Skip to main content

Building Bridges: breaking down the stigma that surrounds schizophrenia


Hi folks, another more serious post here (I promise there'll be a fun one very soon), as it's just come to my attention that it's mental health awareness week and that's a topic that deserves to be covered. This post might a little off-the-cuff as I've not planned or really thought it out, but here we go. Are you ready? 

Schizophrenia. Most people hear that word and shudder. They might think of serial killers (admittedly, some do have the illness), violent outbursts, mental asylums, or just utterly unmanageable people. You might even be thinking (if you have no awareness of what schizophrenia is) that a person with the illness might have multiple personalities. This is not the case and I am living proof. 

Without a doubt, the media's portrayal of schizophrenia, and indeed any psychotic illness, has highlighted the parts of the illness that the public most fear. Yes, sometimes unwell individuals might lash out, hurting medical specialists, family, friends and others, but that is a very small minority. The vast majority of those with schizophrenia are a risk to themselves, not others. As for the multiple personality myth, well I gave it away there (well done, Louise), it's a myth. Those with multiple personalities, or alters as they are known, are most likely suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder, which is an entirely different ball game. 


So what is schizophrenia? 

In layman's terms, schizophrenia has two aspects: negative and positive symptoms. The 'positive' (and by this term, I do not mean positive as in good) ones are the most well-known: delusions, hallucinations, confused thinking. The negative ones include: social withdrawal, apathy and difficulty showing emotion. To be diagnosed with schizophrenia you must exhibit both positive and negative symptoms. 

Now, time to tell a little bit about why I'm so interested in de-stigmatizing schizophrenia, it's because I have a related illness, which I'll explain a bit here: schizoaffective disorder. 

Schizoaffective disorder is the co-morbidity of bipolar affective disorder and schizophrenia. They run in parallel and function primarily independently. The mood issues and psychosis are separate entities. 

I've been diagnosed with this particular illness since I was seventeen. I'm twenty-two now and the past eight years have been littered with hospital admissions, in both the UK and in Guernsey, delusions, a barrage of persistent hallucinations and depression, anxiety, thought salads and mania. Sounds like a fun cocktail, eh? (NOT).


But, whinging and being all oh-woe-is-me is not the point of this post. I wanted to just tell you a little bit about why kindness, community, acceptance and understanding is so important in the de-stigmatisaton of schizophrenia, schizoaffective and other psychotic illnesses. 

The first step is to recognise that no matter how hard it is to watch a friend, family member or even acquaintance go through a psychotic episode, it is ten times harder for them. They are most likely terrified of their experiences, I know I was, and it's very hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you can see/hear a bunch of things that just aren't there. 

Sufferers are human and they need your support. Offer reassurance, encouragement and practical help if you can. It can be very overwhelming, but try to step into their shoes. No one would choose this. It's a living Hell, and not of our own making, but by that of stupid dopamine. Medication can help and thanks to just that, I am now stable. It's taken a long while to come to terms with the fact that medication does help and I can't do without it. It's currently the only way to successfully manage the symptoms of psychosis. 

But for anyone reading this who is suffering from the illness, it does get better. Take your meds and eat your greens and all that malarkey. You're not alone. 

Right folks, that's enough spontaneous writing for now, sorry if it's been a bit rubbishy and short


. I hope this post has been helpful in some small, abstract way. You're all fab and I'll write a fun one next time, promise. 

over and out <3 

Comments

  1. Thanks for sharing, Louise. It's really encouraging to hear people with mental health speak out. After all, we all have mental health. It's not 1/4 it's 4/4. Keep up the good work.
    --RMHG

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you RMHG for reading and I'm so glad you found some benefit in my nonsensical ramblings. Thank you again, have a good day!

      Delete
    2. This comment has been removed by the author.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Not-Dinner-Party-Appropriate: anecdotes from the mental hospital

 I feel like a time traveller. I've awoken in 2021, sleeping through a pandemic and my teenage years, now in my mid-twenties. I have no dinner-party-appropriate anecdotes. Only mental ill-health with bouts of questionable wellness. I have been in four different mental hospitals, which I predict could be four more than most people. No one talks about it, including me. Like, at all.  Whenever someone talks about mental illness, there is this most impenetrable silence, followed by: 'I knew someone who was depressed once.' Or a casual, almost nonchalant change of subject. I mean, we talk about mental health a lot - how to keep it afloat, how to do 'self-care' in a commercially-assisted sense. It's all body butters and face masks.  I don't like it when people reduce preventing mental illness down to looking after yourself or not. That is a large part of it, a whole team of people looked after me at my worst. Most things cannot be made better with a face mask.  It

Imposters: a story about a Capgras delusion

  It's cold. I'm always so cold. My hands quiver blue and wrists bloom purple, after days of bang, bang, banging my wrist on the arm of my chair. I don't think I'm okay, but I don't think I'm not okay either. I think, I think, I think I'm breaking. I am on the children's ward. I have not seen my real parents for months. Some strange people visit sometimes. I hide from them. They are not my parents. They are often nice and I begin to trust them, then they'll do something off-kilter and I shy away again, like a beaten dog.  I had climbed out of a window, bawled through the lane outside the house and taken solace at a friend's home up the road. Gently I was led back to my childhood home and bundled into the car, driven to the hospital and admitted in hopes of finding a way to avoid another inpatient admission. We couldn't find one.  I arrive at the unit, brittle. Last time I was in this position, I had a home, but now I'm adrift. My parents