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.

I am high functioning and am going to school, but the stress causes some paranoia. I feel judged and I wish to be able to be free of this blasted feeling inadequate.

How do you explain the hopelessness that occurs sporadically causing withdrawal and frustration. At times I feel cold and emotionless, but other times I alsmost feel normal. My past experiences taught me to fight the uncontrolable urges that over take my reason. I’ve learned to control those urges, because of them I hitched hiked to florida.

During times of duress I suffer hallucinations that scare me to death and hear voices that aren’t truely there.

No one saw things as I did. No one believed the things I thought were happening to me. The longer this continued, the worse it
became. Before long, I thought my house was being wire-tapped and that my food could possibly be poisened. Now living at home with my parents, I did not want to endanger them so I kept things to myself.

My parents sent me to a psychiatrist. They were worried because I was not working. I graduated from college while working part-time
as well as being involved in college clubs. Now, I was sleeping in until ten or eleven o’clock in the morning and often not working.
The psychiatrist offered to prescribe me an anti-depressant, because I never told him what I thought was really happening to me. If I
talked, things would surely get worse.

Eventually, it became intolerable. I believed my neighbors were plotting against me. I left notes in their mailboxes demanding that
they leave me alone. “Enough is enough,” I wrote. One of the neighbors was an FBI agent. I thought he was behind the wire-tapping. One of the other neighbors caught me, and the next day I was given the choice of going to the Crisis Center or going to jail. I chose the Crisis Center and was hospitalized.

During my stay at the hospital, I was prescribed Risperdal. At that time, it was a new medication and I was told I responded well to
it. I no longer believed people were out to get me. The hospital staff was pleased with me because I showered every day and attended
all the patient activities. I was the only patient that wore street clothes. They said I might be able to hold a job.

After getting out, I was determined to be normal. I found a part-time job as a sales associate in a department store, then worked
full-time for a lumber retail store chain. I did not mind the jobs, but wanted to use my college education. Writing always appealed to
me, so I enrolled in a few classes at a local university and worked as a “stringer” at a weekly newspaper. The position went well, and
I was hired by a daily newspaper.

The job did not last long. I stopped taking the medication because I had a difficult time keeping up. I was also extremely self-
conscious because I was approaching my thirties and was not on my own yet. People at work teased me about things I could do nothing
about. As a result of being off the medication, I turned in articles that made little sense and quoted people as saying things they never said. The managing editor had a meeting with me and told me he was concerned. He said he contacted the editor of the weekly
where I worked as a stringer and and my past professors about my ability to do the job. I denied there was anything wrong and was
soon fired.

After that, I refused to take the medication. I worked through labor temporary services and factories. The longest I held a job
was for nine months. It was on the “grave yard shift” for a a plastics factory. I managed to get my own place, but young people
moved in next door and were having parties every weekend. On my days away from the job, it made it difficult to sleep. I asked them
to stop a few times, and they became angry.

One evening, they did not have a party. Three of them cornered me and swore at me. They would not let me in my place. I was afraid
and confused. No one was that mad at me before. A fight broke out and I could not get away from them. The police broke it up and I
was sent to the hospital with an eye swollen shut and they were sent to jail.

After getting out of the hospital, I did not want to go back to the apartment. I returned to my parents’ house, but they did not want
me back without the medication. After repeated talks and my refusal to take the medication, they locked me out. I would wait on the
porch for them for hours, and they would let me back in. We argued and I was eventually hospitalized again.

Following the hospitalization, I was sent to a halfway house. My days and evenings were spent with other people that had mental
illness. During this time, I had to accept the that I was sick and that my life would be different. There was no where to go and no
one to do things with that did not have a mental illness. I heard many peoples’ experiences and it helped me not to fight or ignore
the fact that I was mentally ill.

For the past four years, I have been working at an agency that houses the homeless and mentally ill. It is the longest I have held
a job since I graduated college almost fifteen years ago. I worked part-time for two years and was then hired into a full-time
position. It was hard not to bounce around when things were not going well or I wished they were different, but it has been very
rewarding. I get to see people come and go rather than leaving and starting over again.

I was in and out of the hospital and day treatment for a while, as the voices came and went. Sometimes I felt so good that I was in denial about my illness… until symptoms returned. I was so tired of treatment at that point, tired of the stigma I felt from my own mother and even my psychiatrist. He’d told her I’d be disabled for the rest of my life, and she believed it—neither of them thought that a person with a mental illness like schizophrenia could recover.

I couldn’t stand the stigma, so I moved out. My plan was to find a job, but I ended up homeless on the streets in Florida. I had no food, no medicine, and a job working a concession stand. For a while, I was living in someone’s garage, and in exchange for the living space, I had to do all kinds of work. When my symptoms became more severe, I was taken to a crisis unit.

This is where my story turns around. For the first time in my life, I was connected with a social worker who helped me get case management, Social Security, clothes, food, and shelter in an assisted living facility. My insecurities about living alone started to go away, and I felt motivated. This was the beginning of my recovery.

I was prescribed newer, more effective medicines, and a drug called Respidol finally made the voices disappear for good. I was able to live on my own in a regular apartment for the first time. I learned basic coping skills from my case managers and friends, as well as from consumer advocates who had experience in the mental health system. They taught me how to advocate for myself. Their help was so important in my recovery process, it made me want to give something back. I started telling my own story to consumers. Amazingly, I found that doing this not only inspired others, but helped my own recovery. The momentum kept building, like an upward spiral.

After 20 years, I finally went back to college. There were case managers who doubted me, who said I shouldn’t apply for student loans because I might not be able to get the necessary grades. But in the 1990s, I got my bachelor’s and subsequent master’s degree in social work and consistently achieved straight A’s. At this point I was completely independent. I was off Social Security, off Medicare and Medicaid, off subsidized housing. I now own a condo through a rent-to-own program I created, and that’s where I live… with my wife. Did I forget to mention I got married?

Now, I’m the coordinator for the Office of Consumer Affairs in Florida, an office funded by the Florida Department of Children and Families. I supervise peer specialists who are sharing their stories the way I shared mine. When my organization conducts focus groups with consumers, they usually say that it’s a little bit of everything that helped them the most. Not just medicine, not just therapy, not just financial stability, etc. It’s all important to work on, and it’s different for every consumer. Recovery is an individual thing. No one can tell you how to do it—the important thing is to know you can. You have the power and ability to make recovery a reality.

William McDaniels

Intro: I’m a schizophrenic that has suffered for a number of years. This story was written with the intent of being it read by psychiatric professionals. This is my story.

History: I was born to Jon and Margery Thorburn the 16th of July 1980 at Sioux Valley Hospital in Sioux Falls, SD. I have one other sibling, an older sister, she is 4 years older than I. I grew up in Canton, SD and attended preschool and kindergarten there. My grandparents on my mother’s side, Carl and Helga Ofstad, and their son Bob Ofstad owned and operated Ofstad’s Oil Company in Canton for a great number of years before selling the gas station in 1995 and moving to Hot Springs, SD. I spent a lot of my youth spending time with them and having overnights with them at their house which was located no more than 10 feet from the station. I think it was those years spent with them that I truly had an understanding of what hard work and dedication is and also developed a fondness for automotive and mechanics in general.

My father works as an electrician at the Post Office fixing the machines that process the mail. My mother went to Augustana College to become an Art Teacher, she graduated but never finished her student teaching portion. This has always laid heavily on her mind. I don’t care whether she was a teacher or not, I’m proud of her for graduating and making a difference in the lives of so many children as well as adults. She cared for the young, the old, the mentally challenged as well as the physically challenged. I would help her all the time with the babysitting and later with the assisted living she had in her home. In assisted living she cared for a blind man named Roger and a mentally challenged man named Billy. I grew very close to them and still think of them as part of the family today. Being around people with disabilities gave me a great sense of caring for others and an understanding of how hard life can be for some people but also how much easier it can become with the right caregiver. My mother would later fall ill with CNS Lymphoma which is a form of Brain Cancer. It’s so sad that something like this could happen to such a great person so full of life and then for that life to be sucked from their soul. It’s also very ironic that she ended up in a nursing home needing the same care that she once had given to others such a short time ago.

We had two dogs Molly Nell, a German Shepard mix and Bella, a Golden Retriever. I always had a love for animals and would later in life have a multitude of pets while at the present only have a Persian cat named Peek-A-Boo, a turtle named Stephen, and a 40 gallon aquarium of fish. I only had maybe a handful of friends when I lived in Canton but the closest to me was Solomon Oroyle who’s mother was friends with my mother and who’s sister was friends with my sister. Solomon’s mother Linda was very religious and a lot of that rubbed off on my mom and ultimately on me as well. At the age of five I asked Jesus to come into my heart at Faith Family Outreach during a “Gospel Bill Show” presentation. I’ve always been very close to God and would often talk with him while I was alone with no one else around, I think at the present I’m closer to God than most people and are. My mother told me that when I was younger I told her I had seen an Angel and that it was as tall as a telephone pole. So needless to say I’m very religious.

I was 7 years old in 1987 when my parents got a divorce. It was my mother’s decision, my parents relationship was unhealthy for them both and my mom thought that my dad was a negative person and a bad influence on me, she had a wish that I would grow up to be positive like Norman Vincent Peale the author of the “The Power Of Positive Thinking”. I think that I have succeeded in that and I support my mother’s decision. My mother got full custody of my sister and I and we moved to Sioux Falls to a Townhouse on the East side. My sister and I had visitation with our dad every Saturday and went to his parents summer cottage on Tar Island for 2 weeks every year.

I was enrolled at Sioux Falls Lutheran School from 1st to 3rd grade before being moved to Bancroft Public School for the 4th grade. I hated it, and didn’t do well that year and was disillusioned by the way the kids acted in public school. The following year after pleading with my mother I was placed back in private school at Sioux Falls Lutheran and couldn’t have been happier, I was back with old friends and back in the study of religion and the Bible. I attended through the 8th grade. My 8th grade teacher, Mr. Merkord, was my teacher that year and really turned my life around as far as school was concerned. Prior to having him I had a long history of getting behind in school work and handing almost everything in late. I was the biggest procrastinator in my class. Having a good teacher made all the difference, he was like a mentor to me and there was just something in his eyes that was very vexing to me, it just made you want to change for the better and be like him. Thanks to him my study habits improved and I was prepared for High School.

Myself as well as many others thought it would be best for me to attend public school for high school because you just get so much more out of it. I went to Washington High School. It took a while to adjust but by Sophomore year, was well acclimated to the adjustment. I only made one good friend, Nick Eisenhower, whom I still am close to today. I excelled in Algebra, my most favorite study, was in JROTC, and was in long distance Track my Senior year. I had always been a runner and don’t know why I didn’t join the Track team before my Senior year but am very thankful I did, it was a great experience. I still run on occasions and enter Fun Runs from time to time. I graduated in 1999 with a class of some 400 students. I had no plans for the future at that point but hoped I would before the fall. 1999 was the best year of my life it truly was a milestone, I had just graduated, I had my whole life ahead of me. That Summer I went on a bike trek alone across the state of South Dakota. It was a grueling but enjoyable 3 ½ day trip that ended in Hot Springs where my Uncle lived at the time. I spent the month of June with him before going home. I also went to New York City as a side trip with my father that summer. Our summer cottage is on the St. Lawrence River on the Canadian side just North of New York so we didn’t have far to travel. We also visited Niagara Falls.

Before I knew it, it was August and I hadn’t even been enrolled in a college or university. I enrolled at SDSU in Brookings and thought I could stay with my Grandma Abby, my father’s mother. I had vague aspirations to become a pilot and tried getting in all the necessary classes that I needed but because I waited so long to get enrolled and reserve a seat for classes there were very few to take. I decided to do a general enrollment. When the “rat race” was all over and after having such a time, I later decided not to proceed with these plans and dropped the classes and took the year off and stayed with my mom and got a job until I could figure things out.

With flying recently being on my mind I instinctively thought of the Air Force. I talked to a recruiter at the Mall about it and soon got into the delayed enlistment program. I was not due to enlist until 03-01-2000 so I got a job at a car wash part-time as well as a part-time job with UPS as an unloader. I enjoyed working and did exceptional, I had very good work ethic despite only having 4 paper routes while I went school. I didn’t want a very demanding job while I went to school because it was hard for me to concentrate on my studies and juggle the two. I enlisted in March of 2000 as a Jet Engine Mechanic as my test scores were very high in the mechanics portion. It was to be a 6 year commitment with an $8,000 bonus plus a guaranteed rank of E-3 upon graduation from Tech School.

Basic Training was very hard for me. It was only 6 weeks but the mental breakdown that they try to induce on the trainees can be difficult and make the stay seem like forever. I had never been around so much yelling in all my life, I was never really yelled at growing up but rarely ever needed to be anyway as I was very well behaved. I kind of felt sorry for my mom and wanted to make her life a little easier as my sister was a total ‘basket case” growing up. The weeks continued with training, mental abuse, mental bashing, yelling and more yelling till finally I was through.

I took a bus from Lackland AFB to Shepard AFB where I learned the “ins and outs” of a TF33 jet engine. I was pleased to find that some of my fellow trainees from my flight in Basic Training were in my same class at Tech School. The term of my education was short, about 8wks, but when I graduated I felt comfortable around a jet engine, at least this particular model. In Basic Training I had requested my top 10 choices for what base I would eventually be stationed in. There were no guarantees you would even get one of your choices. Ellsworth AFB in Rapid City, SD was choice #1; Fairchild AFB in Spokane, WA was #5; I got the latter. I chose Fairchild because I knew a family, The Pedersen’s, whom I’d known from our summer cottage, as they have property next door to ours. The Pedersen’s resided in Portland, Oregon; about a 5 hour drive from the base. I grew very fond of them and went to visit whenever I had the chance. After graduation from Tech School I took 2 weeks leave and went home. The day after my birthday 07-17-2000 I arrived at Fairchild late that night. The morning would proceed with in-processing. Within weeks of arriving I received 2 stripes to signify the rank of A1C or E-3.

I had my own personal dorm room and only had to share the common areas with one other person. After in-processing I began on-the-training on KC-135 aircraft which utilized an F-108 jet engine. The engine was completely different from the one I was trained to work on in Tech School but the general mechanics of it were the same and I grew to find that because of the design and because it was a newer engine it was easier to work on and maintain. Besides performing maintenance on the jet engines I was also required to perform maintenance on the APUs (Auxiliary Power Units) which are the starting devices for the jet engines and are a small jet engine themselves. I missed my home life terribly and called home and took leave as often as I could. I didn’t have many friends in the dormitory even after the first 2 years of living there. I was very much a loner and my social life reflected that but I soon became friends with TSgt Ensor, the Dorm Manager. He was a really great guy and was kind of like a mentor to me and the first person in the military that I had met that had kind of the same mentality as I did. What I mean is that most people in the service are so engulfed in protocol and being the way that the military thinks is the way to be that they forget themselves. I was strong willed and wasn’t about to change for anyone and never did, I complied with the absolute bare minimum and no more. I was later told I had a personality disorder that didn‘t agree with military service. I am proud of that and think it speaks volumes about my personality. Not only was Ensor not just another “robot”, he was very much a Christian and following his retirement which was about 1 year after I got to know him he got a job as a pastor in Liberty Lake, WA. I was saddened to see him go but pleased to see him doing something more worthwhile and that he liked doing. I attended the church every Sunday and would visit Pastor Don at his home about once a week.

The training continued for me on the jet engines and at my 2 year mark was due for a promotion to E-4. It was at this point in my enlistment that I grew afraid of every passing day, the more I learned the more I was expected to know and do and with the promotion came even more responsibility. I began to fear progression. In the military you are constantly moving forward but I didn’t want to move forward until I felt ready and didn’t want to be pushed. It was out of my control, I had to move forward and did but not without the cost of my health. I grew more and more stressed about things and it affected my work. I had enough training that I was trusted to work alone on jet launches and one day there was a problem with a jet having excessive throttle vibration from the engines. I was sent up to talk with the pilots about the problem. I had never been more afraid and alone in all my life; suddenly I felt as though I would faint but didn’t. I had no idea what to tell them; some electrician specialists sensed that I needed help and came up to assist my recommendation. We concluded that it was within limits and wasn’t a concern for flight. It was after that that I started to question my competency. I was always a good troop and my supervisor was always impressed with my work ethic but I had a serious problem working alone and the more I thought about it the more the stress seemed to melt my mind and I started forgetting things that I was taught. I began making careless mistakes in the aircraft forms and losing tools or leaving them behind on aircrafts.

A year prior to the 2 year mark I was wanting to make drastic changes to my life. I started eating really healthy and working out 4 hours a day and running 6 miles a day. I got such a high out of it. I was in the best shape of my life. I thought of my diet and exercise as my primary focus and had almost completely forgotten that I was in the military; I just wanted to be this other person. I lost about 30 pounds and I think people at work started to worry about me because I lost so much weight so soon. I wanted to cleanse my soul. I didn’t want to eat anymore I only drank water and worked out and read the bible excessively at home and work. I had been a heavy smoker and drank from time to time but now everything stopped. The more I refrained from the earthly desires the less I wanted them. I read the book “ The Power Of Positive Thinking”. I started to pray for people I didn’t even know. And then I started thinking I was Jesus Christ or a very Christ Like individual or Prophet sent to earth to make right what I thought was wrong.

After these delusions of grandeur, paranoia set in and I started remembering “911” and listening to all the news reports about terrorists and plans for war. I was terrified to go to war. Not to fight for my country but just the idea of having to go some where unknown to me at the drop of the hat. I don’t handle change very well and being deployed would just mess with my world. I had been on a short deployment once to California for 2 weeks while the flight line was getting repaired and even that adjustment was difficult for me. My name was on a list to deploy sometime in the near future and having that on my mind and knowing that it was completely out my hands made me sick. The more I watched the TV the more things just didn’t make sense. It’s hard to explain but it was just very strange television that seemed to be pertaining to me, I thought everyone in the world was passively giving me messages through television that the government knew I was a target of terrorism and that I had something to do with “911” and was giving out classified military information to outside sources. I know now that none of this was true but at the time it seemed very real to me.

To add to my paranoia one of the dorm Bay Orderlies or possibly my neighbor had taken the trash can from the kitchen. It returned a day later. I thought everyone on the base was in on some sort of conspiracy to corrupt me and even if I was innocent they would incriminate me with some kind of war crime. I had the notion that they were looking in my trash for information. I started being careful with what I threw away. Along with the television the radio, books, magazines, even the Bible didn’t seem right. The words were changing to pertain to me. I was in the bath room reading a “Readers Digest” and suddenly I was reading all about my self and my supervisor and everyone I worked with. The article was complete with pictures and everything, I closed it and when I reopened it the article had vanished. I didn’t know who or what to trust. I always had faith and trust in God but even the Holy Bible was not right, when I read it, it was like reading Satan’s Bible. I was terrified. I could not escape from my madness.

That’s when I made a 911 and had an ambulance come and pick me up. My mind was completely melted, I didn’t know what else to do. I needed help. I went in to the ER at Sacred Heart Medical Center and told the doctors and later my supervisor that I had been stressed to wits end and contemplated suicide but did not let anyone know of my delusions. I was sent home with my supervisor and spent the night at his place. The doctors had given me a drug to help me relax. The next day I went to the AGS First Sergeant and Chief Martinez to talk about my position as a jet engine mechanic. Chief Martinez was very kind to me in my strife and helped me a great deal later. I told the Chief I didn’t want to be deployed and that deployment along with newly attained responsibilities frightened me. He made me undeployable and put me in Tool Crib to hand out tools and keep track of inventory.

In Tool Crib there was less stress but at this point even learning how to do the most simple of tasks was difficult. I later asked to be a dorm Bay Orderly and was in charge of cleaning the dorms along with a team of four others. The stress diminished but the paranoia continued. I thought everyone on the base was watching me and hated me for selling out my country. I thought that my dorm room had cameras and microphones in the vents but didn’t check because I didn’t want them to know I was on to them. After about a week as a Bay Orderly and not eating or sleeping in days and just sitting in my room staring into space I was very deep into a psychosis. Suddenly I forgot who I was for a moment and decided to write on a piece of paper who I was and tape it to my bedside in the event I should wake up and not remember who in fact I was.

There was an occurrence in the Cyber Café which was on the base that really scared me. I was sitting watching TV on a flat panel screen on the wall when suddenly there were closed captions that appeared and were talking to me directly, telling me that everyone knew what I was up to and asked what my intentions were. I thought that since I was in a Cyber Café that the people on computers were uploading all these words onto the TV screen, it made perfect sense to me and supported my conspiracy theory. The next day the Chief brought me in to the hospital again after one of my friends had reported my strange behavior and beliefs that I had told him about. This friend was Frenante Luab my one and only true friend on the base. I was admitted in the psychiatric ward at the hospital for 2 weeks involuntarily for failure to sign-in. In my evaluation I told the doctor with the Chief present that I was hearing voices that were telling me I was going to die, the voices were like that from hell. I heard people screaming in agony. I think they were demons. After I was admitted they tried to get me to sign-in again, when they gave me the paper I signed in as Satan. So I had gone from Prophet to Devils Advocate in the course of about 2 weeks.

Once in the hospital I was put on anti-psychotics and after a few days the voices stopped but when I read literature in books and magazines it still eerily pertained to me. There were people in the ward that I thought were undercover FBI agents posing as patients. This did not make my recovery any easier, its like wherever I went I couldn’t escape the conspirators. While in the hospital the AGS Commander came with a paper for me to sign waiving my rights to protest a discharge, I signed it.

When I was released from the hospital, I was to discharge from the military immediately and the Chief made this process go along in an expedient manner and within 2 days I was completely discharged honorably with my the MGI Bill granted. I felt that somehow I had been pardoned and was happy that all this had come to an end. Before ever going to the hospital the first time I was tested and evaluated by mental health professionals on the base and they concluded that I had suffered from a personality disorder most of my life that included cluster C characteristics that deviated very much from the norm and that the disorder impaired my existence in a military environment and that civilian life with very low stress and medication would help me recover. The civilian mental health doctors on the other hand concluded I suffered form schizophrenia. It is the diagnosis of schizophrenia that I agree with most from what I have read and understand of the disease and is ultimately what my present doctor, Phil Miller, believes I have.

As I drove home to South Dakota with my mother I still had paranoia that I was being followed. At every gas station that we stopped at along the way I would see the signs “security cameras in use” and imagined this was just another way for the government to keep an eye on me. I was so relieved to finally be home, for the first time in a long while I felt safe. Two days after arriving home I was scheduled to get set up for health care at the VA and follow up with Dr. Phil Miller in mental health. It was 10 months before I came fully back to reality and got a job at Millennium Recycling as a sorter. It was very low stress and I enjoyed it because I could listen to music and no one bothered me and I had a great supervisor.

This job was very humbling and I think that’s why it appealed to me. It kept my mind busy and away from strange thoughts. I worked there for 1yr and 4mos before getting a job at Saturn Of Sioux Falls as a Lube Technician. This let my true talent come out as a mechanic while at the same time keeping me occupied. I attained many friends and absolutely loved my job until Jarod Stevens became the manager and threw my whole world upside down again.

Jarod Stevens is an Anti-Christian, Hitler loving, racist exhibiting, self centered, egotistical, bastard that rose to power as an absolute tyrant in his own right in the Saturn Express Lube. And all his personality came equipped with a full wardrobe of sheep’s clothing. I befriended him in the beginning but then grew to hate him as an enemy when he became my boss. I have no problem with authority figures but Jarod brought authority to new heights. I wish I had never met him. It was about a year after having him as my boss, almost 2 years altogether at Saturn that I had my second meltdown. I started drinking very heavily at home, mainly Vodka in large volumes. I would sit in my apartment and drink with racing thoughts about work and how much I hated working for Jarod. I’d pass out, wake up, drink some more, and pass out again.

In the month of August 2006 my sister needed help moving to a new apartment. I told her I would help but that she would have to do her part as well. She suffers from chronic depression and its hard for her to get the smallest tasks completed without an extraordinary amount of time and help form others. She had about a month to find a new apartment, pack, get a truck, and clean the old apartment. Well, she sat on it up until about a week and half before the due date. She had plenty of boxes that my dad had provided with absolutely nothing in them a week from having to be out of there. The only boxes that were packed were those of Sarah’s things. Sarah is my niece. I had to step in and do everything for my sister but not without first asking Jarod for a week off. I didn’t get the time requested but did everything for my sister anyway. I went with her and found a place, packed all her things, got a truck, moved her things, cleaned the old apartment, and later got everything situated in the new apartment while at the same time working full-time at Saturn. I had been “burning the candle on both ends” and was physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted.

I confronted my boss one day and told him that I sensed a tension between us and that I wanted to make peace with it. He came over that night and we talked things over. I told him about my condition and what happened in WA and what I thought of him and that I didn’t agree with the way he treated his employees. I told him it was getting on my nerves how he talked about himself all day long and how great his life was. I told him “each and every one of these people that work for you has something special about themselves, they may not talk about it day in and day out but they do” and that “it’s better to keep one’s pride to himself.” He disagreed with me on a lot of issues but also agreed that I had made some good points.

The next morning I showed up for work intoxicated and with a bad attitude. I performed maintenance on a few vehicles before Jarod found that I was intoxicated an asked me to come with him into the General Manager’s office. He presented me with a write-up that stated that coming to work the way I had was unacceptable and that this is a warning and that I wasn’t fired but if it happens in the future I would be terminated. He sent me home for the day and later came over to talk with me some more. We talked for a couple hours, he told me that he was worried about me and that I should seek help. I was scheduled to work the following day, I didn’t sleep that night nor had I slept much the entire week. I listened to Ensor’s Sermons that I had on cassette and suddenly felt so high on life and one with the Holy Spirit, I would later say I had been hit with the Holy Spirit. I called 911 and told the operator I needed help, that I couldn’t calm down, that I needed to be tranquilized because I was on a spiritual high. The police showed up at my door and stayed with me until the ambulance arrived. While I waited I preached to the police officers and told them of my experience and tried to convince them that there truly is a God and I’m iron clad proof of this.

I was admitted at Avera Behavioral Health and was given a psychiatric evaluation that concluded I was having strange thoughts and was very hyper religious. I was told that my goals while there were to try and remedy my behavior and think more clearly. I was given Zyprexa and group therapy sessions all of which helped me to calm down and vent a little. I calmed down but my religious high proceeded for about a month. I was there 3 days before being discharged with an undetermined diagnosis and was to follow up with Dr. Miller at the VA. Is was Wednesday when I was discharged and I told Jarod I was out and that I was taking the rest of the week off and would return the following Monday. On Friday I received from Jarod that he had spoken with his superiors and they told him that I should not have gotten a warning but should have been terminated the day of the incident. He called to inform me that I was terminated effective immediately, I told him I was fine with that and was actually somewhat relieved to not ever have to look at him again. I would later conduct a hearing with Jarod and other people involved in my employment and appeal the decision of termination on the grounds of wrongful termination due to a discrimination of a mental illness. I had copies of the warning Jarod and I had signed. I thought this document covered my offense of intoxication as it stated this is a warning and that I am not terminated. I had no further offense at work since the write-up and had not even returned back to work from being in the hospital before they made the decision to terminate me.

I don’t disagree with them, I think that intoxication at work should not be allowed and tolerated but it’s just the fact that I had been written up by a supervisor that should have known how to do his job in the first place and should have made the decision to terminate me at that moment. It makes it look more to me like I was terminated for something other than that which I had already been counseled on and forgiven for and if I I lost my job I think Jarod should’ve gone down with me. Being terminated for intoxication made it impossible for me to get unemployment benefits. It was very hard for me to pay my bills. I sold my Jeep and a bearskin rug that I had been meaning to sell for quite a while so I could pay my rent.

I got a job at the same car wash I had originally worked at years ago as my first job. I worked there for about a month before getting my present job as a Men’s Fitness Center Manager at the YMCA. I love this job and couldn’t be happier. I don’t get to use my mechanics skills but there is always new skills to be obtained and utilized as I’ve never had a Supervisor’s position before. I try to think of new ways to run things better and keep my employees happy. Besides managing the Men’s Fitness Center I also manage the Laundry Staff. I really like working for a Christian organization and like the mission statement, “to serve all people and help them reach their God-given potential through the development of the spirit, mind, and body.

I’m thankful each day. I thank God each day for everything he has given me. I have a good job, recently 1994 Volvo 850, and a nice apartment with a great neighbor next door. My mother is now in remission of her cancer and is in good spirits. My sister continues to find herself in constant distress and in need of constant assistance but I pray she can get things worked out, she is currently homeless and seeking an apartment after getting evicted from the apartment that I worked so hard to get her into and got kicked off of housing which will make finding a place very hard. I’ve been at the YMCA for about a year now without any psychiatric problems and try each day to get better and maybe one day go back to school to further my education. I had taken some classes at NAU but dropped out because I couldn’t concentrate on school and work at the same time. Maybe some day I can write a book about my experiences with mental illness that will raise awareness and reduce the stigma that has been placed on those who are mentally ill. It has been going on since the dawn of time.

Schizophrenic stories have always interested me, understanding their mind but have found few stories that actually show you how the mind worked and am hoping for those curious my own story will be of some interest to those who where not looking for just a story about medications and how someone felt but how I saw the world.

+A note I have never used drugs strongly or frequently, tried once did not enjoy, schizophrenia is on both sides of my family+

As a child something was wrong. Being rushed to the midnight doctor by my parents screaming terrified as I could see cracks forming in the roof. This was before I started school and things only increased from there on in.
The monsters under my bed where real, I could see them and feel them and would refuse to go into my bedroom for months at a time.
False memories of an alien coming out of my ceiling light in the lounge room. And the so very sure feeling my dad could read my mind which made me try n avoid being near him for months on end.
I had recurring dreams about the creatures that lived underneath my house and still do to this day. But at about aged 15 I got the crushing blow when I realized a lot of my childhood memories weren\’t even real.
Longer over time I lost all interest in friends, I couldn\’t speak to them anymore just couldn\’t connect and didn\’t feel the need to connect with them anyway. I soon left school and soon knew no one outside my family other than one single person, literally.
Paranoid thoughts worsened and so did hallucinations. I began keeping numerous scattered journals trying to recap everything that happened not understanding any of it. False convictions people could hear my thoughts. A rush of noises at first which turned into voices pounding my head. Catching a strangers eye was the most horrible feeling. It would throw me into a paranoid fit for a whole day even. On the train if I thought about someone I was looking at and they looked back (most likely cause I was probably staring) I would spend the entire day in a utter panic. I would shake I would be so terrified they had heard my thoughts, the feeling someone could just so easily walk into somewhere thats meant to be impossible for anyone else to enter but you, your mind undone by a stranger.

I remembered back to a few times my mother had confronted me and asked \”do you ever hear voices?because if you do you can come to me at any time\” of course I denied. But soon when found out what schizophrenia was from a friend who had it I sought a doctor.

I had been seeing my doctor for a while for depression but had cut back on visits to her for a couple of months and told her \”I think I have schizophrenia\” Of course she did the standard questions \”what makes you think that?\” \”do you think/feel/hear this\” etc.

I denied some things as when I imagined my saying something out loud such as \”yes I think people hear my thoughts\” I realized just how stupid I sounded, how…. crazy.

But I told her other things, the voices, the tall lingering monsters I saw. The everything else….and she stared at me with a look on her face like pure horror. I thought id done something wrong, that she must think of me as a monster she went to get up then she sat back down, thought then looked at me.
\”I want to hospitalize you\” Fear just washed over me at that thought, it would mean my family would know (something I still have not and will not tell them) something I did not want to do, something I was too afraid to do.
I negotiated medication with her and tried risperdal for some time. But the affects of the medication where not working quickly enough and the side effects bad. At college I would have to ring someone to come help me down the stairs at the library as I was so dizzy I could barley stand.

I soon went off the medication and stopped seeing my doctor which was not a good choice for what was going to come.

For some time things would come and go, a good day a bad day, turning into a terrible month an even worse 5 months and so forth.
Things got worse.
Voices became terrifying, like that of a demons sometimes so scared my knees would buckle and I now understood why in movies your screaming at that stupid girl to run from the monster but she just stands there. I understand so well now why on earth she can\’t just run.
Waking to feeling the hot breath of something on your neck, horrible words talking in your mind \”they\’re going to kill you\”.

Images would become stuck in my mind so clear, of arms being cut open and the flesh pulled out and I would feel it happening to my self.

One night I was sitting on my bed alone in the dark, waiting for now my only friend to come online. I had note they\’d gone out for the night with some friends and at the time where living kinda far from my house so seeing them was beginning to be difficult.
I recall feeling like I couldn\’t move and seeing a man dressed as an old surgeon standing above my bed. I didn\’t feel scared but even action he preformed on me felt so real. He took a chisel and put it into one side of my head, still I could not move, nor make a sound nor do anything… took it out I felt it drawn from my crushed bits of skull and done again to the other side, he then left and I could move.

All I could do was cry, the pain was overwhelming but left quickly when he did, why I had more hallucinations than other people I could not work out or why I had it so much as a child which is not as common once again I did not understand.
All I wanted was for it to be gone and for me to be gone. Suicide had been attempted and thankfully never fully worked.

For the next year things eased up a little. Hallucinations became lighter but paranoia become much worse. I could not stand in a kitchen with someone holding a knife assured they where going to harm me I would even at times ready my self with my own knife n ready to attack if they came near me. Something I am glad never turned out as horrible as it could have, so many times I sit here now so thankful nothing happened.

I took a lot of stress out of my life which caused much of the worsening of my symptoms.
But even at all this time I could not quite accept what was wrong with me. I think logically about what had happened n could put it down to schizophrenia, a doctor had confirmed it, I had been on medications for it and it was on both sides of my family. But when my mind played up I saw no logic I saw demons I felt terrified and I could not pass these so real things as just my mind.

So after a few years of lighter symptoms after taking some bad people out of my life, staying out of stress causing places things looked a bit better. I felt better, I met someone great who helped me.

Then I recall that bloody day on the train. We got on and looked for an available seat, the carriage wasn\’t so crowded so we picked one I got the window seat. The first thing I noticed when stepping on the train tho was a man, rocking back n forth quietly muttering and drawing rapidly with his finger on the seat infront of him and the window.

I was utterly amazed, first at how no one in the carriage was even staring at him or saying anything or acting uncomfortable secondly mental illness just fascinated me so we got a seat 2 seats infront of him.

I watched him the whole train trip in the reflection of the window but time to get off realised hed left the carriage without me noticing. Soon going to get on the escalator he got infront of us. I studied him short cut grey hair, clean kept but he had sandles showing his long yellow toenails. I felt like I wanted to cry to hug this utter stranger and tell him things would be ok that I knew too how it felt to have a mind this tortureous. I recall my boyfriend saying \”i love you\” to me on the escalator down and this man infront of me I was studying looked uncomfortable when my boyfriend talked so I told him to shoosh. My boyfriend didnt get it and I got snappy telling him when we had now gone a different way off the escalator to not be so inconsiderate as clearly it was upsetting the man.

Boyfriend: \”what man?\”
Myself: \”the one infront of us! the one on the carriage! you where upsetting him when you talked\”

The conversation went along like that for a while, my temper flared at how he could have not noticed he was right in front of us.

When my boyfriend continued to tell me \”there was no one on that seat where he was meant to be\” \”The man infront of us was a asian man in a suit\”

After a long and bitter argument that lasted days yet another crushing blow to realize it wasn\’t real. Finally I could accept I did have schizophrenia. But accepting it was painful. Months of depression that non of it was real, that I was fooled by my own mind.
How could I trust anything else? What else was not real? who else was not real? The feeling of helplessness as if you did not even own your own mind.

Yet my boyfriend stayed by my side, He was there if I went out in public to help me when I felt every single person was staring at me. He was still there in the morning when I utterly chewed him out in an argument. He was still forgiving her was still there every night I would cry into his chest that I was being told I was going to die. He was there when I couldn\’t cope.

And even the other day he was there when being around people for the first time in years. It took a lot of tries just to get me out of his bedroom and into the lounge room to meet his house mates but he stayed next to me the whole time checked every now n again to make sure I wasn\’t too scared.

I am still not medicated and I would not class this as a success story. I know I will be this way for the rest of my life, but at least having him there has helped me tremendously and will be the thing to help me continue.