Schizophrenia

Schizophrenia runs in my family, though I didn’t know this until almost a year ago.

My father had an uncle who lived on the streets of Detroit, derelict, a loser and suspected alcoholic, rejected by his sister and brother and seldom discussed. My father’s brother, my uncle, was in a car accident during college, causing brain damage and sparking his downward decline. The uncle I knew smoked a lot of pot and painted images of the Virgin Mary, sporadically present in the lives of his wife and their five impoverished children. His wife later became a psychiatric nurse, and is now the primary caregiver of their adult child, my cousin, who is the only family member to be formally diagnosed with schizophrenia.

Schizophrenia runs in my day-to-day life, too, and has for a few years now.

Yesterday, I tried to offer a homeless man food, and he screamed at me and called me a cannibal. I retreated, quietly, and felt hurt and scared, and then wondered what it must be like to go through life, balled up in the corners of loading docks, believing the world to be full of marauding monsters who want to eat your flesh. A woman at work once smiled at me and said that I made her sad. She knew that I was really dead and being remotely controlled by Hell’s Angels, as were all of her friends, and that, eventually, all women would end up this way.

Not knowing how to respond, I walked away.

Awww....er....Ahhhh!

Somewhere, at this very moment, deep in the darkest alley of Vancouver's underworld, there is a small, frail elderly woman. She's about 5'3" and weights maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. And she is, apparently, going to kill me.

This fact, along with a number of colourful adjectives, was relayed to me last week as I attempted to evict said woman from the premises, following a series of escalating aggressive behaviours. I did ask nicely. I tried to be patient. But I daresay, she was not impressed.

After finally leaving the building, she returned, repeatedly, each time encountering different staff members, to whom she relayed the list of individuals who had wronged her. Afterwards, she often added their names to her list.  There were a few more threats, including a vow to turn one coworker into mincemeat. And then she was gone, much like a small, elderly, terrifying nightmare.

As small and frail and she may be, I have no doubt of her ability to kick my ass and/or turn me into a pie. And while this fact is more than a little embarrassing, it is also really terrifying. I am scared of this tiny abusive woman. And she's out there, somewhere, waiting.

I know that she remembers me, because each time she returned she kept mentioning how much she hated me to other staff. She didn't know my name, so she called me, "that skinny one who smiles all the time. She's dead!"

Which...aww. That's the nicest death threat I've received in a long, long time.

...I'm scared.