Attitude

My son is schizophrenic. He was a quiet, delightful child whose mind started playing tricks on him when he was about 23 years old. He lives in an inner world most of the time now, but we can communicate in short direct conversations. I miss hugs and all the things that go with relationships for most people, because he finds that sort of contact irritating. I have learned a different way to show I care. It has taken time for me to accept him the way he is. Neither of us caused his condition, we can’t control it or cure it. He is as helpless as I am to change it. There are many things to be grateful for—my son is intelligent, he is able-bodied (and I do not want him to take medicine that might change that!), his singing and laughter tell me he is not depressed (even though I can’t hear or see what makes him laugh). I accept that his reality is different, but equally valid. I also admire his ability to navigate two worlds; I am not so sure I would do as well. Bottom line, there are a lot worse things than having a little psychosis.