MY VOICE: Dealing with changes
By Drew and Nancy Denison
Schizophrenia Digest
Winter 2009
Drew: There was this time when I had to leave society. I was physically removed from the world that you and I know and placed in an institution.
Nancy: We knew Drew was having problems. He appeared depressed, withdrawn, but we had no clue what was really going on. We had taken him to his counselor, who encouraged him to see a doctor, but we knew after a week or so of gentle reminders that Drew was not able to do that on his own. I made appointments and canceled them. I was trying to let him be responsible for himself. I wasn’t sure he would go even if I made an appointment. It was the most frightening time in my life.
Drew: It was a Friday night. The ensemble band I played with had just finished a concert—I had been involved in the band throughout the year my delusions began. I went to the concert thinking I had messages to convey to particular band members I had gotten to know. My tools to communicate my messages were a wood block, a pair of drum mallets, and a {removed by NicNak possable trigger}
I was standing in the school—in the hallway close to the exit door—with the things I had brought for symbolic communication with others. Chip, a fellow percussionist, seemed to realize I was standing in front of the messages as he came up next to me and read them. “Stay here, Drew, I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
I knew he understood the message. He was going to tell the others and it would start. The symbols had different meanings to certain people, but to the rest of them the messages might mean anything. However, they would all ultimately understand. The unspoken, telepathic information I was giving and receiving from people would start to make sense all around. It would come together soon.
Nancy: It seemed to us he had been trying hard to maintain some sense of normalcy and daily life, but he was not the same person we knew. He was withdrawn; keeping to himself. I watched him walk out of the house that night to participate in the concert. I saw some of the items he took with him, but did not think about their meaning or their potential danger. Now I remember his sense of determination as he left for the night.
Drew: Chip came back with someone and it started. A man stood six feet away facing me. I stood up straight. Chip was to my side and said, “Drew, this man wants to talk with you.” I thought he was giving me a test to see how many people I could mentally conduct. This is what I had been working on for months, it seemed. The man asked, “What is your name?” I didn’t have to tell him; he was already reading my mind.
Then he asked again, “How old are you?” I figured this was a riddle because he was a police officer and he knew I had been in trouble before. This was a simply a matter of an element of me appearing out in reality. I answered that I was 16 because he would know that’s how old I was when I got into trouble. I realized I may have crossed a line though when the three others walked in. I should have stopped then and said, “Okay, I’m done with my event and I’m fine,” but the three stood in a line and I was aware of what my subconscious was doing; showing itself in the mirror that was reality. I knew this was going too far. I thought I had proven my point, but I couldn’t stop. I was hooked on the intensity of it.
These people were trying to understand why I would not talk; why I was mute. They must have called for backup; EMTs, firefighters, police, and a state trooper now showed up.
I had been in and out of reality for four months. Out in society I stood no chance of acting normal that day. But I had to show Chip that I was able to mentally or telepathically direct this group of society’s official figures. I remember thinking it was interesting to see what would happen from all this attention. There were now about 14 people standing in a geometric shape. I was starting to be guided out by one of them. They took me toward the exit doors and someone took a sample of my blood. Then the police officer led me to his car. Chip was right there. As I was put into the car, Chip stood outside the window and made a fist at me which I took to mean “be like a rock.” He put his thumb up and that meant everything would be all right. This place I was going, maybe he had been there before.
Nancy: I was home at the time. The phone rang: An EMT asked if I had a son who might be in a diabetic shock. It took me a few seconds to realize who it was and who he was speaking about. I was finally able to tell him that Drew was having some sort of breakdown, and needed to go to the hospital. This was the opportunity we were told would happen: He would do something that someone thought was not right and the police would be involved. First the EMT wanted me to take him to the hospital, but then he called back to have me meet Drew there. I anxiously called my husband.
Drew: I was removed from society and taken to an institution; an emergency room where I sat silently with my parents. We waited a long time. I tried to explain to my parents what had happened because I knew they were not part of the plan, and telling them would help me recover my memory after the people in the hospital tried to alter it. It was perfectly logical to me.
Nancy: The intake counselor from Community Mental Health (who happened to be a friend from our son’s soccer days) helped with the admission process, which seemed to take forever. In an ironic way she hoped Drew’s breakdown was drug-induced, which supposedly would be easier to deal with than a real mental illness. People in the emergency room look at you a bit differently when you are in for a psychotic issue—part sadness, part fear as if seemingly normal people like us shouldn’t be there. It was late: quiet and calm. Drew was eerily quiet: he was lying down, sitting up, sighing. He was brought some food and juice. David helped Drew put on his hospital gown. I took a walk to call our daughter; to cry; to wonder why this was happening to us.
Drew: It was around 2:00 a.m. when a woman came in. My parents were asked to leave. Her hair was all messy, like she had just woken up, but she was very calm and started asking questions. She was in on the plan and was aware of the events of the past few months. My answers were not making sense; they were not the right ones. However, I thought I still had a chance to end it. All would be fine and we could go home. It seemed like a game. I even laughed during certain parts of our conversation.
Finally we left that room and went upstairs to the ward. Reality was coming through my mind a bit.
I was led to my room at the end of the hallway. It had my name on it. An older woman asked me some questions then talked to my parents. I sat on the bed losing hope.
Nancy: It took me a minute to realize the locked door and hushed voices indicated we were in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. Entering the lobby area, I felt a bit uncomfortable. We had no idea of what to expect from any of this other than we knew Drew was safe. We knew we were hopefully beginning the process of getting our son back. We did not know the process; we did not yet know the diagnosis.
We felt alone, completely devastated, exhausted not only from the events of the night, but of the last four weeks of watching Drew disappear into his own world. He had spent hours trying to organize a new sports club at school. He would lay out his receipts and other little bits of paper on the basement floor and just look at them. He wrote wildly in his journal, which I scoured for any kind of information that might help him; help us deal with whatever was going on. The worst was going down to the basement and finding him in the tiny furnace room, his hood up over his head, eyes sunken, rocking, lost in the darkness of his mind. I would now hang on to the hope that we could bring him back, that we would do whatever we had to.
Drew: I was in the hospital for two weeks: Slowly coming back to the reality of where I was, how badly I wanted to get out, how I didn’t really belong there in the first place. There were a few staff members I could relate to, and they encouraged me to talk and earn the privilege I so badly wanted of going outside for 15 minutes several times a day.
For months afterwards I could not believe the world I had been in was false. The event at the school seemed like the biggest spiritual moment in my life. Being in the hospital may have really been the spiritual shift I was trying to conduct even though I believed for a long time that I was in the hospital being altered because I knew too much. It took another break from reality about seven months later—and another hospitalization—for me to take the small steps in understanding what I was dealing with. Becoming part of a support group helped me begin to accept my illness and embark on the path to recovery.
Nancy: We didn’t know if there was any schizophrenia in our genetic makeup. Where did this come from? For many months we searched for answers. We wanted to believe it could not be this serious and permanent; that he would come out of it. As we saw Drew losing touch with reality and finally being taken back to the hospital for the second time just before Christmas, we sadly realized schizophrenia must be the cause. Fortunately we have been part of a family support group for the past 20 months, which has made all the difference in Drew’s acceptance of his illness. It has allowed us all a mutual give-and-take of support with the other families we have come to know.
Drew: It’s an understatement to say that living with a mental illness is a life-changing process. I have grown a great deal through this recovery time with the help of my family and friends. This illness has forced me to take better care of my body as well as my mind because I now know how interdependent they are. I am faithful in my medication and I exercise regularly. I know when I am feeling stressed that I need to do more physical activity and to talk to those whom I trust and love. My life is about change—good and bad—and how I deal with those changes.
Drew currently lives in Denver where he is completing his Associates Degree in Liberal Arts. He is a talented cook at a downtown restaurant, enjoys playing music being outside and maintains his love of soccer.
Nancy is a professional educator of young children in northern Michigan. In her free time she enjoys her outdoor gardens, creating mosaic tables and reading.
By Drew and Nancy Denison
Schizophrenia Digest
Winter 2009
Drew: There was this time when I had to leave society. I was physically removed from the world that you and I know and placed in an institution.
Nancy: We knew Drew was having problems. He appeared depressed, withdrawn, but we had no clue what was really going on. We had taken him to his counselor, who encouraged him to see a doctor, but we knew after a week or so of gentle reminders that Drew was not able to do that on his own. I made appointments and canceled them. I was trying to let him be responsible for himself. I wasn’t sure he would go even if I made an appointment. It was the most frightening time in my life.
Drew: It was a Friday night. The ensemble band I played with had just finished a concert—I had been involved in the band throughout the year my delusions began. I went to the concert thinking I had messages to convey to particular band members I had gotten to know. My tools to communicate my messages were a wood block, a pair of drum mallets, and a {removed by NicNak possable trigger}
I was standing in the school—in the hallway close to the exit door—with the things I had brought for symbolic communication with others. Chip, a fellow percussionist, seemed to realize I was standing in front of the messages as he came up next to me and read them. “Stay here, Drew, I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.
I knew he understood the message. He was going to tell the others and it would start. The symbols had different meanings to certain people, but to the rest of them the messages might mean anything. However, they would all ultimately understand. The unspoken, telepathic information I was giving and receiving from people would start to make sense all around. It would come together soon.
Nancy: It seemed to us he had been trying hard to maintain some sense of normalcy and daily life, but he was not the same person we knew. He was withdrawn; keeping to himself. I watched him walk out of the house that night to participate in the concert. I saw some of the items he took with him, but did not think about their meaning or their potential danger. Now I remember his sense of determination as he left for the night.
Drew: Chip came back with someone and it started. A man stood six feet away facing me. I stood up straight. Chip was to my side and said, “Drew, this man wants to talk with you.” I thought he was giving me a test to see how many people I could mentally conduct. This is what I had been working on for months, it seemed. The man asked, “What is your name?” I didn’t have to tell him; he was already reading my mind.
Then he asked again, “How old are you?” I figured this was a riddle because he was a police officer and he knew I had been in trouble before. This was a simply a matter of an element of me appearing out in reality. I answered that I was 16 because he would know that’s how old I was when I got into trouble. I realized I may have crossed a line though when the three others walked in. I should have stopped then and said, “Okay, I’m done with my event and I’m fine,” but the three stood in a line and I was aware of what my subconscious was doing; showing itself in the mirror that was reality. I knew this was going too far. I thought I had proven my point, but I couldn’t stop. I was hooked on the intensity of it.
These people were trying to understand why I would not talk; why I was mute. They must have called for backup; EMTs, firefighters, police, and a state trooper now showed up.
I had been in and out of reality for four months. Out in society I stood no chance of acting normal that day. But I had to show Chip that I was able to mentally or telepathically direct this group of society’s official figures. I remember thinking it was interesting to see what would happen from all this attention. There were now about 14 people standing in a geometric shape. I was starting to be guided out by one of them. They took me toward the exit doors and someone took a sample of my blood. Then the police officer led me to his car. Chip was right there. As I was put into the car, Chip stood outside the window and made a fist at me which I took to mean “be like a rock.” He put his thumb up and that meant everything would be all right. This place I was going, maybe he had been there before.
Nancy: I was home at the time. The phone rang: An EMT asked if I had a son who might be in a diabetic shock. It took me a few seconds to realize who it was and who he was speaking about. I was finally able to tell him that Drew was having some sort of breakdown, and needed to go to the hospital. This was the opportunity we were told would happen: He would do something that someone thought was not right and the police would be involved. First the EMT wanted me to take him to the hospital, but then he called back to have me meet Drew there. I anxiously called my husband.
Drew: I was removed from society and taken to an institution; an emergency room where I sat silently with my parents. We waited a long time. I tried to explain to my parents what had happened because I knew they were not part of the plan, and telling them would help me recover my memory after the people in the hospital tried to alter it. It was perfectly logical to me.
Nancy: The intake counselor from Community Mental Health (who happened to be a friend from our son’s soccer days) helped with the admission process, which seemed to take forever. In an ironic way she hoped Drew’s breakdown was drug-induced, which supposedly would be easier to deal with than a real mental illness. People in the emergency room look at you a bit differently when you are in for a psychotic issue—part sadness, part fear as if seemingly normal people like us shouldn’t be there. It was late: quiet and calm. Drew was eerily quiet: he was lying down, sitting up, sighing. He was brought some food and juice. David helped Drew put on his hospital gown. I took a walk to call our daughter; to cry; to wonder why this was happening to us.
Drew: It was around 2:00 a.m. when a woman came in. My parents were asked to leave. Her hair was all messy, like she had just woken up, but she was very calm and started asking questions. She was in on the plan and was aware of the events of the past few months. My answers were not making sense; they were not the right ones. However, I thought I still had a chance to end it. All would be fine and we could go home. It seemed like a game. I even laughed during certain parts of our conversation.
Finally we left that room and went upstairs to the ward. Reality was coming through my mind a bit.
I was led to my room at the end of the hallway. It had my name on it. An older woman asked me some questions then talked to my parents. I sat on the bed losing hope.
Nancy: It took me a minute to realize the locked door and hushed voices indicated we were in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. Entering the lobby area, I felt a bit uncomfortable. We had no idea of what to expect from any of this other than we knew Drew was safe. We knew we were hopefully beginning the process of getting our son back. We did not know the process; we did not yet know the diagnosis.
We felt alone, completely devastated, exhausted not only from the events of the night, but of the last four weeks of watching Drew disappear into his own world. He had spent hours trying to organize a new sports club at school. He would lay out his receipts and other little bits of paper on the basement floor and just look at them. He wrote wildly in his journal, which I scoured for any kind of information that might help him; help us deal with whatever was going on. The worst was going down to the basement and finding him in the tiny furnace room, his hood up over his head, eyes sunken, rocking, lost in the darkness of his mind. I would now hang on to the hope that we could bring him back, that we would do whatever we had to.
Drew: I was in the hospital for two weeks: Slowly coming back to the reality of where I was, how badly I wanted to get out, how I didn’t really belong there in the first place. There were a few staff members I could relate to, and they encouraged me to talk and earn the privilege I so badly wanted of going outside for 15 minutes several times a day.
For months afterwards I could not believe the world I had been in was false. The event at the school seemed like the biggest spiritual moment in my life. Being in the hospital may have really been the spiritual shift I was trying to conduct even though I believed for a long time that I was in the hospital being altered because I knew too much. It took another break from reality about seven months later—and another hospitalization—for me to take the small steps in understanding what I was dealing with. Becoming part of a support group helped me begin to accept my illness and embark on the path to recovery.
Nancy: We didn’t know if there was any schizophrenia in our genetic makeup. Where did this come from? For many months we searched for answers. We wanted to believe it could not be this serious and permanent; that he would come out of it. As we saw Drew losing touch with reality and finally being taken back to the hospital for the second time just before Christmas, we sadly realized schizophrenia must be the cause. Fortunately we have been part of a family support group for the past 20 months, which has made all the difference in Drew’s acceptance of his illness. It has allowed us all a mutual give-and-take of support with the other families we have come to know.
Drew: It’s an understatement to say that living with a mental illness is a life-changing process. I have grown a great deal through this recovery time with the help of my family and friends. This illness has forced me to take better care of my body as well as my mind because I now know how interdependent they are. I am faithful in my medication and I exercise regularly. I know when I am feeling stressed that I need to do more physical activity and to talk to those whom I trust and love. My life is about change—good and bad—and how I deal with those changes.
Drew currently lives in Denver where he is completing his Associates Degree in Liberal Arts. He is a talented cook at a downtown restaurant, enjoys playing music being outside and maintains his love of soccer.
Nancy is a professional educator of young children in northern Michigan. In her free time she enjoys her outdoor gardens, creating mosaic tables and reading.
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