Central Intelligence Agency Delusion

I don't know why it is, but many mentally ill people believe they have some affiliation with the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). That includes me. In spite of the medications, I often exhibit symptoms of bipolar disorder, such as delusions.

At one hospitalization at LVMH, my psychiatrist, one Dr. Aralicia, met me in his office. I had applied for the real CIA in the Directorate of Science and Technology and in the Satellite Reconnaissance Division. Dr. Aralicia told me that he was a CIA operative and that the Agency had received my application. He said the CIA wanted to hire me, and I needed to sign some papers to get on the payroll. The CIA would pay me through Social Security disability payments (which I received anyway), according to the good doctor. My cover was the fact I was an unemployed disabled man, and Dr. Aralicia said it was the perfect cover.

According to the psychiatrist, my mission was to verify on the ground what the CIA reconnaissance satellites saw. After that, I left Dr. Aralicia's office, and he never spoke of the "mission" again. I eventually was discharged from the psychiatric hospital, but I had no way of knowing if my encounter with a CIA operative was real or imaginary.

I often have arguments with my parents. Mostly I just vent my frustrations with my life to them, often to the point of me shouting at them. One time, they became fearful enough to call the police. The cops came to our house and said, "Are you going to hurt yourself or other people?"

"I might," I replied. The police escorted me to some paramedics who were waiting at their ambulance. They took me to a regular hospital in North Las Vegas. There, the ER doctor was a jerk and said arguing with parents was not an illness. He discharged me from the ER and said to go to a homeless shelter.

I wandered the streets of North Las Vegas and Las Vegas. Then I wondered if I were really a CIA operative. I went to a casino and tried to get a meal. "How much is the government rate?" I asked the hostess at the casino's restaurant. Eventually, the casino's security forces swung into action. They directed me to a taxi at a strip club nearby. I was testing whether or not I worked for the Agency. My goal was to see if I could get to CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

I theorized that the Luxor light, which emanates from the Luxor Resort and Casino and points straight into the sky over Las Vegas, could attract reconnaissance satellites while degrading their orbits. Thus eventually, it would make reconnaissance satellites crash into the pyramid shaped Luxor Hotel and possibly all over Las Vegas. I needed to warn CIA headquarters of the weakness in their spy satellites, or so I thought.

I told the taxi cab driver to take me to the Paris Resort and Casino, even though I had no money. I knew a cashier there, my choir director, and I hoped she could identify me to the resort officials. When we reached the resort entrance, I said to the doorman, "Pay my driver. I work for the CIA."

Eventually, the head of security came over. The security people humored me as I explained my story. The head of security, a big fat man with a goatee, said that Paris Resort and Casino often worked with the CIA, and they had contacted them about me. I instructed them to contact the naval R & D laboratory where I had worked since they had my picture ID badge in their database. I hoped the Navy lab would fax my picture to the Paris Resort and Casino, and that I could use it for my trip to CIA headquarters.

The head of security told me that the CIA had a jet waiting for me at McCarran Airport, but first I had to be cleared for flight medically. He told me to get into an ambulance that was parked at the resort entrance. So I went into the ambulance where two paramedics were waiting for me.

Little did I realize at the time that the hotel security staff was pulling off a hoax. They took me to Desert Springs Hospital, where I landed in the psychiatric holding area of the ER. I still believed I was with the CIA. The nurse humored me--"Sure you're with the CIA," she'd say.

I decided to alert the President of the United States of the weakness in the reconnaissance satellites. Eventually, I realized the big ruse the resort and hospital had been pulling on me. I knew they didn't believe my story, and I found out they were sending me to Las Vegas Mental Health Center, the state mental institution of southern Nevada. I was angry, but the delusion persisted.

At LVMH, I wrote dozens of letters to President George W. Bush about the weakness in the satellites. I concocted a story that he should issue an executive order to have every city in the U.S. launch fireworks from September 11 to July 4 every year as a memorial for the victims of 9/11. Therefore, the light from the fireworks would distract the reconnaissance satellites and keep them from homing in on the Luxor light.

Nobody really took me seriously, and I doubt the staff at LVMH even sent the letters to the president. Such delusions and mania just further eroded my credibility, especially with my own family. The whole affair illustrates how difficult it is to treat many mental illnesses. I always take my medications and go to therapy. Yet, my religious attention to my treatment doesn't prevent incidents like this one.

I often say to people, "Medication and therapy won't get me a Ph.D. or a job."

To which they'd say, "Medication and therapy will put you in a state of mind so you can get a job."

To this day, I struggle with delusions, mania, and depression no matter what medications I take or how often I attend therapy. Some days are good, while some days are bad.