Schizophrenia Diaries

firstly i would like to say schizophrenic illness are the sadest trying soul destoying personalitity destroying evil sadistic totally challenging and tests the person who ill and destroys everyone in there everyday life in the family home it takes you way beyond deppression and till u no longer feel human who can no longer understand the basic facts on anything.iam naw at the stage where iam questioningmy own sanity and whats right or wrong i can no longer cope iam over the edge.i know its a medical illness not there fault my boyfreind was born with it it was his genes.just the same as cancer,iwould truthally pick cancer out the 2?he is 49 years old and was sectioned at 15 as he was convinced his mother was trying to kill him through poisoning the cheese as he was obsesed with it and thats all he would eat for long periods of time ,he nevertold any body or wont ed to express any feelings that he thought abnormal he never showed any emotions or saw any in his brothers or sister ,he
came from a large family of 8.10 with mum and dad his dad was a full blown alcoholic with violent moodswings who constantlyplayed about from home, a goodlooking smart womaniserwho carryed on with who ever no respect or consideration for his wife or kids whom he beat upon in drunkon violent beating he mentaly and phsically abused them all on a daily basisa narsty controling monster who gave them nothing but he and his life style had what he wonted.Some days they would have to go down bins another peoples rubbish to eat or had to shoplift due to hunger.to survive they had no clothes that fit them properly nor bought for them my boyfreind who i will call mr x never had a pair of socks on his feet from the day he can remember till he was about 12?WHEN HE FIRST TOLD ME ABOUT HIS UP BRINGING i couldnt relate to there being any truth in any of it as to me thats not normal even though iamaware abuse does happen i couldnt relate to any dad doing that, my wasis wonderful the best in the
worldall ways has been allways will be.i wasvery upset and sad for him and broke down in tears,that must have been awful to grow up like that but mrx when iaskes him why he never ran away or him and his brothers never ganged up on him and made him leave or even told some one like the police or a school teacher he told me it was normal and thought that was like that in every home and that it was ok he never went hungry for longer that 3 days at any one time that was the only issue he kept talking about he couldnt understand why i was so upset by the thought of there suffering and horrible life,he never had xmas presants or clean cloths they had no electric coming in there home which he said was a form of shed there only means of warmth in winter was to burn the remains of so called furniture on a fire when it was all burnt he new there dad beat them all for doing it but he said they were so cold they didnt care at the time,at this stage he said he was about 7 and his mother was never
there and couldnt cope any more and she ran off leaving them all behind,they never went to school or had any friends or any body of there own age to play with everyone avoided the family they were called the mad deprived poor kids who were smelly and strange and not to be trusted around other familys or wonted as the older siblings left home asap one by one they went of on there own way leaving the poor youngest who were mrx and 1 younger brother, mrx went of at 10 and lived on the streets homeless and on his own for 6 years nearly you can imagion the horrific experiences he must of seen gone through and lived daily, i asked him to spare the details as i couldnt listen any more as i was totally and utterly in shock horrified and sickened as a mother myself i cant understand how this happens i felt so sorry for him ,and i was going to love him for ever and ever and create happy loving memories for him and allways be there for him .AS TIME WENT BY THE FIRST 6 MONTH TOGETHERi began
to see odd way s and strange things he would say and he could never have a normal conversation without confusing me to the point id forgot what the question was in the first place never could he give a direct answer, i suppose it due to never having been loved so he was intitlled to be a bit cold or insecure with trusting any one as he didnt know haw.acoupl

It all started when I was in fifth grade, and maybe even partially because my mom got her job at the prison. I don’t know. But that’s when I started getting depressed. It was an interesting changing point in my life–the friends that I had known for so long just kind of dumped me, and I had pretty much nowhere to turn. I can’t say I had any real friends when I was in fifth grade.

They didn’t come until sixth grade. For security reasons, we’ll call them Jane and Janis (real original, right?). Sixth grade was…an interesting year. I was consistently in trouble, and rather depressed. But I was frequently hanging out with a boy who we’ll call Jake (another J…?), and I think it was safe to say we liked each other. Being twelve, we were (childishly) flirting left and right.

Janis was the kind of girl who you didn’t know too well, but she had a mean streak in her. I learned that I was quite a fast runner compared to other females due to my constant need to get away from Janis. She liked to pull my hair for some reason. That wasn’t helping my anxiety levels.

Then, for reasons I couldn’t figure out, Jane went right along with it (though less frequently) and as I didn’t know her well at all, I was scared of her.

This was also the year that I began cutting. I didn’t feel depressed when I did it–more or less, my mood was very flat, but sometimes euphoric. One day, I guess I just kind of snapped, because I started really ploughing away at my arm with the metal end of a pencil. Jane and Janis reported it, and I was sent to the counselor’s office.

He started asking me a bunch of weird questions about suicide, and I answered as honestly as I could. The next thing I know, he’s calling my mom and the principal, nurse, and him are telling her that they need to get me down to the emergency floor of the hospital.

So my mom picks me up, and all I remember is that it was a really tense emotional situation. She’s asking me all these questions that I just don’t have answers to. We had to stop at home, first, to tell the people at the hospital I’d be coming.

My dad was really pissed when he found out. I remember him screaming at me, and shoving me, and then the anxiety was too much and I started panicking, crying, even though I knew it wouldn’t help. Then my mom was yelling, too. I couldn’t figure out what the hell I had done to get in so much trouble, though I had a feeling it was the cutting.

At the hospital, we were led into this little white room with a tv, a few chairs, and a bed. I had to sit on the bed, while my mom sat in a chair reading magazines. It was going to be a while until the nurse came in to perform the psyche evaluation, so I was told to get comfortable. But I just couldn’t. I was so keyed up from the excitement of the day, and a bit dissociated, in retrospect, and I just couldn’t relax.

Mostly, I was scared that if they found anything “weird” about me in the evaluation, my mom would get mad and there would be more yelling and things would just get worse and worse–so after a good four or five hours…maybe it was even 10–i lost count…the lady came in with her computer (a little Dell laptop), and asked me 10 questions.

There were some of them that I was able to tell the truth on, some I had trouble answering because I didn’t understand what the question meant and had to have it explained to me, and the last few that I had to lie to keep my mom from being mad and yelling at me. I knew what was considered “normal” and that I wasn’t–but I knew all too well how to fake it.

So, they found that I was mentally sound and fit to go home–they fed me a sandwich and a gatorade, and by the time we got to the Wendy’s drive-thru (mom was hungry) it was half past midnight. I remember I got a frosty, then we went home, and I was out of school for three days on mental health leave or something stupid like that.

I had to see a counselor, but I only saw him for less than a year before the agency was shut down. He liked to play the coping game. It’s a fancy shrink-game that they use to teach kids like me proper coping skills. I’m comfortable in saying that I didn’t learn anything–I was (and still am) very good at telling people what they want to hear (it decreases the tension in any situation, I’ve found), and I had a good grasp of what was considered “normal” and I’ll say it again–I was not. For correct answers, though, this man would give the kids Yu-Gi-Oh cards. It was the ‘in’ thing at the time.

Then I entered my seventh grade year and met Amanda, Katie and Jennifer–little did I know it, but they would become my best friends and actually stick with me during the trying time. About midway through October, I brought my concerns to the counselor at the school, and about a month later, I was prescribed Prozac through a physician at the nearby clinic.

The rest of the time on the drug is a blur, but I know I was off it by the end of the school year, because what I do remember of it was that it made me jittery and impulsive, a bit aggressive, and my thoughts didn’t make much sense when I got overstimulated. The depression was gone, but that was about it. I ended up yelling at a teacher (who was a sexist and deserved it) because he asked what my problem was–why I didn’t like him. My answer did not please him–all I managed to say was that he was the problem, a bit of stuttering, and some gibberish because my thoughts were running together incoherently and I couldn’t stop my mouth from talking. I left the room, not sure where I was going to go, but with the mental unloading I felt sort of sane.

I do remember being followed by one of the many people who agreed with what little insight I had given into my agitation, and we were going to complain a bit to the office about this particular teacher being such a tool. I don’t recall if we ever got around to it, though.

I was seeing a counselor at the time, but she never found out about this. No one did–except my mother, who received a phone call but didn’t mention it to me until I was having one particularly bad day. And for the incident? I received three days of lunch detention and a strange sort of respect and even a bit of fear among my fellow classmates.

While in counseling, I got a full psychiatric evaluation…that’s what I’d call it, at least. They found that my IQ was 123 (at age 13), but that I also had a bit of ADHD, depression, anxiety, formal thought disorder, schizotypal personality disorder, and paranoid ideation.

I ended seventh grade by getting off of Prozac, and failing every class.

Like all summers in the suburbs, mine was uneventful, but I did somehow manage to gain thirty pounds. It was shocking, but I went through my eighth grade year self-conscious.

I wore the same thing every day, doing whatever it took to conceal my body. I was picked last in every sport for gym (until it came to floor hockey, in which I dominated when on a team with Jane–we’d somehow become friends).

I didn’t talk much in eighth grade. Couldn’t even walk confidently. My favorite teacher was my math teacher, because she knew me better than she knew most other students, but still didn’t know much. Everyone thought I was stupid until it came to one particular math problem. I’d never been good with numbers, but when they were presented with shapes, I was genius. I was the only one in the class who knew right off the top of my head how to find the answer. Simply take the whole circle, find that volume, and then the volume of the smaller inner circle, and subtract it from the volume of the full circle. Then you get the volume to the outer ring. It was so simple.

On top of that, I only had to take 2 or 3 spelling tests at the end of the week the whole year because I knew how to spell practically everything. People were asking me how the hell I got so smart. And, I was still talking to Jake.

Eighth grade was also hard, because I started drinking. Vodka. On school grounds. I didn’t care. I was getting in weird moods, doing drugs, and making things worse. Then, I got caught.

I remember being drunk in a tiny room with cops, paranoid, not sure of who I was or if any of it was real, and panicking, while all the while (this is the funny part) thinking I was doing a good job of talking myself out of trouble. They called my mom, she took me home, I was suspended for two weeks (with a packet of homework to do–got it all done!), and had to attend a class about not doing drugs, and was given a second chance by the state.

I ended up getting charged as a felon, but since the state had a new law for kids under 18, they would dismiss the charges as long as I didn’t get in trouble again before I turned 18. After that, all charges would be erased. That meeting ended with the probation officer telling me she hoped she never saw me again.

I passed all my classes in eighth grade, and we moved out of our house on the last day of school.

That summer was spent cleaning our new house out. It’d been a bargain for a 20 acre farm–120,000. I was happy, but the depression didn’t sink in till later. I realized that yes, I could have horses, but I didn’t have all my old friends.

The only reason I allowed myself to get close to them was because my parents promised me we would never move. We’d lived in a lot of places growing up–an apartment, an auto body shop, a trailer park, an actual house, and then a farm. I’d moved so many schools that I just didn’t get attached to people anymore, and I’d made the mistake of allowing myself that luxury.

Ninth grade was full of near-failure, and one actual failure. I sucked at spanish, got bored with algebra. I was so paranoid and anxious all the time that I ended up getting put on celexa, 40 mg, once a day, because I had started having panic attacks getting called to run errands, and I was losing my hair.

I was also very self-conscious and paranoid that people were scrutinizing every bit of my flesh, and throughout the year I dropped from 170 pounds to 138 by starving myself. I’m five foot six.

It was also the year I started having hallucinations. It started with just tasting different flavors, and even different words. Some of them were pleasant, like blue raspberry, and others were horrible, like the way Vicks Vapo-Rub smells–that’s what I was tasting. This was happening almost every day.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I was so scared of people and so paranoid that I was constantly being judged that I couldn’t do group work. I was always allowed to work alone, and proved to be a very efficient worker. I impressed my English teacher, especially, with an essay I had written on the proper use of the ‘n word.’ He said it was written at least at a junior level, if not higher.

The first auditory hallucination I’d heard, I was in the library, and someone whispered my name. I looked back, and there was a bookshelf behind me (about 4 inches away), and behind the bookshelf, a thick brick wall.

It was also the year I noticed the shadows. I’d see them in school, everywhere, and was beginning to get paranoid about them, too, and panicked every time I saw one, or ten, or a hundred.

I passed ninth grade slightly behind on credits, but doing a decent job for my mental status.

During the summer, working with my horse that I’d recieved for my birthday proved to be more helpful than the medication. If I had any hallucinations, I must have forgot about them.

I dropped 5 more pounds over the summer, starting out my sophomore year at 132–the thinnest I’d ever been. My ribs were showing and I was only eating every other day–the things we women do for vanity.

That year, I had a complete mental breakdown. I became very confused one day, a bit unsure of where I was. I could name the place, but it felt like a higher power was telling me I wasn’t really there, that it was all in my head, that I was dreaming and I needed to wake up. I was generally confused, anxious, almost panicky, and called a hotline. They asked about history of schizophrenia in the family, and while everything’s going on around me, I’m trying to answer their questions and just can’t.

By the end of that day, I was so distraught and so confused that I had to leave school, using the old “I feel so violent right now I don’t know what I’ll do” excuse. I was sent home to face my old man, who was PISSED and almost hit me (sending me into a panic attack…I wouldn’t stop hyperventilating for about an hour), and that was when I got into counseling and everything else.

I started out in counseling as very cold towards other people, hating them because I saw them as nothing more than idiots who only believed in material possessions. I never really saw them as true people.

After a few months, things in my mind started to change. It was gradual, but when I stopped and thought about it, none of it made sense, and somehow, it was all true.

I was hearing voices more often, sometimes commenting on the way I walked (because I have a six inch stride).

I could never really tell what was real and what wasn’t. I got massively confused whenever I lost something. One day, it happened to be a water bottle. I looked for two whole blocks. A couple of people helped me look. I was so confused that I would feel around in obviously empty spaces because hey, maybe I just couldn’t see the damned thing. Maybe it was invisible, but I’d be able to touch it. I never did find it, and I refused to be bought a water from the vending machine. After all, it wasn’t the fact that I just needed water. I needed MY water.

This happened a couple more times with different objects. I’d be left searching the school only to come up fruitless. It would still bother me, even after I’d given up. The water bottle still bothers me, for example…

If that wasn’t bad enough, dealing with confusion and hallucinations (I sometimes felt bugs crawling over my skin–not pleasant), the shadows had become much more prevalent in my life. Suddenly, they could speak to me using telepathy. Though they spoke a different laguage (some of which I can speak), the words came into my mind totally translated. They were angry because a kid down the street from me had killed the brother of one of the shadows about seven hundred something years ago, and they wanted revenge. They can’t exact their revenge, though, because they can’t physically touch the human world. So they wated me to kill him instead.

I always said no, but they would pester me and pester me until I almost gave in, but decided I didn’t feel like braving temperatures of negative sixty-five to walk two miles down the road, kill him, and hide out in the river valley. It just didn’t seem worth the trouble. I wasn’t going to be rewarded anyway for committing such an obvious misdeed. It was still annoying, though.

And a few months after that, I began hearing stranger things–beeps and electronic noises in place of voices (which, when heard, were worse, and would scream at me in foreign languages, leaving me positively petrified), and I came to believe it was cyborgs making those sounds.

Cyborgs were everywhere–teaching at the school, crowd control at the art museum, the cops on the streets, and even my own psychiatrist. I realized that this might seem bizarre to other people, but I didn’t care, because that was (and still is) my reality.

I am now on my summer vacation, and the shadows do not bother me with their words as often, but they still lurk everywhere. Now and then, I get the one that wanted me to kill the kid down the street leering at me and telling me to touch myself, but I hide under the covers.

Almost every other night I’m hearing cyborg noises, and sometimes I can even feel them staring at me through my window, scratching at the wood siding. I hide under my covers and tell myself it’s not really happening.

Some nights, I can’t sleep. I’ve stayed up days at a time. Then I crash and sleep 18 hour days.

My moods have been very flat for the past couple of months, and though my “people skills” have gotten “better,” I don’t care anything for people…the only people I’d jump in front of a train to save are Rick, Jane, and Dad–on a good day, if I wasn’t too distracted by something else to do it.

Occasionally, I do have an elevated day, but it’s not in a good way. I feel manic, almost happy-psychotic, like I can take on the world and do anything. It’s during these moods that I also tend to get hurt…like bitten by a horse, or getting sunburned so I blister, or once in a while, cracking a bone.

Sometimes the “manic” state will last a week, sometimes a few hours, but it usually proves to hurt just a little bit.

Just today I got a little excited over some green milkweed growing in our back pasture. We found 17 plants, which is a big deal because I live in northwestern wisconsin, where these things aren’t even supposed to be found. The excitement wore off, and turned right to anxiety. I’d been jittery all day, unable to do anything about it or think straight, and then I just sort of went into a dead mode after the excitement.

I’ve been told that I’ve made a lot of progress, that things can get a lot worse, but even so, I really don’t think I need worse. I’m not on any medicine right now (thank god, the celexa was fucking with my head) and I passed most of my classes (except french–fail) with B’s.

I haven’t been to counseling for almost a month. I’m supposed to go every two weeks, and my mom thinks that she can stretch the appointments out like this and I won’t get grouchy. Every little bad mood is blamed on my lack of medication, when really, (and no one gets this) it’s because I feel overstimulated and need to be left completely alone for an hour or two. She wants me back on my meds, but I don’t get confused as bad as I did when I was on them, and I don’t want them ever again, even though…i got distracted and can’t remember what I was going to write…

I do have my days when I feel like I’m on drugs (and I’m not), and those are the days I hunker down on the couch and slip away into television land, so hopefully, if I do hallucinate, I’ll be distracted enough not to notice it. That all ends as soon as I’m in bed, though, because I can only listen to music for so long before I have to try to fall asleep (right now I’m tasting nacho cheese–haven’t had that for months). I stay awake because I get anxious, and a little bit scared, though with minor stuff, I can fall asleep. But the cyborgs won’t let me sleep, and neither will the shadows. If it’s just voices and static in my head, I can usually get past it and sleep a few hours.

That’s all I really have to write. If you didn’t want to read someone’s full life story, you should have read the title better.

BACKGROUND

- SCHOOL LIFE
When I was 11 years old I left junior school and went to Kingshurst Comprehensive. I was the only person from my junior school to go to this comprehensive. This was the first stage in my isolation. While at the comprehensive I was never myself and acted the clown in class.

On top of this, when I was 11 or 12, my dad found out that my mother was seeing another man who she had met on holiday in Spain. They did not divorce but the atmosphere at home became more and more strained over time.

When I was 15 I went on a school trip to France and ended up going out with a girl called Karen. She was 13 and yet far more experienced than me. We had a great time but it did not last. On coming back to school I felt uncomfortable about going out with someone younger than myself.. A week after the French trip I went on a geography field trip in Wales. Almost by accident, I ended up going out with Catherine who I had liked for some time. On returning from the trip I ran into Karen who quite rightly gave me a hard time and made me feel really bad about myself. I carried on going with Catherine for a few weeks but things did not work out and I decided to call things off. I phoned up Karen and told her about it. I hoped we could get together but she did not want to know.

Over the next year I became more and more depressed but still managed to get good marks in my exams.

- SIXTH FORM
When I left Kingshurst Comprehensive, I realised that I was in no fit state to cope on my own. I chose to attend Solihull Sixth Form College to continue my education. Only two others from my comprehensive went there and I did not really get on with them. I did not last very long and I soon changed establishments. I chose to go to Archbishop Grimshaw School where a few of my friends had gone. Unfortunately, I did not fit in. I think I had changed and had become less friendly.

While at Archbishop Grimshaw I took my first overdose but nobody knew about it. When I went to the doctor’s I just said I had food poisoning.

After one year at Archbishop Grimshaw I quit and went back to Solihull Sixth Form College. Again, I did not fit in and I continually changed classes. In History I met Elizabeth who I really liked. I think she liked me as well but I never had the guts to ask her out. Eventually I gave her a note and she smiled. She left the room and when I saw her downstairs in the common room I ignored her and I didn’t know what to say. This put her off.

The first year at Solihull Sixth Form College past by and the summer holidays arrived. I spent the time alone at home feeling isolated. I had a big argument with my mother and hit her across the face. At this time, either just before or just after this incident I took my second overdose.

While still on holiday I went into Solihull looking for Elizabeth. The first pub I went into was the Saddler’s Arms and she was there with her boyfriend. On seeing me she got up and left. I was in a bad state at this time. Soon after this, I returned to college and handed Elizabeth another note asking her out. She laughed and said no. I lost my temper and poured a cup of tea over her head and we both started shouting at each other. I then left the building. When I returned I was told that I had been expelled. The following day I handed in all my books. On leaving I saw Elizabeth in the common room but didn’t say anything. I returned shortly afterwards but she had gone. A few days later t took my third overdose.

- EARLY ADULT LIFE
For the following four years I was unemployed. I lived at home with my dad. My mother left home and moved in with Sam in a flat in Kingshurst.

In some ways this was all a relief to me. A lot of the pressure had been lifted. I had failed but life goes on. I was quite lethargic. I did very little apart from reading and writing poetry.

When I was 22 years old I got a job as a clerical assistant at British Telecom and bought my first car, a red Ford Fiesta. I stayed there for about 18 months before I gave it up to work for my brother. He ran an advertising agency that promoted premium telephone lines. He also had his own premium rate telephone business which was promoted by the agency.

During this time I spent a lot of time in Solihull town centre hoping to meet someone. The first girl I fell for was called Bonita. I gave her a red rose and then ran away. I did not know what to say to her. I saw her quite often but never spoke to her. I was churning up inside. I spoke to a couple of her friends and they let slip that Bonita worked at a local newsagent. I eventually found out which newsagent this was and paid Bonita a visit. She was not very happy. I left her a poem but this only freaked her out more. Things got worse. I was looking for work and entered an employment agency in Shirley. Bonita was on the reception. I thought it was destiny but she told the staff about me and I was made to feel a little unwelcome. As time went by, I would post letters through the letterbox at the employment agency addressed to Bonita. I felt so isolated and she was the only hope I had or so it seemed. I had to hold onto something.

- MIDDLE TWENTIES
Eventually, I realised that Bonita was not for me and my attention turned to two other girls. Emma and Claire. I wrote Claire a poem and presented Emma with some red roses. Things slowly got out of hand. I spoke to Claire a few times to ask her out but she said she had a boyfriend. I gave her a book about Frida Kahlo, my favourite artist, but the paintings shocked her and she told her parents who reported me to the police. I was also shocked when the police stopped me, I had the shakes. Soon my reputation spread and some local lads started following me and giving me abuse. At this stage, I took my fourth overdose, my first for over 8 years. Claire knew these local lads and every weekend I would go into Solihull town centre and get abused and then Claire would show up. I was convinced that she like me and that if I only had the courage to talk to her I could sort things out, but I never did. I was on a roller-coaster ride of emotions. At times I gave up on her and tried to go out with Emma but she found out about how I treated Bonita and did not want anything to do with me.

While all this was going on I was still working for my brother apart from a 6 month period when I was sacked after an argument. On returning I got involved in setting up some businesses for the company overseas. I spent time in Portugal and then later on in Cyprus. Eventually, my brother decided to sell his business in Cyprus and I was offered a job over there to help run the business and try to set up operations in the Middle East. I arranged a flat in Limassol and flew over to start my new adventure. I was nearly 29. This was my dream job. I was still hoping to sort things out with either Emma or Claire. I was planning out my life hoping to marry the perfect girl and have a great job working abroad. However, I was deluding myself. Things were about to get much worse.

THE ILLNESS
- THE START
While in Cyprus working for Michael at Telemedia I had my 29th birthday. A couple of weeks later I returned to the UK for a week hoping to sort things out with Clare but I never saw her. I came back to Cyprus and fortunately arranged some interviews in the middle-east. As things happened, one guy I met was planning to set up his own business in the United Arab Emirates. I persuaded him that we would be ideal partners. On the telephone he suggested that he visit our operations in the UK and Cyprus. This was the crunch time! I could stay in Cyprus or return to the UK and hope that the UAE business would take off. Things were not going to well in Cyprus. I decided to leave and left the Cyprus operation in a mess and losing money. I hoped that my brother would re-form a partnership with Michael and run the business together in the UAE.

When I returned to the UK I had no job. I was waiting for the UAE business to start but I soon realised that this could take some time. On returning, I saw Clare in Solihull with a few boys. It was clear that she was not interested in me. One of my main reasons for returning was the hope of going out with Claire. Slowly my life was falling apart. My home in Monkspath was being rented out so I stayed with my mother and Sam at their flat in Kingshurst. I thought I would be there for a few months. As it turned out I was to stay there for 3 years.

While working for my brother and then for Michael in Cyprus I was on a good salary and could afford a house in Monkspath but now I could not get a job that paid more than 10k a year. I was still hoping the UAE business would take off. I started to do temporary work and then got a job as a media administrator at an advertising agency.

The start of my breakdown began here. I was working with an Indian girl called Nicky and I told her a little bit about Claire. I started to get paranoid. I thought that she knew Claire and that she was deliberately winding me up. I also thought that both Claire and Nicky had made contact with my mum and were planning a party for my 30th birthday in February. Things with Nicky became too much and I resigned after 8 weeks. I then flew to Cyprus for a holiday.

In January I was offered a temporary job at Apricot computers which I was told could lead to a permanent position. I thought Claire had arranged the job for me. While at Apricot computers I was invited to job interviews at BRMB and the Birmingham Evening Mail. I thought that Nicky had arranged these because she felt guilty about me losing my job. I was becoming delusional. I thought that the staff at Apricot computers knew about Claire and me and were planning a surprise birthday party for me at which I would meet Claire. I tried to top this idea and asked if I could fly to Cyprus for my 30th birthday.

I was hoping that they could arrange for Claire to come with me. I bought a bunch of red roses and took them to the airport and asked of they could be taken on the plane. The following day at Apricot computers I felt a tense atmosphere. I came to the conclusion that Claire knew someone at the airport and that by taking the roses there I had spoilt the surprise. I was in a panic. I thought that through my stupidity Claire would not urn up. That evening I returned to the airport and picked up the flowers. I took them to Brueton Park and threw them in the bushes. The following day was my 30th birthday. I still hoped that Claire would turn up but no joy. I arrived in Limassol and signed into the Mediterranean Beach Hotel. I still deluded myself. I convinced myself that Claire might be an air stewardess and had come over on another flight. I even imagined that she was staying in the bedroom next to mine. I visited Michael in Nicosia and asked him if he knew Claire. I was still trying to create my dream world, but that was all it was, a dream that was fast turning into a horrific nightmare.

- FIRST ADMISSION
I came back from Cyprus feeling depressed. My job at Apricot computers had finished and I had not been offered a full-time position. I thought that everyone was angry with me for messing up their plans for my 30th birthday party. I kept on going into Solihull hoping to meet Claire. The idea came into my head that she would re-arrange things for Easter and that maybe we could fly out to Cyprus to celebrate Easter there. The pressure on me was growing, everything was falling apart and I just could not accept it. I spent a couple of weeks on Parade Mailing and then I worked for my brother for a few weeks. Working for my brother was really stressful and I was starting to get messages from the newspapers and the radio. I thought that certain headlines were intended for me. I saw one article about Richard Branson which I thought was encouraging my original thinking and that I had the potential to be a great entrepreneur. I was starting to get illusions of grandeur. I thought that I was an important person and that secret operations took place at Birmingham Business Park which is where Apricot computers were located. I started to think that the government knew about me, that I had telepathic powers, and that I could transmit messages on TV and radio just by thinking thoughts. I imagined that scriptwriters could read my mind and would include my thoughts and ideas in their programmes.

On the Wednesday after the Grand National and US Masters I finally cracked. I spent all day in my car driving around in a crazy fashion. I thought that the number plates contained messages for me and that the colour of the car signified whether or not I was safe. I was also getting messages off the radio. I thought that Claire, Emma and Bonita were fighting for my attention by playing different songs on different radio stations. I thought that everyone was forming alliances either to help me or hinder me. I thought that Rupert Murdoch and Richard Branson were involved. I drove along the Stratford Road heading for London to see John Major or his representatives. I thought that MI5 and MI6 were onto me and following me around. I reached Henley-in-Arden feeling dizzy not knowing what to do. I drove near to a church just past Henley-in-Arden and stopped the car. I got out of the car and walked over to a green patch of land. I thought I would be safe there. I thought green colours could protect me. After a short time an RSPCA van came by and the woman in the van spoke to me. I was obviously looking distressed.

I don’t know what I said to her but she evidently decided to call the police in Stratford-upon- Avon. A police car arrived and took me away to the police station. I must have been there about one or two hours. I traded riddles and nursery rhymes with one of the pc’s. I thought his stories contained hidden messages but he was just playing for time until the doctor arrived. Someone assessed my condition, I had no idea he was a doctor, people came in and out. Then I was taken outside and led to an ambulance. I pleaded with them to let me go. I thought I was being taken hostage. I thought that the UK and US governments had done a deal with Iraq. I thought that this happened, that mental hospitals were filled with victims of psychological warfare and that if you broke enough rules you could be admitted. I had broken too many rules.

I was taken to Central Hospital to be assessed. I thought that I was a victim of psychological warfare. All knowledge of my importance and telepathic powers would be denied. Over time I began to realise that I was indeed ill. I still held onto some of my beliefs. I confided in my mother about Claire and asked her to visit her which she did. She was shocked. Claire told her about me. That she was not interested in me at all and that I followed here everywhere and that she had sold help white Suzuki jeep because of me.

I was in hospital for four weeks. When I left I was on anti-psychotics which were very strong and made me feel like a zombie. I went into Solihull in the hope of seeing Claire and confirming the story my mum had told me. I soon realised that a few people in Solihull knew about my illness. I thought that certain people were trying to send me messages. I went into the Raison D’Etre wine bar and Claire was there with here friends. At first she ignored me, then she spoke to her friends who passed a few remarks which were not very nice. Eventually I left. My life was in pieces, I thought it could not get any worse and yet things kept on deteriorating.

I started working at Parade Mailing again for two weeks then left to work for my brother but the drugs made this impossible so I stopped taking them. The UAE business was finally up and running and I went over there to help set things up. I did not feel too bad. I went over on two occasions. While back in the UK we got news that the business had been closed down due to the fact that an explicit love horoscope had been promoted on one of the telephone lines. This was catastrophic.

- SECOND ADMISSION
I was again out of work. I eventually got a job with an internet company but only lasted a few days. On the day I left my dad died. my mother and me found him lying in bed. I think the stress of this led to my second breakdown. This happened on the 19th December 1995. I again believed that Claire was going to meet me over Christmas. I got into such a state that I stayed out all night the day before my dad’s funeral in a very bad psychotic state. My mum eventually picked me up but I missed my dad’s funeral. I felt ashamed and thought that people would hate me. I still thought that I could sort things out with Clare. I thought that secret societies met in pubs to discuss business matters and industrial espionage.

The day after my dad’s funeral I was sectioned and taken to Solihull Hospital. I thought I was going to be killed. I stayed there four weeks and was then released.

- THIRD ADMISSION
Shortly after this, I went to Emma’s house and found out that she had lost all her hair. This was another shock. It seemed that not only was I suffering but those I cared about were hurting to. My 31st birthday arrived and passed, and then on the 21st February 1996 it would have been my dad’s birthday. A couple of days later I took my fifth overdose in my life. I was first taken to Heartlands Hospital and then transferred to Solihull hospital where I stayed as a voluntary patient for nearly 6 months. I had no energy, I was very lethargic, and stayed in bed nearly all the time I was there. I only had tuna and cucumber sandwiches for both lunch and dinner and occasionally went downstairs to buy myself some chocolate bars. Also at this time, my dad’s home was being emptied and redecorated so that it could be sold. The whole thing passed me by. I did not want to know about it. I could not deal with it. I could not cope with it. I just tried to ignore that fact that it was happening.

- FOUTH ADMISSION
My mother wanted to move to Cyprus and also thought it important that I find accommodation of my own. Up until now, I was still living with her and Sam. I t was arranged with the local council that if I could sell my house in Monkspath I would be offered council accommodation. In time I agreed the sale of my house. I was discharged from hospital and returned to my mum’s until all the paperwork was sorted. I would stay there another 9 months. The house was finally sold in December 1996. In January I was offered a council flat in Chelmsley Wood in a tower block. I turned it down. My mum wrote a letter to the council supported by my consultant suggesting that the accommodation was not suitable. I was offered a second flat in Kingshurst which I accepted. I agreed to move into the flat in April. The stress levels were growing again. This was my worst nightmare. To live in a council flat for the rest of my life, growing old and living alone. I started to get delusional again. I thought that the IRA had planted a bomb under my car. I also tried to prove my telepathic powers. I was determined to watch the Grand National and control the race but it was cancelled due to a bomb scare. I booked my self into The Moat Hotel on Saturday Night feeling very delusional and acting in a bizarre fashion. On the Sunday I drove to Stratford and onward to a Glider Club near Evesham. I told the members there that I thought there was a bomb under my car. They called the police who took me to Evesham police station. They called my mother who took me to Solihull Hospital where I was sectioned. I stayed there two months and was then discharged but I soon stopped taking my medication and quickly became psychotic. I started betting on golf and tennis matches believing I could control the results. When I lost I believed that there were stronger forces working against me. I thought that the Chinese government had dropped a nerve gas over the country and that I was responsible for the death of thousands of people. I thought that people were after me and were trying to trap me. I ran into the back of a red car which I thought was trying to slow me down and was part of the conspiracy. I returned home and took about 8 tablets of olanzapine. I phoned my mum and told her I felt tired. I was taken to Solihull Hospital overnight to be assessed for a potential overdose. I discharged myself the day after but I was still ill.

- FIFTH ADMISSION
In December, I locked myself out of my flat and became psychotic. I walked into Chelmsley Wood police station and asked them to take me to a place of safety, possibly to the church near Solihull town centre. I was locked in a cell overnight. In the morning I was seen by my consultant and later on taken to Solihull hospital by a social worker where I was sectioned again. I was there for 3 months. Over the Christmas period, I was allowed out to go to my brother’s. While I was out I paid three visits to Claire’s home asking her parents to help me. I thought that Clare’s dad wad high up in the business world and could help me. Eventually he and his son Glenn lost their temper. Glenn threw a couple of punches and I knelt on the ground in submission. I think that finally broke the cycle. I had pushed things as far as they could go. I had few illusions left. I started to realise that the only way I could remain stable was to take my medication regularly.

CONCLUSION
I was discharged in March 1998 and I have taken olanzapine on a regular basis ever since. I am now stable and have not been in hospital since. My confidence is slowly building. I have undertaken a few college courses and put together some basic internet sites which help me pass the time. I watch soap operas such as Neighbours and Eastenders, lots of sport, and I listen to radio 5 a lot with its coverage of news and sport.

My next objective is to try and find employment. I have tried a work placement but only lasted a week. My confidence is still a little fragile it seems. Not having a social life and only having one friend can make you feel very unusual. It is difficult relating to other people. The simple routine of working is hard to cope with. The stress levels rise and if you don’t have a social life then you cannot relieve the stress and it grows and grows.

I hope in time I can come to terms with this. I have accepted a lot of things which before I could not deal with. I thought that if I never marry then life would not be worth living. I still hope that I will meet someone special but only time will tell.

FINAL MESSAGE
Where there is life there is hope.

Written for Internet Mental Health, August 1996

When I first became ill is hard to say. There was no dramatic change in personality or behaviour. I was always quite shy and withdrawn throughout my teen years and early adulthood. When I turned 27, I moved from western Ontario to central British Columbia. The B.C. economy was booming and it was easy to find a job as a draftsman with a large utility company and I was doing quite well. For the first year I travelled extensively throughout the central interior, only home on weekends. I made a few friends, and even found a girl to fall in love with.

As the relationship grew she moved in with me and my roommate. I was still travelling a lot and only home on weekends. I had been a casual marijuana smoker and, with my girlfriend and my roommate, experimented with cocaine. I gradually became depressed and slept a lot when I was home, and withdrew even more. I became untrusting of people and even thought my girlfriend and roommate were having an affair behind my back, which turned out to be true. When I found this out to be true, the house broke up and we went our separate ways.

I thought I had a good reason to be depressed and paranoid, however the depression lasted too long and in time I couldn’t even work. After about 1 year of breaking up with my girlfriend I started to seek medical help, but the availability of services was limited and I couldn’t express my thoughts and feelings well enough to be understood. I was always having thoughts about my girlfriend and roommate and how I caught them. I was very depressed and unable to sleep.

Finally my parents came and “rescued” me. I went on sick leave from work and moved in with them. In the ensuing 6 months I attended an outpatient program at the local hospital and gradually started to feel better. With the introduction of Stelazine (trifluoperazine) (20mg/day) I quit ruminating about past events, gained trust in people and lost the depression.

When I recovered enough, I was discharged from day care and moved back up north with a reduction in medication and not knowing what the diagnosis was. After being home for a while and receiving counselling at the local hospital, I learned my diagnosis was schizophrenia and thought I was an “axe murderer type guy”. Not wanting to be schizophrenic I quit the medication; after all if you don’t take the medication, you don’t have the disease. This only lasted about 6 months, then I was hospitalized and treated for depression. The treatment for depression was 1/2 way working, however my thoughts were very jumbled and then I didn’t trust anyone, not even my therapists. My thoughts were like listening to 10 different radio stations that weren’t quite on the station.

Eventually I was prescribed Navane (thiothixene) (2.5 mg/day). I filled the prescription and one day a few weeks later when I was trying to solve a tough problem at work, I took one of the pills. The results were very dramatic. Within 45 minutes of taking the stuff my thoughts cleared up as if by magic. I wanted more of the stuff but I didn’t know how much was a therapeutic dose and my physician wouldn’t prescribe a higher dose. The local psychiatrist didn’t believe the schizophrenia diagnosis. Over the next 3 years I was running on about 1/2 speed and hospitalized on average every 9 months.

Eventually the economy became bad and I was laid off. I moved in with my parents and began to see a local psychiatrist. The diagnosis was schizophrenia and I was prescribed Navane (20 mg/day) and felt as though the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders. I hadn’t had anything to do with street drugs for about 4 years now and was warned that involvement with them or alcohol would cause a worsening of the symptoms.

I attended Okanagan College and earned my grade 12 over again and first year university. Eventually I met a wonderful woman, fell in love got married and moved to Vancouver. I found work as a draftsman and attended night school. The medication was eventually changed to Risperidal (risperidone) and I felt even better. It had been 12 years from the onset of the illness till then. I spent 6 years living in hell without proper diagnosis and now I am fully recovered. I have earned an honours Diploma of Technology and am about to start a wonderful career.

It is now 1996 and without the support of my loving wife, psychiatrist and medication I would not be where I am today.

The keys to recovery are:

• stay away from street drugs
• take your medications as directed
• proper counselling and therapy
• correct diagnosis