I Had a Brother Once

An Introduction to Mental Illness (Part I)

I had a brother once. We grew up together in Buffalo, NY. I was the oldest of two brothers and one sister. This is about my younger brother Andy, who was two years younger.

Andy was diagnosed as bipolar and schizophrenic in the later 70s and suffered from depression and anxiety. He was eventually institutionalized, where he remained for approximately 25 years of his life. He committed suicide 15 years later. But suicide is not what took his life. Society, ignorance, a lack of understanding, the lack of a healthcare system, and medical industry greed took his life. This is his story.

Butterflies, Brothers, and a Pet Crow named “Herc”.

We always stood up for each other… had each other’s backs. We were close, brothers, and we had a lot of fun growing up in the late 50s and 60s. We were exact opposites though. He was exceptionally smart and had no use for sports. Sports were my life. I was only a little bit smart, certainly not exceptional.

I invited him to play in a baseball game with me once. Though we did a lot together, afterward he told me “never again”. He was in the right field where he couldn’t do much damage. Sure enough, a ball was hit his way but he didn’t know it. “Andy!!!” I yelled. Twice. He was busy, running around the outfield chasing butterflies. I still laugh remembering that. That was the last time he ever played baseball. That was my little brother.

When we were in elementary school Andy found an injured crow. Its wing was clipped by a lawn mower and could barely fly. He put it in a shoe box and kept it in the basement, where he nursed it until it grew strong enough to fly into the nearby trees in our yard.

He named it ‘Herk’. The first time he let it go, it refused to fly away. Instead, this big black crow just half-hopped and half-flew back and forth across the yard. Andy said it just needed to gain strength. Andy was right.

Eventually, Herk would sit in a tree and watch us. Every morning he would fly to our kitchen window, tap his beak on the glass, and caw. At first, he scared the hell out of our Mom, but finally, our Mom would hand-feed him. Herc became a member of the family but he was truly Andy’s little buddy.

A 10th Grade Dropout, a 160 IQ, and the onset of Schizophrenia

Andy never graduated high school. He dropped out in the 10th grade, saying he was bored. Indeed, he was bored. As I had learned, he had a 160+ IQ and photographic memory. Our dad had the same gifts. Andy was unbelievably gifted.

Our parents sent him to a military academy in the 8th grade. We both went for his testing prior to admittance. I went so he wouldn’t be alone and it was there we discovered our IQs through their testing. Andy was accepted there for a year but left. Refusing to put up with the hazing, he beat up a couple of older guys involved and the academy asked him to leave.

Darkness was already intruding into his life. It was so slow, almost secretive. Distant voices whispered words to Andy, but he couldn’t make sense of them. He had mentioned the voices to me. I thought he was kidding even though I knew he had problems and worried at times about him. “No worries man” he would say. “It’s cool.”

But it wasn’t “cool”. He was slowly losing control. It was the beginning of what would become a life in hell, and Andy had no idea what was happening. No one does. Mental illness creeps into people’s lives unknowingly and eventually just takes over.

This is how it starts. It’s a vicious cycle the person gets caught up in. That’s IF they ever get in to see a doctor. Most don’t. Most people suffering from various forms of mental illness go undiagnosed, and therefore untreated. They spiral downward, eventually into addictions while trying to self-medicate, trying to stop the voices and the pain as my brother did.

This is truly a one-way ticket to hell. Andy’s ticket was already stamped.

Schizophrenia — Imagine the Beginning

Few are able to recognize depression, schizophrenia, anxiety, or the effects of a diagnosis of bipolar. My parents didn’t. I sure as hell didn’t. So, Andy was written off as a lazy drug addict by my family just as millions of others before him who are undiagnosed and misunderstood today.

Following is a depiction of what (I believe) it’s like after watching my brother and then my daughter deal with their mental health struggles throughout their lives. Declaring their lives a living hell is not a stretch.

One summer afternoon in the late 70s, the sun showed brightly overhead of my brother. Birds glided silently overhead underneath the bright blue canopy of the Northern Appalachian Mountains. Dogs barked somewhere nearby. Trout were jumping in the late afternoon. The sinking sun created glistening diamonds on the water’s surface where he loved to fish.

The onset of schizophrenia, depression and anxiety was about to become a permanent life partner. Self-medicating himself was a circular battle. What had begun with beer became whiskey, and then pot and LSD until he reached the point of addiction to heroin. Nothing stopped the voices. Nothing made him feel ok and he cried.

Unable to sleep, and at times to think rationally, his life had become a battle. The combination of depression and anxiety had become an albatross, suffocating his thoughts, paving the way for the voices slowly gaining control of him.

And then one day his mind’s eye caught a glimpse of something dark. As always, he thought it would go away if he ignored it. He sensed the intrusion of something unnatural, some brooding menace. Ignoring all of this, Andy still tried to control the world around him.

But he was in daily combat now, a mortal who was battling demons entrenched in his head. He was losing the battle.

From somewhere … a slow rolling rumble inched closer. He didn’t pay attention. He didn’t want to pay attention … but these flashes of light forced him to. It was as if his mind was short-circuiting at times. And it was. He was scared. And he cried. He didn’t understand.

The darkness rumbled toward him. Flashes of light born of pent-up energy announced its coming. A black, seething cloud stretched across the landscape, casting a bleak, depressing shadow. Flashing bolts of light, once in the distance now explode in his mind like a July 4th fireworks show.

Life as he knew it fades and is gone. Everything around goes dark. His mind is a black hole, swallowing and devouring his life, his reality. When my brother awakens, it’s as if he dove down a rabbit hole and nothing is as it seems.

Nothing would ever be the same for many years, if ever. He wakes to sounds and people foreign to him, the screams, the cries of anguish. His fear takes over. Someone he’s never seen hands him a cup and pills. And he wonders … will one make him large, and another small, and will the third do nothing at all.

His anxiety was in control. Then he drifts off into a more peaceful world. Anxiety and depression melt away, but not before he’s certain the Red Queen wants his head.