Flowers for the Bride

My brothers and I went to pick up some flowers for my mother. We picked up a large arrangement with hydrangeas, sweet roses, red roses, sunflowers, and more.

We left the flower shop on the west side of town, and drove across the river into downtown to pick up John's girlfriend at the bus station.

When we arrived, John said, "You're going to have to get out, I'm stuck here." He had the giant flower arrangement wedged between his legs, and didn't want to risk dropping it.

I got out of the car and started walking across the parking lot towards the terminal. I saw a blond haired girl walking towards me. I've only met her once, and she's gotten a haircut since then, so it was hard to recognize her.

"Is that you?" She asked.

"Yeah, Stephanie?"

"Yep," she said. "I didn't know it was you now that you have the beard."

She is very gregarious, and immediately struck up conversation. "I took a nap on the bus, and set my alarm so I wouldn't miss my stop. I didn't want to end up in the next city!"

When we got to the car, she hopped in the back seat, and greeted John with a kiss. Then she said, "You look really good Mike. You look healthy. Vibrant."

"Thank you," I said, smiling. It was a kind compliment that warmed my heart.

Last time I saw her was months ago. I may have been on Risperdal at the time. I think the medicine dulled my personality. Or maybe the Abilify that I'm taking now is better at alleviating the negative symptoms of schizophrenia. Either way, I have noticed that I've been feeling better the last few months, and I'm grateful to be on Abilify.

OK, time to get dressed up for the wedding.

The Brothers Return

I went to pick up my brother John at the bus station at five o'clock. He's as lively and animated as ever. I don't see him too often, since he lives in New York City, and it is nice spending time with him. His girlfriend, Stephanie, will come into town tomorrow afternoon.

My mother and Roby were at the hall/restaurant doing a run-through of the ceremony, and ate dinner there afterwards. John and I ate the chili my mother left for us simmering in the crock pot, along with some fresh cornbread. I appreciate what my mother does for us. She cooked food even though she wasn't eating at home.

David arrived with his girlfriend Leliah around nine. We spent the evening catching up on things, and laughing and joking. I'm feeling good, and enjoying having them around.

We also made sure we had all the clothes we all need for the wedding. Tomorrow John and I are going to run a few errands and pick up a black belt and shoes for him. At some point we want to pick up some flowers for my mother as well. Then of course the ceremony and reception at night.

It will be a busy day, but I am optimistic it will all go well.

...And They Wait

My mother said today, "Boy, it's been a slow week." All the preparations have been made for the wedding; now they're just waiting for Friday to come.

There are a couple last minute things to get done around the house before my brothers arrive with their girlfriends: the plastic pumpkins need to be packed up, and my mother wants to make a pot of chili for tomorrow night.

It's my duty to get the upstairs bathroom all clean. "That should only take you twenty minutes," my mother said.

"Twenty minutes?" I asked, doubtfully. "I don't think so. Maybe I'm too much of a perfectionist, but it always takes me a long time to clean things."

But her comment spurred me on, and I scrubbed the tub and toilet in twenty-five minutes. I'll do the sink tomorrow...

Right now I have a load of laundry in the washer that I need to move to the dryer. I'm utilizing the machines while they're still free, as I have a hunch that my brothers will both arrive with baskets of laundry in hand. The last time my brother John came home he was lugging his dirty clothes in one of those big green trash bags intended for yard waste, filled to the top.

I'm looking forward to seeing my brothers, but I'm bracing myself for the flurry of activity that is soon to come.

Belts and Slippers

I realized today that I had "outgrown" my black belt, and I would need to buy a longer one for my mother's wedding. So off I went in search of a belt.

I went through the belt selection of four stores before I found a belt that both fit and looked good. The one I purchased was one of those nifty reversible belts, so I got a black and a brown belt, all in one.

Target was the third store I visited. Last time I was at Target was with my brother David when he was home for Thanksgiving break. He was eying up a pair of Moccasin slippers.

"Look how soft these are," he said.

"Mmm, those are nice," I replied. Then, not so subtly, "What size are you?"

"Nine and a half."

"These don't come in half sizes though. You think you'd be a ten?"

"Yeah, probably... why? You thinking about a Christmas gift?"

"Nooo...."

Real smooth.

So I picked up a pair for him when I was at Target. Sure he's expecting them, but he'll still enjoy wearing them.

And now my outfit for the wedding is complete: black suit with a deep red shirt, and a tie with both red and black in it to match. And of course black shoes and belt.

Just a few more days, and they tie the knot...

Waiting Rooms and Therapy

"Hi, I'm here to see Jeannine at one o'clock," I said to the receptionist at the local mental health center.

"Great, she's running a little late, but she'll be with you shortly."

I walked across the waiting room and took my seat against the opposite wall. I sat still, except for an occasional foot tap in sync with the U2 song being played over the sound system. I always feel pretty awkward sitting in waiting rooms. It would be easier if I would pick up a magazine and try to engage myself in some reading, but I consider magazines in public places off limits because of how many germs I imagine lurking throughout the pages.

I thought back to when I first started coming to the mental health center, sitting in the waiting room looking around at the other patients for some sign of sanity, some hope that mental illness isn't the end of the world. And although there were some sullen faces, I would also be amazed at some of the patients who seemed to be holding up just fine, engaging each other in lively conversation.

It wasn't too long before Jeannine appeared and led me back to her little windowless room. As I followed her I stole a few glances at her face, and noticed how tired she looked. She was also sniffling, as if she had a cold. Tough day to be a therapist, I thought to myself. When I see therapists, I always wonder how they are doing. That doesn't usually come up in our conversations though.

Despite the apparent fatigue and cold, Jeannine was still fairly cheerful and attentive. After checking in with the normal happenings of my life, she asked, "So is there anything else on your mind?"

"Well, my mother's wedding is coming up this week."

"How are you doing with that?"

"I feel OK with it. It's been such a gradual progression- first having Roby stop by occasionally, and getting to know him a little, then eventually seeing him often, and then having him move in with us- that I've become accustomed to the whole thing. Plus he's a good guy, so I do approve. But I'm waiting for the moment when it hits me that they are really getting married... and my father is really not around anymore."

"It's good you're aware that you may have some moments, even days, when it hits you emotionally."

"Yeah, I think it will be OK."

When the hour was about up, she pulled out her appointment book and penciled me in for next month. I left, feeling good about the visit, and looking forward to the rest of my day.

Early Morning Dreaming

I woke this morning with pleasant memories of the dream I was coming out of. I subscribe to the theory that dreams can be a vehicle for the subconscious to send messages and lessons to the conscious self. I had one such dream last night.

It took place in the future sometime, as was evident from a couple futuristic items, such as hoverboards (skateboards that hover- apparently my subconscious ideas about the future have been influenced heavily by Back to the Future). I kept asking my friends in the dream, Adam and Jeff, if I could use their hoverboards, even though I knew they would have no problem with it. Finally Adam said, "Yeah, dude, it's fine. Why are you worried about it? " And with those words, and his calm, carefree attitude that I sensed, a message arose into my mind. Don't be concerned with what other people think. Do what makes you happy. Granted, I should respect other people's possessions. But oddly enough, that was the message that came to me.

I've always been too anxious or sensitive about what other people think of me. I've known that I shouldn't be this way, but it is completely different when it comes to you out of the experience of a dream- I could feel the truth of the message.

I woke up to a slight dusting of icy snow on the ground, and felt peaceful. I felt hopeful. You can't control what other people think. You can't control the world. Do what makes you happy. I felt there was a world of possibility at my feet, just waiting for me to hop out of bed.

Quiet Sunday

It's been a pretty quiet day today. I'm trying to relax and take it easy. All this studying for the GRE has been starting to stress me out, so I took today off. I'm scheduled to take the test in little more than two weeks, and it's going to be a busy couple weeks because my mother's wedding is on Friday.

So I've decided not to volunteer at the library until after I take the GRE. At first I was disappointed in myself, because I felt committed to starting a volunteer job. However, as the test date gets closer and closer, I feel my preparation time running out, and I just don't want to subject myself to the stress of trying to do both.

I sat down today and strummed my acoustic guitar for a while, letting my thoughts and emotions float on the chords I played. The guitar is a cathartic instrument to play; it is so expressive and even percussive in nature, that is, one can strum lightly or harshly, thump out a rhythm or finger-pick a peaceful melody.

I hope everyone is having a peaceful Sunday.

Pangs from an Old Addiction

I went downtown today, to go to a smoke shop to buy incense and rolling tobacco.

As I entered the smoke shop I walked past hookahs, Buddha heads and psychedelic images on the walls. I surveyed the merchandise placed underneath glass counters: bongs, knives, pipes, and flasks. Welcome to New Hampshire's counterculture.

I felt little pangs of desire as I visually examined the multicolored, glass-blown pipes. It's been almost one year and eight months since I last smoked marijuana, yet there is still a part of me that wishes I could buy a glass piece, take it home and sit back and smoke a little nug of weed. I'll just do it on occasion, I tell myself, but the plea is short lived. I know myself better than that. I wasn't a casual smoker, and I doubt I ever could be. When I smoked, I smoked up all the time. Before work, after work, before dinner, after dinner, before hanging out with friends, while hanging out with friends, before bed... all the time.

That's how it was, and then I stopped, cold turkey. I have not smoked marijuana since the day I was admitted to the mental hospital in San Diego. From the hospital I came back east with my mother, leaving my California life behind me.

Had I stayed in Cali, it would have been incredibly hard to quit; it was part of my routine and my social life. Back home in New England, I was divorced from all the elements that would have drawn me back to the drug. Sure I craved it and longed for it... and I still have moments of nostalgia for my favorite herb... but I know keeping clean is the best decision: research has shown that those who have schizophrenia and smoke marijuana are more prone to relapses. I don't want to put my mental health in jeopardy.

My thoughts were wisped away with a pleasant, "What can I help you with?" I looked up, and saw a young, attractive woman with plenty of piercings peering back at me from behind the register. "I'll take these," I said, placing three small boxes of Nag Champa incense on the counter, "And I need some rolling tobacco."

I left the store satisfied with my purchase: sweet scented sticks and my second favorite plant to roll up and smoke. Sure, someday I'll need to quit that as well, but for now I'm just happy to be sober.

Slivers of Time

Roby took me and my mother out to dinner tonight. I ordered stake tips, which were cooked just right- medium rare, and charred on the surface.

Afterwards we stopped by my Aunt and Uncle's house to see my cousin, Tara, who is in town from Ohio. I haven't seen her, or her kids, in over a year, and the children have really grown (like children tend to do).

"Come look at these pictures, Mike," Tara said. I followed her into the den.

She grabbed a stack of old pictures, and we started flipping through. There we are, all dressed up for Halloween- cute kids in costumes without anything on our mind except how much candy we'll be able to rake in from the neighborhood.

The more pictures we looked at, the farther back in time we went. There was a Christmas from the 80's, with frizzy perms and rat tails. We came to a poker game that, judging by the gaudy clothing, had to take place in the 70's. Chips are on the table, and there is my father, mustache and big cigar, peering down at his cards.

My father loved poker his whole life. He saw it as a game of strategy and psychology, where the best man will win in the long run. When a young man, he entertained dreams of becoming a professional poker player, although he stuck to his accounting business. Regardless, he always went to his weekly poker game, and once retired, made plenty of trips to Foxwoods to test his skills. It was a passion for him, like hunting and sports are for other men. Even during his last couple months, when he was too weak to leave the house, he was able to enjoy playing online poker- a respite from the fatigue and illness.

And there he was in the photo, frozen in time: young, healthy, doing what he loved.

We finished looking at the pictures, and I left soon after. But my thoughts still linger on that photo, a piece of time stolen from decades ago, showing my father, forever smoking a cigar while playing cards.

A Thanksgiving to be Grateful For

Today I went with Roby and my mother to Roby's daughter Jackie's house. We walked up the front pathway to her house, rang the doorbell, and pushed inside. Paul, Jackie's husband, greeted us with handshakes and "happy thanksgiving!" We walked up the stairs from the entryway, turned, and I saw them- a group of about eight people I had never seen before. "Oh hell no," I thought to myself. I'm rather shy, and get intimidated by being around a number of people I don't know. But the introductions came and went, and the afternoon was underway.

My fears were unfounded, as everyone ended up being very pleasant, and nobody asked me any well-meaning questions that I'd be embarrassed to answer, such as "So Mike, what do you do for work?" "Well, Mr. person I just met, I'm on disability because I had a psychotic breakdown and the doctors tell me I have schizophrenia. Don't worry, I'm heavily medicated and like most people with my condition, completely harmless. Ha ha, what do you do?"

Of course I'd be more discriminating with my reply, but that's how I imagine it to amuse myself. Such simple questions such as these, however, are at the root of some of my reservations with meeting new people. When presenting myself for the first time, I feel like I can't fall back on the typical life that one is expected to have. I'm pretty much OK with the life I do have, but it can make casual conversation rather intimidating.

So, although there were no questions- there was a surfeit of delicious food- resulting in a satisfying afternoon. While I am disappointed that we didn't have the traditional feast with all my relatives at my grandmother's house, I am grateful to be welcomed into someone else's home and made part of their holiday. I remind myself that it is a lot more than many people have, and my thoughts go out to those who are in need or don't have family to share with on days like today.

I hope everyone is finding a way to have their own wonderful day, even if it is just taking a moment to reflect on what there is to be thankful for.

I am thankful for a lot of things, including a clear mind to compose these thoughts and a healthy body to type them with.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

My Secret: A Serious Snacking Problem

"See you later," I say as my mother closes the door. She's off to run some errands, and I have the house to myself. As soon as her car pulls out of the driveway, I take up my position in front of the food closet, scan the contents, and decide where to start.

I rustle through the various packages and boxes, eating with impetuous desire. I eat and eat and eat, while being sure not to consume too much of any one item, so my habit will go unnoticed by my family.

This has been going on for months. I've gained 40 pounds because of it. I euphemistically call it my "serious snacking problem." If I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that I have the tendencies of a compulsive overeater.

I do have hope that the problem could spontaneously resolve itself. I developed a similar eating pattern in college, and after some time I was able to leave it behind me, without much conscious effort: senior year I stopped overeating when I had a really busy schedule. Perhaps a major shift in my schedule could have the same effect.

Regardless, I'm rather ashamed of the whole thing. It's something that I want to brush under the carpet and pretend doesn't exist. However, it is a part of my emotional and mental life that I battle with every day. Perhaps writing about it from time to time will help me confront it and get serious about overcoming the habit.

First Snow with Thanksgiving Coming Up

I woke up this morning and squinted at the light pouring in the window. I looked out, and saw everything was covered in white- the first snow of the year!

As I smoked my morning cigarette, sitting at the mouth of the garage, I observed the peaceful white world. The snow was clinging to the branches, bushes, cars and houses. This picture shows the view from where I sat.

I noticed the quiet that comes with falling snow. Everything seems silent, except for the muffled whisper of the snow hitting the ground. It is a wonderful silence.

Later in the day my brother David packed up and set out to meet up with his girlfriend to drive down to Pennsylvania where her family lives. He's going to be spending Thanksgiving with her family this year. I'll miss having him around for the holiday.

Usually we go down to my grandmother's house for Thanksgiving, but they aren't going to have a big family gathering this year because some of my aunts and uncles now have grandchildren of their own, and they want to start their own family traditions. So my mother, Roby and I will be going to Roby's daughter's house for the big meal. I'm not too excited about spending Thanksgiving with a bunch of people I don't know, but it will be good to get more acquainted with his relatives.

Well, that's it for tonight.

Stars and Peanut Butter

As I stood outside in my backyard, all bundled up, smoking my last cigarette for the day, I looked up at the sky and a faint smile came to my lips. Now that most of the leaves have fallen, I am able to see the stars through the bare branches- something to be grateful for.

I thought about how much more I end up talking and laughing when my brother David is home. It is a good workout for my communication skills. For a long time after the episode I was really quiet and reserved, and talking with David helps shake some of the rust out. We discuss a range of topics, including movies, music, politics, and our lives.

During dinner somehow we got talking about peanut butter balls. The name pretty much says it all: balls of peanut butter, flavored with honey, rolled up with rice crispies for crunch. It is a simple, delicious little dessert that my mother would make when we were kids.

David and I decided to make some, so we drove to the supermarket to get the ingredients. Back home, we measured out the portions, threw it all into a bowl, and mixed it up with a spoon. After shaping little balls out of the mixture we put them in the 'fridge and waited for them to chill.

When they were ready we dove in, each bite bringing back memories of childhood.

Before I sign off, here is the recipe (it's a great thing to make with kids):

3/4 cup dried milk
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup peanut butter
rice crispies

Mix all the ingredients in a bowl, sprinkling in enough rice crispies to give it some crunch. Form into balls, then chill. Enjoy!

Laundry and Hugs

The house if full of the booming sound of my brother David playing piano and singing along to songs he has written. He has thanksgiving week off from college, and he arrived this evening with a basket full of laundry and big hugs for the family. It's always a pleasure to have him around. He livens things up a bit while he's here.

I saw my psychiatrist today. We're going to keep all the medicines the same for now, since they seem to be working well.

I slacked off a bit on my GRE studying tonight, since my brother is home. I've been really consistent with it since I started, though, so I don't feel too bad.

I'm going to wrap this up. I hope everybody is having a good Friday night.

A River of Peace

"How was the NAMI meeting?" I ask my mother as she takes off her jacket and puts down her purse. She had just returned from a support group for friends and family of people with mental illness.

"Good, I'm glad I went. It was good to see everyone again. Such sad stories though. I think that's why I stopped going after a while- it can get kinda depressing. Most of the people there are having a lot of trouble with their loved one and they need to vent and support each other. It's a really good group for them, I just don't feel like I fit in. You're just so easy to live with."

I smile. I feel fortunate to have such a loving, understanding mother. I know she is glad that I take the medicine that allows me to think clearly. Without the meds, there's no telling what state of mind I would be in.

"You know," I say, "from the schizophrenia recovery stories I've read, many of these people had really tough times, hit rock bottom, and eventually turn things around and end up being OK."

"Do you think it's the meds that does it for them?"

"Well, it's not the only thing, I think it takes more than that... but medicine is often the foundation for everything else. Medicine... and hope."

Having her go out to the NAMI meeting takes me back to when I first was diagnosed. I would lie on the couch in the living room, feeling so sad and depressed and I'd wait anxiously for her to get back from the meeting, hoping she'd bring some good news about my condition, some bit of hope. It makes me emotional to think of that time, wandering through the dark woods of a new, frightening diagnosis, desperately seeking a glint of light.

And I still remember a night later on when I was lying on my bed staring off at the ceiling, and spontaneously I started visualizing myself merging into a flowing body of water- a river of peace, a river that washed away all worry, that gave the strength to deal with anything that could possibly happen, including death.

I thought to myself, "this must be what hope feels like."

And suddenly, by the grace of God, I had something to hang on to.

Rays of Sun and Reality

I wake up at 9:30, flop over, consider jumping out of bed, but drift back into dream before I can move. I'm back in the arms of a girl with a smile and sweet words that slip in my ear and fill my heart. But she soon floats out of my mind, replaced by rays of sun and reality. I cling to my bed, unwilling to face the day.

Finally I make it downstairs, brew up some coffee and roll a cigarette. Outside, with my cup and smoke, my mind is flighty, jumping from one stressful thought to another- I need to sign up for the GRE- I need to call the library- am I lonely?- then I catch myself- pause- take a long drag, and exhale slowly.

I did sign up for the GRE today- I'll be taking it mid-December. Once I take the test, I'll be able to apply to a graduate school for a Library Science degree, if I so choose.

Unfortunately I did not call the library to inquire about volunteer opportunities today. I could detail my reasons for not calling, but if I'm honest with myself, they are really only excuses, and not very compelling ones at that. I still feel positive about it though- it's as if I peered over the edge today, and although I backed off, I'm that much closer to making the jump.

It seems pretty lame that I'm making such a big deal about something as simple as going to volunteer at the public library, but what can I do? In some ways it is a significant step for me, and I've always been one to look before I leap... oh well.

You'll Find Me in the Stacks

Well, it turns out the library is closed today for the holiday, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to inquire about volunteer opportunities.

I've always loved books and learning and wandering aimlessly among the stacks of library books to see what I may find. Considering my predilection for libraries, I knew that when I started volunteering it would be at the public library. It struck me a couple months ago that perhaps I would be happy not only volunteering, but making a career as a librarian. I think I would find it satisfying working with people and being surrounded by books and research. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, considering I haven't even volunteered yet, but it can't hurt to dream of the possibilities. Getting exposure to actual librarians and the work environment will be valuable in deciding whether it is truly an avenue I want to pursue.

I walked on the treadmill for 24 minutes today, up from my usual 20. I'm trying to work up to a half hour. It's not that I can't do it physically, I just find it boring. I've started listening to music while I walk, which has relieved some of my exercise ennui.

Well, I better get to work on my GRE studying.

Smokin' in My Little Room

I fired up the heater in the little room my father built in the garage for smoking cigars in the last few years before he died. I now use it in the winter for smoking cigarettes- as I live at home with my mother and soon-to-be step-father, I cannot smoke inside, and my little smoke room is the next best thing. It reminds me of where I was at mentally when I last smoked in there, at the end of last winter.

I was just starting to come out of my idle days of laying on the couch and staring off at the ceiling or at the pictures on the wall. I had been sleeping at least 12 hours a day, had completely lost my sex drive, and had no energy, stamina, or motivation, and generally just didn't feel like "myself." I was experiencing what is considered to be the negative symptoms of schizophrenia, such as lethargy, apathy, lack of motivation, and lack of emotion, causing me to become much more withdrawn and reticent.

When I was in the hospital in California, they started me on a medication called Risperdal. Fortunately this drug quickly eliminated the positive symptoms I was having (the paranoia, delusions and hearing voices), enabling me to be discharged and taken back to New Hampshire to live with my mother. However, I suffered from the negative symptoms of schizophrenia, in addition to dealing with the side effects of the medication- which are actually hard to distinguish from the illness.

Finally, near the end of last winter my new psychiatrist (who I am very grateful to have in my life) weaned me off of the Risperdal and started me on a medication called Abilify. After some time the new drug started to assuage the negative symptoms and I started having more energy, my sex drive came back (although still being without a sex life) and I started reading and reading and reading. I would read for eight hours a day, punctuated by trips out to my smoke room. Sure, I was still sitting around the house all day, but my mind was starting to become more active, I grew more talkative, and laughter and smiles came back into my life.

Thoughts of all this came back to me as I sat smoking a cig in the little room.

Tomorrow I Step Up

I slept in this morning- I’m trying to have a nice relaxing Sunday, as it is my day off from GRE (the test they make you take to get into graduate school) studying. I’ve been studying consistently 6 days a week in order to prepare for the test. If for no other reason, the responsibility of studying has forced me into a routine that gives some structure to my days, which I think is healthy for me, seeing as how I’m on disability and don’t work.

Tomorrow I’m hoping to take a step in the direction of getting back to work by calling the library and seeing if I can start volunteering for them. It’s something that I’ve thought about doing for a couple months but I just haven’t worked up the courage to call. It’s a bit intimidating for me to think of getting back out there in the world doing work amongst strangers that I don’t know, in a public place where I may run into old acquaintances from my high school days. I really haven’t been that active since my episode in the spring of last year.

But as I work towards recovery from my mental illness, I believe this is an important step to take. As my councilor/ social worker Janeanne pointed out, one can’t always wait to be full of confidence before starting a new activity- sometimes you need to take the plunge, take what comes, and build the confidence as you go. Tomorrow I hope to step up, get my feet wet by making the phone call to the library, and get ready for the dive.