Anyone who’s experienced a loved one — whether a family member or friend — who has schizophrenia knows it is often an unpredictable and sometimes-scary relationship. Scary because you’re never quite sure what’s coming next, or how a particular hallucination might manifest itself in the person’s behavior or decisions.
But schizophrenia, like all mental illness, can also be a teacher. Albeit often a hard one.
Dr. Anne Aspler, writing in the Globe and Mail earlier this week, recounts her experiences in what she’s learned in growing up with a mother who suffers from schizophrenia, and the fear she lived in during her early adulthood that she, too, might suffer from this disorder.
She recounts her fear in knowing her mother’s diagnosis:
My mom is afflicted with schizophrenia. Despite never having had signs or symptoms, I used to live in constant fear that, one day, I might develop it. The path of my life was driven by this fear. I overworked myself to ensure a livelihood that would enable escape from the stigma of mental illness and unemployment. Becoming a doctor seemed the best I could do to champion my own mental sanity, and to further understand an illness that has never made sense to me.
But I found her musings about the nature of mental illness and what living with someone with a serious mental illness most insightful:
I understand now that “mentally healthy versus ill” is an often unhelpful dichotomy. The psyche of the population exists on a spectrum. Scientifically, we have constructed an arbitrary standard. Past a certain point of dysfunctionality, some will be labeled, recommended for therapy and medically treated.
The rest of us can retain our status as “normal” and obtain socially acceptable therapy in the form of free counseling from family members and friends, self-therapy in the form of reflection, and perhaps moderate doses of self-medication.
Even for one individual, mental wellness fluctuates immensely over time. Practicing medicine has reaffirmed for me that there is not one among us who is 100-per-cent mentally sound in all day-to-day exchanges and decision-making. Most of us could probably cite one or two mental hang-ups they could do away with. Thankfully, we escape any permanent labeling and write these off as a mood, an anxiety, impulse or worry. […]
The reality? My mother is a great parent. With age, I’ve come to appreciate that her demeanor has given me a positive outlook on life; and it has imbued me with an inordinate capacity to tolerate chaos and disruption
While I don’t believe it’s true that every cloud has a silver lining, I do believe that even the most negative life experiences can teach us something that we can take into the future with us. It’s often hard to see or appreciate what those specific things are when we’re in the midst of them. It’s often only later on, with time and hindsight, that we begin to appreciate what we’ve learned.
Many people have negative experiences associated with serious mental illness like bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. But sometimes there is something we can learn from the experience nonetheless, as long as we keep an open mind.
Because people with mental illness are not “them.” They are us. It touches each and every one of our lives, and we need to stop thinking of people who have a mental illness as “someone else.” Stories like this one go a long way in helping us understand that.
Read the full article: Blessings from schizophrenia? Believe me, they exist
9 comments
Because people with mental illness are not “them…†is a phrase I wish I would not see, like “Jews are not them,” “Blacks are not them.”
The negated negative, “them,” is -imposed- through the technique. It is very effective.
Harold A. Maio
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I think he was not trying to say mental illness isn’t in the category of “them. He was saying there is no “them” in mental illness, we are all part of the human experience, which implies there is not a “them”. It’s all us.
My schizophrenic mother was very different. She was very open about wishing she’d never had me and I don’t recall her ever touching me. Most of the time she stayed in her bedroom talking to herself. Fortunately my father was warm and loving but he was out of town on business a great deal of time. When I was 11 it was decided that I should live with my grandmother and aunt in another state, which gave me the foster care experience to deal with.
My childhood was horrific.
My childhood was equally terrifying. The only way to keep my mother from destroying me was to agree with everything she said and do whatever she told me, no matter how bizarre it was. She perceived any disagreement as a threat to her existence and responded accordingly. At times, even obedience wasn’t enough. She accused me of things I couldn’t even have imagined doing and did her best to convince me I was a worthless piece of crap. She also lied about my relatives in order to keep me from going to them for help. And finally, when I was a middle aged woman, lied to my future daughter-in-law about how ugly and violent I was toward her as a teenager (when, in fact I was terrified of her and did everything I could to keep out of her way.) She died six years ago. If I cried, it was only because she never did understand what she had done to me.
I found this article hard to relate to, and a pretty rosy picture of growing up around mental illness.
What I learned from my schizophrenic dad was:
How to be wary of people and not trust their motives, from both how unpredictable he was, and how he told us everyone was out to get us and we couldn’t talk to them any more.
How to over-analyse all interpersonal situations because I was always looking for some kind of clue to what might happen next.
How to provoke rage, as it was the only predictable course of action, as anger when you know its coming is much better that when you are trying to be nice.
How to close off from people emotionally to avoid being hurt and manipulated daily.
How to lie and talk my way around the situation because of the intense stigma and shame.
So yeah, thanks dad.
I read both your blog and Dr. Aspler’s essay with great interest. My e-novel, Playing the Genetic Lottery is about a woman who grew up with two schizophrenic parents. Along with trying to educate people about the illness, the main point I tried to convey in my novel was that schizophrenics are real people, with families that love them. People worth knowing and respecting, not feared because they had the horrible luck to come down with a disease.
A good reminder that we,each and every one of us, have our issues. My son suffered from severe OCD and I see that as no different than if he had asthma or diabetes…….it’s just the luck (or lack thereof) of the draw as to what illnesses and challenges we may face.
It’s complicated….as someone with depression, which even the psychiatrists I’ve seen avoided writing because of possible stigma, I realize that there really is no normal, no us and them. BUT I’ve met schizophrenic women who were able to parent their children “acceptably,” but others who were completely unable to discern their child’s needs – as separate from their own – or to empathize. There’s a spectrum, but it’s important that no one romanticize or minimize the problems of parenting while seriously mentally ill – especially as they impact the child. A child needs someone who can create stability and give love consistently – especially when the seriously ill person cannot. That, too, is on a spectrum – and many of us might have been on the short end – but if very young children/infants do not get closeness and caring, they are being deprived of a future.
Personally, I look at this post from the other angle.
I was diagnosed with bipolar type 1 back in 1982. At that stage I had a wife who was adversely affected by my disorder. I had some very extreme bipolar episodes. The marriage ended shortly after one of these.
About seven years ago I remarried. My new wife is very caring and understanding of the disorder. I have not had an episode since my remarriage.
Friends and loved ones do have a very big part in looking after anyone with a mental disorder.
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