seanessay.com (1,000 words)
The first time I knew anyone living with schizophrenia was when a college classmate in her late 20’s, “Shawna,” was acting a little strange. A group of us slightly older students (early to mid-20’s) were leaving the younger ones to their long counter nook upstairs, “the Soup Kitchen” while we gathered at a large round table downstairs at “the Ice Cream bar.” Note: Since then, the college has saved money by centralizing all the food in a big dreary place with rectangular tables and regular chairs, but in my day there were some delightful little food nooks. I remember asking Shawna to hold still while I compared her pupils, but I forget what her strange behaviours were, besides expressing her surprise by suddenly leaving her wrought iron chair, and then resuming her seat. The thing to note is that everybody, including me, was unsure whether anything was wrong. Call us unexposed, call us “in denial.”
When Shawna didn’t show up for class the next day, and we gathered at the table again, we talked, but no one except me was concerned enough to act: So I grabbed our oldest classmate, Faith Bird. (Faith would go on to be the volunteer coordinator at a big Leisure Centre—our career major was Leisure Services) We went to a payphone. I tried first—Shawna hung up. Faith tried— a super-quick call. To me: “She said, ‘My head feels like it’s between two walls!’” We looked at each other; I led us off to the college Counselling Centre, which I was very familiar with.
We sat in the waiting area; we told the staff, “This is a crises.”
“A crises for you?” Like I said, familiar.
“No, for a classmate.” A counsellor ushered us in, heard our story, and telephoned Shawna. “Do you know Sean and Faith?” That’s about as far as he got. He turned to us. “It’s definitely a crises. Does she live alone?
“No,” said Faith; “Yes,” said I, “her roommate has just moved out.”
“Then get her to come down to the college. Not to see a counsellor (she won’t go) but to see a doctor in our medical clinic.” That worked.
While at the Counselling Centre, Faith kept re-folding a piece of paper, and I kept stretching. As we left she told me, “I was shaking.” Me too. Faith said, “We’re heroes!”
Next day a professor paused at my desk to softly tell me Shawna was in the hospital. She still graduated, but in the summer. Turns out she had been on medication, but had stopped taking it.
A few years later, at university, a popular president, of a student club I was in, developed schizophrenia—such a dashing of young hopes!—and took his own life.
… I’ve been remembering all this because a couple weeks ago I got a long, crazy, hateful, disjointed letter in my e-mail—and the person also posted his letter into my comment section for an old October essay. The writer was not writing about me, he was obsessed with a pen pal of mine, Derek Sivers, far around the globe in New Zealand. (The wired world is flat) And my name has featured in Derek’s blog. Turns out the fellow had even written to the NZ government regarding Derek. I left his comment on my post, and added my own:
If a loved one has schizophrenia, you may not even know, as it can be controlled by medication. The illness is genetic, not the fault of the person or her environment. Appearing usually in the early 20’s, the illness may be first triggered, but not caused, by stress. And I for one think it may be exacerbated by smoking cannabis as a teenager, as the brain is still growing into the late 20’s.
When a fellow college student went off her medication I was advised to get her in to see the campus physician, not a counsellor. This worked. After hospitalization she was able to graduate during the summer. I was part of her graduation project (thesis defence) panel.
The important thing is to notice when the illness returns, and then to support the person to get back onto medication. Going off meds while “feeling fine” is usually not caused by “craziness,” but by human error—OK, stupidity—and can have a tragic consequence.
The tragedy is one may return to one’s daily lifetime medication regime AND be at a lower functioning level than before. Do this one or more times and one may become unemployable, forever on a welfare level of income. Unable to afford a computer. Seeking solace in cigarettes.
A friend: “You know the problem with welfare? The big problem? You can’t afford cigarettes.”
So if someone goes off medication, don’t be hung up on their “freedom”—intervene!
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As for being figuratively “crazy,” becoming obsessed with a blogger, it seems there are the ultra-fans, and then there are the ultra-haters. Why hate?
Web essayist Paul Graham, who like Derek, is rich and famous, wrote a piece about the haters, explaining they are fans with the (algebraic) sign reversed. (Link) Science fiction writer John Scalzi, also rich and famous, (is there a pattern here?) has a successful blog. (link) He collected the hateful comments he got, along with his witty replies, in a splendid book called Your Hate Mail will be Graded.
Incidentally, two days ago I e-mailed John with advice for his daughter. The busy man replied, “Thank you! I will pass this on!” Ain’t it a small world, with nice people? I once reassured an international model as we drank beer together, because she asked me: No, I didn’t mind her being beautiful. “There are people who intimidate me, but this doesn’t include people who are famous, working in the media or very pretty.” I feel safe with them, as I do among folks with schizophrenia.
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Sean Crawford
mirroring a world of nice people,
April,
2022
