“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

–Dylan Thomas

One may have thought, after six months under constant supervision in a psychiatric hospital, being controlled with chemical and physical restraints, that I would be grateful to be finally released. I was, but a large part of me was such an emotional and physical wreck. I wasn’t sure how well I would cope when I no longer had the protection of being in a place where there was a small group of staff who understood my mental illness and were willing to be caring and supportive.

I hadn’t been treated too well for a five-month period when I was in the psychiatric hospital. I had been admitted to the ward for problem patients, I didn’t get along with my doctor, and I was frequently punished by being put into an empty isolation room. These “isolation treatments” sometimes lasted for up to a day or more at a time. During these periods, no one, not even the staff who were assigned to watch me would acknowledge anything I had to say. After having this done to me many times, I started to kick, yell, and scream at my captors. All there was in the room was a plastic mattress and a blanket, and a plastic bottle in place of a bathroom. I am ashamed to admit it, but at one point I had been pushed so far I drank my own urine in the hopes of becoming violently ill and getting out of isolation.

I had also gotten into a couple of fights, not just with fellow patients, but with staff members. I had received enough punches to the face to lose three teeth. After five months on the “intensive care” ward, somehow, medication was found that helped restore me to sanity. My logic and politeness came back, and with the kindness of a psychiatrist who worked with no personal or hidden agenda, I was moved to a much less severe ward and released in a few weeks. In the weeks I spent there, I hadn’t once had the need to be ‘punished’ with a stay in an isolation room.

I ended up going to a group home that was very helpful and supportive. Not everyone had schizophrenia as I did, but all the residents had some diagnosis of mental illness, and all the staff were trained to deal with people with an illness. Suddenly, for the first time in my adult life, I was no longer in a small apartment alone, but I was living in a supportive community and there was very little stigma. They gave me regular food, regular medications, regular exercise, and I began to thrive like I had never before been able to. I often wonder if I had the appearance of a person with a severe mental illness at that time.

I lived in the group home for fifteen years. Sometimes, now 54, I look back at those years and wonder if they were wasted. They surely did go by fast. But the truth, as I found out later from a psychiatrist, was that people with illnesses like schizophrenia often recover fully, but it often takes years. This was how it worked for me. After 15 years in the group home, I had found work, I had completed a bunch of college courses in writing and publishing, I owned a car, and I really feel I was living my best life.

When I moved, I was sent to an apartment building with some supports. I love this place, it has a great deal of room for me to work, exercise, play video games, have friends over, and more. My focus now has been on the work I have done in the mental health field. I am currently a community education presenter for The Schizophrenia Society of Alberta. I go to high school and college classes to give presentations about mental health, and I also often get on the phone and do peer support for people who live in remote areas or are unable to access services for whatever reason. When I first joined the SSA, I took a wellness course through them and did so well that they offered a job where I would come back and teach the next two courses. They even paid me for my time.

This was a huge turning point. I discovered the magic of teaching, and it has permeated every part of my life. From a young age, I had good communication skills, good leadership skills, and a good memory. These skills somehow seemed to make teaching students, showing kindness, and sharing all I can, such an effortless and enjoyable experience.

I ended up getting more teaching jobs, some at the same hospital in which I had been treated so harshly. It was so amazing to run into doctors I had known, and to be able to

I did have one setback after I had recovered. A doctor I liked, and who had been amazing in my care, tried switching one of my medications to a new one, which was supposed to cause fewer side effects like the trembling hands I experienced after taking my usual medication.  Unfortunately the new medication made me very ill and landed me in a hospital for five weeks. I honestly believe this was something the doctor wouldn’t have been able to foresee, further giving credence to the concept that every person is unique and reacts in different ways to life situations and medication.

So, I decided to write a book about the experience. I wanted to write a unique one. It wasn’t intended as being something a person just reads cover to cover. I included statements from family and friends, essays, poems, a glossary of terms. I even scanned in my clinical notes to show what the nurses and doctors were recording on paper before and during my hospital stay. I would like to say I found a publisher and the book (Alert and Oriented x3) was a success, and it was for most of the professionals I have given to or sold it to. However, one very negative review on Amazon blocked a lot of potential sales.

It was shortly after I wrote and self-published this book that the pandemic hit. Somehow, I was able to cope, but my isolation and loneliness got to new highs. I was grateful to be able to turn to giving online presentations, and when I was able to go to groups in person, my whole life really started to fall into place.

As things sit now, I am doing incredibly well. I have started a blog and greatly enjoy giving ideas, opinions and advice to my over 1,000 subscribers. I kind of feel that the only real reason I am compliant with treatment, taking meds, working hard to better myself all the time, is that I put my whole focus in life on helping others who experience mental illness. When I was early in my treatment and nowhere near recovery, I had just as much stigma towards the mentally ill as the worst person you could imagine. This stigma turned into self-stigma when I started to experience symptoms of psychosis and didn’t want to admit I was just like the people I once judged.

I am often reminded of being in a secure ward that had dirty, dusty floors, and residue of cigarette smoke all over the walls, watching TV. A friend from the ward was sitting next to me and did one of the kindest things I could imagine. He asked if I liked to draw, and when I thought of it for a bit, I realized I loved doing it, and told him, and also told him the fact that I felt I was no good. He gave me a blank piece of paper and a pencil, as well as a drawn picture of a tiger, and told me to try drawing it. I started and became absorbed in what I was doing and saw how the lines denoted a 3-D object on a 2-D paper. It was fascinating. Then, out of the wild blue, my friend said to me:

“See? Now we’re no longer in a mental hospital.” And he was right. That was years ago, but I have used his trick not just to engage myself when I am in places where I feel uncomfortable or want some kind of escape. I also use it for students.

As a closing note, I want to share some small bits of wisdom with anyone who may be suffering or have a loved one who suffers. One of them is that caregivers need to realize they need care too. Another is that, especially if you are on medication, alcohol and cannabis are not benign drugs. Lastly, I draw from my own years of experience, something I always like to share when I talk to a person with a loved one who doesn’t seem to be making progress, is the following.  In almost every case, the ones who recover, the ones who go on their medications and get their lives in order,  are the ones have at least one caregiver who will go to the wall for them. Without that, sadly, far too many people living with mental illness fall by the wayside.