By Kim Hanson 
Our bright, beautiful, beloved son was diagnosed with schizophrenia in his late 20s. Although the manifestation of his illness surfaced in his late teens, it took an excruciating 10 years to receive a formal, medical diagnosis.
As a child, Mike was a delight. He was a popular kid who loved his family, his friends, wrestling, and basketball. He giggled sometimes and acted silly, which just made him more endearing. His life was filled with joy, happiness, and promise.
After Mike’s 17th birthday, behavioral changes began to surface. He smoked marijuana. He drank alcohol to excess. His friends disappeared, one by one. School became a chore he simply could not handle. His wonderful sense of humor died. He became remote, detached, and aloof. His cleanliness took a nose dive. Mike went from a well-groomed, well-dressed kid who happily showered every day to someone who didn’t care how he looked or smelled.
Since Mike was drinking excessively, we accepted that he may be an alcoholic. But, when we started to overhear him shouting in the middle of the night, having a conversation with no one, we knew we were dealing with more than alcoholism. Mike developed an acute sense of paranoia, believing his ex-girlfriend spray-painted derogatory graffiti on bridge decks downtown, all about him. He told outrageous stories of men who had taken his suitcase full of money, desperate to track them down. We tried to reason with our son, pointing out the obvious flaws in his stories. But, he believed them wholeheartedly.
We made appointments with psychologists and psychiatrists. We poured out our hearts to them in a desperate attempt to figure out how we could help our son. The visits were filled with talk, talk, talk . . . no answers and no action. After painting a picture of the changes in our son and elucidating his ongoing bizarre behaviors, the medical health professionals fixated only on Mike’s abuse of alcohol and drugs. No one suggested that our son could be suffering from a mental illness. Not once. Not ever.
At our behest, multiple times, Mike sought help for alcoholism. Each time out of rehab, his Dad and I were thrilled and excited to see our son’s shining face, the face we’d come to know and love so much. The cloudiness behind his eyes dissipated and he resembled our boy again. It was immensely gratifying. But each time, the loneliness, self-loathing, and “voices in his head” returned, and Mike went back to self-medicating.
Soul-searching, sleepless nights, and a strong belief in God held us all together. We plowed forward. By chance, my husband met a man who was starting a new kind of drug and alcohol rehabilitation center. The man graciously offered to assess our son. Mike yielded to yet another rehab assignment. There was no end to either his strength or his resilience.
After detox, Mike was put through a battery of tests. They determined he was suffering from a mental illness and suggested a dual-diagnosis approach to treatment. Finally! Someone cared enough to dig a little deeper. We were hopeful. Mike became a part of a program that housed, cared for, and supported the mentally ill. A psychiatrist working with the program formally diagnosed our son with schizophrenia. Although we were so grateful for the diagnosis, schizophrenia is a severe, extremely serious, and debilitating mental illness. Mike had a long road ahead of him. But at last, we knew what we were dealing with.
Mike was set up in an apartment all his own, supported by the kind people who worked for the program. He received life-changing medication by injection which he initially fled from but eventually accepted. It balanced his life. He held down a steady job near his apartment. He had an immediate group of friends; others who were in the program. Yes, there were still ups and downs, but Mike had 11 years bordering on stability and contentment. We were so grateful. We thanked the Lord in our nightly prayers.
Our son’s physical health began to deteriorate. Years of drinking alcohol to excess and years of taking heavy psyche meds took its toll on his body. Mike left us on March 14, 2018, his soul lifted to Heaven. Our hearts were shattered.
Six years later, we’re still learning to live without him. We take solace in the knowledge that Mike’s soul is free. There is no more suffering, no more needles, no more pain. We know our son has found peace. One day, we will be with him again.
Schizophrenia is cruel–it sneaks up on its victims with the stealth of a mountain lion set to pounce on its prey. It is cruel because it attacks in late adolescence just when independence is on the horizon. It strips away one’s confidence, dignity, and spirit. Personalities shift–lively, engaging, social people turn into paranoid insomniacs, who crave withdrawal from the world we live in. Personal hygiene is compromised and alcohol and drugs become a bridge to self-medication. Schizophrenia is a desecrater, a saboteur, a spirit-crushing cancer of the body, mind, and soul.
by Katie Weber 
by Krissie Lain Garland 
by Melinda Tarcon 
