Finding Alice (36 page)

“I never give up hope, and neither should any of you,” he says fairly regularly. “The science of medicine is constantly changing. We must all be willing to change with it.”

Dr. Golden makes it clear he’s not afraid to try new methods, but his greatest interest is in therapy. Most of all, he wants what’s best for his patients, and he wants his patients to be actively involved in their treatment and healing. “You’re in control,” he’s always telling us. “It’s your life. How do you want to live it?”

Regaining control over my life has probably been more healing to me than almost anything. Or at least an important first step. I remember how helpless I felt at Forest Hills. I felt like a complete victim, totally at their mercy. I had no control over anything. I couldn’t even use the bathroom without permission. This only reinforced my belief that everyone there was plotting against me. It’s no wonder so many institutionalized patients grow paranoid. Who wouldn’t under those circumstances? I love knowing that I can walk out of here anytime I please. The funny thing is, other than visiting Simon in the hospital during the first couple of weeks, I rarely want to go anywhere now, but at least I know I can. I don’t understand why medical
professionals would think that removing a patient’s right to think and choose would help that person to get healthy again. It certainly didn’t help me a bit.

I’m so thankful that I found Golden Home and wish that everyone experiencing schizophrenia could come here. I realize it’s nothing less than a miracle that I got to come. And as I look back on the string of events that led me here, I’ve come to believe that God was watching out for me the whole time. Oh I’m sure there are those who wouldn’t agree with me, especially during the hard times when I was on the streets. I’m sure they would think I was in great danger, and maybe I was, but I can’t help but think something or someone was protecting me.

Naturally, my mother claims this has to do with the prayer chain in her new church. And I have no reason to doubt her, although I think there’s more to it than that. Just the same, I do appreciate those little old ladies taking the time out of their day to pray for me. My mother continues to be involved in her new church, and she seems to be getting stronger all the time. I derive this from her letters since she’s only been to Golden Home once, but that has more to do with me than her.

At first I was excited that she was coming to visit. I’d been here about two weeks and felt eager to show her my progress and take her on a full tour of this amazing place. But shortly after her arrival, I realized that I wasn’t quite ready to be around her yet. Like it or not, I guess my mother and I have a history that will take some time to heal. It’s not that I blame her for my childhood, exactly, but I think a lot of her decisions, particularly in relation to the church, affected my life in some negative ways. She’s a good-hearted woman, and as much as I love her, I realize that some of her attitudes aren’t conducive
to my recovery. And, as Dr. Golden says, my recovery is my top priority, and I must take responsibility for anything that’s not helping. My mother was
not
helping. Whether she can see it or not, I think she’s still affected by her church-controlled past. Or maybe I’m just overly sensitive.

After I finished giving her the tour, she got this funny expression and said, “Goodness, this place is certainly into New Age.”

The way she said “New Age” sounded like it was a contagious disease. “What do you mean?” I asked her.

“Well, all this focus on art and music and growing things …” Her brows lifted as she shrugged. “I just expected there would be more Bible studies and such.”

“Dr. Golden has a Bible study group,” I said defensively. “And Julie has a prayer group.” Even as I spoke these words, I wished I hadn’t. Not that those things aren’t important, but they are just one piece of the package.

She nodded and smiled. “Well, that’s something then, isn’t it?”

Her tone sounded condescending, and I didn’t feel the need for that right now. I told Dr. Golden about it during our session the following day.

“Don’t worry about it, Alice,” he assured me. “Eventually you’ll get strong enough to be around your mother without being adversely affected. In the meantime, give yourself some time and space.”

“But I don’t want to shut her out,” I said. “I mean, she’s been through so much too.”

“No, don’t shut her out. But perhaps for the time being you might communicate through letters. Writing can be quite therapeutic. Your mother might enjoy it too.”

I’m pleased to say this is working well. My mother is opening up more and more, and I’ve discovered I can more adequately explain my feelings and progress through the pen.

Now Aaron is a whole different story. He’s been here numerous times, and I have no problem visiting with him. We both laugh and joke a lot, and that feels pretty good. He asks some thought-provoking questions too. I can tell he’s dealing with some of the same things that I am—things like negative childhood memories, false beliefs, old wounds, and weird family traditions. I had suspected that he was carrying a lot of baggage of his own, but now I think he might actually be recovering vicariously through my treatment. I think that’s great. And I certainly hope that Aaron never goes through anything like I’ve experienced. But if he does, I will be the first one to leap to his aid and get him good help.

Simon returned to work last week. He still walks with a cane and a limp, but he says that he should be free of both in a month or so. Everyone was so glad to have him back that we decided to throw a big surprise party. He didn’t expect that at all. I was so excited to see him again that I even helped Margot bake and decorate the cake! A real first for me.

But having him here hasn’t been as wonderful as I’d imagined. I know this is my own fault, and it’s a little embarrassing to admit, even to myself. But before I came to Golden Home, and even during my early days here, I liked to imagine that my relationship with Simon was special somehow. We talked on the phone almost daily, and I went to see him at the hospital a lot, and I suppose I developed something of a crush on him.

Now that he’s here, I can see that he’s closely involved with most
of the residents, and everyone seems to love him. As a result I don’t feel nearly so special anymore. At first I was pretty bummed, but I am trying to accept that he simply has this amazing rapport with almost everyone. I think he’s gifted that way. It’s probably just as well I don’t have any individualized counseling sessions with Simon. Fortunately, I still meet with Dr. Golden. Simon leads my therapy group, though, and I think he’s much better than the previous leader, Dr. Schlatz. Not that she wasn’t good, but Simon has this easygoing manner and a really sweet way of drawing people out.

After I recovered from my disappointment over my dashed romantic expectations with Simon, I realized that I should be thankful for the whole thing. Naturally, this realization only hit me after I confessed my feelings to Dr. Golden yesterday.

“Can you see how this was a good problem, Alice?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “Not really.”

“Do you think you would’ve come here if Simon hadn’t been involved?”

I considered this. “Probably not.”

“I don’t mean to sound trite, Alice, but perhaps God really does work in mysterious ways.”

So now I believe that the whole thing with Simon was no mistake. Oh, my heart may still ache a bit. But even so, I will always care deeply for Simon. And I’m grateful that we’re such good friends.

Last night we stayed in the common room just talking for several hours. I’m amazed at how we have similar interests in literature and movies and all sorts of things. He loves Emily Dickinson almost as much as I do, and he’s seen
Casablanca
more times than I have. He’s even an
Alice in Wonderland
fan, although he admits to preferring
C. S. Lewis to Lewis Carroll. It makes me appreciate the value of being able to carry on a “normal” conversation that isn’t twisted by my paranoia or psychotic delusions. I’m so glad that Simon is getting to know me as I really am, especially since he’s been through so much and seen me at my very worst. I’ve done a decent job of hiding my heartache from him, I hope. At the very least, my relationship with Simon has shown me the kinds of qualities I might look for in a husband someday. Not that I’m looking or even should be right now. I still can’t believe that I actually thought I was in love with a guy like Shay Reynolds last fall. But I was on the verge of losing my mind back then too. Guess it all just figures.

I preregistered for spring term yesterday after Dr. Golden assured me that I’m ready, even though I’m not totally convinced.

“What’s the worst thing that can happen?” he asked.

“I suppose I could drop a class or two or perhaps even fail them all.”

“Would that be the end of the world?”

I smiled and shook my head. He likes to say this a lot. And so far he’s been right. Besides, I’m only taking nine hours. I think I can handle it. And I get to continue living here. That will help a lot.

Faye has been coming on Tuesday afternoons and teaching five of us how to knit. Already I’ve completed a mohair scarf for my mother’s birthday next week and am now attempting to make Cheshire a sweater, but I doubt he’ll need it by the time I’m finished. I guess I’ll just save it for next winter.

Right now we’re getting ready to move the hardier plants from the greenhouse to the gardens. Julie says I have a green thumb. I have decided that when I leave—and I hate to even think about leaving—I
must have a place where I can keep my own little garden. Even if it’s nothing more than a few terra-cotta pots of herbs and flowers. I agree with Julie that there’s no activity as therapeutic as helping plants to grow. But that might just be me. Brad says that’s how he feels about painting. I am a lousy painter, and yet I absolutely love the feel of soil between my fingers, not to mention that clean earthy smell and the warmth of sunshine on my face!

However, Julie has helped me see there’s something else I love doing too. I guess Margot was right after all. It’s funny I didn’t figure this out sooner, but Julie said that’s usually the way it goes when you’re gifted in a certain area.

“Think about the things you do and totally lose track of time,” she told me one day when I was frustrated about not being good at anything.

“Working in the greenhouse,” I said.

She nodded. “And that’s great, but I suspect there’s something more, Alice. You’re a very intelligent woman.”

I thought about it long and hard. “I’ve always loved books,” I finally told her. “And writing.”

“Bingo!” she pointed her finger victoriously in the air.

I realize now that I
love
to write. Perhaps I was experiencing this to some degree when I was keeping my crazy journals, which seem to have disappeared off the face of the planet. But it’s just as Julie said; every time I sit down to write, the time just seems to vanish. That’s a good sign.

I suppose my English lit major wasn’t too far off the mark from this goal, and Julie assures me that any good writer is usually a good reader, too, but I’ve decided to try out some journalism classes. And
who knows? I may even change my major, but I’m not sure yet. Right now I’d be happy to have a degree of any kind. Dr. Golden keeps reminding me that I don’t need to have all the answers to all my questions at once. It’s enough that I simply keep moving forward, one step at a time.

So that’s what I’m doing. Sometimes I imagine myself as a little kid who’s learning to walk again, just putting one foot in front of the other. And if it’s rocky or rough, I envision God walking alongside me and holding my hand. It’s amazing how this simple mental image frees me up and helps dissolve my anxiety. I’m not saying I never get scared or worried, because I still do sometimes. But I get stronger every day, and I’m not so afraid of what lies ahead anymore.

chapter
THIRTY-SEVEN

Finding Alice

I
t’s been nearly ten months since my first experience with psychosis and schizophrenia. As the other Alice once said, “I could tell you my adventures … but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

Part of me can echo her sentiments completely because I
was
a different person then. Most of the time I would just as soon forget or even suppress those dark and confusing memories when I was experiencing psychosis and paranoia on a daily basis. And yet, unlike the other Alice, I believe there
is
some use in going back to yesterday. As long as you don’t choose to dwell there too long or put down permanent roots, I think the willingness to open your eyes and look back can be helpful sometimes. If nothing more, it can ensure that you never pass that way again. And I certainly don’t plan to go back there, at least not willingly.

I’m midway through my summer term, and it’s because of my journalism class that I’ve chosen to retrace my steps. For my term project, I want to create a documentary of my own experiences in crazyland. So I have decided to go back and examine a few things
about my life. My hope is to document my strange experiences, and perhaps this will prove helpful to someone else who is moving through those same dark passages. Sort of like
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
with a schizophrenic twist.

In this documentary I will interview a number of the key characters, the ones I can find anyway. Dr. Golden approved of the idea but warned me to take it carefully and to gauge the amount of stress it might create for me.

“You must remain balanced and in control,” he said finally. “But I think you’re ready for this.”

I decided to start at the beginning or as close as I can tell. So last week I made an appointment with Pastor John. Naturally Mary Cates wanted to know the exact nature of this appointment, but I managed to keep my answers vague. Today I return via stuffy Greyhound bus to my hometown, Warren. I go home first, where I plan to spend the night—the first time I’ve been home since last fall. My mother’s pleased that I am visiting, but I see the look of alarm in her eyes when she hears that I’m going to see Pastor John.