One of the things about schizophrenia for me is that, although it ruined my life as I had been living it, it has allowed me to come home and spend time with my parents. I missed them when I was living in London for 10 years and coming home has been pleasant. Both of my parents have been very supportive, particularly my Dad. When I was without medication for several years, he would just pick me up from wherever I had wandered and take me home. If I broke dishes and windows from my frustration with the voices, he said nothing, just repaired what could be repaired and went on. I really appreciate this. My mom, who I speak with by telephone every day, was keen that I should get on medication and I was tired of trying meds with heavy, unlivable side effects, so often I would hang up on her. She just waited patiently until the time, five years ago, that I just couldn't take it anymore. It was my tenth stay in hospital, and the doctor there was the first one to tell me to my face I have schizophrenia and that medication would be necessary for the rest of my life. I have made some progress in these five years. I am no longer fearful of being away from home and I have had some respite from the hallucinations and voices, though I still experience them every week. They are no longer as mean as they were and are sometimes even nice and reassuring. Though I had to give up my beloved marriage, I have come home. Now, as long as I have a cup of tea and my computer, I can make it. Hopefully, in the future I will be able to achieve more. More what, I don't know, but maybe something.
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