Vendors
Page 6
One Hundred Years
One step at a time
by Maddy Brown-Clark
The only thing I mind
About getting older
Is that I get closer
To death each year
And I wonder will the angels
Sing sad songs for me
When I’m gone?
I won’t go to heaven
I’ll sleep away in
The grave.
I’ll rest in peace
As I become part of the land
Under the moon and stars
I won’t be a ghost
I won’t haunt anyone
I will descend into nothingness
Until the dead rise again
Then there’ll be paradise
Laughter and tears of joy
The living will welcome me
With waiting arms.
Even though I was dead
One hundred years.
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was the oldest of five children. My father
was a functional drunk, a mean drunk.
My mother was an angel. The
atmosphere in my home was one of electric
stress. My father had high expectations for
me because I was the oldest. To make
matters worse, he despised me.
One day I noticed that mom was always
talking to herself. She told me that the
Virgin Mary appeared to her to make life at
home tolerable. Little did I know she was
experiencing the onset of schizophrenia. I
was doing the same things as her. I heard
voices and saw things that were not there. I
was depressed all the time.
We lived in San Antonio, Texas. It was
summertime in 1969. It was a summer I
would never forget. My mother’s contact
with the Virgin Mary became more frequent.
She would spend half a day in bed,
conversing with Mary. This became her safe
haven. She said Jesus was going to heal my
dad from the alcohol. It was a message of
hope and peace. The whole family believed
my dad would become a loving father soon.
Mom woke us all up at 1 a.m. one night in
April. She was afraid because the devil
appeared to her and was going to kill her if
we did not pray nonstop until noon. I put my
hand on her shoulder. She was shaking and
drenched in sweat. I could not console her.
We gathered around her in her bedroom and
began to pray.
After two hours, I could not pray anymore.
Dad took Mom to the church to talk to the
priest. We needed answers. Father John tried
to talk to her. She was too far gone. He
recommended taking her to the hospital.
Dr. Neville Murray came into our lives. He
was well known for treatment of
schizophrenia. Dr. Murray said mother’s
prognosis was poor.
“I don’t know if I can bring her back,” he
said.
Dr. Murray began treating her with
electroshock therapy. ECT causes
convulsions and wipes the memory that is
causing the illness. My mother had 20
treatments. Afterward, she was much better,
though not completely cured. Then Dr.
Murray put her on medication. She came
home after six weeks in the hospital.
Through it all, I was in a deep depression.
My voices that I heard all day, every day,
switched to command voices. On my 16th
birthday in May of the same year, they told
me I had to commit suicide. I believed my
voices. I took 60 sleeping pills and went to
school. I changed my mind. I did not want to
die. Fighting sleep, I told my teacher what I
had done. He contacted the nurse in the
office. She called my dad.
My father came to pick me up and took
me to the hospital. The doctors started me
on ECT after they made me vomit the pills. I
was placed on heavy medication. My father
was angry with me. He called me every
name in the book. He hit me so hard that I
became unconscious. I was at a point where I
did not care anymore.
Dr. Murray diagnosed me with the same
thing as my mother. I also received ECT and
was put on a vigorous regimen of medication.
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A personal account of mental
illness, addiction and recovery
BY NORM CHAMBERLIN
Answers to Page 15 Puzzles
3 9
Street Roots • Nov. 10-16, 2017
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'The start to d brighterfuture
Thirty days later, I went home. My father
believed I had caused my mother to get sick.
He beat me with his belt until my back bled.
It was too much to handle.
Alcohol became my friend. Then alcohol
became a burden to me. I became an active
alcoholic, which lasted 30 years.
I decided to quit cold turkey. I checked
into a motel in Sherman, Texas. I told the
desk clerk if he didn’t see me within three
days to come get me.
I got really sick. I threw up all over myself,
and I peed my pants. I couldn’t move. Three
days passed and the clerk came for me.
He had me take off all my clothes, washed
them and put me in the shower. He bought
me a hamburger, then took me to an AA
meeting that day. I was terrified because I
didn’t know what to expect. I was assigned a
sponsor. He offered reassurance; everything
was going to be OK. I told him my story
about my family. He gave me a hug. This was
the beginning of a new life for me.
But the symptoms of schizophrenia
continued to present themselves in full force.
I stopped taking my medication. My voices
told me I was cured and did not need them
anymore. I became severely discouraged. No
matter how hard I tried, the result was
always the same: failure.
I wanted to be better now. I found out that
work for schizophrenia never ends. I am a
very patient man, and I was determined to
win the battle that my illness brought me. It
was a year before I was totally grounded. The
voices never totally go away. Through
counseling, I learned to manage my illness.
There is no cure. I am one of the fortunate
ones. The work toward normal is very
intense. You have to learn what normal is,
one step at a time.
by Elizabeth Considine