The Sibling (important, but not essential): . . . the kind of person who is hated on contact—a do-gooder, a good-in-schooler, a sweet, weak, kind bastard of a sibling.
The Budding Schizophrenic: . . . must hold a certain position in the family. . . . Like any artist, several hours a day of practice over many years are necessary.
It is the primary function of the schizophrenic to be the representative failure in the family. . . . The average schizophrenic shows his artistry by achieving more than usual ability along this line, while also indicating at regular intervals that he could do quite a good job at succeeding if he wanted to, thus giving [his parents] sufficient cause for disappointment.
The primary responsibility of the schizophrenic is to hold the family together. Although social scientists, even family therapists, have not yet the vaguest idea how to prevent a family from disintegrating, the schizophrenic child accomplishes this with ease. It is his duty to use his keen perception and interpersonal skill to maintain the family system in a stable state, even if that state is a mood of constant despair. His importance in this function appears on those rare occasions when the schizophrenic abandons his disease and becomes normal, succeeding in life and leaving his family. His parents at once individually collapse, losing their sense of purpose in life, and they set about to divorce.
[If, on The other hand, the family situation deteriorates, requiring heroic measures on the part of the schizophrenic...]
The Psychotic Episode: ... is merely a more extreme version of other behavior of the schizophrenic at times of family crisis, but this time it precipitates him into a situation which calls forth all his skill— the treatment situation.
Only in the mental hospital can schizophrenia achieve its full flowering. Just as a plant reaches its greatest growth in well-manured ground, so does the schizophrenic achieve his full range on the closed wards of mental institutions. Yet oddly enough the first reaction of the schizophrenic to hospitalization is a stout objection.
The Hospitaclass="underline" . . . the outstanding feature of a mental institution is a kind of formless, bizarre despair overlaid with a veneer of glossy hope and good intentions concealing a, power struggle to the death between patients and staff, coated with a quality of continual confusion. The basic art of schizophrenia lies in a genius for dealing with power struggles, and of course in a mental hospital the problem of power is central. It should not be thought that the struggle between patient and staff is unequal. True, the staff has drugs, tubs, cold packs, shock treatments (both insulin and electric), brain operations, isolation cells, control of food and all privileges, and the ability to form in gangs composed of aides, nurses, social workers, psychologists and psychiatrists. The schizophrenic Jacks all these appurtenances of power, including the use of gang tactics, since he is essentially a loner, but he has his manner and his words and a stout and determined heart.
(For those who would like to read more. Voices is a publication of the American Academy of Psychotherapists. Mr. Haley is director of the Family Experiment Project at the Palo Alto Mental Research Institute, and the author of several books, including Strategies of Psychotherapy.)
THERE’S A STARMAN IN WARD 7
DAVID ROME
when i woke this morning the starman had been put in the bed next to mine! ! !
(Let me tell you about him, Papa. His head which is the only part I see of him in the mornings is bald as an egg and gray like old newspaper soaked in water. But his gray eyes smiled up at me friendlily.)
It was almost light, and they had forgotten to pull the blinds down last night, so the dawn was coming in. There was a lot of noise in A and the Starman sat up slowly and said jesus god where am i?
Jesus God, mother of all
Rolled me in porridge
And let me fall
The Starman was skinny, and he wore pajama top and no bottom. They don’t give you pants if they find out you -------- the bed.
what is the name of this place, asked the Starman.
“Ward 7,” I told him. Then I said he was lucky they put him here. 8 is the one to scream about, jesus (love him!) 8888 is the place I get scared about. You’d be scared too, Papa, if you could hear them talk about 8. I won’t ever go there though, they don’t put little kids in 8. I hope.
8
8
8
The Starman didn’t even look happy about being in 7. He got out of bed and stood gaping down at his white legs, then he saw his locker which was beside his bed, and he opened it as though he expected something to jump out at him.
just then the hooter started hooting and everybody groaned and the keys rattled in the lock and the door came open.
When the lights came on everybody looked to see who it was today. It was john. That was good for some, like Daddy, but not so good for me. john is okay, Papa, but he hurts (no he doesn’t!) some of us sometimes (it’s a lie!) Papa, when we don’t do our work like sweeping the veranda and picking papers off the yard.
john came down the rows of beds, pulling back the sheets and telling us to get out of bed you lazy -------- (-------- you I said to him under my breath). But I got out and started getting dressed.
I take the chance to peek at the Starman’s locker and I see it got his name on it: Charlie.
(Big Jim wouldn’t get out of bed and john just hit him. Big Jim is hollering now and getting out of bed.)
Some of the guys are washing themselves, but I led the Starman past them and out through the open doors. It was a cold morning, the sky a kind of purple colour along the horizon and blue higher up. The garden looked dark, and it was empty. Across the road a light was burning in the dispensary. A work party went by, snuffling and coughing in the cold. (They’re lucky — they get to wheel gravel down by the highway and see the cars.)
I opened the door to the TV room and showed the Starman in. Most of the chairs was still empty. I said we should sit down until our names were called for medicine, but the Starman stood looking about him as though he didn’t hear.
It’s a nice room. Very big but warm, with the Office fitting snugly in one corner, some tables with flowers in vases, rows of chairs in front of the TV set which stands on a high shelf where we can’t reach it.
The room was starting to fill. We stood watching the stragglers come in, and I told the Starman their names and he seemed to remember even though I only told him once. (I was surprised because I didn’t know he was the Starman then, Papa, I thought he was just Charlie!)! ! !
Charlie is
my darling
Eric came in with john holding his arm. This is because Eric falls over most of the time, so he wears a cushion around his head for the times when they aren’t around to stop him.
phillipcameinwithouthisclotheson
and everybody laughed, john kicked him on the b u m and sent him back to his dormitory and we all laughed except the Starman.
The Starman told me where he was from. A place called Alfa Sentori, Papa, which sounds like it is in Italy.