Finding Alice (38 page)

“Hey, man,” says Richard. “Come on in.”

We go inside an old Victorian house that’s a little run-down but feels friendly. Richard gives us the tour and shows Martin a room that he’ll be sharing with three other guys. “Everybody helps out around the place,” says Richard as he shows him a work chart.

I notice that Martin has tears in his eyes when I tell him I should go. I’m not sure if he’s sad to see me leave, scared to be left behind, or just plain happy to have someone care. I guess it doesn’t really matter.

When I check back a few days later, Martin seems to be doing just fine. He tells me he’s had two interviews, one for a janitorial job and one for unloading freight at a discount store. Not only that, but Richard is helping him to study for his GED. I hug Martin and promise to stay in touch.

When I sit down to write my documentary, I wonder if all my work will produce much of anything as far as an actual term paper, but when I’m done, I think it has. If nothing else, I am more certain than ever that God had his hand on me during my whole bizarre experience. Of course, I may never know why he allows people to have mental illnesses. But if you think about it, nobody’s life is perfect. Or, as Julie likes to say, “God doesn’t give us perfect lives down here so that we can all look forward to heaven someday.”

I turn in my paper and am pleasantly surprised to get an A+. The professor even asks if he can keep a copy as a sample for future students. Of course I agree. Then he invites me to work on the school’s newspaper next fall. I know this is quite an honor and gladly accept his generous offer, and after thinking about it, I decide to officially change my major from English lit to journalism.

I used to resist change, back in BC. I think I had an intuitive fear that any drastic change might prove my undoing. In a way, I was right. But on the other hand, my “undoing” was inevitable. Now I can accept that some changes are good—in moderation anyway. I respect the need to keep my life in balance, and I realize I must make the changes that are improvements and avoid the rest. It’s just part of being in control. I think about the other Alice and how her biggest problem was that she had absolutely no control. She was jerked and tossed about by a crazy world where she never knew what lurked around the next corner. Not so unlike schizophrenia. What a relief to be standing on this side now, looking back and hoping that I never have to go there again.

chapter
THIRTY-EIGHT

Further Adventures

I
t’s been a full year since that day last fall when Amelia showed up and turned my life inside out. It’s fall term, and I am a completely different person than I was back then. And yet I am the same, only more so. I finally moved out of Golden Home. Selfishly, I didn’t want to leave, but I know their waiting list is long, and there are people who need it more than I do at the moment. Besides that, I believe I am ready. I’ve been off all meds for nearly three months now. Ironically, after I had fought taking any meds so hard at one time, it was difficult to quit because I was worried the voices would return. Dr. Golden assured me it was completely my choice and I could go back on them if needed, but so far I haven’t needed them. The big test, according to Julie, is moving out on my own.

“It’s going to be stressful at first,” she warns as she drives me to my new apartment. She continues her little lecture as we carry the second load of my stuff up the stairs. “Give yourself time to adjust to the new surroundings, and don’t expect too much from yourself at first.”

She sets a pretty planter of lavender and rosemary, a house-warming gift from her, on the small kitchen counter. “And don’t be
surprised if you don’t sleep very well at first.” She digs in her purse until she locates a small bottle, then holds it out to me. “There’s only a week’s worth of sleeping pills in here, and you may not need them at all, but Jack told me to give them to you just in case. Be sure to use them if you have any trouble sleeping. It’s better than allowing yourself to get exhausted and stressed, which can really set you back. And try to keep all your basic habits the same; continue sleeping and eating right.” She laughs at herself. “Oh well, I’m sure you know my little spiel by heart now.” Then she hugs me. “I’m really going to miss you, Alice.”

“But I’ll see you when I come in for my appointments and group sessions,” I remind her. “And I want to have you and Dr. Golden over for dinner once I get more settled.”

“Yes, but it’s still hard to see you leave.” Then she smiles. “Just the same, I’m so happy for you. It’s like graduation day.”

And so it is, I tell myself as I wave to her from the top of the stairs. Even so I feel a little uncertain. Not to mention alone. It’s amazing how quickly I became accustomed to group living and the comfort that came from being around friends.

After a full week, I think I am slowly adjusting to being alone. Julie was right about not sleeping at first, and I found I did need help for the first couple of nights, but after that I began to relax. I slowly got back to my old routines and now feel fine. I’m taking a full load of classes this term, and I’m beginning to appreciate the ability to come and go as I please, keeping my own schedule and studying for uninterrupted hours if needed. I can see now that this was exactly the right thing for me. And although I’m still a bit lonely sometimes, I do enjoy the sense of being independent again.

I went in for my counseling and therapy as usual this week, and it was reassuring to see my old friends again. I realize more than ever how they are like family to me, and I plan to maintain those relationships indefinitely. After my group therapy session, Simon took me aside and asked how it was going. I told him that I’m getting used to it and that I like being on my own. He seemed pleased. Then he surprised me by asking if he could drop by and see my place sometime. Of course I assured him he was always welcome.

Three days have passed since then, and he hasn’t stopped by yet. I know I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up like that, because I’m sure Simon was only trying to be friendly and encouraging. But I suppose I actually thought that he planned to show up the very next day. And, naturally, I’m disappointed that he hasn’t. I need to remember to be more realistic about life.

Now it’s Saturday, and with no classes I am trying to get this place a little better organized. Aaron and a couple of his football buddies came by last night and helped me get some of my old things out of storage. So now I have all these strange and slightly bedraggled boxes piled all over the place. It’s the stuff my mom put into storage from my last apartment, back when my madness first set in and I was, in essence, evicted. But I must admit the presence of these old things is a bit unsettling. They remind me of an era I’d just as soon forget or at least not think about too much. Sometimes it’s a little depressing to consider what was lost during the past year, although I realize it’s a natural part of the grief process and a step in my ongoing healing.

I know my brother and his friends were trying to be helpful, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t simply plunge in and sort through this
stuff, but just seeing these cardboard boxes heaped around my apartment is disturbing. It’s not that I plan to pile the boxes into walls and use them to barricade my bed. And I’ve had no visits from my old “friend” Amelia. Still it’s a bit unnerving, and I’m not quite sure how to proceed.

Consequently, it seems perfectly natural that I nearly jump out of my shoes to hear a knock at my door. With a pounding heart, I go to open it, peeking out the peephole first, to discover it is only Simon. He has a potted plant in his hand.

“Come in,” I tell him with relief as I fling open the door. “And please excuse the mess. I’m still getting settled in.”

He smiles and looks around. “You need a hand?”

I consider this, unsure that I want Simon to see all my weird junk. Who knows what we’ll find in those old boxes? So feeling a bit silly, I explain the peculiar circumstances and how I’m uneasy, but he just laughs and says, “Hey, let’s just roll up our sleeves and get it over with.”

It turns out that Simon is a whiz at unpacking and organizing. He seems to have an innate sense for what is and is not junk. He doesn’t even seem terribly surprised when he opens up a taped box that contains the smashed components of what used to be my perfectly good computer. However, I want to cry when I consider the waste.

“It’s just a
thing
, Alice,” he reassures me. “Things are replaceable. You, on the other hand, are not.”

I appreciate his sensibilities, and when it’s all said and done, I really don’t know what I would’ve done without him today.

“How can I begin to thank you?” I ask as we haul the final remnants of the packing materials out of my apartment.

He seems to seriously consider my question as we walk toward
the recycling area. But his face is grim, and he doesn’t say a word. Consequently I grow fairly uncomfortable. It suddenly occurs to me that Simon didn’t have to spend his free day doing this, and I’m sure he could’ve found something or someone else much more interesting to occupy his time. Now I begin to feel seriously guilty.

“Really,” I continue in earnest. “You have been a godsend today. I owe you big time. I hope you’ll let me repay the favor someday.” I even consider offering to cook him a meal but am well aware that my culinary abilities aren’t much of a reward for anyone just yet.

“Well, there is something you can do.” He turns around after stuffing the last of the cardboard in the receptacle.

“Sure, just tell me.” I wait.

He removes his dust-coated glasses, then takes his time to carefully clean the lenses on the tail of his denim shirt.

I continue waiting, shamelessly staring at those dark eyes and thick lashes while he’s too occupied to notice.

He replaces his glasses, then looks at me and grins in what seems a truly sheepish fashion, like a little boy who’s been caught sneaking candy. “Well, Alice,” he begins slowly, “you could go out with me.”

I stare at him in shock. I wonder if I heard him correctly. Is he actually asking me to date him, or did I just imagine it? It takes me a moment to get my bearings, and I can tell my hesitation is making him uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “I shouldn’t have said that, Alice.” He waves a hand and smiles. “Just forget it.”

“Wait a minute.” I put my hand on his arm. “Did you just ask me to go out with you?”

He shrugs. “Well, I shouldn’t pressure you—”

“Pressure me?”

“Well, we’re not allowed to date residents and—”

“But I’m not a resident.” My hopes rise.

He nods. “I know.”

“So are you serious then?”

He glances away, and now I’m worried he’s having second thoughts. Just the same, I do not plan to let this opportunity slip away without a good fight. I step forward and peer up into his face. “Look, Simon, if you’re really asking me to go out with you—I mean I don’t want to pressure you either—but my answer would definitely be yes.”

His eyes light up. “Really? You’d go out with me?”

“Of course, Simon. I’d like to go out with you.” I want to tell him that I’ve longed to go out with him, that I’ve dreamed of going out with him. But at the same time I don’t want to overwhelm him and scare him off.

“Well, all right then.” He sighs, then surprises me by taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Alice.”

“Really?” I study him curiously. “Just how long?”

“Since the Christmas party last year.”

“Are you serious?” I am doubtful. “But I was a real nut case back then.”

He grins. “A totally lovable nut case.”

I laugh and hug him and look forward to the day when I can tell him how much I love him. But not today. If I have learned anything this past year, it’s to take things more slowly, more carefully, intentionally. Avoid too many ups and downs. It’s not that I suppress my
emotions exactly or deny their existence—certainly they are just as alive and real as ever—but I do try to mange them better. I make an effort to keep my thoughts and feelings under control. I know that if I control them, they have less control over me, and as a result my life will flow more smoothly and evenly. And that is a good thing.

It’s like that kite I made so many years ago. I had the right idea, and it was a beautifully constructed kite with such a lovely sunny face, but without a tail to control its flight, it was destined for failure. God is the tail to my kite now. His influence balances me, holds me steady in my flight, and allows me to reach new heights without the constant threat of wrecking.

Does that mean I have no worries or concerns for my future? That I don’t wake up in the middle of the night frightened by memories of things unseen, unheard by others? Of course not; I am only human. But like the kite that takes to the sky, pitched against a blustery wind with the power to shred it to pieces, I welcome each new day with the hopeful expectancy that I, too, will rise above the ordinary. For I am not content to live a merely “normal” life or settle for an average existence. No, I am destined for more—much, much more.

Resources

Traditional Book Resources

Rachel Miller and Susan E. Mason, eds.,
Diagnosis: Schizophrenia
(New York: Columbia University Press, 2002).

E. Fuller Torrey,
Surviving Schizophrenia: A Manual for Families, Consumers, and Providers
(New York: Quill, 2001).

Progressive Resources

Richard Gosden,
Punishing the Patient: How Psychiatrists Misunderstand and Mistreat Schizophrenia
(Carlton North, Victoria, Australia: Scribe Publications, 2001).

Sylvia Nasar,
A Beautiful Mind: The Life of Mathematical Genius and Nobel Laureate John Nash
(Waterville, Maine: Thorndike Press, 2002).

Robert Whitaker,
Mad in America: Bad Science, Bad Medicine, and the Enduring Mistreatment of the Mentally Ill
(Cambridge, Mass.: Perseus Publications, 2003).