THE BEGINNING: Frederick

Blank page – I fill it with words.  I delete it.  Blank page – I fill it with words and again delete it.  This has happened about a hundred times now (ok, that is an exaggeration) but it seems to be the way things go when I try to write about this.  I never know how to start, so I think I’ll start at the end by saying that I have overcome a lot and am so thankful for the people in my life who give me strength.  I have had to learn a new normal and have had to fight with the stigma of mental illness.  Two years ago, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia and it almost claimed my life.

THE BEGINNING: Frederick

Now, for an attempt at the beginning.  I wanted to write this to share my experience with people and talk about mental illness.  There is still a lot of stigma surrounding the topic so I want speak up about the issue by sharing my personal experience.  If this story helps even one person, it will be worth it. 

I’ll start with Frederick:  Frederick was a spirit who I met while using a Ouija board when I was about 12.  There were other spirits in there too, but Frederick was the dominant voice (Frederick has a personal story and background, but I don’t want to digress too much so ask later if you are interested).  I used to play with the Ouija board by myself all the time and ever scratched the back of the board up with a knife to “let the spirits out”.  Eventually my obsession with the Ouija board transformed into the spirits talking directly to me in my head. I didn’t need the board anymore; I could hear the spirits, internally, like someone communicating through ESP.  Frederick and I had an odd relationship – bound to each other and not always happy about it.   Everywhere I went, I could hear Frederick talk to me.  In high school, I became obsessed with the fact that people could read my thoughts, which caused me distress in crowded places.  I already knew Frederick could, so who is to say everyone else can’t also.  

Frederick was with me into my early 20s.  I had learned over the years that the spirits hated to be called “ghosts” and that they were invisible by choice.  I would challenge them by saying things like “if you are real, show yourself”.  They could have made themselves visible but they said I would get too scared so they never did that, despite my beckoning. By this time, I had serious anxiety and bit my nails until they bled.  I also started cutting.  Blood to me was a release.  It was a habit that has taken years to break. 

While living in Hawaii, I attempted to tell a doctor about my problems and the spirits.  Frederick had always warned me against telling anyone about him.  He said it would make him mad, and I wasn’t about to take that lightly.  Mad spirits were not something I needed in my life.  But Frederick had a temper and we fought often.  The doctor said they would refer me to someone and to expect a call in a few days.  That call never came and despite going back to feeling helpless, I was secretly glad because I wasn’t sure if I was really ready to talk about this.  The thought of following through gave me such anxiety that I would shake.  The call eventually came about 6 weeks later, but by then I didn’t want to talk about it anymore and I never returned the message that was left on my phone.