Maya ends up in a closed psychiatric ward because of schizophrenia: Mental patients should be heard and seen (PHOTO)

At age 22, Maja Klemenčič found herself in a severe psychotic episode and approached the police station convinced she was under threat from a mafia that would kill her. She believed the police could help protect her. “I went to report a fake mafia that was going to kill me,” she recalls. The officer who responded recognized her extreme state and took steps that she still remembers today. “He told me I was going somewhere where witnesses are protected. I immediately said, ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ Then they called the rescue services. I knew I was going to the rescue center, but I was sure they were taking me somewhere better.” Rescue workers transported her to a psychiatric hospital, marking the beginning of nearly two decades living with schizophrenia. Her initial stay lasted almost two months, during which time she was placed on a locked ward. “I was really psychotically ill,” she says. Despite the severity of her diagnosis, she remembers a psychiatrist who did not treat the illness as an end to all possibilities. “He didn’t make a taboo out of it. He was very positive. When they discharged me, he said, ‘Now, go draw, find some job.’” Looking back, she recognizes that difficulties began showing before the official diagnosis. In high school, her academic performance suddenly declined. “From the best student, I became the biggest failure. In my first year, I had the best grades, in the second year, unexcused absences, in the third year, I dropped out, repeated, failed again. I was completely lost.” She did not finish school and later realized how much the illness affected her ability to focus. “I can't finish school, but I'm not stupid. My focus is so impaired, like if you flipped two magnets and they repel each other. I can't sit down at a table and start reading books,” she describes. The difference between what one knows and what one can actually manage due to the illness is, according to her, one of the hardest things for others to understand. On the outside, she may appear normal, talk, create, and post on social media, leading many to assume she has no major limitations. “People aren’t happy that I manage the illness so well, that I still draw and it goes well for me. Instead, they think the opposite,” she says. For years after her first hospitalization, she remained stable, which led her to doubt the diagnosis. “I was convinced: ‘I have recovered, that’s it, they made a mistake.’” Later, following discussions with her psychiatrist, treatment was adjusted and the dosage of one medication significantly reduced. Over time, symptoms returned. This time, hospitalization wasn’t necessary, as her condition was managed through outpatient care and therapy gradually adapted. The experience confirmed for her that treatment should not be abandoned. For Maja, stability does not mean the illness disappears. Her days can vary greatly. Sometimes she creates intensely, other times even simple daily tasks become difficult. “There are days when I don’t do anything. I drink coffee, look at Facebook, and that's it. That's what makes people think, ‘You could do this, you could do that.’ Of course you could. But I can't.” When she returned home after her first hospitalization, neither she nor her loved ones fully understood how strongly the diagnosis would affect her future. Her father, she says, mainly encouraged her to take her medication regularly. “They thought it was just an experience and we would move forward. No one knew it would be a chronic illness and a mental illness that needed to be understood in its own way.” Despite challenges, Maja tried working multiple times. She cleaned, attempted remote work, but repeatedly encountered the same obstacle, regular work required concentration, rhythm, and persistence, which she couldn’t maintain long-term. “I reported to the authorities, but…”