This was written on April 19, 2011 by Matt’s Mom.

My son has schizophrenia. Even though we have had some tough times, I couldn’t imagine my life with out him. When he hurts, I hurt.When he is happy I feel like dancing and cheering. When he has done something stupid I feel like (never mind I better not say). I love him, he is my son, I often introduce him as my Matt. Maybe that comes from the sense of responsibility or the sense of guilt I’m not sure, but he is my Matt.

School was a struggle for Matt. He liked to be active and busy.

By the time Matt was in High school my husband and  I developed a fear of the telephone, especially   if it rang around 3pm. There was a 99%chance it was the principal.  I still get this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when the phone rings. On the bright side, I made some new friends,  the secretaries in the office at the high school knew us well . I still remember Zela Klyzac. She was so sympathetic. She would say something funny, or encouraging like its not your fault, before   we sat down in front of Mr. Kent..

Two things Matt liked to do was drive and work.. In order to drive he pretty much had to work So that’s what he did. Not quite finished high school and suspended too many times to count ,Matt worked. He worked on his grandparents’ farm, went to Kemptville College and took an arborist course and got his chain saw certificate. He became an excellent climber and arborist. And if all things are going his way he can still do a really nice job on a tree.

It was with this skill that Matt worked for two years in Oakville. It was also during this time that Matt’s symptoms of schizophrenia came to the surface. Matt would call home from Oakville. He thought my husband was a member of the Dutch Mafia. (My husband is Dutch) so he would call and tell my husband to call off his spies. Matt was really scared and certain he was being watched. During one of these bizarre phone calls Matt threatened to kill my husband.

The next day while I was at work a coworker stopped at my house to deliver something. When he returned to work he said that there were two police officers at my house and they were looking for my husband. That was all he knew. One part of me knew that there was a reasonable explanation, another part of me was filled with panic..After several frantic phone calls home my husband finally answered. He had accidentally called 911 when he was trying to call 411, and then he left for a meeting.

We weren’t the only ones who received threatening phone calls, some of Matt’s  friends from high  school who had been really good friends at one time  were also getting bizarre phone calls from Matt. They became afraid of him and even after he was on medication and could carry on a normal conversation  they wanted nothing to do with him. That was so painful it made my skin hurt.

I know we should have brought Matt  home, but I just couldn’t deal with the tension, and it wasn’t like he would come willingly.  I did call the police in Oakville and told them my son was having psychotic episodes, (just so they would take him to the right place) if they happened to come into a situation where they had to deal with him.

I gave Matt all the numbers I could find for Counseling Services and the hospital in Oakville. I didn’t think he was interested in having this information but later when he was home I found them written in his address book. I talked to his boss on the phone a number of times.

Matt was still working. I think because he was in a psychotic state he could work really hard. Climbing trees and hearing voices didn’t seem like a good combination to me but Matt liked the noise of the chainsaw and  his boss thought he was doing a great job.

We often traveled through Oakville to see my mom in St. Catharines. If we would stop to see Matt, he was either having to move, in a traffic accident, in trouble with the police, his truck wasn’t running, or he was talking about being followed  or spied on.

Many times I drove right through Oakville , I knew I should stop, but it was more than I could handle. It was never just a nice visit over coffee.  If I was with my husband we stopped. He is  braver than I am. But you could just about be guaranteed some sort of crisis.

Not only was Matt convinced that he was being watched, he was also hearing voices. Most of the time they were saying dirty crack whore and rat. They weren’t friendly voices. One thing you can always tell Matt  is a secret. He doesn’t ever want to be called a rat again.

Matt did come home. It was winter and his work was finished for the season. He came in the door talking about how fast the car moved and all the white cars that were following him.

Many nights after that he spent pacing back and forth in front of the window and door watching and protecting us. One night he had an ax in his hand and we had been laying awake for hours waiting for him to settle down, I got up to try to get him to go to bed and I startled him, he just about flung the ax.

Sometimes he would cross the road and check through the bushes, or stand on the porch and throw whatever he could get his hands on cussing an swearing at whoever he thought was there. Then he would settle down for a day or two. We were getting pretty exhausted, after awhile even if he actually was sleeping I would be waiting and listening, I never knew how the night was going to go.

We finally were able on one of these long psychotic nights to convince Matt to go to the hospital. We were advised to call the police but my fear of what they might do when they saw what state he was in  always made me hesitant.  Telling Matt if he didn’t go in the car with us we would ask the police to take him helped to convince him to go.

Now we were going to begin to learn how the system worked. First if you are having a psychotic episode you don’t first of all go to a hospital that takes care of psychotic people, you go to an emergency room full of old people, small children with their mothers, teenagers who have been in fights, people in pain.

The first time we brought Matt in was before the Hospital was renovated. After pacing back and forth, sitting down, standing up sitting down standing up glaring accusingly at the people in the waiting room,  it was Matt’s turn. It probably didn’t take long for the staff to figure out having him in the waiting room wasn’t a very good idea but to us sitting with Matt it was an eternity.

I remember sitting in that little examining room, with the security and police in the hall, just feeling sick from the fear and the tension. Someone must have realized I needed a break and told me to go to the waiting room,  as I was leaving a nurse came into the room and  told Matt she was going to give him something to help him feel better. I don’t know if she had a needle in her hand or if she said needle, I only know Matt bolted, knocking over a  steel table as he went through the door, adding to the commotion   It kind of looked like a scene from a funny movie, a long lanky guy barreling down the hall with an assortment of nurses and security running behind him. I think he might of actually escaped if it wasn’t for the fact that everything locked.

By the time I was in the waiting room, there were red lights flashing, a buzzer sounding and someone saying code red over the intercom. In the midst of all that there was a bang, bang and a loud let me out of here. That was my son. I didn’t see what happened after that.

The next time I saw Matt he was sound asleep and going to be transferred to Elmgrove. Later he told me he thought they were going to put him down like a dog. It became much more difficult to convince him to go the hospital after that. I don’t always remember all the details so I am not sure how I got this information but we were told that Matt had, marihuana, cocaine and ecstasy in his system.

I don’t want you to think that Matt was just a victim, he was and still is his own worst enemy. He was ready to come home the next day and there was no convincing him to stay.   “He’s presenting well”,  means even though he was sporting an ax and frantically pacing in front of the door all night, and even though every knife in the house is in a plastic bag under my bed he is no danger to himself or others.

He is good to go. I didn’t think so, I even offered to let the doctor take him home and I would stay at Elmgrove. I don’t think he saw the humor in it.

So we took him home, he is our son.. He wanted to go and we can’t force him to stay more than 48 hours, unless we get another form and then it is still only 72 hours.

Learning how to survive in the mental health system is like learning a new set of laws, Mental Health system laws. There is a couple I might like to change.

April 10, Easter weekend, Matt’s birthday was the next day. It was a busy weekend for our family, everyone was home. My husband is a pastor and had services in the morning. We knew Matt was restless but we were just trying to get through the weekend like an average family. There was some banging and yelling coming from Matt’s room in the basement. We were all supposed to be sleeping.  I for one wasn’t sleeping. I was laying rigid from tension on my bed waiting to spring out of it at any moment. I always had an escape plan.

The noise was getting much worse and we knew we had to go downstairs. The furniture was in pieces in a pile in the middle of the room. You couldn’t tell one piece of furniture from an other . There were holes in the paneling and the ceiling. Matt demanded to know where the bugs were, he insisted my husband knew, Matt was desperate and terrified.  My husband responded with, “Matt you’re crazy, no one is watching you”.

Something we learned at NAMI that was an invaluable piece of information but came a little late for that night. (Its real to them)Short, simple little words, but packed full of meaning. Its real to them. All the arguing in the world isn’t going to convince a person having a psychotic episode that its not real.

Well about this time we knew the hospital had to be brought up and of course it was a no go!! So I said it, the thing I always dreaded. Matt we are going to have to call the police. He was out the door. So I called the Police. In between telling what happened and giving them our address, I kept crying to the lady on the phone, please don’t hurt him. He isn’t bad he is just scared. I thought for sure they would kill him. At 3 a.m. Easter Sunday morning, the Prescott Police,an Ambulance and a K9 unit were parked in front of our house.

When they came to the door they were so kind I knew I had done the right thing. They got the information they needed, came to see Matt’s room ,shared their concern about Matt running onto the 401 since we practically live on it then went to find our son, but not before I said one more time, please don’t hurt him.

They came back after they had found Matt in the park, sitting on the bench and told us he went along peacefully, and that they would take care of him from here. One officer asked about drugs, I was pretty positive that Matt had not had any drugs since the last time we had taken him to the hospital he wasn’t that keen on drugs anymore, he had no money and he had barely been out of the house.

I can’t tell you how much we all, that is our family, appreciated the police that night. They were open with us and kind to Matt. They came back later to let us know that Matt was at the  hospital and that he would be transferred to Elmgrove.  And then this very understanding officer told us there were no drugs in Matt’s system. She made my day. I needed to hear that.

Then I knew it wasn’t just drugs, that maybe we could give these episodes a name, come up with a diagnosis. And I felt good about Matt, at least at that time he was making an effort to stay clean.

So after church Sunday (Matt’s birthday) of course this is just one long night running into the next day. I called Elmgrove.  Because of confidentiality  the nurse could not tell me that Matt was there, I  hoped he hadn’t made a run for it again. It must have been the  desperation,in my voice that softened her resolve and she went to ask Matt if  he would be willing to have visitors.

The first thing I tell anyone who calls me with a relative with a Mental Illness is to get them to sign the form. I don’t know the form’s name  but it is the form that allows the hospital staff and doctors to share information with family members. Its like a little piece of gold for the one who is responsible for  the persons care.

Well anyway we did go see Matt. We took his gifts and cake along. We went with the whole family. I don’t know what I was thinking really. My husband warned me, it might not go so well and it didn’t. I won’t use the words Matt used as he lay in his bed with his covers over his head, but he wasn’t going to be celebrating his Birthday there.

It’s okay though. He was home the next day to open his gifts. He was “presenting well” and his forty eight hours were up. It was his choice.

When Matt finally went to the hospital and chose to stay long enough to get the help he needed, it wasn’t a big crisis. We had the usual yes you have to go to emerge first, well then I’m not going argument and he  got in and out of the car a couple times but it was a relatively peaceful event.

So much so that I didn’t remember why he went. So I asked him the other day. He said it was his foot. It was moving and he had no control over it. He stayed for eight weeks; his decision. He took his meds willingly, got along well with others, and most of the time was pleasant to visit. I’m not saying it was perfect but it was sure a big improvement. And we got to sleep.

As we  were leaving Elmgrove he asked the nurse if he could have a key so he could come back and have dinner if he didn’t like what we were having at home.

Matt had a diagnosis, medication, a psychiatrist, and a rehab appointment, and the voices and spies were gone. Matt never accepted the diagnosis or the rehab but he did take his medication and see the psychiatrist in Ottawa weekly for a period of time.

When Matt came home he slept pretty much around the clock for months. After some medication adjustments we started to get some glimpses of the old Matt. It will take a miracle to get all of the old rip roaring, cocky, confident Matt back but hes in there somewhere.

My husband and I took the NAMI course. That was one of the best things we have ever done. Not only did we find support and encouragement,  we learned to be compassionate and not angry. The two things that meant the most to me were “its real to him” and its “not your fault”. I get the real to    him  but I still struggle with the not your fault.

It took more than a year but Matt started to get bored and wanted to work. So he did. He went to Drake and worked on and off at different places. He even started to get back into the trees.

We had some blips but we were moving ahead slowly. One night when Matt couldn’t sleep, he took way too many Seroquel, and we spent the night in emerge.

In emerge Matt continued to be restless. He was supposed to fall asleep but it didn’t work that way. He kept sliding down the narrow little vinyl bed . Finally at 4 in the morning the doctor let me take him home.

She did the best thing she could have done for us at the time. She called the ACT Team. What a relief! We really appreciated their help.  Matt had regular Psychiatrist appointments, right in Brockville and someone came to visit him on a weekly basis. We did not have to do this all alone. Matt didn’t mind the visits at first but he wouldn’t get into the white cars with the numbers on the back.

Well Matt kept improving, he was working more and out more. This was good news and bad news. The better he got , the more he got into his old life style, and back with some of his old friends. He was home less often, and managed to avoid the act team more often than seeing them. After two years maybe three? I’m not sure, Matt had not been to the hospital, he was working and we were ready to see if Matt could make it on his own.

So he got a little apartment in Mallorytown so he could be close to his work with a tree company. Right about that time the Act team decided Matt was doing so well he didn’t need them. I didn’t agree, but it was true Matt wasn’t keeping his appointments with them.

I told them Matt wasn’t as good as he appeared to be and wasn’t making wise choices, but his time was up and there were many other people that needed the support of the ACT team. Of course Matt was happy, one less piece of evidence that he had a mental health issue. We were on our own again.

Not long after Matt was living on his own  the phone rang early one morning, (we should get our phone to ring to the tune of the Movie Jaws.)” Mom I had an accident, I’m hurting real bad. “The truck is totaled, and I have an impaired charge.” I wanted to go back to bed and try waking up again. I wanted to never see him again.

We had taken a loan out for that truck. We were paying the insurance, but we would get nothing..  I picked him up, took him to the hospital. He was bruised and sore but there was nothing life-threatening wrong with him, and he didn’t hurt anyone else.

This is where Susan of course came into the picture. I know she will tell you also that Matt is his own worst enemy.  I would have never been able to wade my way through the court system with him in tow. Susan kept Matt out of Jail.  What my husband and I didn’t have the courage to do, Matt did on his own, he made it almost impossible to ever drive again.

We have been back to the hospital a  couple of times with Matt, sometimes he doesn’t take his medicine. When he is there he is willing to do anything to get the help he needs, but the next week  when he has an appointment with a psychiatrist he doesn’t keep it. To get all the people we need in the right place at the right time has been a struggle. He still will tell us he doesn’t have schizophrenia. I know he doesn’t want to have schizophrenia.

The last time he called and was hearing voices, I told him to take his medicine. I decided that I wasn’t coming to get him. I didn’t sleep that night. I stayed awake, and prayed. He made it through.

Our family is Christian. My husband and I pray for Matt every day. We don’t expect Matt to have a great healing from Schizophrenia, although that would be nice.

What we pray for is that he will know that he is loved, that he will see himself as an important human being created in God’s image, that what he has to contribute to this world is important and worthwhile, that his life is meaningful.

We never forget the kindness of the people we have met while traveling this road with Matt, the teacher who looked for the positive in him, the sympathetic secretaries in the high school,  the police who made us feel like everything was going to be okay, the people from the ACT team who went out of their way to talk to Matt, the nurses and Doctors in emerge who could feel our anxiety, the staff at Elmgrove that encouraged Matt and treated him like a worthwhile person, the people at NAMI who struggled beside us, Susan who stood beside Matt in court, the people from our church who invited him for dinner, the people at Rehab who have the door open for Matt, Matt’s boss who  doesn’t give up on Matt when he doesn’t come to work. Maybe they are just little things, just people doing their job but it is those little things that have made all the difference.

The Japanese often end their greetings with the phrase Yo ro she ku- Oan e guy she mas. It means please be kind to me. I like that.

Thank You for listening.