His childhood dream of writing a book didn’t seem that important. Until he needed to work through his experiences as a child of a schizophrenic, a Psychologist, and a man living with his own schizophrenia.
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There’s an old saying that, “writers write because they have to.” While this saying holds true in my case, the reason why I had to is different from most other writers. I grew up having to overcome obstacles from the very beginning. My mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia shortly following my birth. My parents divorced and I ended up in foster care. In fact those were my first memories, living on a farm in rural Alabama with foster parents.
When I turned four I went to go live with my father and older brother in Oregon. We lived in low rent housing there and experienced hunger, neglect, and bullies. Around age seven I moved to Huntsville, Alabama to live with my mother, Wilma, and step-father, Dave. During this period of my childhood I had the vague notion that I wanted to write a book. When I told my step-father this, he gave me some paper and encouraged me to begin working on it. I found my mind drawing a blank, though as no notion of what to write about entered my mind. I visualized myself working on it, drawing illustrations and so forth but the actuality of what to write never revealed itself to me. I wouldn’t think about writing a book again until I reached adulthood.
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In the short time I had living with my mother; I saw the worst that schizophrenia had to offer. I remember one instance in which she hailed down a passing police car convinced that something dire would happen to her children. She went away to the state hospital for a couple of months and then passed away fairly shortly after her return. My brother Bert and I were told only that she’d had a heart attack. I went to live with some neighbors for about a year and then moved in with my grandmother, Colice, who raised me from then on.
I rode a bicycle across the country to raise money and awareness for children with disabilities. I had no idea that within the year I would be facing a disability of my own …
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My bizarre childhood set the stage for a life that would continue to take me down winding pathways. In 1995, the summer before my senior year, at the University of Alabama, I rode a bicycle across the country to raise money and awareness for children with disabilities. I had no idea that within the year I would be facing a disability of my own, after I was diagnosed with schizophrenia, like my mother before me.
My goal at that time was to be admitted to law school. While writing the letter explaining why I should be admitted though, I experienced a renewal of the psychotic symptoms related to my illness. My letter ended up being a kind of religious manifesto about why God exists. This was not what the law school was looking for as I found out in the meeting with the Admissions Director, whom I happened to already know and have a good rapport with. When I found out that he was the head of Admissions for the year I thought that my fortune was made. At our meeting I sat down in his office, both of us smiling brightly, basking in our warm regard for one another.
“Is it your dream to become a lawyer?” he asked me.
I thought about it for a long moment and for the life of me I couldn’t come up with a good answer to his question. I knew that this had been a goal of mine for many years, one which I had worked really hard for. But I couldn’t tell my friend honestly that this was my dream.
“It’s something I would like to do, in any event” I told my friend.
He then looked at me with a bright, sincere smile and said to me,” You know what you should do Jim? You should write a book!”
But from then on, no matter what nightmarish experience I faced, I always had it in the back of my mind, “You know what? Someday I might be able to write a book!”
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The way he said this left me with the impression that writing a book would sort of trump being an attorney anyway. He must have appreciated the writing of my letter, even if he didn’t think it was appropriate for the situation. He told me that if it was really my dream to become an attorney that I should apply to other law schools, which I never did.
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As I considered the prospect of writing a book, though, I had to admit to myself that the idea did have a certain appeal. I didn’t begin writing then, as I was only beginning my journey of recovery from schizophrenia, and would require many more years just to come to terms with the quagmire of denial and stigma surrounding the illness. But from then on, no matter what nightmarish experience I faced, I always had it in the back of my mind, “You know what? Someday I might be able to write a book!”
I knew that the power to make the world a better place, by providing hope, and life-changing information to millions, who were experiencing similar challenges, was now in my hands.
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As fate would have it, I eventually overcame, and went on to find a new profession as a psychotherapist after becoming a Licensed Certified Social Worker. This time, at age twenty-eight, I knew for sure that this was my dream. I had managed to remain in recovery from my illness and I heard a calling to help as many other people as I could to find recovery as well. Eventually I was able to help rescue my older brother Bert, also diagnosed with schizophrenia, from homelessness. At this point, the passing idea of writing a book finally became a pounding obsession. This was reinforced by the fact that in my recovery I had never come across another book similar to the one I would write.
I was now one of those writers that just have to write, even though the writing was but a narration of my own life story. I knew that the power to make the world a better place, by providing hope, and life-changing information to millions, who were experiencing similar challenges, was now in my hands. Any time I wasted in making this dream become a reality would be cheating them of something truly special. Many of my readers would be able to relate to the symptoms and feelings of despair that I felt in my darkest moments, and they would also know with certainty that recovery was sustainable with the right mindset.
Now I tell my story in my writing and speech with a free spirit, unencumbered by the shackles of self-doubt.
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I said to myself, as other writers starting out do, “I’ll work on this project for six months and then it will practically be finished. Little did I know that I would still be working on the writing, editing, and publishing of my book five years down the road. For the first year or so, of this process, I really had to force myself to write, as I grappled with the painful memories dredged up from the inner recesses of my mind. I really felt envious of those writers that just have to write because it is within them to do so. It seemed that for them writing wasn’t the strenuous exercise that it was for me.
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But then something unexpected happened. After years of constant writing, I found my mind changing as the related neural pathways became more ingrained. With steady application, writing ceased being a chore, but rather something that I looked forward to working on. Now I just have to write for the same reasons other writers just have to, and that is because my mind is stimulated by the process, and I enjoy seeing my ability grow with time and practice.
I also have the satisfaction of knowing that my writing is influential in shaping the lives of others in a powerful way. Like Jonah, who was swallowed by a great fish until he was ready to deliver his message, I was swallowed by the demand in my community for my message that I perceived. Now I tell my story in my writing and speech with a free spirit, unencumbered by the shackles of self-doubt.
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Photo: Flickr/Josef Grunig