The Trouble with Schizophrenia
The quick and precise answer is – no one, neither nurses, doctors, attorneys, psychiatrists, nor psychologists (psychiatrists and psychologists seemed to care the least, all were dollar needy) know the real cause. I included attorneys in that group because they are really in the dark when trying to defend a person with that disability.
Nurses are the most compassionate, however; I am not speaking of all only some. Many nurses are like the public – myself included – who see the violent schizoid as an evil person. I mean, who could swear up and down at their own mother and hit her with a closed fist and knock her to the floor? I’ve seen that; I’ve lived with a schizophrenic (my brother) who did that. He had the entire family afraid to make a noise (noises such as breathing, walking, no blowing of noses or accidental burps lest you be labeled a “fucking pig”) the list included nearly anything that he could hear.
Mom once said, “I can’t stand it! It’s like living in a morgue.”
And truth be told, it was exactly like that; nobody made a sound. Except in a morgue you wouldn’t need to worry about getting beat-up. Neither me nor my brother’s or sister’s dared make a sound when he was around. I often thought that he sensed our fear and that only served to make things worse. Though, that wasn’t it because I tried being noisy around him too and that was actually worse. He would then mimic everything said and every movement made until you did something to really annoy him. It was like living with a breathing, mimicking time bomb that could go off at the biting of a cracker, even though you bit on it as softly as possible and tried to make only one swallow. Nobody knew how to deal with him; and he never allowed anybody close enough to talk to him.
His name is John by the way and my name is Jim. He and I shared a bedroom until he moved out and got married at age 18, but my childhood was not a happy one. I used to lie in bed afraid to rollover because (that would rustle the covers) it would be too noisy for him to deal with, humph; my breathing even got him going. He yelled at me more than one time, “Why do you have to breath so loud?” My breathing pattern was normal, but then he’d fling a shoe or whatever was close to him at my head to silence me. In turn another fight would erupt.