of reference when she came into the smoking room waving a receipt at me. The receipt was very innocuous but she was frantic. She kept telling me, “Read it, can you see what it really means?” and was convinced it had a special significance.
I got a look from the other end. As she ranted and raved about this receipt, I was thinking, “Cra-zy!” She told me I must understand. I nodded. I understood why she thought it would be significant, but not the significance itself.
In hospital, for the first time in my life, I was A Cutey. Sadly not in the way I had hoped for: I was an Acutely Ill patient. The ward I was on was filled with us- people with mental illnesses in severe episodes of illness. They calmed us the fuck down then turfed us out into the care of the community Crisis Team.
The ward mostly housed schizophrenics. Delusions of reference are most prevalent in schizophrenia. It’s your classic, “The TV is talking to me!” syndrome. Leila’s delusions were very clear because the subject was so innocent- a receipt. Some of the other patients, especially the schizophrenics, had more subtle delusions. You had to be very careful in what you said or did because some of the patients would think you were somehow trying to hurt them.
Schizophrenia terrifies me. I don’t mean that I am afraid of schizophrenics. The illness is terrifying. I struggle a fair bit being a manic depressive but it is a picnic compared to what the schizophrenic has to endure. Of course, there are a lot of schizophrenics in a kind of remission. With adequate treatment, people can be free of symptoms. But for those who aren’t, I imagine their world is very frightening. I have had voices whisper to me in my psychosis and I was petrified. To have that constantly would be hell. I know there are other aspects of schizophrenia but that one in particular- feeling persecuted or hated or never having peace- is really horrible.
Delusions of reference are just another part of the Crazy that people find hard to deal with. It’s understandable- especially when the delusion becomes frightening or threatening and the person can lash out- but frustrating.
My memory is shot due to the joy of Complete Manic and Depressive Memory Blank. My most extreme states had consequences but I was left thinking, “What the hell did I do?!” when I was saner. I do recall a few incidences where I had delusions of reference, but not so many. I’ve often felt, really believed,that I was responsible for everything bad that happened in the world, but that’s more monsterous egotism.
Ideas of Reference
Bipolar.About also defines Ideas of References quite concisely as:
“ Ideas of Reference involve the belief that casual events, people’s remarks, etc., are referring to oneself when in fact they are not. For example, a man reading a newspaper could incorrectly interpret a story to be about himself, or a woman might believe people were laughing at her when, in fact, they were laughing at a joke someone told. If ideas of reference reach the point of strongly held beliefs or cause impairment of functioning, they become Delusions of Reference.“
This I experienced and still experience an awful lot more. I think this is pretty common in the general population. People are both paranoid and self-obsessed, myself included, of course.
My ideas of reference are as above: if I walk past someone laughing, I will think they are laughing at me. I read newspapers or magazines and think they are refering to me or trying to tell me something.
More strongly, I often believe that parked cars are there to get me. I think someone is going to jump out at me. I sometimes believe that adverts and TV presenters are insulting me and constantly find hidden meaning in what people saw.
However, a lot of my ideas don’t escalate into being debilitating (except the parked car thing, this is often a problem) so they aren’t exactly delusions. This highlights the disparity between Leila and I too: she is at the extremely, extremely severe end of the bipolar spectrum. I am somewhere near the extreme end, but I am more self-aware. I have my few hours a day of clarity and I relish them. I take the time to think, write, drink tea and Be Normal before depression, paranoia, irritation, agitation and all their happy cousins come to ferry me away.
So, if you ever meet one of my mentally interesting comrades and they get a little bit…suspicious- it’s not all about you. Don’t worry.
Leila: Part Two
I got out of hospital and was released into the care of the Crisis Team. I had Leila’s number, but was too fried to contact her. I rang her mobile one day and got no answer. So, near Christmas, I rang the public telephone at the hospital, not believing for a second she’d still be there two months later.
She was.
After Psychosis
Delusions of reference, and sometimes ideas of reference, are part of psychosis. For the schizophrenic, psychosis can be an almost permanant part of the illness. For us bipolar folks, we are lucky in that we usually come out of it, either by medication or that psychotic mania or depression finally subsiding.
I watched This Morning…well, this morning. There was a fella on it who had been on Seroxat, the antidepressant I take. (And the one Robbie Williams is addicted to and in rehab for, fact fans). He was anti-psychiatry. He said if you leave depression alone for 16 weeks, it goes away.
Oh, how I laughed. If you’re a unipolar or bipolar type, you leave depression alone for 16 weeks and it will probably:
The psychotic part of depression isn’t usually present in the onset. Like with mania, it seems to progress into it, building up. You hear a voice, you hear the TV (switched off) and then as it carries on, there are people in your room, you are famous, etc.
That isn’t always the case, but it has been like that for me. It’s a bit like thinking someone might be following you, then turning round and seeing them do so, then running, as fast as you can.
The aftermath of psychosis is something, like most things, I tend to make light of. I’ve turned my most psychotic phases into witty anecdotes. Remember that time I held you hostage outside school and told you all about how I was famous and on TV? Haha. Remember that time I saw the little man float in my bedroom, waving at me? Haha. There was once this time I spent all night chasing Satan in my bedroom! Haha.
The darker side of it is something I and a lot of others tend to keep secret, except to those we know and love and who accept us. It’s shaming once you’re feeling more normal, it’s scary when you remember how real it was to you, how you truly believed it.
Non Mentally Interesting folks and those Mentally Interesting folks who’ve never experienced psychosis often say, “Did you really believe that, though?” And yes, in my case, I did. I really thought Satan was a coloured spot following me in my bedroom. I really did try to catch him, spent all night doing so. I really did think I was a famous novelist, a famous comedian, a famous actress.
And I expect it was the same for Leila. I never did find out what the receipt meant to her.
Filed under: bipolar, delusions of reference, manic depression, schizophrenia