This is a question to all care givers, but husbands/wives/girlfriends/boyfriends/ect. in particular.
What happened? I would really like to hear your love story. Please take the long way around. Romantics, what was it about them that just said to you “this is the one for me. They may be ill (or may have recently become ill) but I love them”. Parents, how did you feel when you held your little baby for the first time? What were your dreams for them? What did you do, what did you feel when the symptoms came up?
Part of the reason for this is I am writing about a woman who falls in love with a sz man.He has a Mom who loves him very much. I know what it is like to be sza and be loved but not to love someone with sza or sz, but also these stories make me happy. Very happy.
I don’t know who’s story this is but when the woman (if you are a guy I’m sorry! I could have sworn remembering a woman posting!) wanted help because her son loved her so much that he hurt himself instead of her because he couldn’t resist the voices urging him to do harm. I know it was a horrible experience for all concerned, but such love, I found myself feeling so touched. That people still love like that.
Another good example is the man who loved the sz woman on here and wanted to know if she said she wanted him gone because of the sz or she really wanted him gone. It was very beautiful.
I live in a town full of drugs and violence. I think I got pretty much the only person here worthwhile. I don’t see a lot of the problems in my town because I stay indoors. But I still see the poverty when my Mom takes me to my therapist, on the burgeoning bad side of town. My fiancee has seen a lot of it and I see that in how he steers me away from even talking to some people.
I realize that I am asking for something personal, something sacred. But I want to show this love to others. Not in stealing your stories, but in squirreling them away in my heart so that when I talk to someone who is crying, or hopefully someone who reads something I have written for comfort, they will feel all of your words. They won’t see them, but they will know they are there.
As one of my favorite songs goes:
“Because Love is Beautiful” -Surgio Mauri
Without love and hope there would probably be no journey.
Hello, I hope you don’t mind me posting. I do love someone with SZ. But not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not a wife, or girl friend or a parent. I’m a sister. I’m a younger sister on top of it. I have four older brothers, but my oldest brother is my hero. He was diagnosed with Undifferentiated Schizophrenia when I was 6 years old. He was 17 at the time. He’s 29 now, and I have a chance to live with him as I start college.
Before he was diagnosed, my big brother had pulled me out of a house fire when I was 3 and ended up in the burn unit with me for a bit. He spent hours teaching me how to swim when I was 4. He kept me calm and got me to a doctor fast when I was exposed to shellfish when I was 5. He never once got mad at me when I came into his room during thunder and lightning storms or for jumping over board and swimming around the boat when he was trying to fish. He got me to finally try riding a bike without training wheels. The awful night I learned that I would have to have braces? Only my big brother J could get me to stop screaming. My big brother has been a pretty big part of a lot of interesting times in my life.
But there were also other things he did. He got irritated at my toys during tea parties because he said they were using foul language. He tried to burn all my dolls because he could hear them plotting to hurt me in my sleep. He’d make me wear earmuffs when we watched T.V. because he didn’t want me getting brain washed by the secret messages. He’d hand cuff me to the belt loops of his jeans so the kidnappers who were always following us would never get me. He told me about his sonic hearing and how he could hear what the entire town was saying at any given moment.
I was such a little kid and I didn’t think my brother was ill. I thought he was a super hero. He was much more interesting than my other three older brothers who did nothing but chase after girls, play video games, hang out with their own friends and obsess about their cars. While my three brothers were trying to get to the next level of whatever game they had, my oldest brother could get people do stuff with the power of his mind. He was convinced he could start fires with the power of his mind, even though he never meant to and he could hear predictions of the future in the wind.
But shortly after he turned 17 he was hospitalized. I wasn’t allowed to see him for almost 4 and a half months. After that I could only see him with the family for a few hours a week. I was 6 when I was introduced to the word Schizophrenia. I knew my brother; I have played with him for all my 6 years so far. So I didn’t quite know what Schizophrenia meant on the grand scale. So far it meant I didn’t get to play with my brother anymore. I didn’t like it.
After he got diagnosed and “stabilized” and sent home, then I saw what big teeth this illness has. My family said time and time again that they didn’t know who he was any more. From what he was trying to tell me; he didn’t know himself any more either. He was trying to relay the fact that he felt erased. He felt that what little he knew of himself was gone. The rebuilding process was long and hard.
There was much adjustment, misunderstanding, heart break, drugs, losing him a few more times to this illness, and starting over. I sort of saw him as a house of cards. Every time the family just got him built back up, some gust of wind would knock him back down again. But my parents never once gave up on him and used every resource they could find to throw at this illness.
My other brothers were older and the friendship between them and my oldest brother disappeared. But for some unknown reason, my big brother never took his anger, his pain or his terror out on me. I was by his side during some of his episodes, but he never freaked out at me personally. He’d un-handcuff me and yell at me to run away. He felt really ashamed when he lost himself around me and he would write me long letters of apology telling me that the nice brother, the peaceful brother is deep inside this other one and would be out soon. But I would have to wait a long time.
As I got older I went through a period of resentment, and wishing my home was normal and pretending that all this didn’t exist. I didn’t have friends over; I didn’t tell anyone about my brother. I think he knew what was happening and how I felt. I think that hurt him too because he disappeared on me. For a few months he was gone without a trace. I found that to be harder to take than any embarrassment I might have felt about having him around. He was homeless for a while and when he was finally found and brought back into hospital, we got a second chance to rebuild our friendship.
After he reappeared from nowhere to be found, I had come to realize that I didn’t care if others thought I was weird, or if others made comments. I had my big brother back. If he could face this illness and his symptoms both numerous and debilitating, both negative and positive, and the stigma, and the medication side effects, and the confusion, then I should be a little braver about fake friends and rude strangers.
There have been some very dark times and many nights of tears on both our parts. But his strength in fighting this has inspired me a lot over the years. So much time hard work went into helping my brother try and come back to us. He’s been doing so well. I am very grateful for these past few years that he’s been getting better, stronger and happier. My big brother is my best friend and the strongest person I know. I do love someone who has this illness and I get to learn something new from him all the time.
My biggest lesson that I’ve gotten from my big brother is; never give up hope.
Thank you for letting me post.
That was really beautiful @kidsister. Thanks for posting.
Beautiful and inspiring story 
Nice writing Riley. Nice story. Interesting success story! Hope you guys have a good and dry weekend up there.
I was really hoping you would post. I think we all wish we had a sister like you!
@kidsister that was beautiful and touching - you are such a good sister to James
Hi Kidsister. Your beautiful story about your brother and how much you love him brought me tears of joy. You are such a special young woman. Thank you for sharing your story.