It’s funny. My daughter was asking about schizophrenia last night at the dinner table. I wish we had recorded the conversation for you. I want to take her to my group now, so she can meet some schizophrenics—some of whom are high functioning and some of whom don’t function so well, but are not dangers to anyone.
We talked about seeing things that aren’t there (which led us off into a side discussion about how anyone knows if what they see is real or not). We talked about hearing voices and the kinds of things those voices say. She started to want to know how she could tell if she was schizophrenic or not. She seemed to be interested in the idea of whether people know they are seeing the world differently than others—which lead to the old chestnut about whether all people see the same color the same—did what I think is green look blue inside your head?
She asked how schizophrenics are treated, and what happens in their lives. We talked about what we knew (which isn’t everything, to be sure). I shared a bit of my own experience, although she doesn’t yet know I’m bipolar. We’ve only discussed the depression. This is because my wife is afraid the kids will tell all their friends.
We didn’t discuss the part about societies where people who can see things that most people can’t see are revered for their wisdom and ability to help others.
These are not things that are taught in schools. Most children don’t go to bipolar support groups. Most people have no idea. I know I didn’t before I got sick a few years back. Now I have more of an explanation for the kinds of things I think and see. I know the difference between reality and hallucination ( I believe), so I can enjoy the things I see that others don’t. Unless they bother me. Mostly they have been benign so far. Probably not even enough to think of as unusual. Just a hyperactive imagination. But there are times… when I know things that I have no way of knowing. Probably just educated guesses, but still, it’s weird.
Never mind. It’s interesting that you say you are high functioning. I know what that means, but it always struck me as an unfortunate term. I’m pretty high functioning for a bipolar dude. Never even lost a day of work. God that was weird.
The thing is that we don’t run around announcing who we are (except on fluther). Yeah, it’s like a secret club and there are ways you can recognize others without ever telling them until after you’ve established it.
I have been told that one in five people has mental illness. Wow! If that’s the case than there are tons of hidden schizos and obsessers and adders and manic-depressives and cutters and starvers and pukers and Debbie Downers all around us. All nuts. Nuts like us.
Of course, people think were incompetent and faking it and dangerous and who knows what all else. So many derogatory terms for us.
But we’re all hidden. Or mostly hidden. If our families know, they don’t talk about it. It’s a sign of shame. Services for us are the first to be cut when Republicans get a chance to wield their hatchets. Never mind that it actually costs more money. Let’s just let them hang out on the streets until we have room in the hospital. Oh dear. They died. Oh well. Ok. I’m making myself mad now.
It is useful though, if you let someone know you are crazy. It might scare them off, if they are trying to bother you. Or you can just let it happen when you need it—that beserker rage. Well, some people can. My friend has gotten himself into trouble (because he doesn’t think he’s worth staying alive), but also out of trouble when he stops caring about his life. He’s avoided death several times this way, although he had to kill his attackers in a couple of those situations—something that will forever haunt him and has ruined his marriage.
That’s just it. My wife doesn’t trust him. Hardly anyone trusts him. He makes it so easy to mistrust him. He doesn’t care any more. He is brilliant and witty and a great writer and he doesn’t give a fuck any more. They’ve taken his kid away, given him to his mother, who actually is nuttier than my friend is, and he is totally demoralized.
He’s dealing with the legal system to try to get his son back, but he’s always sabotaging himself with the lawyers. He’s always telling them how stupid they are. Good move. Problem is that deep inside, he doesn’t think he should win or have anything good. But he has such an aggressive and prickly exterior, that no one knows this. I think I’ve gotten more out of him than anyone. Proverbial iceberg and all that.
So, yeah. Not just schizophrenics. Manic-depressives; people who exhibit all kinds of apparently unreasonable paranoia; people who throw up or eat nothing. People can’t make head nor tail out of this. It just doesn’t make sense, and rather than try to understand, we get written off or marginalized or swept under the carpet.
Of course the answer is for us to come out, so people can see we’re all over the place, doing many important things for society. But who wants to be out first? Who wants to get beaten up by an uncaring society that just wants things to be smooth and thinks we’re worthless? Not me. That’s for sure.
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