My sister suffers from schizophrenia for 14 years now. It all started when she was in her high school. Suddenly i noticed that she is going lonely, depressed and sad, always thinking something. she stopped playing with me. She did not tell anyone, not to our parents either, about what she is really experiencing. All that she was telling with my father was she was scared. I did not know, what was scaring her. But she was going down in her academics too. she used to be one of the brilliant students, always topped in her class till then, but now she got lesser marks. But we can see her studying more hard. Later, one day she asked my father(a physician) to take her to a psychiatrist(my father’s friend). And my siter was taken to NIMHANS which is very famous for psychiatric treatment and where my father’s friend worked in. She got some medicines to take for a temporary period. After coming back, she looked lot more rlieved and i thought she is out of her problem. Though i didnt know that time about her sickness, or whats her problem was.
But later in time, we happened to lose our mom. My mom comitted suicide for she had some problem in life and she was in depression too. This i came to know very late. This had a devastating effect on all of us. My sister was suffering with her illness, she had become inactive and witdrawn. Not mingling with people, not talking much wiht people, not even with us. Then she was juggling with her studies, medicines and all other things in the family. She was worried about me and my brother as we were younger than her. She used to say she heard voices og neighbours. She was hearing them talking bad about us. She heard them speaking bad words and that they wouls harm us. In retaliation she started having qurrels with our neighbours and it was difficult for me and my brother to step outside of our home, as our neighbours were looking at us suspiciously in a wierd manner.
My sister’s wild behaviour was increasing and she was torturing my father very much. I stayed in a hostel in bangalore while my family stayed in Tumkur. I used to visit them on weekends. Just two days in a week i used to go there, but was unable to stand my sister’s acts. She was like doing everything that comes on her mind, however strange that may be. I was suggesting my father to admit her to a hospital. But it was difficult to convince her to come to the hospital. She was shouting and behaving like a wild animal. Somehow my father convinced her and came to Bangalore to admit her.
Here, one other person should stay with the patient to take care of their treatment. I was the only one available as all other relatives were in Tumkur. I hated to stay there, but still entered the hospital. My sister was shouting and behaving very wildliy that time. The Hospital staff had to sedate her initially and she slept. And the next few days were like hell to me as i had started hating her for her behaviour. She also hated me and she was ready to hurt me if she gets a chance. She thought i was the one who made her get admitted in the hospital. After 2 weeks, it was very difficult for me to stay there, i could not withstand that vry environment. My sister calmed down there just because she was not allowed to go anywhere and was forced to take medicines on time. She wanted to go out of the hospital. So she started responding to all the doctors in a positive way and she was discharged. I went back to my PG and i was still scared to vivit my home.
But after this, my sister has managed to control herself amidst all those voices she hears. She has come out of her depression too and she passed her graduation as well. Now she is working somewhere in bangalore. She got married too. All that i can do now is to hope for the best and pray that it never relapses.
Posts Tagged ‘Suicide’
from an early childhood I saw things that were not there. usually people or humanoid-like things. they talked to me, but no one else could hear them. they wouldn’t understand what i was talking about. i heard things too. ringings and bells.. my name being called through a song or out in the open. i would rewind the song to try and hear it again but it would never be there. also everything seemed to be amplified. the sounds when people ate made me terribly sick to my stomach. the scraping of forks and knives… everything.. its unbearable. it never goes away.
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.
I was told about a family member of my firends who they had never really stayed in touch with for too long. But one night her mother recieved a disturbing phone call with her Aunt Jessica. She was screaming frantically saying that her daughter Emily was missing, the only problem was she didn’t even have a child. Her Aunt then hung up and that was the last they heard from her until they got a call about two weeks later from a family member explaining that she was found dead at a local highschool. She had apparantly been searching for “her daughter” and somehow got herself into a lot of trouble with the wrong people, she was convinced somebody had kidnapped her daughter. The exact facts on why she was at the highschool or what had happen to her are not clear at the moment, but she had fallen from a hallway set of stairs straight to the bottom of the first floor breaking her neck. They couldn’t tell if it was suicide or homocide. Maybe she thought she was being attacked or something..I really don’t know.
I thought my life was just beginning. I’d finished college a few years earlier, and was working on a research project. Then, symptoms started appearing, and my life came to a standstill. I had to be reminded what to do when I woke up… to brush my teeth, to wash up. The man I was living with at the time started staying home with me, and we both sought help through his employee assistance provider. The psychologist there suggested I go to one of the area hospitals. This was my first of about six psychiatric hospitalizations.
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
I remember when I was younger, I always felt like I was different. I did a lot of living in my own head. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I didn’t do sports. I didn’t succeed in school like most of the other kids. I was mostly daydreaming in class and daydreaming, for what seemed like all the time.
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.
