info &resources
Demystifying the “S” Word
by Jane McNulty
I rarely watch television on a Saturday afternoon, but today was an exception.
I watched a heartbreaking yet uplifting film titled “Talk to Me” that documents the completely out-of-the-blue suicide of 17-year-old James Peek in 1999. James succeeded in hiding his depression from everyone in his circle of family and friends until it was too late. Every year since James’s death, his parents and siblings have organized a memorial golf tournament to raise money to fund a mental health clinic named after their son and brother.
Towards the end of the film, Randy Peek, James’s father, offers insights into the negative social stigma associated with mental illness.
When asked about the prevalence of this stigma, Randy replies, “It’s massive.” He likens the current situation to the frequent manifestation of silence, shame, and secrecy that surrounded occurrences of breast cancer 20 years ago.
Given the sad facts that on average, 3,600 Canadians take their own lives every year as a result of mental illness and that suicide is the number one cause of non-accidental death among young people in Canada, it is vitally important that a spotlight illuminate a topic that makes many people afraid and uncomfortable.
But without question, a light is starting to glimmer if not shine.
The list of celebrities and media personalities who are speaking up about their own struggles or their loved ones’ struggles with mental illness, grows ever longer. Glenn Close, Margaux Hemingway, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and, closer to home, Silken Laumann, Margaret Trudeau, television host and journalist Valerie Pringle, ex-NHL enforcer Jim Thomson, and TSN sports broadcaster Michael Landsberg come easily to mind.
Something struck me, rather forcefully, as I view personal accounts and professional observations. Almost everyone seems to be combatting either depression or bipolar disorder (complicated by concurrent disorders such as anorexia or borderline personality disorder). Not a single individual sharing his or her story in the lineup of shows I watched has been diagnosed with schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder. And I find myself wondering why that might be the case.
Words pack great power.
And perhaps few words in the English language arouse more fear and confusion than “schizophrenia” (or its relative, “schizoaffective disorder”).
My older son, now 31, was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder at the age of 15. At the moment when his attending psychiatrist at the adolescent psychiatric unit delivered his diagnosis to me, I felt a fear unlike anything I had ever experienced.
As time progressed, I knew that part of my coping strategy would be to try to understand the complexities, nuances, and implications of a phrase I considered not only deeply disturbing but also downright ugly.
Today, I am still hesitant to refer openly to my son’s condition because of the negative and often inaccurate connotations linked to terms used to describe psychotic illnesses. But I have grown gradually less fearful of the “s” word—to the point where I do speak openly to family, friends, and co-workers about my participation in (amazing and joyful) fundraising events organized by the Schizophrenia Society of Ontario. I also participate in family support group meetings offered by FAME—the Family Association for Mental Health Everywhere—during which hearing the word “schizophrenia” spoken by other parents has normalized the term for me to some extent.
And to my surprise, I recently encountered the phrase “schizoaffective disorder” in relation to the Beach Boys’ leader Brian Wilson in a Special Collector’s Edition of Scientific American Mind (Winter 2014).
The issue is titled “The Mad Science of Creativity”. I was soon engrossed in reading an eloquent piece by Toronto-based neurology professor Brian Levine narrating how the progressive mental illness experienced by Wilson in his early 20s caused a deterioration in “executive function”—the ability of the brain’s frontal lobes to plan, coordinate, and execute the steps required to accomplish a goal.
During Wilson’s steady and very public mental decline, social discomfort, depression, and paranoia gave way to hallucinations and delusions. He was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, a combination of psychosis and abnormal mood. Compounding the problem, he developed a drug habit (heroin and cocaine), which was probably an attempt at self-medication. A man who had been hailed as a musical genius at the age of 23 confined himself to his bed for two and a half years.
Thirty years after the onset of his illness, however, Wilson re-emerged as a healthy individual and has returned to composing music and touring internationally! According to Levine, Wilson’s comeback owes itself to proper medical treatment and the ongoing support of psychiatrists and loved ones. I, and many other family members with whom I interact during support group sessions, have come to recognize these factors as essential components of the recovery process.
Author Levine concludes his article by saying that Wilson’s comeback album, released in 2004 when Wilson was 62, perhaps “fulfills a larger purpose beyond its lush and creative music: the need to believe that that which was lost can be regained.”
That highly symbolic album, which received worldwide acclaim, has a beautiful name beginning, ironically, with just one word, starting with the letter “s”.
The album is titled Smile.
Jane McNulty
Toronto