"What is normal anyway--right!!!" 
I come from a severely paranoid schizophrenic mother; as well, my sister has the same diagnosis. My grandfather, aunt, uncle as well as cousins have mental illnesses; such as: anxiety, depression, hoarding, bipolar, etc. I have anxiety, obsessive tendencies and problems focusing and organizing my time and staying on task. My mind wanders, I have to read things out-loud or I won't be able to comprehend what I read. I have to talk out-loud and write everything down on my 'brains-sheet' to even get through my day. I have to stand sometimes when I work cause I get too antsy when doing my paperwork. My mind feels like it's moving too fast and I just can't stay focused.
I've been on-call at work since I started and have worked quite a-bit considering. I recently accepted a scheduled position - I am terrified. I start Thursday.
I'm regretting accepting this position--I want to back-out and stay on-call. I always said 'yes' when they asked; however, I like the control of being able to say 'yes' or 'no' about working. Now I will have a set schedule and I feel so anxious about it.
I want to be happy with being a nurse, I don't want to feel anxious about it. I feel it would be best for me to stay on-call. I shouldn't have accepted the day position--I have regrets. My husband, I feel would prefer me be on a set schedule for guaranteed hours--now I feel anxious about THAT!
When growing up, I was in 'special' classes for slow kids. Such classes my son was in when he was younger. My son now 16 was 'diagnosed' with ADHD when he was in kindergarten. I was watching Good Morning America the other day, they were talking about Adult ADD--a light bulb when on. I don't know if that is what I have, but the program made me wake-up to the idea. Hmmmm I thought.
Life in nursing school was hard, exams were the worse; NCLEX was a NIGHTMARE!!! I finally had to take meds on my third try--finally passed!
I have a lot of passion for mental illness and those who live with it everyday. I want to learn more about it. I want to learn more about my own. I need to.
I could write a book on my life from my growing up years to now -- that could be a therapy in itself! Below is a short story I wrote in nursing school about growing up with my mentally-ill mother.
Living With A Mentally-ill Mother
by Sunflower Ross
Signs of mental illness started around the age of 20 for my mother. Now the age of 60, my mother lives in a group home with twelve other mentally-ill adults.
Growing up, my mother was a gifted musician with 'perfect-pitch'; which was a rarity. At an early age her mother taught her to play piano--she was a natural. As she went through school, she accompanied many concerts and joined the orchestra as a violinist. Sometimes after school, she would walk to the local music store to play the grand piano on display; they always encouraged her to play anytime.
In 1967, she graduated from high school with honors. Jennie displayed her outstanding musical talent when auditioning for college. She earned their most prestigious award that provided her with an excellent scholarship.
The unusual behaviors started soon after college. Life at college only lasted about a year and a half. She met a few 'hippie's' that encouraged her to leave college and hitch-hike to San Francisco, California. After experimenting with drugs, dancing, playing music, and wearing flowers in her hair--she hitch-hiked back home in 1971.
She took up residence in a tent outside of a small town where she lived with other hippies. She gave birth to her first daughter, (me) in July 1973. Unfortunately she lost custody of her daughter after she abandoned her at someone's home at the age of 3 months. Fortunately the baby's grandmother received custody of the baby at 9 months.
After years of unusual behaviors and living on the streets she was admitted to a state mental hospital, asylum, and educational center. Doctors diagnosed her as being schizophrenic--of course she didn't believe there was anything wrong with her.
After 4 years, my mother appeared at my grandmother's door-step to claim me, her daughter. The state did nothing to stop it from happening.
When I met my mother at the age of 4, she insisted on taking me to live with her. My grandmother rented a studio apartment downtown since my mother had nowhere to live--her way of keeping an eye on us.
My mom had delusions often; I remember one time she went wild when she thought someone had been in our apartment. Black mascara running down her face; panic-stricken, destroying everything in the room while I stood there quiet, curious and scared. She would write all over the walls in our apartment then later think that someone else did it. There was always someone chasing us--she thought. I later learned that when people have delusions, they believe their experience to be real; they misinterpret experiences and are unable to understand if someone tries to explain reason.
A handful of times we would stay in shelters downtown because my mom was so terrified that someone was after us. I remember sleeping in doorways of businesses and standing in lines for warm meals.
Although her illness made it hard to function in a normal world, she continued to play her violin. I remember sitting next to her on the side-street downtown while she played the violin for change.
It was February 1979 when my sister was born. I became a "mother" at age 6 to my baby sister. My mother was unable to function as a normal adult. We lived in a filthy house with chickens wondering around like it was a barn. She would send me to school with lice in my hair and peed-in clothes. My mother actually took me to the doctor once insisting that I was pregnant at age 7--she was sure of it. ? I remember one day my mother came home with red gauze in her mouth--she had every last one of her teeth pulled out--she thought it would be easier than brushing.
When I was 8 years old, my mom took my sister and me to a local hospital. She told us to wait for her in the waiting room--she'd be right back. It felt like hours as my sister sat on my lap. Soon a woman came up with two police officers, asked us questions then took us to a shelter home. My mother had abandoned me once again--this time with my 3 year old baby sister.
It wasn't until I was a little older that I got to see my mother. She was at the state mental hospital once again. I got to see the ward she lived in--she had a cot and a blanket in a small room. It was very sad to see her there. She had sores all over her shaven head--she had been pulling out her hair; the staff shaved her head to keep her from pulling out the rest of her hair. I thought to myself that she looked like one of the bums I'd seen near the Burnside Bridge before. Later I saw this film, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. If you saw, it would describe the ward perfectly. The movie was filmed at the Oregon State Hospital in Salem, OR.
My sister and I were adopted in 1985 by our mom's sister, our aunt. We got to see our mom sporadically throughout the years. She was finally stable enough to move into a group home in 1987. And for the past 15 years has resided in a wonderful group home near by.
I visit occasionally--short visits. She is very paranoid and thinks that someone is going to capture me and take me on their spaceship--she truly believes it. It's very sad but you have to laugh when she tells you some of the stories that are so real to her. Every time I talk to her on the phone, the police have been chasing her all around town or someone has been trying to capture her. Once she saved her town from blowing up--or so she believes.
She walks around town with garbage bags of stuff from her room so no one will steal them. The neighbors of her town refer her to "the bag lady"--you'd think she was homeless by the way she looks. Nevertheless, the neighborhood treats her well, they know about her mental illness; people look after her when strangers don't understand what she's about.
The group home she lives in makes sure she has her medicine, food and she has her own room. She gets to help with meals and chores if she wants to. She still plays the piano and thank goodness someone donated one to the group home.
I called my mom today--she was so happy to hear from me. She reminds me of a child the way she talks, "I'm alive--isn't that neat!" she gleamed over the phone to me. She has her good and bad days--today was good!
