I Lied To My Fiancé About My Mental Illness

I thought he wouldn't marry me if he knew I suffered from paranoid schizophrenia.

Author in front of a blur Syda Productions, Minerva Studio, Peopleimages.com - YuriArcurs | Canva, Courtesy Of Author
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I lied to Rick, my fiancée, about my mental illness. I told him I took pills for depression because I got the blues. I didn’t tell him I was a paranoid schizophrenic — that I had a chemical imbalance, a genetic curse that rendered me dependent on Navane and Cogentin to live a normal life.

I wanted to be married. I wanted Rick to love me and I believed he wouldn’t want me if he knew my true mental illness. I thought no man would want me with the "defect" of schizophrenia.

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I met Rick in the mid-80s. There was a party at his apartment and I was introduced to him. I told him I worked at the Jackson County courthouse and that my father was a lawyer who got me the job. He told me his father was a lawyer and when I put my cigarette to my lips, he lit my cigarette. Rick was tall, over six foot with black hair and a black mustache and beard. His voice was deep. I was intrigued.

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RELATED: Why My Psychiatrist, Counselor, And Family All Hid My Mental Illness From Me

Time passed and I saw him at the local grocery store. He was checking out and I commented on his purchase. “The guacamole’s too expensive,” I said. I felt foolish at my attempt at small talk. He checked out and went on his way.

A week later he called me. He wanted to take me out to dinner. I accepted. We became lovers and he respected me in the morning. We dated for a year then a proposal. It was as if I had the Hope diamond on my finger, I was so elated. I was ten feet tall. It was official — I belonged to Rick. He found me worthy enough to be his wife. 

We talked about having children and said I would like to adopt. I didn’t want to pass on my genetic curse and the medication I took for paranoid schizophrenia caused birth defects.

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The schizophrenia was my dark secret, and my lie continued.

We would go to the theater regularly because being a journalist he got free tickets. On Sunday I would cook breakfast and we would read the Sunday paper. We both read about local and national politics. He was a political reporter and loved a well-written editorial

RELATED: I'm A Schizophrenic — And You Might Be One, Too

While we were married, I stopped taking my medicine. I became withdrawn, fearful, and intense. My hands shook constantly. I was a raw nerve and stopped taking my medicine because of weight gain.

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I lived with my husband for only six months. He betrayed me with infidelity. I left him and moved in with my parents and filed for divorce. I committed myself voluntarily to the psych ward at St. Mary’s Hospital. I was crazy, sick, and paranoid. I slapped a nurse because I thought she was trying to get me to drink piss. She had a dropper and was going to place opiate drops on my tongue for my ulcerative colitis. The male nurse grabbed me and gave me a shot of Trazadone that sedated me. I was given new meds, Haldol and Artane. The black filter lifted from my mind and I was normal and happy again. I was at the hospital for a month.

I called Rick from the hospital. He didn’t know I was there.

“I’m at St. Mary’s.”

Silence on the phone. Then, “Get better Julie.”

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“What do your parents think of me?”

“They only want the best for you,” he said in a voice dripping with sympathy.

RELATED: I Had A Debilitating Reaction To Psychiatric Meds At Work

I still lived the lie and didn’t tell him he married a paranoid schizophrenic.

Rick didn’t find out my true mental illness until the early 2000s. He referred to me as Zelda. We divorced in 1989 and he remarried and I remained single. I never trusted men in the same way I did before my marriage. He burned me and I wasn’t going to let a man fool me again.

If I had it to do all over again, I would have told my husband the truth. “I’m a paranoid schizophrenic,” but I wanted to be married and have acceptance from Rick and his family.

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I have now lived with paranoid schizophrenia for forty-one years and own my mental illness. I’m no longer ashamed of it. I can’t change my brain chemistry. I was in the mental illness closet for many years and it wasn’t until I went on disability and joined a support group in 1997 that I revealed to people the truth.

My life would have been sweeter and better if I had told and embraced the truth that I was a paranoid schizophrenic and I want to apologize to my ex-husband for the lie: Forgive me, I’m sorry I lied. I just wanted to marry you.

RELATED: No Shame: What You Need To Know About People With Mental Illness

Julia A. Ergovich writes from Kansas City, Missouri. She holds a BLS in English from the Jesuit school Rockhurst University and is leading an artful life.

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