After, I had started the eighth grade alot of things started to change both me and my so called friends but of course the whole time i was growing up i had no real friends who cared but that year is what kicked started everything after my grandmothers death it seemed like and felt like things had changed over night my sucidle thoughts had become worse and I had become paranoid about everything then, there was a night i whould never forget, i had gone over to a so called friends house me and her where thinking about starting a band so we desided to have a sleep over so i went over and once my mom left she asked me if i wanted to get high i said yes of course only because i was peer pressured, that night i went to sleep and was raped, after that it was nothing but halusanations and paranoia.

when i had tured 15 years old i had been idmitted for the first time, i was in and out of hospitles for 3 or 4 years my exsperiances at those places brought me more harm than good all i got was my thoughts and dreams washed away by telling me i whould not make it to graduate high school and i was indangered to be homeless then finally my finnal time in a hospital to one that i had been to seven or more times they had finnaly found the medacine that worked and its name is “clozerail” and once released i was put in a group home but the real test was when i had started school my senier year i had missed my other three years so i was pretty excited although it wasnt a normal school with sports or what not but it was pretty cool with the art classes i got into it but what made me irratated was when my case worker and team was trying to stop me from graduating on time which i did not listen i kept working then my voc rehab specialist tryed to convince my school princabule to have me stop
school for the rest of the year so i could get funding and graduate late , my princable did not go for it she thought it was crule so i continued my work and graduated high school on time with my class,

class of 2009

Everything is a drone of noise, I feel distorted and unplugged from reality. I don`t feel myself. I ask myself what are these limbs I carry, why are they hard in the centre ? I have lost all interest in life and my goals. I feel like a toppled pawn. MY life has no purpose left. The delusional thinking is killing me and I want to know why thinks work the way they do.

Why did my drunk brother beat me up and my parents did nothing.I think maybe this was the cause of my illness,all the stress and the hits to my skull.

I just want to climb out of my skin I fell uncomfortable trapped inside this human body.I tried to commit suicide and I didn`t realize it.I saw my arms like tentacles they were attacking me and I defended myself.People appear smaller and their heads have shrunk.I have lost my social skills.My emotions are confused and my mind is distorted.I self medicated with weed to help me ,but it only helped for a little while.My character changed and the way I mean and do things.I would walk around the house for hours talking and thinking to myself.I became obsessed with a Band called Pig destroyer.I believed they wrote about my life.I foiled my room believing it will protect me from RF links and EMI so that I cant be controlled.I thought I was an alien and my mission was to observe people and make a report.my parents were my tutorial.I believed everyone can copy my mind and hear my thoughts but I cannot do the same even if I was supposed to.I wrote strange things on my foiled walls.weird things
and pig destroyer lyrics.I carved alien like signs in my arms and burned a symbol in my chest .my mind would run into walls and i would talk funny according to witnesses.I cant remember much anymore but it basicly sucked.I`d forget things and my memory was delayed.I couldn`t meet people and talk to strangers.

I was diagnosed by a psychiatrist and the professor of psychiatry in south africa.I was put onto respirdal and depramil.I don`t know how things will be from now on but it seems a bit better.

I was sixteen, he was nineteen. He had been on medication for Bi-polar for a few months. For the next few months, I barely ate, slept, spoke, or moved. I began to feel split up, uhwhole and raw. As though there were two people inside me.

I first saw Lucy when I was cleaning out my closet one afternoon in August. She was in the spare room next door to mine, and though I did not see her face, I saw her feet beneath the closet door. She was standing inside it, scratching on the door. She wanted out. I ran.

It was around then that the trees began to move eerily, to catch my eye and make contact with me. They whispered to me in ways that nothing ever had. They wanted me to come with them when they died that fall, to find them on the “other side.” They spoke to my heart, to my soul. I believed them and promised to go along when they did. I began to slip into worlds that were far different from our own. Cosmic, gorgeous worlds that one can hardly imagine. The trees called me to be their own, to be their child. To be one with them.

The people inside me began to multiply rapidly. There was Lucy, who I saw regularly in the mirror. We fought and argued all the time. She poked me and pinched me and screamed at me. Then there was Liam, who was actually a real person. My friend. He could feel my feelings, hear my thoughts, see what I was doing. I had no privacy left. Our minds were connected. There were the sisters: Charlotte, Penelope, and Victoria. They needed my help, they wanted me to save them. There was the scarecrow and his alias, Lord Effiddian. He wanted to kill me, to drink my blood and eat my soul. He wanted my hair, my violin, my life. He would eat away my music and murder what was left. He was a brute.
I went on medication two months ago. My father finally realized something was wrong. I hadn’t been eating, sleeping, doing my school work, or even speaking. I COULDN’T speak. I couldn’t move! It was impossible for me to do either of those without the greatest of pain in my soul, in my mind. Colors were either grey or too intense. My thoughts were so loud that I could hear them and sometimes see them. The worlds were so gorgeous–and so terrifying. There was nothing I could do. I felt nothing. My sister cried and I was repulsed. My mother asked me to talk to her and I couldn’t. I was a monster.

Since going on medication, I have begun to recollect my abilities as a violinist, to remember that I am a human being and that my thoughts are my own. I sometimes feel that I have no privacy of thought, that there are too many people talking inside me…but it’s quieter for the most part. Things aren’t so painful anymore.

Sometimes the room im in will turn all red and blood slowly will drip from ceiling and floor. Sometimes I’ll feel crawling centipedes all over me. People will touch me and not be there. The smells are disgusting. Vomit. Burning rubber. Pee. Poop. Sometimes every stinky smell in the world all at once.

I can see the future. Think something and it happens. The voices screech at me trying to wreck me. Make me miserable. I dont know where those demon voices come from. The people voices, either. All kinds of voices at once. Its a nightmare. They tell me everyone hates me. Everyone in the world is coming together and poisoning me.

Thats why i dont take drinks. Because the poision is in there. Somewhere. At the top. At the bottom. People think us schizophrenics are just crazy. We’re not crazy. We just dee things differenly than them. We arre suffering. Suffering. Suffering….

i started to plan my suicide when i was 8.. i whirled into a continuing cycle of depression.

i isolated myself from others when i got into junior high. i was paranoid that they were talking about me all of the time; plotting against me. finally i decided that all must come to an end, for i’ve been thinking about the proper date for it a while back. i attempted suicide by overdose. i took 100 tablets of sleeping pills.. nothing happened except i got very sick to my stomach.. when asked, i replied ‘food poisoning.’

my second attempt was when i was 13. i took a variety of pain killers and i slit my left wrist and sliced my left arm up in a terrible mess. i passed out and woke up about 20 hours later. realizing that i wasn’t dead, i got sewing needles and stabbed myself over-and-over in my left arm; punishing myself. i knew that everyone would be happy once i was gone. my brother found out about my arm but didn’t tell my parents. telling me he’d beat my ass if i did it again. i started doubting what was real and fake. i couldn’t tell if i was awake or dreaming. i trusted no one and couldn’t talk about anything.. afraid to be labeled as ‘crazy’ .

at the age of 14 i tried once more.. “hopefully,” i thought, “i’ll get it right this time..” i started seeing things again. and hearing noises. they scared me. hallucinations everyday. depression. everything wasn’t right. i was worst and i would not admit anything was wrong with me. i started seeing ‘the man in black’ as i called him. i stared seeing him around the time i was 5. he never goes away; always there. behind an object, around a wall, the other side of a door.. he is forever with me. he tells me things. that i’m worthless, never good enough. voices in my head tell me that too. they are quite cruel, but i don’t really hear them anymore. all of the stress in my head got too built up and i gave in to the idea of killing myself again.. it gave me false comfort. i took a mixture of different medications that i found. but once more i was just really sick.. i told my parents that i got something around school. they believed me.

i never talk to them really. we don’t have a relationship very much… see, i have these different kinds of ‘me.’ a guy personality, whose name is victor, is very mean and cruel. he takes over a lot and i hate it very much. he takes advantage over me. he is awful to people and enjoys it extremely.. he laughs at others pain and wishes horrible things on people. he wants many to die.. he’s frightening. very cynical, labeled as ‘cool’, manipulative.

then there is normal ‘me’. impassive, confusing, but ditzy, random, low self-esteem. mm, i’m not a fan of this one. very boring indeed.

haha, then tabitha. she’s a riot. she gets along with everyone. she’s funny, outgoing, easy-to-be-around, fun, cool, says what is on her mind. i truly like her, but sadly she doesn’t appear much..

i set a new date to try again..

this year [2008] i attempted another time. still 14. i cut the veins in my hands, the sides of my wrists, and took a bottle of sleeping pills & other meds. i laid on my floor for some time before my world went black. i don’t really remember what was going on in my head, everything is blurry and i’m unsure of the details. when i woke up i had a major headache and i was extremely pale. i must have emptied my stomach 10 times in an hour.

i am still feeling detached and unreal. nothing seems real anymore.. i can’t get a grip on anything. is this all a lie? will i understand anything? am i broken? what is wrong with me? i always feel so alone.. i have taken to cutting since i was 10.. it is only a temporary comfort.. it never lasts long. i don’t know what to do. maybe i’ll figure it out one day.

My diagnosis was schizophrenia. After the hospitalization, I continued with therapy and medication. I continued trying to work, but I couldn’t keep a job very long. I tried clerical work, proofreading, waitressing. I even tried substitute teaching (I had gotten a teaching degree as “something to fall back on”) but my illness caused me to treat the students inappropriately.

One of my psychiatrists suggested I try to get a civil service job. At first I was reluctant, because I thought I’d be working with people like me. Eventually, I started working with people with mental retardation. There was a provision in the job that allowed me to take off 12 weeks if I worked 1250 hours. That leave helped considerably, and I kept that job for about 11 years.

I had a very bad day treatment experience in 1998. At the day treatment program in New York, someone committed suicide. I had to leave after that, and I went home to Florida, thinking my life was over. I was cut off from my medication, and I constantly thought about death and dying.

A psychiatric assessment center helped me find a source of medication again. The center also ran a day treatment program. Despite my doubts after my last day treatment, I ended up going there. And even to this day I miss it. It was the best.

This program was great because it was long-term (I stayed from July 1998 to February 1999) and because the people were really caring. I had a car and could drive myself, but the occupational therapist always said to me, “We’ll pick you up.” This was so helpful because I had to be up, showered, and ready for the car at 8:30. It got me out of bed.

The day program was instrumental in me securing a volunteer position at a place that helps find housing for people with special needs, mental illness. I volunteered there for approximately four years. Now I work there part-time. I help people with mental illness find housing, and it’s something I want to do. It’s a far cry from the other jobs I’ve had. I never thought I’d be paid to talk on the phone!

In addition to my work, I volunteer for the Mental Health Association and facilitate a Schizophrenics Anonymous support group. I think being busy and having something to do is important. I still spend some time at home, but I try to get out every day.

When a person is ill, it’s important to have the support of family and friends. I stayed away from my family for 22 years thinking that if I came home, they’d lock me away in an asylum. But to my surprise, they were very supportive. Of course, some are less supportive than others. There are people who say “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just spoiled.” But there are always going to be people who don’t accept it. A mental illness isn’t like a physical handicap—you can’t see it.

Drop-in centers are very important places for consumers to go as an alternative to isolating themselves at home. Presently I attend and am active member at three drop-in-centers including 9 Muses Art Center, in Lauderhill, FL; REBELS Drop-in-Center in Hollywood, FL; and the Personal Empowerment Education and Recreation (PEER) Center in Oakland Park, FL. Before leaving New York to help in my recovery I also attended drop-in-centers there.

I used to think I was doomed. I used to talk about how I would prepare for my funeral. Looking back on that now, I feel marvelous. As long as there’s life, there’s hope.

Sandra E. Sears

When I was 19, that’s the first time I really started having serious delusions. I thought with certainty that everybody in the world was against me. I remember one time walking through K-Mart, and every person that passed by, I thought they were all tracking me and were all going to be sending secret messages to a government agency, who had plans on running illegal, underground tests on me. I always heard voices in the past, but this time, they were very prominent. “Get out of here! Get out of here! Get out of here!”

I remember walking as quick as I could toward the exit and just looking all around me. I was waiting for, any minute, a helicopter to come down from the sky, grab me, and take me away.

That night, when I went home, I started writing a journal about my experience. I still have it to this day. One of the passages reads: “The government is trying to inject my body with a secret serum that will liquify and, allow them to track my every move. They have plans on doing this within the next week. If I’m missing and you find this message, I will be located in an underground labaratory in Washington D.C.”

I didn’t sleep for three days after this. A lot of my time at nights, I spent sitting in my living room, staring out the window. My parents noticed that I was acting peculiar, but I thought that, since I didn’t know whether or not I could trust them, I didn’t say anything to them. I didn’t know whether or not they would protect me.

Later that week, I was in my room and thought I heard a noise coming from downstairs. So, I went downstairs and saw the figure of a man sitting on a couch. I walked over toward it, and the man told me that he was there to protect me, and that if I went to K-Mart tomorrow, the government would call off the secret mission because I would be seen too many times on their cameras, only this time the government planned on sending my brain to space to be reviewed by an alien coalition which believes I have information within my subconscious on the creation of the universe.

Eventually, I tried to kill myself and my parents found me with my wrists slashed. I was sent to the psych unit and diagnosed with schizophrenia. I’ve been working with a counselor ever since and they have me on medication. I’m not cured by any means, but I’m sure as hell a lot better than I was 3 years ago.