Monday, December 15, 2008
More About Angus
Angus was alone in his bedroom. The room was dark, and the blinds were closed, shutting out the sunlight. The pungent smell of tobacco filled the room, and there was an ashtray that was filled to overflowing with ashes and butts. Empty cigarette packs and dirty clothes littered the floor. Angus’ hair was long, even for the early eighties, and unkempt, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved or bathed in a while. He was curled up in a ball on his bed with his back to me, and he appeared to be sleeping.
“Angus?” I called quietly.
“Go away,” he responded, without moving.
“Fuck you,” I said in response. Of course, I meant it in the nicest possible way.
Angus whirled on me, eyes wild and teeth flashing like an animal. I was startled at first, but just stood and stared at him. After a few seconds he relaxed and slumped back down on his bed.
“Holy fuck, Frank,” he said. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“You look like shit, Angus.”
“Thanks. So do you.” Considering I usually walked around in old jeans and ratty t-shirts, and was not yet inclined to shave daily, he was probably right. We were friends, after all.
Angus sat up and motioned for me to sit, so I started to join him on his bed, but first I flicked on the light. “Turn if off,” Angus told me.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because the devil can’t see me in the dark.” This, too, seemed odd, but I complied.
“What do you mean by the devil can’t see you in the dark.”
“There’s a devil that follows me around, driving me nuts, telling me how evil I am, how I hurt people. But he can’t see me in the dark. He’s outside the window right now.”
I peeked out the window. “No devil there,” I told him.
“He’s there, all right. You just can’t see him.” I sensed fear in Angus’ voice.
I thought for a moment, then blurted out “Angus, that’s bullshit.”
Angus sat up straight as a rod. His eyes were wild with fear and hatred. Then he sat back and rubbed his eyes. When he finished, they were calmer.
“I know that,” he said. “But I can’t get the thoughts out of my head. When I look out the window, I see the devil. When the lights are on, I hear the devil. He tells me all of the things I’m going to do, like kill and eat little children. He blames all of my problems, my family’s problems, on my violent behavior. He even blames my sister’s death on me!”
“Your sister’s dead?” I asked incredulously.
“No, dammit, she’s fine. But the devil keeps telling me she’s dead. He showed me her funeral!”
I had never known Angus to be violent, either. I considered for a moment. “Angus,” I said, “You are seriously fucked up.”
“No shit!” he responded, and then he laughed. At that point, his mom burst into the room.
“Are you all right, honey,” she asked him. Then I saw the smile on his face. She turned around and gave me a big, long hug. “You must be a miracle worker. I haven’t seen Angus smile for weeks!” Angus’ mom was quite sincere, so, at that point, I really knew that something was seriously wrong.
Angus told me what he had gone through since we had last seen each other. Apparently, Angus’ thoughts had been gradually getting confusing and bizarre since his senior year in high school. At the time, he attributed it to the stress of graduating, but the problem got worse. He had moved out because he was convinced that his parents were planning to kill him. He moved into a small, ramshackle house that he shared with five other guys. He tried alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, and quaaludes to calm his thoughts. Often, the drugs worked, but never for very long, and when he came down from them, the problem worsened. He started smoking because the nicotine calmed his nerves, and admitted that his nerves needed a lot of calming.
Angus’ parents filled in the rest. Two months previous, Angus had purchased and taken a considerable amount of different controlled substances, trying to find a combination that would “get rid of the devil.” He had passed out on the street. One of his roommates apparently alerted the police, but did not stay around for them to arrive. The roommate also took whatever drugs Angus might have been carrying, although it is unknown whether this was done for selfish or altruistic reasons. Either way, Angus was taken to the hospital. When he regained consciousness, he began screaming about being chased by demons who wanted to kill him, and desperately tried to leave. Instead, Angus was held down, restrained, and sedated.
It took Angus about three days to come back to his senses. At that point, he saw a psychiatrist. He described what he thought he saw, answered several thousand more questions, and was promptly diagnosed with schizophrenia.
At this point in the narrative, I find it necessary to pause and lecture a bit. First, take most of what you’ve heard or seen about schizophrenia on television or in movies and throw it into the trash bin, since it is probably bullshit. Schizophrenia is not split or multiple personalities. Schizophrenics are not prone to violence, any more so than the rest of the population. Schizophrenia is not caused by bad parenting. Schizophrenia cannot be cured by simply not wanting to be schizophrenic. I could go on ad nauseum.
Schizophrenia is a disease of the brain. It is a thought disorder. It occurs when there is a chemical imbalance in the brain, or the brain does not process the chemicals correctly. Its sufferers can have visual and auditory hallucinations (seeing or hearing things), severe anxiety, confused thinking, hyper- or hypo-sexuality, alogia (lacking speech), anhedonia (unable to experience pleasure), and catatonia, among others. While theories abound, it is not known what actually causes schizophrenia, although ones heredity does play a part. About 1 percent of the population suffers from some form of schizophrenia. About half of all schizophrenics suffer from a co-occuring addiction disease. Over half of them smoke. Worst of all, about two-thirds of all schizophrenics receive NO TREATMENT AT ALL.
After talking to Angus, I realized a couple of things. First, when Angus saw the devil, he really saw the devil. You’re probably asking yourself, huh? How can he see something that isn’t there? Isn’t this just his imagination gone wild? The answer to the second question is no. As to the first question, Angus’ brain was sending signals to his visual receptors that the devil was in front of him, even though there was no physical devil there. Between his eyes and his brain, the signal was getting scrambled, so his brain gets the signal of a devil. So he is really seeing the devil. While the devil is not real, the devil is real TO HIM.
I’ll repeat that because it is very important. The devil is real TO HIM.
Now you know why schizophrenia is such a scary disease.
OK, end of lecture. Back to our story.
Tomorrow.
“Angus?” I called quietly.
“Go away,” he responded, without moving.
“Fuck you,” I said in response. Of course, I meant it in the nicest possible way.
Angus whirled on me, eyes wild and teeth flashing like an animal. I was startled at first, but just stood and stared at him. After a few seconds he relaxed and slumped back down on his bed.
“Holy fuck, Frank,” he said. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“You look like shit, Angus.”
“Thanks. So do you.” Considering I usually walked around in old jeans and ratty t-shirts, and was not yet inclined to shave daily, he was probably right. We were friends, after all.
Angus sat up and motioned for me to sit, so I started to join him on his bed, but first I flicked on the light. “Turn if off,” Angus told me.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because the devil can’t see me in the dark.” This, too, seemed odd, but I complied.
“What do you mean by the devil can’t see you in the dark.”
“There’s a devil that follows me around, driving me nuts, telling me how evil I am, how I hurt people. But he can’t see me in the dark. He’s outside the window right now.”
I peeked out the window. “No devil there,” I told him.
“He’s there, all right. You just can’t see him.” I sensed fear in Angus’ voice.
I thought for a moment, then blurted out “Angus, that’s bullshit.”
Angus sat up straight as a rod. His eyes were wild with fear and hatred. Then he sat back and rubbed his eyes. When he finished, they were calmer.
“I know that,” he said. “But I can’t get the thoughts out of my head. When I look out the window, I see the devil. When the lights are on, I hear the devil. He tells me all of the things I’m going to do, like kill and eat little children. He blames all of my problems, my family’s problems, on my violent behavior. He even blames my sister’s death on me!”
“Your sister’s dead?” I asked incredulously.
“No, dammit, she’s fine. But the devil keeps telling me she’s dead. He showed me her funeral!”
I had never known Angus to be violent, either. I considered for a moment. “Angus,” I said, “You are seriously fucked up.”
“No shit!” he responded, and then he laughed. At that point, his mom burst into the room.
“Are you all right, honey,” she asked him. Then I saw the smile on his face. She turned around and gave me a big, long hug. “You must be a miracle worker. I haven’t seen Angus smile for weeks!” Angus’ mom was quite sincere, so, at that point, I really knew that something was seriously wrong.
Angus told me what he had gone through since we had last seen each other. Apparently, Angus’ thoughts had been gradually getting confusing and bizarre since his senior year in high school. At the time, he attributed it to the stress of graduating, but the problem got worse. He had moved out because he was convinced that his parents were planning to kill him. He moved into a small, ramshackle house that he shared with five other guys. He tried alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, and quaaludes to calm his thoughts. Often, the drugs worked, but never for very long, and when he came down from them, the problem worsened. He started smoking because the nicotine calmed his nerves, and admitted that his nerves needed a lot of calming.Angus’ parents filled in the rest. Two months previous, Angus had purchased and taken a considerable amount of different controlled substances, trying to find a combination that would “get rid of the devil.” He had passed out on the street. One of his roommates apparently alerted the police, but did not stay around for them to arrive. The roommate also took whatever drugs Angus might have been carrying, although it is unknown whether this was done for selfish or altruistic reasons. Either way, Angus was taken to the hospital. When he regained consciousness, he began screaming about being chased by demons who wanted to kill him, and desperately tried to leave. Instead, Angus was held down, restrained, and sedated.
It took Angus about three days to come back to his senses. At that point, he saw a psychiatrist. He described what he thought he saw, answered several thousand more questions, and was promptly diagnosed with schizophrenia.
At this point in the narrative, I find it necessary to pause and lecture a bit. First, take most of what you’ve heard or seen about schizophrenia on television or in movies and throw it into the trash bin, since it is probably bullshit. Schizophrenia is not split or multiple personalities. Schizophrenics are not prone to violence, any more so than the rest of the population. Schizophrenia is not caused by bad parenting. Schizophrenia cannot be cured by simply not wanting to be schizophrenic. I could go on ad nauseum.
Schizophrenia is a disease of the brain. It is a thought disorder. It occurs when there is a chemical imbalance in the brain, or the brain does not process the chemicals correctly. Its sufferers can have visual and auditory hallucinations (seeing or hearing things), severe anxiety, confused thinking, hyper- or hypo-sexuality, alogia (lacking speech), anhedonia (unable to experience pleasure), and catatonia, among others. While theories abound, it is not known what actually causes schizophrenia, although ones heredity does play a part. About 1 percent of the population suffers from some form of schizophrenia. About half of all schizophrenics suffer from a co-occuring addiction disease. Over half of them smoke. Worst of all, about two-thirds of all schizophrenics receive NO TREATMENT AT ALL.
After talking to Angus, I realized a couple of things. First, when Angus saw the devil, he really saw the devil. You’re probably asking yourself, huh? How can he see something that isn’t there? Isn’t this just his imagination gone wild? The answer to the second question is no. As to the first question, Angus’ brain was sending signals to his visual receptors that the devil was in front of him, even though there was no physical devil there. Between his eyes and his brain, the signal was getting scrambled, so his brain gets the signal of a devil. So he is really seeing the devil. While the devil is not real, the devil is real TO HIM.
I’ll repeat that because it is very important. The devil is real TO HIM.
Now you know why schizophrenia is such a scary disease.
OK, end of lecture. Back to our story.
Tomorrow.
