Screw You, Schizophrenia

Fuck You, Schizophrenia.

Because I hate your very name. It's long and no one knows how to spell it. Your stupid name has replaced a perfectly lovely name. His name is "Dan" and he is my brother. 

Because it isn't socially acceptable to blame my parents for schizophrenia. I rather enjoyed blaming them...those were good times and you took that from me.

Because you have painted your graffiti on my beautiful brother. My sweet, sensitive, handsome brother, who used to turn heads but now makes people cross to the other side of the street.

Because my brother will never get to have a catch with a son.

Because my own children look at me, unbelieving when I tell them that their Uncle Dan was the best baseball pitcher I ever saw. They only know the Schizophrenic, disheveled and muttering Dan.

Because your hateful voice is stuck in my brother's head.

Because he will never walk a daughter down the aisle.

Fuck You, Schizophrenia.

Because in my mind, my brother is dead. The brother of my childhood, just 18 months older than me, is dead to me. And, fuck you for judging that.

Because I wince when someone asks about him. I want to be my sisters...all mature and level headed and accepting. But, instead I refuse to speak of or about my lost brother.

Because I don't know what the fuck you did with my brother. Is he in there? Is he watching this horror play out? Is he sending me signals, using our childhood secret code that I've long since forgotten?

Because people make clucking noises just before or just after they say "Schizophrenia."

Because my brother knew me best and he must see what a coward I have become.

Because of all the times my brother saved me and now he is drowning and all I can do is watch and make clucking noises.

Because you haunt me. When I watch my own son on the pitcher's mound, I see my brother.

Because you invade all of my prayers. They all come back to you. Please protect my brother, please give him peace, please forgive me, and please, for the love of all things ​sacred, do.not.let.this.happen.to.my.children. This is always followed with apology prayers for being so selfish.

Because you took my big brother.

Because you left your calling card.

Fuck You, Schizophrenia.

From: In The Powder Room

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