Take Two

On a fall afternoon in 1976, my wife and I were at Silver Lake near Keene, New Hampshire. I went for a walk to the end of the road towards the dead-end by the lake. The colors were in full bloom. I walked down the dirt road, smoking. The glow of the colors contrasting against the blue waters of the lake was breathtaking. The leaves and water glowed and glimmered. As I neared the end of the road, I looked at a hump on the ground, which was covered in green moss. A chipmunk popped out of his hole. As my attention was drawn to him, he looked at me and ran back into his hole. In that split second, my glowing vision of the scenery collapsed into a pale view. It was as if I had two crystal balls removed from my eyes. Maybe rose-colored glasses. I did not think much of it then. No big deal, my colorful vision of the scenery will come back next time I light up. It never did. Believe me, I tried.

When we got home, we went to the harvest fair the following weekend. I remember walking into the crowd and feeling strange. My attention would be drawn to background conversations. The conversations of all the people there started to merge in to one unified conversation. As I listened, people would look at me. I felt as if I was intruding. I felt them saying, “Who are you to butt in?” Other looks made me feel as if I should leave. We hung out for a short period before I convinced my wife to go home.

One Saturday afternoon, I was watching a football game when I noticed a disturbance to my right. I looked at the wall—nothing. A few minutes later, I could see a group of people to my right through a perceived partial wall. We had a quick conversation. Then they were gone. I was going to be famous! I had solved the problem of getting around without a car thus saving a considerable amount of air pollution. I had found a bridge through time and space, thus eliminating the need for cars, boats and planes. Wisely enough, I put this little nugget in my back pocket.

On another occasion, my wife and I were watching TV together. As we watched, I could feel in my eyes her vision controlling mine, intruding and getting in front of me, thus blocking my access to all the treasures I could see through the TV program playing. There were dazzling displays of lights and colors way more entertaining than what was on the front of the screen. Another nugget – I am going to be famous. My father will be so proud.

On a regular basis, I would lie in bed at night and stare at the ceiling. Within a few seconds, the plaster ceiling would dissolve and I could see all the stars. God, this is great, I thought, I am going to be the envy of every intelligent person I know. The Washington crowd of in-laws will be impressed – just wait!

Sometimes as I would watch TV, the room around me would fade into a void as if I was sitting on the roof at night under a star-studded sky. As soon as the baby cried or the phone rang, the room would return. This is great, I thought. I am on top of the world. I bet my in-laws cannot do this. How am I going to demonstrate this to them? They would surely be impressed. 

Wanting to be as prestigious as two of my in-laws, lawyers, I convinced my employer to send me to graduate school for a three-month project to study computers as they related to the graphical display of air pollution data. I was going to graduate school to study. How exciting! I am going to fit right in at graduate school.

 As I settled in at my new apartment, I started reading Carlos Castaneda’s books. What a mistake. When my roommate saw me reading he said, “Reading, the last refuge from insanity.”

The one concept that I latched onto was to clear my mind of all thoughts. I realized the mental clutter was preventing me from getting in touch with the true source of the universe. So, for long periods of time, I would sit in the apartment and stare, nothing coming into my mind and nothing

One Thursday afternoon, I was in a small lab in computer graphics class. As I daydreamed, thinking how great I was, a blinding burst of light filled my vision and my mind. It was so explosive; I could only get out of my desk and quickly walk out of the lab in front of all the other students and the instructor.

This burst of light had scorched every sense of reality from my mind. Now I knew everyone knew what I was thinking. In a couple of weeks, I recouped. I could handle this. At the age of 27, I told myself, I had finally become an adult. My parents would be so proud to know that I had finally graduated into adulthood. I did not know yet the price of this diploma.

As I was holding the baby at her bedroom door, ready to put her down for a nap, my wife was looking at me. She was disturbed about something. As I turned to approach the crib, I felt sensation of pressure on my back. As I looked out the baby’s window, I felt myself being catapulted through the window as if a massive force was pushing me into an infinite stream. The rush stopped with a piercing black hole the shape of a person running away directly in front of me. I turned around and my wife was gone. I turned back and a rush of light flashed in front of me. I turned again and there was my wife on the couch. She said, “You were supposed to go first anyway.” I asked what she meant. “Forget it. It was nothing.” That night, as my wife and I lay in bed, I thought to myself, "Well if this is one big cosmos, my wife knows what I am thinking.” I thought, “Come on, kick me with your foot.” She did.

That night the voices started. As I lay there, people would tell me I could not go to sleep. “The days of Mom and Dad or your wife playing movies as dreams for you as you sleep are over. You are an adult. You have to take responsibility for your kid’s dreams. Just lie there. Do not dare go to sleep. Do not expect to be entertained by others.” This command resulted in me looking at day and night as one unified time continuum. I would lie in bed and be conscious, as my thoughts would fade into what used to be dreams. I was conscious through the transition into and out of what sleep I could get.

The fatigue set in and things got worse. One day, I was sitting in the living room talking to someone. I saw a face emerge through the plaster wall. As the figure started to emerge, I chased it back into the wall.

I knew deep down all this would make sense someday. Well, that day did eventually come.

When I woke up that September morning, I drove to the family doctor down where I grew up. I walked in and asked to see him. He would complain about my smoking. However, I knew he would fix this problem. I ended up with another doctor who told me I should probably drive to my father’s house and wait for Dad there. When I got there, Dad called and asked me if he should come home. I said, “Please do.”

I was sitting at the kitchen table when he came in. He went to the sink for a glass of water. As he turned around, I could see people entering and leaving his body as if he was a gate to the plant. This is what management is all about. The higher you get, the more people pass through you to get access to their jobs at the plant. I asked Dad if this was true. He said no. He suggested I go upstairs and lie down.

As I lay there, I thought, all I need is someone to close my back door. Somehow, I must have this huge gaping hole in my back that anyone can use to come into me and take anything they want: my thoughts, my mental food and my soul. They could even look through my eyes and control my movements. Staring at the ceiling, I heard a door squeak and slam. Thank God, I thought, I’ll be OK.

The car ride to the hospital with my wife and father was quiet. I committed myself and was led down the corridor to my room. Thank God, I can go to bed, I thought. No such luck. They made me go eat in the cafeteria. Then came the complete physical. I knew they would find a physical cause to this problem. Maybe they could cut it out.

The results were that I was fine. I asked if my extra-curricular activity, smoking marijuana, could have caused this problem. The doctors said no, however, these activities could have intensified the situation. After dinner, they gave me two pills. I was out. When I woke up in the morning, I was heavily drugged. It took until noon until my eyes were wide open. Through this daily haze of four weeks, we did arts and crafts and other things that I cannot remember.

About two weeks into my stay, I asked my wife to bring in the wicker antique rocking chair that I had been working on at home. At night, instead of arguing with the other patients in the recreation room over what we should watch on TV, I sat in my room re-caning the rocker. One of the night nurses would come in and talk to me. She was very helpful in bringing me back to reality. If I could remember her name, I would send her some flowers.

Thank God for the visitors. Even though I scared the hell out of my mom and dad, I appreciated their visit. My sister sent me a letter. In the letter she told me to trust in God. He would show me the way to the light. I read the letter several times. It helped.  I believe I received several get-well cards from the family. The Washington crowd, in particular, really came through for me. My sister-in-law and my mother-in-law came to visit me in the hospital. On one visit, my mother-in-law held my daughter’s hands over her head as Jill took her first step towards my outstretched hands. I will always cherish that moment.

My wife was a real trooper. She would come every day to visit me and participate in my counseling. She also brought me a supply of cigarettes. Several times during therapy, I yelled at her for causing all this pain. It had to be her fault. What the hell did I do to deserve this? She accepted the abuse as only a loving wife could. The times were tough. With a toddler in tow and one in the oven, I had probably scared the hell out of her. Even though I blamed her for all this pain, she stuck by me.

As winter approached, I knew I had to get out and get the house ready for the ravages of winter. New England winters can be brutal. I remember walking down our road with my wife the night of my release. I had been totally cleaned out. I was on a reduced load of medication. As we walked, I looked at the stars, a gruesome reminder of lying in bed staring through the ceiling. We sat on the end of the dock for a long period of time talking. It was like Catholic grammar school. Friday afternoon, a selected student would wash down the chalkboards clean. A blank soul.

I took it easy for a week relying on the medication. I was slowly coming back from a trip down a long dark path. I had to walk all the way home after a year of bad decisions. I knew with my wife’s help I could do it. I also knew it would take time. The problem was that I felt like a lost soul. My reference points were gone. In engineering, everything is based on scientific principles and assumptions. Lord knows all my assumptions proved to be wrong and my reference points to scientific principles were gone. How am I supposed to perform daily functions? What is normal? How am I supposed to deal with people?

 I was cleaning out my briefcase one day and found my Dale Carnegie pocket guide that was left over from my participation in the course in 1974. As I flipped through it, I thought to myself, maybe I could build a new personality using this guide. As with a sailor caught in a storm at sea, I used this guide to help me find a safe haven in developing a way to interact with people. As a sailor would say, “Any port in a storm.”

 With the help of newer medication and a very competent doctor, I am now in good shape. Sure there are bouts of depression and frustration, however, we have raised a family that I am proud of and love very much. Are the hallucinations gone? No. Will the hallucinations ever go away? I don’t think so. Are the delusions and paranoia gone? Yes?  

Having functioned as a computer software engineer for thirty years since my initial diagnosis, I appreciate the love and support of my wife, children, family and my doctor. Without these people and the support they provided, my life could well have been hospital stay after hospital stay. To those who have to deal with this illness directly as a patient or as a family member, I suggest seeking the resources necessary to make the best of the situation. When you look for help, you will find a path back to the light of life.

Let others know that there is hope and understanding about mental health. Together, we can become stigma free.