A True Story of Schizophrenia by MJ Dakota

In 1978, my oldest brother Chad was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. At that time, schizophrenia was a “new” mental illness and not widely known. I didn’t even know what it was; I just knew what a person with it did.

I remember the conflicting emotions of relief; sadness and guilt when I was told my brother had finally been diagnosed. I felt relief; because my brother would not be coming home this time; guilt, because my brother was mentally ill; sadness because I realized the finality of “losing” my big brother. I did not loose my brother to death in its literal form, but to an illness that he would never recover from. He is on earth in body and soul, but mentally lost on two separate plains of reality.

Gone were the days of evening runs together, climbing trees and jumping from the highest point of the house’s roof. Yes, we did that stuff and more. We use to blow up plastic army men hidden in piles of dirt with firecrackers, ride bikes, have spelling bees and see who could read the biggest words. One summer my brothers and our neighbor friends (we were separated by one house) attempted to dig a tunnel from our backyard through the next-door neighbor’s yard into our friend’s back yard. My brothers started in our backyard and our friends started in their backyard. I wasn’t allowed to participate because it was too dangerous. I guess the concept of, “if it was too dangerous for me, it was too dangerous for them” didn’t register in their minds. One day when they went out to work on the tunnel, they discovered it had collapsed in the backyard of the “between” neighbor, but luckily no one was in it at the time. The boys did have to fill the cave-in area in the neighbor’s yard though. Aaah, the fun and foolishness of youth.

Our family was a typical middle class family with both parents working and we were politically called, “latch-key kids”. My brothers and I pretty much hung together in those days.

Of course, with all the fun and games, we also had the typical sibling battles. I remember one in particular that involved Chad and my sister, Tanya, 9 years my senior. They were in the short hallway that led to the bathroom in a physical fight. Chad had my sister pinned against a cabinet in some kind of chokehold and I yelled for him to let her go. I remember being scared and going to get someone to help. I don’t remember how it stopped or what started it, I just remember the hold my brother had on my sister and the feeling of fear. I was about 7 years old at that time and Chad would have been about 14, Tanya about 16.

There was another time when my brother Hank, two years my senior, was “picking” on me and he had punched me in play and then ran through the house away from me. I followed hot on his heels, he ran into the bathroom at the other end of the house and just as I was about to reach him, he slammed the door, right on my face. He gave me my first bloody nose and once he realized I was all right, we laughed about it and how it happened. Although neither one of us actually saw the slam of the door on my face, we both envisioned it as if it were a cartoon sequence. It was all good sibling fun then.

With Chad though, it was different. I remember Chad threatening me with a pair of scissors; “I’ll stab you if you do that.” I was very confused at the time; I was just sharpening my pencil to do homework. Dad came and told him to put the scissors down and if he wasn’t careful, Dad would call the police and have Chad taken to “the funny farm”. It was the first time I had seen Chad act so strangely and Dad’s reaction was weird; what did he mean, “the funny farm”? Later when I asked my dad what he meant by that, he told me, “The funny farm is a place where crazy people are sent.” More confusion… Is he saying that Chad was crazy? Why? I think I was about 9 years old at this time.

The summer of 1977 was the beginning of about two years of chaos and fear in our home. That summer was the bookmark for the schizophrenia stronghold on my brother, although we didn’t know it at the time. He had run away and was gone for four days. We had called the police and searches by friends and family were conducted with no luck in locating him. Then on the fourth day, my parents received a phone call from the police, Chad had been found at a local convenience store. He had stolen some food and walked outside to eat it. The police said that he probably wanted to be found, because he had money to pay for what he had stolen. They suggested my parents seek professional help for Chad because it was apparent something wasn’t “quite right” with him.

Chad had become withdrawn from the family during the previous few months and after this event, even more so. His teachers called him “shy” and felt he needed to participate more with others. Chad was a very intelligent person and I admired him. We would often challenge each other in spelling bees and reading when doing our homework together after school. In those days, homework was a family affair. We would all sit at the dining room and do our homework assignments together, asking each other for help when we got stuck. Chad was a straight “A” student, excellent artist and he ran track, distance races. I was also in track in school and we used to run together in the evenings.

Eventually, Chad stopped going to school. I don’t know how it was accomplished, but a teacher from the high school my brother attended started coming to the house to tutor my brother, as it was called then. (Some would call it “home school”) This worked for a while, but eventually Chad refused to do that too. He stopped talking and visiting with his friends as well as no longer being interested in running with me.

As time went on, things seemed to get stranger with Chad. He would talk in a make believe language, laugh for no reason and say weird menacing things to my brothers and myself. He was about 16 at this time. My other two brothers and I were under orders to not say anything to Chad that might upset him. There was something wrong with him but no one knew what. He believed he was Jesus Christ and we were the devil. Our parents thought he might be possessed and sought out “divine help”. They took Chad to see a priest and when that failed, they took him to a psychologist, “He feels the family is rejecting him and he is becoming withdrawn. You need to include him more.” By this time, a rule was set that I was not allowed to be in my home unless one of my other brothers or parent were home, I was 12 now. After the psychologist visit, the rules changed. We needed to come home after school and ask Chad to do things with us. I would ask Chad if he wanted to go running and my other brothers would try to incorporate Chad into what they did. This didn’t cause any improvement with Chad’s behavior though, in fact, he was getting worse. He talked more frequently to his voices and became very mean, threatening to kill and hurt us quite often.

It became clear to the family that there was something seriously wrong with Chad, but we had no idea what or what to do about it. As a family unit, the situation generally was not discussed, except when rules were implemented. Chad was drawing pictures of aliens and half man, half lizard characters. Although a bit on the weird side, his drawings were amazing. The details of the lizard scales from head to waist or waist to tail was just so perfect. The human portion of the character, whether upper or lower body, were very good as well. I dabbled in drawing, but there was no way I was even close to what Chad was capable of. Dad thought because of Chad’s choice of characters in his drawings that he was watching too many science fiction shows. This lead to television show viewing restrictions, we were not allowed to watch shows such as Star Trek or The Twilight Zone any longer. This didn’t seem to have any affect on Chad’s behavior or drawing subject choices though.

The psychologist eventually informed our parents, “There is nothing else I can do for him” and Chad stopped seeing him. The voices started telling Chad to hurt our pets and I found myself following him into the backyard to protect them. He was threatening to kill our father and our other two brothers, the voices told him they were evil, devils and must be killed. I don’t remember any threats from him concerning myself, but I still felt fear. Our home became, “a house of fear.” Again, I was not to be home alone with Chad. I had a “safe house” up the street that I went to after school until 5pm when everyone was due home. I slept with my bedroom door locked because Chad would sneak in at night and stand over me. I would wake up and there he was, just standing there, watching me. It would really scare me. One morning my brother Hank woke up at about 1:00am, Chad was standing over him with a knife in the air. When Hank asked Chad what he was doing, Chad shook his head and walked away.

About six months have past since he ran away and by this time he thought he was the Six Million-Dollar Man with super-human strength. Mom and Dad even bought him a weight bench with weights, which he proceeded to use in his bedroom. He eventually got to a point of lifting 150 lbs. and throwing them across his room. He truly became very strong and in about three months we would learn that his weight lifting was not a good idea for us.

Chad’s behavior was getting stranger by the week and I know I was confused, angry and scared. All focus was on what to do about Chad and what we had to do to not cause any outburst from Chad. I will say that Mom and Dad tried to keep some semblance of a normal home life for the rest of us, but it just was not “normal” for any of us.

The whole family was very involved with Boy Scouts and we would go on camping trips as a family with the troop my brothers were members of. There was a trip coming up for a weekend campout and Mom and Dad didn’t think it would be wise to take Chad, so we left him at home, alone. The trip was nice, I was able to relax and have fun and I loved camping, real camping with tent and sleeping bags. All feelings of relaxation and fun were lost when we arrived home on Sunday afternoon. We found our cockatiel dead on the bottom of his cage. Chad had squeezed the bird to death. When Dad asked him why, Chad replied, “The voices told me to kill it. It was the devil and was trying to get me.” No words can explain the anger, disgust, and the sadness I felt over what he had done. At this point, I lost my empathy for my brother. How could he do such a thing? He had to know right from wrong, didn’t he?

Chad had been seeing a new psychiatrist by this time, but still, no improvements in his behavior were apparent. He was given some drugs, but I don’t know what they were or if they helped in any way. Chad started having bigger emotional mood swings with crying breakdowns of apology for his behavior and how he wanted to stop, but the voices just keep talking and pushing him to hurt us, to his threats in such a menacing voice that the words were lost on me, but the tone of his voice alone would illicit fear. He did state that he loved our mom and the voices told him not to hurt her. My parents still had us on orders of not saying or doing anything that would upset Chad. I started to resent Chad and all the rules I had to follow because of his behavior. Why didn’t Mom and Dad just take him somewhere to get help?

The next incident that took place was between Chad and myself. One morning I got up for school and went to make a bowl of cereal. There was a gallon of milk in the refrigerator the night before, but when I went to get it for my cereal, it was an empty container in the refrigerator. I was irritated. (Never was a morning person) “Who drank all the milk?”
“I did.” Chad replied.
“Why?”
“Because I was thirsty.”
“There are other people in the house, you shouldn’t have drank it all.”
“Shut-up, you’re crazy.”
My next statement was pure reaction with no thought. I just let my anger of his behavior and attitude take over and I said with venom in my voice, “I’m not the crazy one, you are!” Slap! Chad had slapped me across the face. I was really mad now and wanted so desperately to hit him back, but I knew he could seriously hurt me, so I walked away. After school and when my parents got home I was reprimanded for talking like I did to my brother. I guess one of my other brothers had told Mom and Dad what had happened that morning. It was my fault and I needed to watch what I said, I was told. More resentment towards Chad came into me. By this time I also started to resent my parents for caring more for Chad than they did us.

All of this has taken place in a span of about 9 months. Once things started to change, they changed fast. The only thing that was not fast was help in providing a safe home for my brothers and myself. See, in 1967, California Governor, Ronald Reagan signed into law “The Lanterman-Petris-Short Act” regarding the involuntary civil commitment of a person to a mental health institution and it became active July 1, 1972. Basically, this law prohibbited parents or legal guardians from committing any child 13 years of age or over to a mental health facility. They either had to voluntarily admit themselves or be found by the courts as mentally incapable of taking care of their personal basic needs. We would have to have the courts find my brother to be incapable of caring for himself before he could be committed to a mental health hospital. Since he was living at home, it just wasn’t going to happen. The other option was to have him medically diagnosed with a mental illness or found to be a threat to himself or society. Which was not forthcoming with the current psyciatrist. Our hands were legally tied.

Summer had arrived and Mom and Dad decided to buy an above ground pool. The catch was, we had to clear the area of where the pool was going from rocks, level the ground and help build a brick wall around the backyard. It was going to be a family project with all involved. Nothing like good old fashion yard work! So, away we went, Dad bought a second hand rotor-tiller and turned up the ground where the pool was going to go. The family would spend the weekends raking and picking out rocks. Chad would sometimes help; other times he was nowhere to be found. Once that was done, we started on the brick wall. City codes required a 6ft. brick wall for houses with pools. Dad’s philosophy was, “why pay someone to do it when you had 4 children to do it?” Our neighbor and our dad were going to help too, but we were out of school and they had to work, so we were expected to work on it during the week and they would help on the weekends.

It was a Saturday afternoon, Mom was at work, Dad was watching football, the neighbor was sleeping, (He worked a graveyard shift) and my two brothers were working on the wall. I was in the backyard, but I was playing with the dog and Chad was in his room. All was peaceful until Chad came out to the backyard and went over to where my other two brothers were working on the wall. I don’t know what happened, I just remember hearing my brother Hank yell, “Chad, if you want to fight, fight me!” My other brother, Scott, was not a very strong or physical guy, even though he was only a year younger than Chad, he had the smaller build of all. When I heard that, I went running over to see what was going on. When I saw Chad and Hank fighting, I ran into the house to get our Dad. Dad came running out and took over the fighting of Chad from Hank. I did not like what was happening and again, I was scared, I just knew someone was going to get badly hurt. I couldn’t stand to watch and went into the house. A little while later, my brother Scott came in and picked up the phone. I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Calling the police like Dad said.”
I ran to the backyard to find out what was happening and saw Dad flat on his back with Chad sitting on top of him arguing with his voices about not wanting to kill our dad. At the same time he was telling our dad that he was the devil and had to die. I pretty much lost it then. The tears started, I was shaking and felt sick to my stomach. I went and sat on the front porch to try to calm down and wait for the police. When the police got there, I took them to the back yard and they reached for Chad. Chad jumped off our dad and swung at the police officer. They quickly (2 of them) got Chad to the ground, cuffed him, arrested him and took him to jail for assaulting a police officer, they asked Dad to come to the station to press charges for assault against him as well.

The mood of the aftermath was somber to say the least. I, with feelings of confusion, relief and apprehension for “what’s next?” My other two brothers basically stayed in the backyard and our dad sat in his chair, very quiet. I was in the living room with him and felt his emotional pain in the air. Then noticed him crying, I asked if he was all right and he replied, “I promised your mom I wouldn’t do anything yet.” I found myself comforting my father and trying to help him rationalize that what he did was necessary and Mom would understand that. Gone were my own feelings of the situation, Dad needed me. I’m guessing I was about 13 at this point, I really don’t remember exactly, I just remember the events and emotions mainly.

When Mom got home from work, she and Dad disappeared into their bedroom. When they came out, they stated they were going to the police station. Upon their arrival back home, about two hours later, Chad was with them. He went directly to his room and we were informed that the officer Chad swung at was not pressing charges because it was evident that Chad was mentally ill. Mom and Dad had also decided not to press charges and so Chad was released…and brought home. Boy was I angry now! Didn’t these people realize the danger we were all in? Why didn’t my parents care enough about my other brothers and I to follow through? I guessed we weren’t as important as Chad was to them. Yes, I know, these were very selfish thoughts, but at the time, I believed my parents didn’t even notice or think about how my other brothers and I felt.

A few days later when I got home from school, my parents were there and informed me that they had taken Chad to UCLA Mental Health Hospital for a 72-hour observation. This was the only way to get help. They used the police report to get the hospital to accept him for the evaluation.
After the three days, Chad was released and found not to be a threat to himself or others. How, I don’t know. So, it was back to the routine. Go to school, try to act normal and not let anyone know what my home life was like, Go home, drop off books and go to my “safe house.” At 5:00pm, go home and cook dinner to be ready by 6:00pm when Dad would get home. After diner, clean the dishes and do homework. Watch TV and go to bed, locking my door. This went on for about another month or so.

Mom and Dad had started taking Chad to a new psychiatrist, one recommended by the hospital. I don’t know what took place at the appointments, but one day, Chad didn’t come home with Mom. She was the one who generally too k Chad to his appointments. The doctor had him committed for another 72- hours observation. Three days later, Chad was back home. So went life. Home was the place my clothes were and where I slept. Where I “lived” was at school and my “safe house.” Those were the only places that I didn’t have to watch my back or feel fear.

Then, one day Chad had gone to the backyard and as usual, I followed to make sure he didn’t hurt the dogs. He was going to go swimming and I played with the dogs. Chad had finished his swim and was sitting on the deck in a lounge chair when our dad came into the backyard with two men dressed in white and a female police officer. It was like something out of a “B” rated movie, I actually wanted to laugh about the vision before me, but curiosity of just what was going on kept me quiet.

Dad approached Chad with the police officer and the other two guys stayed in the background. “Chad, these people would like to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to them.”
“Chad,” Said the police officer, “We just want to make sure you are happy here. Do you feel like you want to hurt yourself?”
“No.”
“Do you want to hurt your father?”
“No.”

The police officer turns around tells my dad there is nothing she can do, he does not appear to be dangerous to himself or the family. As she is instructing the two men in white that they are leaving, Chad stands up from the chair, raising his arms into a body building pose of The Incredible Hulk and growls. The officer hears the growl, turns to Chad, sees his posture and says, “Let’s take him.”

She calming talks to Chad again and he relaxes his pose, comes off the deck and she puts him in cuffs and leads him through the house to the ambulance waiting out front. I just stood there, dumbfounded. What just happened? Who were those people and how did they know to come here? Questions and more questions came flooding into my head. Eventually, I go into the house and Dad tells me that they were taking Chad to UCLA Mental Health for a 72-hour evaluation. Hopefully, with the officer and ambulance crew as witnesses, the doctors will do a more thorough evaluation this time.

Two weeks passed and Chad did not come home. My brothers and I were told that the doctors believe Chad to be mentally unbalanced, but they have not been able to diagnose with what yet. Finally, one night after school and work, Mom and Dad sat us down and told us, “Your brother has been diagnosed with a mental illness called paranoid schizophrenia and the doctors will not release him to us. We have to find him a home that is for mentally disabled people. The illness is so severe that he will have to be on medication for the rest of his life and he will still have to be under 24-hour supervision. He cannot function in society and he is dangerous. The doctors say that the medication will stop his violent tendencies, but they don’t believe he will ever fully recover and be able to mix with society.” Huh? Chad isn’t coming home this time? Whew, huge sigh of relief. “So, where is he going to go?” I asked. Mom and Dad are looking for a place.

Mom and Dad were able to find a mental health board and care facility in a near-by city and Chad was transferred there. They have a psychiatrist visit every two days and it is a locked down facility that he would not be able to leave on his own.

About six months after Chad was diagnosed, Mom and Dad decided to clean out Chad’s room and turn it into a sewing room for Mom. My brother Hank, Mom and myself went to work. The things we found were truly frightening. Pieces of paper with lists like writings:
Mom – Love do not harm
Dad – Devil must kill
Must kill Scott and Hank devils
Impregnate MJ

We also found drawings that we had not seen before that were still in my eyes remarkable. In fact, for years I used to buy Chad drawing supplies for Christmas. I wanted him to keep drawing, he seemed to enjoy it and he was good!

It has been 21 years since that day and my brother is still on medication, still in the mental care facility and still having conversations with his voices. About seven years ago, he requested that the family not visit him anymore and refused to attend any family gatherings, even the holidays. My dad and other brother Hank visited Chad just before Christmas this year and Hank said it was very depressing, Chad refuses to talk to anyone but his voices. It has been about eight years since I have seen my brother, I just can’t bring myself to make the two and a half hour drive and face him on my own.

Thank you for reading - MJ Dakota

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