2

SurvivingSchizophrenia

MyStoryofParanoidSchizophrenia,Obsessive-

CompulsiveDisorder,Depression,Anosognosia,

Suicide,andTreatmentandRecoveryfrom

SevereMentalIllness

ByRichardCarlsonJr.

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Copyright©2017RichardCarlsonJr.Allrightsreserved.

Coverphotographcredit:CopyrightRichardCarlsonSr.

Back cover photograph credit: Copyright PictureMe

PortraitStudios.

Theauthorwouldliketothanktheeditorforherhelp.

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Disclaimer: The information in this book should

not be consideredmedical advice. The author is not a

medical professional. Mental health consumers should

alwaysconsultwithmedicalprofessionalsforadvice.

Surviving Schizophrenia is a work of non-fiction,

however certain facts and other details have been

changed.

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Chapter1

BeHonest

Pleaselisten,becausethisisimportant.

The most important thing I’ve learned from

dealingwithmyseverementalillnessisthatyouhaveto

be truthful to yourself and others. Honesty is not only

the cornerstone of a successful and fulfilling life—you

cannot receive the treatment you need or experience

truerecoverywithoutit.

Donotwasteyearsofyourlifebytellinglies.

Because I was not honest with my psychiatrists

and family, I did not receive adequate treatment for

overtenyears.That’stenyearsofmy lifethat Icannot

getback.

Do not hesitate to begin being truthful

immediately.Yourlifemightdependonit.

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Chapter2

BorninNewYorkCity

The stork put me into Mom’s arms in the early

1970s.Myparentsweremiddle classandCatholic, and

we lived on a nice street close by a Jewish

neighborhood. Did you know that people who have

schizophreniaaremorelikelytohavebeenbornandlive

inanurbanenvironment?Ispentmuchofmychildhood

in New York City, so I often wonder how much

differencethatmade.

Mom was a hardworking woman who stayed at

home to take care of me, as well as my younger

brothers, Mike and Steve.My dad was a great father,

who provided a good example forme to follow.Once,

he took me to his work at the wastewater treatment

facility. He andMomwere both caring toward us. Life

seemedperfect.

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My earliest memories are of my grandparents,

who lived on the first floor of our house.My parents,

brothers,andI livedupstairs. Iwouldrundownstairs in

my pajamas to see my grandparents every morning.

Grandpa emigrated from Poland when he was

seventeen.Grandmawasborn inAmerica,butgrewup

in Poland. I loved her somuch. One of mymost vivid

memoriesisofhermakingpierogisfordinner.MyPolish

heritage is so important to me because of my

grandparents.

My grandfather was an excellent role model—I

couldn’twaittogrowuptobejustlikehim.Ilookedup

to my father, who was a great dad, but I remember

Grandpa best. Hewas a niceman, andwewould take

longwalksinthecitytogether.

OncewhenIwasfour,Imadetiretrackswithmy

toyBatmobilecarinthefreshcementthatourneighbor,

Teddy, had put down in his front yard, and Grandpa

smoothedthecementformeafterward.

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Grandpawasbald,worethickglasses,andsmelled

ofthecigarshesmoked.

“Don’tdothat!”Grandpaexclaimedashesawme

from thewindow, “No!”However, I continued todrive

my new Batmobile through the fresh cement. The

Batmobile’swheelsandmysmallhandsweresplotched

in drying cement. As grandpa hurried out, the sunlight

showedthroughtheclouds.

“Vroom, vroooom, vroooooom!” I grumbled as I

drovetheBatmobileevenfaster.BatmanandRobinhad

tocatchtheevilJoker!

Grandpagrabbedmywristandpulledmytoycar

outofthemuck.Icriedoutindefiance,“Grandpa,no!”

archingmybackandclingingtighttothecar,tryingnot

tomoveamuscle.Hewalkedmedownthesteepsteps

toourbasementforathoroughhandwashing.

ButtheJoker!BatmanandRobinneedmyhelp!

“Donotplayinthecement,Richard,”hescolded.

When he was angry, his Slavic accent was even more

pronounced.

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“‘Mobile,”Isaid,wantingtoplaymoreevenashe

rolledupmysleeves. Insteadofgivingbackmy toy,he

scrubbedit,andthenwashedmyhands.

IstillneededtohelpBatman,soIaskedifIcould

playinthebackyard.Whenheletmego,Idartedtothe

dirt where a row of behemoth rosebushes grew. My

chest began to tingle as I raced to the rescue through

themoistsoil.

“Vrooom, vroom, vroooooom!” The Batmobile

spedtoGothamBank.

IstoppedtheJoker!Iamthehero!

Iwaslovedbymyparentsandgrandparentsvery

much.

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Chapter3

MyBoyhoodinUpstateNewYork

BeforeIwasoldenoughtostartkindergarten,my

parents had a house built in Stormville, which was a

smalltowninUpstateNewYork.Myparentsdidn’twant

metogrowupinthecity,becausetheybelievedthecity

was too rough for children. They alsowanted tomake

sureIhadagoodeducation.Itwas1975,andourhouse

hadyellowsidingwithwhitetrim.

Dadput ina smallpond inourbackyard, replete

with lily pads, fish, and crayfish.Oneday,Dadbrought

homeahugefrogfromhisworkandputitinthepond.

To me, Stormville was the greatest place in the

entireworldforaboytogrowup.Ihadablastcatching

frogs, tadpoles, toads, turtles, snakes, newts,

salamanders, and amyriad of other creatures not only

from the pond in our backyard, but from creeks and

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pondsallover theneighborhood. Iplayed that Iwas in

thevanguardofthearmy,Imanagedaconstructionsite

withtoytrucks,andIhadfuninmanyotherwaysatour

Stormville house. Wild raspberries and blackberries

grewinourfrontyard,andtheytastedsosweet.

Once, my dad hired a man with a bulldozer to

removeatreeinouryard,andthemanofferedtoletme

drivehis bulldozer. Iwas too shy, so I refused. Iwish I

hadn’t.Growingup, Imissedoutona lotof interesting

experiencesbecauseIwasshy.

“Howwouldyouliketodrivemybulldozeracross

your yard?” the man asked, climbing down from the

dozer.Heworeawhitet-shirtwithholes,oldworkman’s

greenoveralls,andscuffedtanboots.

Dad looked back at me as I dashed behind him,

silent. I didn’t expect to be offered to do something

today thatwas somuch fun! Imagineme—a five-year-

old!—driving a bulldozer, just like a real construction

worker. The tingling inmy chest quiveredwith uneasy

nervousness. It had poured rain earlier that afternoon,

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and the summer humidity caused my sweaty shirt to

clingtomychest.

Momputherhandsonherhips. “Comeout and

telltheman,‘Yes,’Richard!”sheurged.

I looked at my shoes and Dad kneeled down,

looking atme. “Don’t be shy. You can drive it and see

whatit’slike,”hesaid.

I very much wished that I could drive the

bulldozer,butmylipswerelockedtogether.

“Tell the man, ‘Yes,’” Mom said again, and I

turnedmybodyawayfromtheniceman.

“I’m shy,” I replied, glancingatMom’s face for a

second.Ifonlyshe’dsavemefromthissituation!

“It’llbefun,”sheencouraged.“Justtryit.”

“I’ll sit rightnext toyou,” themanpromised,“so

nothingwillhappen.”

Ishookmyhead,lookingdownatmyshoes,even

thoughIreallywantedtodrivethebulldozer.Aminute

later, Iwalkedawayand found refuge inourbackyard.

There, I playedwithmy toy bulldozer, pushing sewage

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aroundatmywastewatertreatmentfacility. I feltmore

comfortablebeingoutofsightfromtheniceman.ButI

stillwishedandwishedIcoulddrivetheman’sbulldozer.

Ifonlythemanwasn’there—then,mydadcouldrideit

nexttome.

My shyness as a child was related to my

sensitivity. Approximately fifteen to twenty percent of

menandwomenhavesensitivepersonalities.According

to the web site of sensitivity researcher and author

ElaineAron,atwww.hsperson.com,sensitivepeopleare

often “more aware than others of subtleties,” “easily

overwhelmed by such things as bright lights, strong

smells, coarse fabrics, or sirens nearby,” and tend to

avoid“violentmoviesandTVshows”and“upsettingor

overwhelming situations.” They are also often shy as

childrenandadolescents.

I liked being sensitive, because my sensitivity

made me care a lot about my family, my friends, our

neighborhood, and my great life in Stormville. I just

wished that Iwasn’t so shy. I also put upwith a lot of

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bullyingbecauseofmysensitivity—itmademedifferent

frommanyoftheotherboys.

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Chapter4

AYoungWriter

The first time I remember being recognized for

writingwas in the second grade,when Iwon theWhy

MyTeacherisMyValentinecontest.Thewinnersgotto

have lunchwiththeirteacheratarestaurant,andhave

their pictures published in the local newspaper. I was

eveninterviewedbyaradiostation.IfiguredthatImust

takeafterGrandmaCarlson,becauseshe liked towrite

poetry.

I was in Mrs. Daley’s second grade class, just

about to leave for lunch,when theannouncementwas

madeovertheintercom.

“The winners of the Why My Teacher is My

Valentine contest have been decided. Thank you to

everyonewho participated. Twowinnerswere chosen,

one from the second grade entries and one from the

thirdgrade,”thefemaleannouncersaid.

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I listened intently. My stomach began to feel

queasyandIhadatinglingsensationinsidemychest.

The announcer said the name of the third-grade

winnerfirst.Ididn’trecognizethename.Then,shesaid,

“Thesecond-gradewinnerisRichardCarlson,fromMrs.

Daley’s class. Congratulations to the both of you. The

winners and their teachers are going to get lunch at a

McDonald’srestaurant.Thankyou.”

I jumpedupanddownatmydeskasan intense,

shootingfeelingofhappinesspulsatedinmychest.

“Congratulations,Richard,”Mrs.Daleyexclaimed,

“andthankyou!”Shebeamedanicesmileatme.

“I won,” I said to Tony, who sat next to me. “I

won.”

“Show-off,”hesaid,andthentheclasswalkedto

thecafeteria.

Allthroughlunch, I feltsuchjoy inside.Someday,

I’llbeaworld-famouswriter,Ithought,andwasproud.

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Chapter5

Rosco

Years later,my familymoved toTucson,Arizona,

which is in the Sonoran Desert. In fifth grade, another

boy at my school who was a year younger than me

mimickedRosco,apoliceofficercharacter intheDukes

ofHazzard television series,whichwas popular at that

time.IbegantoactlikeRosco,too.

“Youdipstick!”Igiddilysaidtomybuddies,Dave,

Ron, and Steve, on theplaygroundnear the fence that

borderedtheschoolgrounds.Schoolwasalmostoutand

it was summer, and fiercely hot outside. We were

drippingsweatlikesoldiersinamonsoon.Theonlyrelief

wecouldhopeforwasanoccasionalbreeze.

“I’m gonna give you a ticket. I’m going to arrest

you,”IsaidtoMeganandhertwogirlfriends,whowere

walking up to us, talking among themselves. Then I

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pretendedtowriteoutatrafficticketfrommyimaginary

pad,andhandedittoher.

“ChaseafterDaisy!”Ronsaidasthegirlslaughed.

Daisywas the nameof one of the characters from the

show, and Megan was pretty, just like her. “Arrest

Daisy,”Ronsaid,andthegirlsallgiggledatme.

“All right, Cletus. I’m in hot pursuit. Arrest them

Duke boys!” I said, and I started running around my

friends. I did not want them to keep suggesting that I

chaseafteragirl!Whataterrifyingthought.

Icontinuedtoact likeRoscoall throughthesixth

grade, imitating the character’s unique characteristics

andgivingmyclassmatesimaginarytickets.Sometimes,I

wouldpretendtobedrivingapolicecarandmakepolice

siren sounds. A boy brought a CB radio receiver to

school one day and letme borrow it. I walked around

school, talking into the receiverwith thecordwrapped

aroundmybeltloop.Myclassmatescouldonlysmile.

“Wew, wew, wew, wew, wew!” I screeched the

sounds of a police car siren. “I’m in hot pursuit, you

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dipstick!I’vegotaquiverinmyliver.Gew,gew,gew,”I

saidintothereceiver,justlikeRosco.

Davewasmost likely togoalongwithmyantics.

Once, he acted like Boss Hogg, the town mayor and

Rosco’sboss.

“I’m your boss!" Dave said, patting his chest,

“ArrestDaisy,Rosco!”Helaughed.

“Wew,wew,wew! I’mRoscoP.Coltrane.” Isped

mysquadcarpasthim.

“I’m your deputy,” Steve exclaimed, pointing at

his chestand then foldinghisarmswithabiggrin that

mademelaugh.

“All right, Enos,” I replied. Enos was another

deputy.“Gew,gew,gew!”“Gew,gew,gew!”

Althoughithasbeenoverthirtyyears,Iremember

feelingevenbackthenthattherewassomething inside

mymindthat Ididn’tquitefit in.But Ididn’tthinkthat

beingdifferent fromeveryoneelsemeant that I should

askforhelp.

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Chapter6

Puberty

During puberty, I began to really like girls. I

wanted a girlfriend very much. Already, I knew that I

wanted tohavea large family, like I’dhadgrowingup,

and that I wanted to wait until marriage to have sex.

Unfortunately, there was something wrong with me. I

literallydidnotknowhowtohaveagirlfriendbecauseI

wasexperiencingprodromalschizophrenia.Notknowing

howfrustratedmeasateenager.Itriedandtriedtoget

agirlfriend,andevenaskedmybuddiestohelpme.

Ididn’tputmuchthoughtintowonderingwhether

I might be mentally ill. I had no idea what prodromal

schizophreniaandparanoidschizophreniawere.Maybe

if therehadbeenmoreawarenessabout schizophrenia

and other mental disorders in school, I would have

figured it out. But instead, my illness continued and I

hadnoidea.

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I askedSteve ifhecouldhelpmegetDorothyas

mygirlfriendat juniorhigh.StevewasdatingDorothy’s

friend.

"Whydon'tyouchaseafterDorothy,"Stevesaid.

"Okay."

Iknewnothingaboutherandhadneverspokento

her,butIreallywantedtohaveagirlfriend.Iwasn'tsure

ifIshoulddateher,butwasdyingtobeinlove.

HewroteanotethataskedDorothyifshe’dbemy

girlfriend,andIsignedit.Together,SteveandIgavethe

letter to Dorothy while she was confabbing with her

friendsduringlunchatschool.

She said yes, just loud enough for us to hear as

SteveandIstoodnearby.StevecheeredandSteveandI

walkedaway.

Because I didn’t know how to have a girlfriend,

however, I never talkedoreven satnext toher.Plus, I

was still shy. I wanted very much to sit next to her

duringlunchtogettoknowherbetter.Icontinuallyput

off talking with her. Dorothy never attempted to talk

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withme.Shebrokeupwithmeoverthephone,awhile

later.Thatwasthemostweevertalked.Steveandother

friendshadteasedmeaboutkissingDorothy,howeverI

was confused and didn’t know what to say to a

girlfriend,becauseofhowillIwas.

"Kiss Dorothy. Kiss her," Steve tried his best to

convinceme,"Kissyourfirstlove."

"Iwill," I promised, hoping I'd figure out how to

get to know her better soon, hopefully. I just couldn't

figureitout,soIcontinuedtoputofftalkingtoher.

MyfreshmanyearinhighschoolwaswhenIreally

fell inlove,however.Sandiewasprettyandhadagood

personality. I hung around Sandie and several other of

ourfriends.Myfriendsevenhelpedmetrytodateher.

Earlyon,a friendofminesuggested toSandie thatshe

andIwouldbeagoodcouple.Ilookedupwhenhesaid

that, and Sandie gavemeamean face. Lookingback, I

think there were three possible reasons for that face.

Thefirstwasthatshelikedme,butwouldn’tadmittoit.

Thesecondwasthatshedidn’tlikemeanddidn’twant

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tobeassociatedwithme.Thethirdwasthatshewasn’t

certain how she felt aboutme. She didn’t knowmuch

about me, after all. She only did what any young girl

mightdoifaguywasshowinginterestindatingher.

Ofcourse,atthetime,thesecondreasonseemed

mostlikely.

Iwas not able to figure out howa personmight

reacttosituationssuchasthat,soIassumedthatIwas

notattractiveenoughorgoodenoughforSandie,which

hurt me and especially hurt my self-esteem. At first, I

couldn’t believe that she didn’t love me. I was

heartbroken,buteventuallyIgotoverit.Shewasanice

girl to be friends with. And, because I was ill, reasons

oneandthreeneverenteredmymind.

I assumed that I did not know how to have a

girlfriend because I was shy and such a big nerd. My

friends reinforced these ideas. They even tried to help

me fit in. Steve suggested that I part my hair in the

middle instead of off to the side, which I went along

with.KeithandIlookedthrough“cool”clothesinasmall

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departmentstore inamall, insteadof thenerdyones I

usuallywore.

One friend mentioned that I should find a

girlfriendwhowasnot sopretty. Iwas too submissive,

and so I didn’t say anything to that. I shouldn’t have

hungaroundsomeonewhowouldsaythatkindofthing.

It’spossiblethatIdidn’tstandupformyselfenoughasa

result of being mentally ill, because I didn’t know

whetherornotIshouldspeakup,orwhatIshouldsay.

My sophomore year in high school, getting good

grades became very important to me. At some point

during that year, I began to sit in the library doing

homework or studying during lunch. I earned A’s in

English and B’s in Algebra I, and did well in my other

classes, too. My freshman year, I had not done well.

Now,Iwasthinking,“Icandothis!Icangotocollege!”I

got so much satisfaction from being dedicated to my

studies. Iwould daydreamabout howdedicated I’d be

until I reached my upper division business courses in

college,atwhichtimeI’dstart lookingforagirlfriend. I

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planned towait until then, because Iwanted to find a

matewhowouldhelpmegrowmy father’s small resin

reproduction casting and mold-making business into a

full-timeendeavor.

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Chapter7

Dad’sPart-TimeBusiness

Dad became interested in resin casting using

siliconemolds.My fatherand I ran thisbusiness inour

kitchenandattimes,mybrothersandMomhelped.One

projectwasafull-scalemodelofanexperimentthatwas

going to take place on the space shuttle. I helpedDad

sandandputtythesheetPlexiglas,andhelpedwiththe

gluing and spray painting, too. We also cast

reproductions of parts for a full-scale mockup of the

interior of a passenger airplanebeing constructedby a

firm in town.The finalprojectwasreceivedveryhighly

bythebusinessexecutiveswhosawit.

Dad and I met Jerry, a nice man in town who

designedcustomscalemodelcars.Dadofferedtomake

resin reproductions of his models, and Jerry agreed.

Usually,Dadmadethemoldswith thick, liquidsilicone,

which hardened but remained flexible enough when

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curedtoallowacastingtoberemoved.Often,DadorI

wouldcast themoldsusinga two-part liquid resin that

hardened within twenty-four hours. I enjoyed helping

withthebusiness,asitwasalotoffun.I justlovedthe

idea of making money while doing something that I

actuallylookedforwardtodoing.Ibelievedthatbuilding

myfather’sbusinesswouldbeanidealcareerforme.

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Chapter8

RudetoMyFriend’sDad

My friendKeith is a verynicepersonanda loyal

friend.KeithandIhadfunswimminginhispooloverthe

summerwith his younger sister and other friends.We

alsodidyardworktogetherataneighbor’shouse.Keith

was a true comedian at times, and he could make

anyone laugh. He never put me down, unless he was

telling a joke. The rest of the time, he was very

considerate of me. He was fun to be around, even

thoughhecouldbemischievousattimes.Keithwasthe

epitome of what a best friend should be. If he would

have known I was experiencing prodromal paranoid

schizophrenia,hewouldhavetoldmyparentssoIcould

gethelp.

OnedaywhenIwasinjuniorhigh,IwasatKeith’s

housetalkingtohisfather.Heinvitedmeinsideandsaid

that Keith would be home soon.We were together in

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their living room, and then his father left the room.

When Keith’s father wasn’t there with me, I left and

rodemy bicycle homewithout saying aword—I didn’t

knowifIshouldsaysomethingtoKeith’sfatherand,ifI

wassupposedto,Iwasn’tsurewhatIwouldsay.Atthe

time,Ididn’tevenrealizethatwasrude.ThenexttimeI

wasattheirhouse,Keith’sfatherexplainedtomenicely

thathe’dbeenworriedaboutwhereIhadgone.Hesaid

thatIshouldtellhimifIwasgoingtoleavetheirhouse.I

should have been considerate of my friend’s father. I

didn’talwaysknowhowtoactorwhattodo incertain

situationsbecauseofmyillness.

It wasn’t obvious to me that I was not well,

however. It wasn’t obvious to my friend’s father that

therewassomethingverywrongwithme,either.

“The other day, you left without telling me,”

Keith’s fatherexplained. “Iwas concernedabout you. I

went looking for you.Next time,please letmeknow if

youareleaving.”

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“Allright,”Ireplied.IwonderedwhyIhadn’ttold

him.

“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouweregoingtoleave?”

heasked.

“I guess … I’m shy,” I replied. If he knew that it

hadn’t even occurred to me to say something, what

wouldhethinkofme?

This was one of thosemoments when I thought

therewassomethingunusualaboutme. I stilldidn’t fit

in.

“Richard,” Keith said under his breath, and then

hecrackedup,shakinghishead.

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Chapter9

PetRoaches

My chest chimed as I leaned over and reached

intomybackpack,pullingoutaglasspeanutbutter jar.

As I set it onmy desk, Steve—whowas sitting next to

me—laughed.

“I caught them from the sewer,” I explained,

“Genehelped.”

Three roaches scurried about among strips of

cardboardandpiecesofbreadwithinthejar.

“Keepthoseaway.”Jennifer,whosedeskwasjust

past Steve’s, cringed. At the sound of her voice, Mr.

Peckneylookedover,andhiseyesfoundthejar.

“Don’tletyourroachesout,”hesaidwithasmile,

andthenchuckled.

“I won’t,” I promised. Mr. Peckney’s desk was

rightnexttomine,soIheldupthejarandasked,“Don’t

youwanttoseethem?”

32

“Oh, no.” He smiled. “Some parents give their

childakittenorapuppy,butRichardprefersa roach.”

Helaughedathisownjoke,andthenwalkedtothefront

oftheclass.

“GeneandIcaughttheroachesbyscoopingthem

into the jar with a piece of cardboard.We removed a

sewercaponastreetinourneighborhood,”Iexplained

to Steve. “The roacheswere right there on the side of

themanhole.”

The bell rang. As Mr. Peckney began taking roll

call, Jason got up from his seat, snagged the jar, and

took itwithhim tohis desk at thebackof the room. I

watched him all the way, hoping he would not

accidentallybreakthejar.

“Give him back his roaches,” Mr. Peckney

commanded.JasonretunedthejarandIsmirked,feeling

myinsidestwingewithjoy.

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Chapter10

MeforPresident!

Inmybusinessclassinhighschool,Ihadtodoan

oral report. Each student had to describe a possible

career choice. I chose being President of the United

States. Ibelieve that I chosebeingpresidentbecausea

vibe toldme to; at the time, I thought itwas intuition

tellingme.

Thatafternoon,afterschool,Isatnexttomygood

friendMattonthebus.

“I did an oral report in general business class

today,”Iexplained.“Ithinkitwentwell.”

“Whatwas it about?”Matt glanced up from the

bookhehadbeenreadingonhislap.

“Ididmineonbeingpresident.Theprojecthadto

do with a possible career that we’d like to have. I’m

goingtobecomepresidentsomeday,”Iexplained.

34

“Areyougoing tostarta revolutionandturn the

country into a dictatorship, or try to get elected?” he

asked,andhisseriousnessgavemeatingling,funfeeling

inside. “I don’t know if the CIA will put up with you

overthrowingthegovernment.”

“Oh, I want to be elected, but I won’t turn the

countryintoadictatorship.”

“What are you going to do before you become

President?” he asked. “What will you do to help get

there?”

“I am going to turn my father’s business into a

full-time career, with employees,” I explained. “And

then,maybeI’llrunforGovernor,andthenPresident,”I

said.

“I’ll vote for you,”he said. “I thinkyou’dmakea

goodpresident.”

“Thank you,” I replied asMatt went back to his

book.

Foramoment,Iglanceddownatthepagehewas

reading.ThenI lookedoutthewindow,calculatinghow

35

many years I’d have to wait until I met the age

requirementforbeingpresident.

Twentyyears.

Itseemedalifetimeaway.

36

Chapter11

TheLetter

In my junior year English class, I had to write a

letter to the wife character in a story we had read,

whosehusbandhadcommittedsuicide.Theteachersaid

mine was “cold,” and I was confused. Later, I had my

fatherreadit,andhealsodisapproved.Iwasevenmore

confused. Iwas not capable of interactingwith people

normally.

Mrs.Getnercalledeachstudenttothepodiumto

gethisorherassignment.When,shecalledmyname,I

gotoutofmyseatandwalkedtoher.Asshehandedme

theletter,shesaid,“Yourswasverycold.”

I took the paper, looking at the C grade, feeling

embarrassed in front of the class. My eyebrows

furrowedasIwalkedbacktomyseat.Whatmademine

cold?WhatshouldIhavedonedifferently?

Athome,Idecidedtohavemyparentsreadit.

37

Dadlaughed.“It’scold,liketheteachersaid.”

Momhadnocomment.

Igrabbedtheletterandwenttomyroomtoputit

away.

Iwasstillconfused.Icouldn'tfigureoutwhywhat

Iwrotewas cold. Frustrated, I put the letter away and

instead of figuring out what I had done wrong, I just

forgotaboutit.

38

Chapter12

College

WhenIattendedPimaCommunityCollege,Ilived

withmy parents and siblings. I was a general business

major.Beingacollegestudentwasveryexcitingforme.

Collegelifewasn’tlikehighschool—mostpeoplewerein

collegebecausetheywantedtobethere.Istudiedhard,

wantingtoexcel.Everythingrevolvedaroundmystudies

andmyfather’spart-timebusiness.Now,Iwasanadult.

Early in college, in fact, I designed several ofmy

ownscalemodels,castreproductionsofthem,andsold

the reproductions via mail-order. One model was of a

1/43 scale 1959 Cadillac sedan. For that model, I had

usedanexistingmodelmadebyanothermanufacturer

as a base. Using modeling tools, I converted the two-

doorcoupetoa four-door. Ievenmadea rearwindow

fromscratchandcastreproductionsinclearresin.Itook

great pride in designing, casting, painting, and

39

assemblingthemodels.Imadeenoughmoneytopayfor

most of my college tuition early on, although I didn’t

makenearlyenoughtocoverroomandboard.

Twoofmybuiltscalemodelswerefeaturedonthecover

ofModelCarJournal,whichwasawell-knownmagazine

in the model business at the time. These models and

othersreceivedexcellentreviewsinthemagazine.

I also designed and reproduced a scale model

airplanestandwiththejet’sIsraelinameonabasethat

heldthemodel (whichwasmadebyanothercompany)

upright ina flightposition.However, I soldvery fewof

the stands, even though theywere featured in a scale

modelairplanemagazine.

40

Chapter13

Anne

While I was sitting in the cafeteria one day my

freshmanyear,astrangegirlcameby,lookinghappyto

seeme.

“Howhaveyoubeen?”Anneaskedasshesatnext

to me in the school cafeteria. “Remember me? I’m

Anne.”Shewasveryprettyandhadshort, curlybrown

hair.

“No,”Istuttered.Apersonwhowasn’tmentallyill

might reply,“Oh,hi.Sorry, Idon’t rememberyou.”But

allIsaidwas,“No.”

“Wekneweachother in fourthgrade.We’dplay

onthemonkeybarsshapedlikeacar,remember?”she

added.

“No,”Irepliedagain.

“On the car, you’d act like you were stuck in a

toilet.”

41

“No…oh,yeah,Iremember,”Irepliedfeelingmy

chest tingle for a second. It made me happy to

rememberplayingandgoofingaroundwithAnne.

“Do you date often?” she asked, showing a nice

smile.Foramoment,itfeltlikeshehadletthemorning

sunlightintoadarkroom.

“Oh,no.Notrightnow,”Isaid.Icouldtellthatshe

feltinsulted,butshekeptastraightface.

“I’llseeyouaround,”shesaid,andleft.

Iwasconfused,andIdidn’tunderstandwhyIfelt

confused about the conversation. I had handled the

situationpoorlybecauseIjustdidn’tknowwhattosay.I

still regret that. If we had gone out, Annemight have

becomemygirlfriend. If I hadgoneoutonadatewith

her, perhaps I would have figured out that I was

mentally ill.Thenagain,perhapsgoingonadatewould

have been a disaster for me. I wouldn’t have done

anythingright,andIwouldhavebeenembarrassed.The

wholetime,Iwouldn’thavehadanyideaofwhattosay

ordo.

42

Iheldontomyplantowaituntilmyupperdivision

business classes to find a girlfriend. After two years at

PimaCommunityCollege,ItransferredtotheUniversity

of Arizona formy upper division courses. I was still ill,

but as timewent by, itwasn’t as obvious tome that I

didn’tfitin.

One day, I saw myself in the bathroom mirror

whenIsteppedoutoftheshowerandsawbloodonmy

face. I thought I had been shot in the mouth. I

immediatelyfeltveryweakandIstruggledtowalktomy

bedroom, hoping that whatever was happening to me

would soon pass. I almost collapsed in the hallway,

because of how ill I felt. I lay on my bed face down,

waitingforthesickeningsensationtopass.Eventually,it

did.Istoodanddressed.

ThenexttimeIsawmymom,Itoldheraboutit.I

don’t rememberwhat she said, butwe decided not to

doanythingaboutit.Lookingback,Ibelievethatseeing

thatfalsereflectioninthemirrorwasmyfirstpsychotic

experience.

43

My first semester at the university was stressful

becauseIhadsometroublewithoneclassinparticular,

and Iwantedtoearngoodgrades.Actually, Ihadbeen

puttingmyselfundera lotofstresswithmystudies for

years.Still, Ienjoyed theuniversityandwaspleased to

beintheprimeofmylife.Afterthatfirstsemester,Iwas

readytobegintakingupperdivisionbusinesscoursesat

theuniversity.Iwasonthepathtosuccess,andnothing

couldstandinmyway.

But something dreadful was about to happen—

somethingthatwoulddrasticallyalterthecourseofmy

future. It is common for peoplewho get schizophrenia

to experience stress before becoming psychotic.

Researchers have determined that there is a genetic

component to schizophrenia, but a stressful event in a

person’s life can trigger the worst symptoms of the

illness.

44

AbouttheBook:

Richard Carlson Jr. was diagnosed with paranoid

schizophreniawhenhewastwenty-oneyearsofage.His

illnessfirstmanifestedwhenhewasanearlyadolescent.

Modern psychiatry greatly failed Richard for over a

decade.Then,afteran incident involving thepolice,he

trulyunderstoodthathisdiagnosiswasreal,andfinally

beganthelongprocessofrecovery.Overtenyearslater,

his life is greatly improved. In the course of his

treatment, Richard also recovered from depression,

obsessive-compulsivedisorder,andlethargy.

Do not letwhat happened to Richard happen to

you,alovedone,orapatientdealingwithseveremental

illness.Alwaysbehonestwitheachother,andwithyour

psychiatrist. For patients, family members, caregivers,

students, andmedical professionals who would like to

learnmore,visitwww.survivingschizophrenia.com.

45

AbouttheAuthor:

RichardCarlsonJr.isanauthorofchildren’sbooks

and coming-of-age romances. He is a highly sensitive

person, or HSP, and has paranoid schizophrenia and

obsessive-compulsive disorder. You can learn more

abouthimatwww.rich.center.

Coverphotographcredit:CopyrightRichardCarlsonSr.

Back cover photograph credit: Copyright PictureMe

PortraitStudios.