I’ve been diagnosed with schizophrenia, but my mother thinks I’m just faking it.

My life began to go downhill back in school, when I noticed that it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to control my emotions, and studying and homework began to seem like overwhelming work.

An insinuating voice began to sound in my head more and more often, that I was stupid, ugly and disgusting, that I should not have been born. I began to see flickering silhouettes in the periphery of my vision, which disappeared as soon as I tried to focus on them.

Mom always believed that the best way to deal with “whims” was to simply raise your voice. Having decided that my condition was just part of another transitional age, she simply turned on the usual tactics, but this only made things worse.

After another scandal, I just wanted to sink into the ground and not improve. I tried to tell my mom about my weirdness, but she brushed it off and said that I was making it up.

With difficulty, I managed to go to college after the ninth grade, but the workload there turned out to be much greater. At first, it was simply very difficult for me to understand the material, and my classmates considered me an impenetrable fool. The teachers shook their heads, and I was ashamed of my grades in front of my mother.

The first session was a turning point. Having seen the exam card, I realized that I didn’t know what to answer to this at all, as if I had never even seen this subject, although I hadn’t missed a single pair.

I went into total hysteria, my inner voice kept telling me that it was better for me to disappear so that those around me wouldn’t have to put up with me.

The teacher didn’t come up with anything else and simply called an ambulance because she simply couldn’t get me out of my stupor. I just squatted down in front of her desk and cried, unable to stop.

Physically, I was absolutely healthy. But when the examination reached the psychiatrist, I heard this terrible diagnosis – schizophrenia – for the first time. No one really bothered to look into it.

I was sent straight from the hospital to a psychiatric clinic to clarify the diagnosis, and when this information reached the college, I was simply expelled due to the inadequacy of the specialty due to health reasons.

This month has been absolutely terrible. I heard that my mother was offered a normal paid clinic, but she threw a scandal at the doctor, demanding “to return this simulator home,” but my diagnosis allowed me to be hospitalized without the consent of my parents.

The clinic was scary. All patients, regardless of diagnosis, were treated the same, and this “treatment” only made me feel worse. You couldn’t even go to the toilet without an orderly, not to mention an approved list of literature and hobbies, which could also be practiced only under the supervision of a doctor.

A month later I was able to be discharged, and I thought the nightmare was over. But no, it just started at home. My mother absolutely did not believe that I was sick. She believed that I lied to the psychiatrist, and he seized on the opportunity to rip off money from her.

They accused me that it was my own fault, that I was an ungrateful daughter. I was required to pay my mother back the money she spent during my first year of college.

I had to go to work. But with my certificate and without education, my best chance was to work as a cleaner, which my mother didn’t like either.

She tried, on the one hand, to force me to go further to study, despite the fact that the choice of professions turned out to be extremely limited for me, and on the other hand, to find a better job.

As soon as I turned 18, my mother started giving me job options. But they kicked me out of interviews as soon as they found out about my certificate. Mom was sure that I myself would fail at every one.

The worst thing became when her next job offer to me turned out to be a scam. I couldn’t realize that there were scammers in front of me, and they took out a large loan on me. At the same time, the bank’s security service pressed me with accusations of fraud.

I didn’t tell my mother. As soon as I imagined how she would start yelling at me, I felt sick. There was no exit. As soon as I waited for the certificate to expire, I threw it away and got a job at the post office.

Almost my entire salary went to pay off the loan, and my mother refused to even buy me groceries, citing the fact that I earn money myself and also have to say thank you for not paying for utilities.

There were scandals every day. My mother either began to mock my work, then condemned my hobbies, or began to demand that I get married and give her grandchildren. But she harshly criticized each of my young men.

Help came from unexpected places. My older brother, who moved out from my mother when I was still in school, found out what happened. He helped me find a normal psychiatrist, paid for him himself, bought me medications. It became easier to work, I began to receive bonuses more often, and after just two years I was able to close that damn loan.

The most difficult thing was moving away from my mother. She tried in every possible way to get into my savings, hid prescription pills from me, convincing everyone around me that I was lying about my hallucinations and fatigue.

My mother started trying to introduce me to some strange guys, in whom she saw the “ideal husband” for her daughter, but they were all the same cardboard.

When I finally managed to rent an apartment and move, my mother continued to stubbornly interfere in my life.

She called, trying to come, and when she arrived, it immediately sounded like I was a lousy housewife, no one would marry me, and she continued to rummage through my things, as before.

I had no choice left. After her next lecture on the topic of what a disgusting person she grew up with, I simply showed her the door and demanded that she stay out of my life. I even had to move and change my phone number.

I made my brother swear that he would not tell my mother where I lived. Moreover, I slowly gave him money for therapy.

My mother tortured my brother for about two more months, tried to find my address herself, but after that she either gave up or got offended and expected me to crawl to her. But how wrong she is.

Even though I have to be registered and on pills all my life, now I can work where I want, live how I want, and make my own decisions.

I am a little sad and ashamed, because I still love my mother, but this is the case when it is better to love parents from a distance.

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