Response
Listening to my social work colleagues talk about clients: "She is nuts," "She is crazy," "Psycho!"
Shhhhh, stay silent. I have a secret.
In church, on Christmas Eve, the pastor tells a joke, "What songs do schizophrenics sing this time of year? Do you hear what I hear?" The congregation laughs.
Shhhhh, stay silent. I have a secret.
On social media people post the words, insane, lunatic, nut job, wacko, crazy. Others post about paranoia and wearing tin foil hats.
Shhhhh, stay silent. I have a secret.
The doctor says, "I have some good news and some bad news. We have your diagnosis and it is paranoid schizophrenia."
Shhhhh, stay silent. This is the secret.
At Halloween people dress up in straitjackets and chains. The costume is frequently called, Psycho.
Shhhhh, stay silent. I have a secret.
My husband and I don’t talk about our private life. Episode after episode, symptom after symptom, we are cut off from friends and family.
Shhhhh, stay silent. We have a secret.
A psychiatrist asks me to tell one person in my inner circle about my diagnosis.
Shhhhh, stay silent. Keep my secret.
I write a poem about living with mental illness and read it at a workshop.
Shhhhh, so softly I read the words.
I write an essay and publish it widely.
The sound of silence and shushing has stopped.
I live openly as a woman with schizophrenia.
I found my voice, and I cannot be silenced.
Rebecca Chamaa is an essayist and poet. She writes a biweekly column for Drunken Boat, blogs on Psych Central and has work on Role Reboot, Manifest Station, Structo, Serving House Journal, Good Housekeeping, Woman's Day, The Mighty and in many anthologies. She lives with earthquakes and sunshine.