Schizophrenia - A First Hand Account

People have asked me about my sister. I decided the best thing would be to post in her own words. This writing was published in Choice Voice at Augusta College in 1994.

Schizophrenia - by Gina Van Duzee

I am hoping for my boyfriend to come back. The girls at work understand. They know that my condition makes roller coaster rides out of work.

As we sit in our chairs at a meeting, I see his face in front of me. I hear laughing, and I believe the figure is he.

Later, I am cutting a customer's hair, and all of a sudden, I feel anger inside me. There is so much anger I grit my teeth. It feels like a possession by some evil being. I move from side to side of the chair, fighting this being. My customer stares at me and is uncertain what is going on. I get through the haircut, and I sit down in the office. I light a cigarette and try to relax.

Schizophrenia is a nightmare, populated by the overwhelmingly powerful beings from the dark, who control and manipulate a helpless person with their laughs, snide remarks, and allusions. Of course, these beings aren't real. They come from the inside, attacking the subconscious, paralyzing with fear, tempting to suicide.

It's been a long stressful day. I undress, put my clothes in the hamper, jump into the shower, and slip on a night shirt. I lay my head down on the pillow, ready to sleep, and then, they start.

"Gina doesn't know what's going on!" An evil laugh. "Let's get her tomorrow." I can hear the voices loud and clear. Curious as it may seem, the voices are comforting because I hear them so often.

The next day, I hear footsteps behind me as I'm walking down the hallway of the mall. I turn around and look behind me. There is nothing there. My breathing becomes faster and frantic. I hear someone calling my name: "Gina." I feel the invisible stalker around me. I look from left to right: nothing.

Like so many times before, I realize that what I am hearing is coming from within. I scream and cry out of anguish and fall to my knees, crying.

Sometimes I can recognize these voices: these are from co-workers, so-called friends, people I trust. It makes it easy to distrust.

I feel really depressed. A man whom I admire is not willing to talk to me or touch me. I am lonely, yet not alone in this city. My parents are here, but there is no one my age to talk to. So I talk on the phone to my sister, who lives in Las Vegas, but I can't think straight. My sentences aren't clear, and I struggle with simple words. I am easily startled, and waves of paranoia rush through me. I am frantic and on the edge of suicide. She calms me down for an hour or two. Then, I have to go to work. I can't find my keys. I sit on the hassock, distressed.

I call work to ask if someone could pick me up. The manager sarcastically remarks, " Call 911." I am so desperate that I do call but do not speak very well. They find me at the house, sitting on the hassock. My legs shake as I walk to the ambulance.

Flashes of light rush past me, and I think I hear the paramedic say that I am dead and laugh.

The police come an take me to Georgia Regional. I scream, "You're not going to take me to a mental hospital!" As we walk to the door, I calm down. I ask for a light for my cigarette. The policeman stops periodically for me to smoke. Then I am locked up, caged in. I can only stare at the locked doors and watch television while sitting on a hard metal bench. For two weeks, I am trapped.

But the voices aren't always threatening. Sometimes they can be just fleeting fragments of sentences: "The cow is in the house." They can be disconnected gibberish: "This they when it's here." Sometimes the voices can be friendly. For example, I am walking down the hallway at the hospital. I have just been admitted. A voice asks me, "Gina, are you ok?" I stop and ask if someone said something, but everyone says no. Nevertheless, I feel more secure.

Before I went to the hospital, I did realize that I had a problem. The voices were so normal to me, that I believed it happened to everyone. I believed that I would have to suffer from these delusions for the rest of my life.

This disability can be treated with medication. I am on Navane, among other complementary medications. Other successful medications are Rispendal and Clozaril. With daily doses of medication, this disease can be controlled to a slow drawl. If medication is stopped, it happens again.

NOTE: Since this writing even more medications have been successful in the treatment of schizophrenia and other disorders related to mental illness. The key is to not suffer in silence. If you or someone you know is affected by mental illness, please reach out and get help.