For the past 2 years I’ve shared Facebook notes about why the NAMI Walk is so important to me. Looking back at them now, it’s a chronicle of how much my friend has been through in that time. Two years ago, she was in the same place that she’d been in for much of the time I’ve known her – chronically suicidal, wanting desperately to die but knowing that those feelings and the voices telling her to do it were a symptom of her mental illness. My note that year was about the 3 AM phone calls, and the incredibly insensitive (and dangerous) responses she got when she tried to reach out for help. By this time last year, she was in a very different place – lost in a period of psychosis, unable to have any kind of conversation that made sense – the result of professionals’ failure to take her (or me) seriously as the voices took over and she started to lose control. My note last year was about my realization of just how strong the stigma and discrimination against mental illness really is – that somebody fighting for her life and sanity could be so easily dismissed as “just trying to get attention.”

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I care deeply about the wellness of people’s lives and how the act of simply talking and truly caring about someone can potentially save other’s lives.

My first real art lesson was when my father taught me how draw a rose using basic shapes and shading. I don’t exactly remember my dad when I was little except that he was a really jolly fellow and as round as Santa. But today I’m really glad that I got my creativity and corny humor from him. My father had always prompted me to be creative and that was one of the greatest gifts he had left me with.

When I was in 6^th grade and only 11 years old he passed away all too suddenly. I had arrive at the hospital the day he died from kidney problems and there were no last “I love yous” or “I’m proud of you.” I wanted to be strong, I wanted straight A’s and I wanted to do it all for my dad. This was my way of thinking that temporarily helped me to survive my 3 years in middle school. But the years of denial and the bottling in of my emotions caught up to me and strangled my health. I needed help but I wasn’t conditioned to ask for anything. In my graduating year in 8^th  grade I wasn’t only struggling with delayed grieving of my father but I was also having extreme difficulty making speeches as the student body president and preparing for the 8th grade oral presentation all at once.

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My name is Jamie. i have paranoid schizophrenia, and have had it since I was nine. It’s interesting to note that I have it - it does not have me. In the years since I was diagnosed, I have since gotten on medication and now have a full and productive life. I became a journalist in elementary school, and am now editor of my own online newspaper that is read all over the world. I’m also an Eagle Scout, a former Brotherhood member of the Order of the Arrow, 2001 National Scout Jamboree staff member, and have met and interviewed people. I have also covered a former president of the United States. I have also been a syndicated columnist, and featured in several papers in Texas.

If I can send one message to people, it is that, if one day you are diagnosed with a mental illness, seek treatment early and stay the course, including taking your medication. Don’t be afraid to branch out and try new things. Give yourself a chance and don’t give up just because something seems difficult. In fact, my mom often encouraged me to try new, positive experiences that made me feel a part of the world. She taught me to be smart and think for myself. When faced with a roadblock, she encouraged me to find the solution and to be a positive influence on others, disabled and normal.

The truth is that the illness is not the end of the world. Don’t give up. Find your talent and run with it. Give yourself a chance, and make the most of each and every opportunity to make a positive difference in the world. This challenge I embraced. It is a challenge I hope those reading this story will embrace. Thanks. Jamie.

I have been trying to get my son, Patrick, social security. He is schizoaffective. Well, he is dual diagnosed. #2 is substance abuse.  I just received “the denial” in the mail from the administration. They refused him because the said he abuses drugs and that when he stops using he’ll recover.  Can you believe that!   He unfortunately starting using before I knew he had mental illness or anyone else in the family knew. I thought I just had this horrible drug addicted rebellious kid on my hands. He always had problems since he was very young but I just didn’t know. It wasn’t until he started having conversations with himself where family members could see that we started looking on the Internet about what that means. He started hearing voices too.   It’s been an uphill battle every since. He does not refuse phych meds anymore, but I cannot keep him off street drugs because he’s a substance abuse addict. His #1 diagnosis is schizoaffective. My brother’s son has recently been diagnosed too. THANK YOU NAMI FOR HELPING ME !  I wouldn’t have been able to go through all this(understanding mental illness) without you.   But now that I do understand I am really sad that other people don’t! 

My name is Cindie Apruzzese and I suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder, Impulse Control Disorder and Autism. It’s been rough through the years getting to where I am today. I’ve come a long way from what I used to be like. I am currently on medication and I go to psychotherapy once a week. Therapy and the meds have helped me to be able to function. I enjoy the NAMI outings, walks, and Network parties. I go to a center here in Waterbury, CT. They have helped me greatly. They helped me to learn how to type, computers, etc. 

My brother, Russ, was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, but never properly treated. 18 years ago, in September, while at an inpatient hospital, he died in a car accident. We thought he was safe in an in-patient psychiatric unit. For reasons unexplained, they took him outside to smoke. Understandably, while psychotic, he made a bad choice and walked away from the hospital. Then he got into a running vehicle left alone (he probably thought it was a sign) and then drove away. After getting onto the highway he died smashing into oncoming traffic. My father was on his way to see his son on his birthday and he passed the accident.  He thought his son was safely cared for at the hospital, but, this was not the case. Our family sued this hospital and again, inexplicably, lost the case. What are families to do when their best efforts to get a loved one into safe care against all odds (due to poor insight of the ill persons and laws protecting their individual rights to mess themselves up) go wrong. It’s tough to love someone who struggles with mental illness. It’s tough to be someone who struggles with mental illness. Please hang tough, someone loves you. If you don’t know anyone who does now trust that someone will when you have had the benefit of good care and some time to stabilize. You are a good person and you are worth the effort. Stick around. Help care providers understand what you need.

I created a video about why I walk: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNRORXFJGGI

It all started when I was really young, with a knack for organizing my tea set and Easy Bake oven dishware.  It was soon recognized that I developed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, commonly known as OCD.  The condition resulted from a traumatic event of abuse, and rapidly progressed into experiencing night terrors and slight insomnia.  These are symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which I have managed to overcome.  However,  I eventually developed more habits, such as having to turn off all electronics, counting ceiling and floor tiles and red cars.  I kept a “count book” as I used to call it, which was a diary of the objects I would keep count of and the total amount next to it.

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It was never about how dirty the house was or how many newspapers you had saved overtime or the amount of magnets you had on both fridges. It was the draining effect of what your mental illness would bring. What mom was I going to see today? Will she be nice and funny? Will she be mean and hurtful? Will she be sad and kept to herself? Everyday was different. Each had a little twist to them. From bipolar to manic to depression the things that are forbidden to be talked about. Yet they take so much away from people. I never hated you I just hated your illness. I hated that you became mean in a blink of an eye or you get sad within seconds and I did love when you were funny because we could crack jokes but all it took was for one little thing and you’d switch. I never wanted this for you. All I wanted was my mom. Your illness took over and it was so hard to love you. When you knew how to take the wound you opened and twist and dig it deeper. I know one day ill look back and be thankful for all the lessons learned and maybe help others one day, but for now I just want to help you.