Everything Is Fine

by Vince Granata

Schizophrenia contains multitudes, yet we gather so many experiences under this single heading. One day, I believe we’ll be shocked at how broadly we categorized, how we used a single diagnosis to classify constellations of different types of neurological disease.

And, quite clearly, these many symptoms will vary extensively in terms of severity. What one person experiences as a slight glitch in audio perception—light static—another will experience as strident persecutory voices—you’re a fat bitch. One might detect a slight shimmering in the sky, while another sees fist-size spiders cascading down a bedroom wall. Yet still, for both ends of this spectrum, we level the same diagnosis. Is there any other disease we think of similarly? Imagine if we thought of cancer this way, if we couldn’t distinguish between different types of malignancy. How absurd would it be if we put basal cell cancer—a barely malignant bump that can be cut out with the use of local anesthesia—on the same plane as stage-four pancreatic cancer?

My limited perspective prevented me from extending empathy to the people—the only people except for my parents—who had cared for my brother.

But schizophrenia is not a gunshot wound. Schizophrenia is not a gash that can be stanched and stitched. Yes, the bleeding, the psychosis, might stop with some swallowed pills, but stabilization is fleeting. Without consistent care, the wounds reopen, and tyrannical psychosis returns.

If we had a different standard for keeping someone in hospital care, if we assessed a patient’s need for treatment instead of just their dangerousness, would we in fact be more compassionate, provide people with a real chance to quiet their illnesses?

When Tim was discharged, when he was no longer deemed dangerous, his disease was still in control. To expect him to find his way back to the hospital, to care, on his own, is as delusional as expecting a man with a broken leg to walk to the ER. 8