Sunday, May 30^th 2010

Joshua came home about 6pm. As he came to the door I could see through the window he was upset. It happens a lot now – and it’s becoming very difficult to cope with. He went straight to the kitchen; I assumed he was getting a drink. I went up to the bathroom and came back down to hear him rattling round in the drawers and cupboards. I went out there to see what he was looking for, and what I saw made me numb inside. My baby was shovelling handfuls of tablets into his mouth and washing them down with toilet bleach. He was retching between swallows. He wants to end his life, and tells me so. Panic stricken, I didn’t know what to do. I tried to take the pills out of his hands, but he grabbed them straight back and shoved me away. He is so much bigger than me; I felt we were going to end up in a fist fight, slapping and snatching. He ran upstairs and shut himself in the bathroom bolting the door, crying, screaming.  I felt powerless and very scared. I could hear him drinking more bleach the other side of the door. I called Dave, who came shortly afterwards with Ethan. Dave dialled 999 and tried to coax Josh out.  

I opened the front door and waited on the step, hoping and praying that the ambulance would turn into the street. The neighbours curtains twitching, they were wondering what was going on. We are the last house in the road. They must be curious, but I felt them watching and waiting.  I turned to see Ethan stood at the foot of the stairs not saying a word, he knew what was happening. He is a 10 year old child, how do we explain this? Tears brimming in his huge eyes, then spilling out and rolling down his face, but unable to speak, his eyes said it all.  I will never forget that, it’s imprinted in my head. The sirens were getting closer and I hoped they were for us. The Police and Paramedics duly turned up.  Due to the circumstances expressed in the emergency phone call, the volatile nature, the recent history, the Police had to be present as the Paramedics do not wear stab vests or any protection. That felt harsh. They took us to the Hospital in Reading.

After a long wait we saw a doctor, they put Joshua on the Clinical Decision Unit. Some of the tablets he took can induce an irregular heartbeat, or worse still a heart attack. Among the mixture he took were ibuprofen, cold remedies, painkillers and anti depressants prescribed by the GP 6 months before. At that point he had become quite down which was unlike him, and although we felt the GP didn’t take our concerns seriously, he wrote a prescription for anti depressant pills. He took them for a day or two, but as there was no immediate effect, these things take time to get into the system; he decided that tablets were not for him and put them away.  He was wired up to machinery, and being monitored all night. We left the hospital after midnight exhausted, as he was ready for sleep, hoping, praying even, that they get him well.

Friday 21^st May

So here we are.  I know Joshua is a social butterfly; he is well liked, loved, with a huge circle of friends. But he is with me, on a Friday night. At my house with his girlfriend, and he should be out, with her and his mates. I’m unsure if he is trying to pull the wool over my eyes or really making an effort. As the evening wears on he doesn’t go out. His so called friends are already alienating him. The attractive kid with a job, money, and a nice new car doesn’t want to come out and play tonight. I have come to the conclusion that maybe he was feeding other peoples habits too. Not that he ever needed to buy his friends, but if he was going to participate, and knowing Joshua, he wouldn’t want to do it alone.  He confirms that this is true.

 As the evening continues I’m quietly impressed – but then again it’s his first weekend of not going out, so it’s very early days.

Sat 22^nd may

He has stuck to his word and is here again tonight. He spent his wages on clothes – all of it. He went on line and blew the lot. He says if he has no money left then it takes the temptation away which is fair comment. He rarely drinks alcohol to excess, only on the odd occasion.  This is the boy who was desperate to drive since the age of 13 so his license and car are his prized possessions. He drove me home on New Year’s Eve – he can be considerate in that way. I took a good look at him tonight and I’m sure he is losing weight. And he seems to be anxious. His eyes are all over the place, he keeps looking sideways, as if he is subtly checking someone out, but there is no one there.  It’s enough that he is having to deal with stopping smoking it, plus his friends have scattered, so no wonder he is on a short fuse, and it’s understandable. I will help him as much as I can, and tell him so throughout the evening.

As the week goes on, day by day he really spirals, and anything sets him off. He gets angry, his eyes look black, and he goes into a furious frenzy several times. This comprises of physically throwing himself about, punching walls and doors, attempting to punch me, and hitting himself in the head. His body goes completely rigid, the veins in his neck stand right out they look as if they are about to burst. With very deep breathing which sounds like a growl, coupled with shouting and swearing, it is a terrible thing to observe, especially when you love your child so much. I have learned to stand back at a safe distance and observe, but always in the same room. It’s no use in talking to him, or raising my voice, as he can’t hear me. After a few minutes of chaos, he falls to the floor, a crumpled mess, exhausted, and sobs. It probably sounds weird, but when he is having an ‘episode’ as I now call them, it’s like it isn’t him. His eyes and face look different, hard and cold would be an appropriate description. But the moment he collapses, and hits the ground, the familiar face of the lad we love to bits slowly re emerges. As his tears flow, the softness returns, and he looks up at me with those huge blue eyes, he looks just like my little boy again who needs a big hug, and reassurance. The lad who, when younger, would come in with a tear stained face and grazed knee, but after a cleanup, cuddle and a plaster everything in his world was fine again, and off he would go with a smile on his face.

After an episode we often end up on the floor cuddling and crying together. Both desperate for help and needing to know when this living nightmare will end.  One evening during the week he has a spat with his brother. There was no catalyst for the behaviour. He just starts on him. He screams, swears, threatens and then chases Ethan. They crash out of the back door, and down the pathway at the side of the house. I intervene immediately to see Ethan  who is a quivering wreck huddled in the corner by the gate. He cries, and shakes, and is absolutely terrified.  He should not be witnessing this, yet he is living it too. It’s all gone too far and we need some help. I can’t sleep, and eating very little – the whole thing makes me feel sick inside. I’m really struggling at work, with life. I feel like I am not quite there, a bit removed, and terrified I will make a mistake. No one at work knows what is going on at home or anyone else in fact, and I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can.  I’m feeling very protective of my boys.  I offer my embrace, support and heaps of love. He doesn’t want to eat either – this really isn’t right. I’m pinning my hopes that things will get better, and as long as he has support he will get through this. We will get through this.

 All afternoon I re live the conversations we had in the past. My so called ‘sermons’ which although were admittedly done in quite a laid back fashion, were truthful and to the point, to sow the seeds of danger in his head. I remembered the time a few months before when he came home with red eyes, which made me feel anxious, and I grilled him. I was certain he had taken something, but he denied it.  In all honesty I didn’t believe him.  The eyes were not Josh’s, he couldn’t look at me directly that night, and he was, just, different.  I knew, but didn’t want to believe it. Buried my head in the sand I suppose plus I didn’t want to push him into a corner, as I was insure of how he might react if he was under the influence. It hurt. I expressed my dismay, and disgust, and went off up to bed. I felt he had the upper hand that night, and when I went upstairs, I wanted him to leave.  

He eventually turned up in the evening, it felt like I had been waiting, stewing, for an age. I always believe a straight question deserves a straight answer and I have it out with him, blunt and to the point. He throws in the odd lie, but the evidence is real, I know him too well. His mannerisms, his faulty speech – he is guilty as charged. How could he do this? He has been bought up to know the dangers.  I want to shake him – I’m far from a violent person, in fact I’m known for being relaxed and laid back, but I can’t believe he has done this. He apologises, but it washes over me. He won’t give it up. He gets up and goes to his car drives off. He knows I know.  I assume he is going to hide at his dads for a few days.

A week or so later after no contact, another sign of his guilt, he comes to tell me that he has stopped smoking cannabis....he just turned up like any other day and randomly said that. I feel fairly flat still about the whole thing, and have spent much time both day and night thinking about it. I tell him that he can say what he likes but if he sneaks off to smoke it behind everyone’s back then he is only lying to himself.  Similar as I did when I packed up cigarettes – then started again on the quiet...hiding outside for a quick puff and thinking that no one knew. I honestly don’t know if he has the willpower to stop. It’s only been a few days and its Friday tomorrow, so he gets paid and usually goes out.  At least now I know where his money has been going, he never has anything to show for it. He says he doesn’t want that lifestyle anymore. That he needs to make changes. That he needs to be a better role model for his brother, that he wants me to be proud of him. It the most sensible thing he has said in a long time – but I’m feeling that maybe he is telling me what he thinks I long to hear, I so hope he can so this. I want to save him, wrap him up and protect him, but I can’t.

Sometime in April 2010.....

I’m at home, a day off, and decide to pull my house apart to clean and tidy. I love my little home. It’s a glorious day, bright and sunny. Work has been manic of late so things have slipped at home a little. To try and paint a picture, I work four days a week in an office, I have a cleaning job, plus I do some other office work on a Monday. It suits me right now. I’m a single mum to two boys, and although the youngest, Ethan, is ten, my hours mean I can drop him off and pick him up from school every day.  I soon whizz round and get things done, the last of my chores is to put the washing away. The pile of odd socks is growing rapidly and resembles a mountain, so while I’m in the mood I decide to have a go at pairing them up. I find a matching pair, one in the mountain and one in Joshua's, my eldest sons, underwear box in his wardrobe.  I put them together, but can feel there is something inside the one from the box. I unravel it wondering what is inside, to find a bag, a tiny clear plastic one, about two inches square, with flaky stuff inside. My stomach churns; my instinct tells me what it is. I know its drugs of some sort and am stunned, which quickly turns into a mix of frustration and anger.

He is only seventeen. How dare he? I Google it, I Google everything – go to images, and to my disbelief it’s cannabis. Not only has he been stupid and naive enough to have it even smoke it. He has been disrespectful to bring it into our home, and then hide it in the room he shares with his younger brother. The music I was listening to while doing my chores abruptly goes off, I’m simmering, seething. Determined to have this out with him face to face, I don’t allow myself to text or call him – I will think about this, and wait. I do call Dave though, as he is the boys Dad. He is understandably upset and angry too, but I need to deal with Joshua, my way.

Foreward

Let’s start with a statement:

‘I see many people who’s lives are ravaged and ruined by mental illness. Sadly there are always one or two cases a year which are very extreme; your son is one of those extreme cases’

For the people who live with this illness every day, and its devastating effects, this book is for you and your loved ones, the people who are close to you and care so much for you. 

Research states that 1 in every 100 people on this planet live with Paranoid Schizophrenia. I am sure there are many more yet to be diagnosed, some may never be. I think about those poor souls frequently. It’s a large number when coupled with the ripple effect - the potential number of people affected must be huge - the parents, siblings, husbands, wives, and friends. Add to that all of the professional staff that can be involved, the doctors, the paramedics, the psychiatrists, and the police even, and the numbers are massive.

Prior to my son’s diagnosis I knew very little about Paranoid Schizophrenia, but as the weeks and months passed I have learned more, and have become fascinated by it.  I can also see why in so many ways the illness is brushed aside in society, mainly through little or no knowledge, low tolerance, and very little acceptance. You can see a broken arm or leg, and it can be fixed quickly, this is completely different.

My diary was originally written for my son to read about his behaviour, for the times he slips in his recovery and considers stopping his medication - a frank journal so he could read of the consequences, both for himself and others. As time rolled on I have expanded on my thoughts and added memories, some relate to my upbringing, my failed marriage, and life in general, some serious anecdotes, some humorous, but all true.

It has been quite a journey, and will continue to be for some time.