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~ surviving schizophrenia

A Journey With You

Tag Archives: parents

To Older Siblings Everywhere

17 Wednesday Oct 2018

Posted by A Journey With You in heroes, relationships, Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

birthday, brother, brothers, childhood, elementary school, family, growing up, memories, parents, school, sibling, siblings, the wonder years, tribute

Do you ever think about your childhood and what your life was like then? I am decades away from living in the pink house, across the street from an elementary school, where I spent seven of my childhood years (from age 3 to 10).

I think about that time, with a chicken coop out back full of hens and a rooster or two; the garden that provided us with almost all of our vegetables and enough cucumbers, green beans, cauliflower, and carrots for many dinners and pickling. There were the apple trees, plum tree, and apricot trees, and a patch of strawberries and rhubarb. I’ll never forget picking tomatoes out of the garden and biting into them as the juice made a path across my dirt covered face.

It isn’t the fresh food I remember most, though or the smell of lilacs that wafted through the yard in spring. What I remember most is life with my three older brothers. I remember the times I was allowed to play with them or tag along with them, and the times I was told, no and was left behind.

Today, my oldest brother, Joel, turns sixty and it is his birthday that has me wandering back to the house where we all lived together under one roof. A house where the walls and floors and paint and furniture held our laughter, our secrets, our dreams, and our tears. At times blood tied us together, and at times life, anger and choices tore us apart.

My brother Joel had a pet mouse, a pet rat, pet snakes, played baseball as a catcher, and kept more than a dozen Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in the freezer and instructed his younger siblings not to touch that chocolate.

I looked up to my oldest brother, and I listened to him. Listening to Joel was a problem, though because he liked to tell stories. Stories weren’t for lying, although he occasionally received a spanking for that, his stories were made up to entertain himself and anyone else who would listen. I was always a willing audience.

Joel once sent me to school with a bottle of mouthwash (I didn’t know what it was) and told me to drink it for superpowers like running faster or jump roping longer. He told me it was “White Lightning,” a magic potion. You can imagine how well my bottle of white lightning went over with my teachers in elementary school.

At school for show-and-tell, we were instructed to bring things from home that started with the letter, B. Joel went through our whole house and collected everything from baseballs, books, batteries, brushes, etc. and sent me to school with bags full of things that started with a B. I brought at least ten times the number of items of any other kid.

Another time for show-and-tell, Joel sent me to school with a record by Shel Silverstein. He wanted me to share the song, “Sarah, Cynthia, Silvia Stout.” It is a song about a girl who will not take the garbage out. The song is very funny, and my class loved it and wanted to hear the other songs on the record. Well, some of the other songs, contain adult language and themes and once again, I upset the elementary school teachers.

Having older siblings almost ensures that you will know things teachers don’t think are age appropriate. That means getting in trouble for being “ahead of the class” in things like anatomy and sex.

When our time in the pink house came to an end, and my parents went different ways, my brother Joel stepped in and took care of all of us in ways he was too young to do. At night before bed, he would drive my brother, Andrew, and I out to the neighboring town so we could see our mom at her waitressing job and she could kiss us before he took us home and put us to bed.

There are a thousand other memories; feelings, images, familiar smells, favorite foods, least favorite foods that bring back the time we shared under one roof. Good times and bad times. Happy times and hard times. But in the end, there is nothing quite like having an older brother.

Part of Me is Part of You

23 Tuesday Feb 2016

Posted by A Journey With You in relationships, Uncategorized, writing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

aging, birthday, birthdays, dad, dads, daughters, fathers, growing up, hope, inspiration, love, parenting, parents, relationships

My dad turned eighty-years-old today. Just as I can’t believe I am fifty-years-old, I can’t believe my dad is eighty.

I’m so thankful that he is, though.

This post is for you, dad.

I remember you tucking me into bed at night. You listened to my prayers and read me my favorite books. Do you remember the book about the little princess and the boy who was blind? It was my favorite story. Somewhere in the stories, books, actions, our lifestyle, you impressed upon me a sense of justice. I like the world to be decent, kind and fair. I have a small town, blue collar sensibility even though I have spent years in college continuously increasing my education.

I learned the value of a dollar from you, and in this debt heavy society that was a gift you gave me that has kept me from purchases and tastes I couldn’t afford. Living within my means has freed me up to change jobs, move to different cities, and follow my dreams. I have never been a slave to credit card bills or loans.

I remember the science project you helped me with ( I probably got an A), and the handmade Halloween costumes, the sugar and butter sandwiches, peanut butter and mustard sandwiches, peanut butter and garlic salt sandwiches, and peanut butter and onion sandwiches. Some of those I still eat, and a good sandwich is still one of my favorite meals.

I remember the first year after your divorce on Valentine’s Day you sent me a music box shaped like an old phonograph player that played the song, “The Impossible Dream.”

So many things seemed impossible then. We didn’t know what the future would bring.

As a dad, you had three boys and me. I was the youngest and your one shot at raising a daughter. I have to admit I never felt like a princess, but I think that is a good thing – it kept me humble, simple and satisfied with the everyday.

We won’t get any recognition or win any awards for our roles as father or daughter, but I want you to know, you were always enough for me.

I wouldn’t be me without you. And the truth is, I’m happy, dad, I’m so damn happy.

This is a toast to life, both yours and mine! There is so much to celebrate.

We will eat cake the next time I see you!

Happy birthday, dad.  I hope you get to blow out a few candles.

Helping Families in Mental Health Crisis Act

17 Monday Aug 2015

Posted by A Journey With You in caregivers, mental illness

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

acitivist, advocacy, Advocate, bill, congress, family, government, helping families in mental health crisis act, hospitals, involuntary treatment, law, mental health, mental illness, mentally ill, parents

Family members and people who are advocates for the legal rights of the mentally ill are not always on the same team, and I am not always on the same team as either one of them.

Here is an article by a mother supporting the new bill before Congress, the Helping Families in Mental Health Crisis Act.

Here is an article by legal advocates who do not support the bill. 

I have to admit, that I often do not see eye to eye with family members and the laws they want to get passed. I don’t agree with number 4 (in the first article) which would give caregivers and parents access to more information regarding the person in treatment.

For me, when I see a new doctor, I always sign a waiver allowing my husband access to all information regarding me. I want my doctor to feel free to talk to my husband about all aspects of my care in an emergency. I don’t, however, want anyone else to have that right. The only person I want to be able to make decisions about my mental health treatment is my husband. I do not want a treatment facility to release any information about my care to anyone else under any circumstances. If my husband is unable to make decisions along with my doctor, I would rather make these decisions on my own with my doctor even if I am not well.

I may not agree with all the issues of legal advocates either. For example, I recently did an interview with a feminist magazine and I mentioned that the law, as it currently stands in some states, about involuntary treatment should be changed to a lengthier amount of time. I think if someone is admitted involuntarily because they pose a risk to themselves or others that a hospital should be able to hold them longer than seventy-two hours. My reasoning behind this is that it often takes longer than seventy-two hours for psych medications to start working. I think someone at risk should be held a minimum of one week (I think a little longer would be better, but the extra four days may prove to save some lives).  This probably isn’t a popular position to the legal advocates of the mentally ill, but it makes perfect sense to me, someone who knows the difference a few days can make in terms of psychosis and stability.

Most other details of the law (spelled out clearly here), I am in support of with the exception of what I mentioned in my first paragraph and number 6 which limits the powers of national advocacy programs. The example they use for the provision of this change in policy is an advocate that told a mentally ill man what he needed to say to be released from care. He was released from care, and then murdered his mother. I think the person who counseled that man was unethical and negligent, but I don’t think all national advocacy programs interactions with the mentally ill should be changed because of one case.

Please feel free to comment/debate in the comment section. I am definitely open to hearing your opinions.

Learning to Accept the Different Experiences with Mental Illness

05 Sunday Jul 2015

Posted by A Journey With You in bipolar, caregivers, mental illness, schizophrenia

≈ 24 Comments

Tags

acitivist, adult child, advocacy, bipolar, caregivers, childhood, delusions, depression, mental health, mental illness, mentally ill, parents, psychiatry, psychology, relationships, schizophrenia, severe mental illness

About six months ago I was one of ten winners in a memoir writing contest.  Our memoirs were selected to be performed by actors on stage.  Last week was the performance.

Mine was the second piece to be read. It was about living with schizophrenia and how I have a good life despite my illness.

The second to last piece was written by a woman whose mother had schizophrenia. I don’t know why, but every time I try to get out there with my story about how schizophrenia is not what people think it is, and bring my strengths and my success to the forefront, someone else has a story about how hard their life has been due to having a parent with schizophrenia.  This has happened in all of my writing groups, and now it has happened on stage.

I have no doubt that people my age who had parents with schizophrenia had it tough, because when they were children, the treatments for schizophrenia were not what they are today. No doubt it was difficult to live with a parent with delusions, and hallucinations.

I feel like I am working in the opposite direction of most of the people who grew up with a parent who had schizophrenia though. I am trying to get people to understand the illness, to have empathy for the people who suffer from it, to see our humanity and our strengths, and to talk openly about our daily struggles. The people writing about their parents are trying to get support, understanding and empathy for their own experience, and their experience is often a painful one due to the illness of their parent.

I once said in a writer’s workshop, “I don’t know what kind of parent I would have been.” A woman with a mother who had schizophrenia said, “Well, you are about to find out.” She said it with such anger and force that I was taken back. Are any two mothers really alike? How did she know I would be like her mother?  She was obviously projecting her anger at her mother on to me.

I have anger of my own. I get tired of being alongside people who want to say how tough it is to have a relative with schizophrenia.  I want to shout, “What about the person who has/had the illness? Do you think they chose to have it? Do you think they would have traded a healthy mind for a mind with a disease? Do you think they had hallucinations and delusions on purpose?

I know this isn’t the right attitude for an artist or for an advocate of the mentally ill and their families.

As someone who loves to write, I want all people to be able to tell their stories, and I think everyone’s story is unique and important. I also know that mental illness is difficult on everyone it touches.

I need to remember that my story intersects with other stories. It intersects with the story my parents could tell. It intersects with the story my siblings could tell. It intersects with the story my husband could tell.  Other people’s stories do the same – the parents of those adult children could write their story, and it would be very different than the one told by their adult child.

It is important for all of us tell our truth. I want the freedom to tell mine, and I need to accept that not everyone’s truth will fit neatly with mine.  I need to accept that the reality of schizophrenia lies in all of the stories from every perspective. Each of our stories is like a piece of a quilt that doesn’t make a bed cover until they are all sewn together.

Stories can be hard to hear, but continue to write them, and I will continue to read them, because your colorful square of fabric is as necessary as mine.

When Your Child Gets Ill

25 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by A Journey With You in bipolar, mental illness, relationships, schizophrenia

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Advocate, bipolar, caregivers, creative nonfiction, mental health, mental illness, parents, psychology, schizophrenia

Parents:

The ones who bathe you, feed you, and change your diapers.

If they are loving parents, they kiss your hurts, teach you to ride a bike, and chase away your fears before bed.

How difficult it must be for a parent to watch their child lose parts of themselves until finally they are told that their child, the one they love, the one they had dreams for, the one that used to laugh and play, the one that they would do anything for, has a mental illness.

I can only imagine that the parent at first feels despair, and a sense of loss. All the hopes they had for their child may very well seem like they are unrealistic.

Initially, they may feel like their child will need care for the rest of their life, and maybe, their child will.

Many of us with mental illnesses struggled for years with medication, and doctors before we were given our proper diagnosis.

Many of us nearly lost our lives to our illness at least once.

Not being a parent myself, I can only imagine that mental illness is not only damaging to the person who experiences it, it is devastating to our parents.

I know there were times when my parents had to sit helplessly by and watch as my mind raged with psychosis. There was no easy fix. There was no hospital that would take me without being a danger to myself or others. There was no doctor that I trusted enough to tell my thoughts to.

They often say that growing old is not for the faint of heart, well having a mental illness, and being a parent of a person with a mental illness is for those people who are fighters.

It as if we can never give up. We all have to go! Go hard! Go fast! Go with all we’ve got. We have to punch at it and never stop punching because it doesn’t go down. There is no knock out. The bell never rings.

This is to my parents, who had to watch their baby go from an outgoing, smart, funny kid, to a troubled youth, to sometimes psychotic adult.

They never complained. Not once.

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