Living with MPD

Dear Schizophrenic Smoker:

The many times that you met me I was not in a good mood.  I apologize for that, but I did take some things away from you that will always be an imprint on my life.

I remember how we met.  I had been placed in an adult psych. ward area after the administration of the hospital found out I had no insurance coverage.  They would no longer allow me to see a specialist and they moved me, without warning, from one area of the hospital to another.  I immediately started my chain smoking habits due to my discomfort of being with new people.

I entered the smoking room which happened to be a 1/4 of the size, in comparison (probably smaller…I’m being generous), to the one I had just left.  I had to choose to either sit by the window and be trapped in the room, or sit by the door and have to move anytime someone entered.  I would have picked the window.  My first moments in this ward, and there you sat.  I walked in as I waited for paperwork to be moved and medication to be administered.  You quietly asked if you could have just one cigarette.  I complied.

I watched you as you sat with it in your hands, unlit for a time, and talked with the man in front of you.  You were so animated and you explained to him that all you wanted was some peace.  I glanced at the man that you spoke with…the area was empty of any human form.  There was not a person in sight but for you and I in that room–yet you continued to let this person know how much peace you needed in your life.  I smiled gently and upon finishing my cigarette, left the room.

I got my medications and watched as a group formed.  It was for ‘group therapy’ and you wandered off to your room down the hall.  We had ‘therapy’ that day and I didn’t see you again until, yes, the next visit you made to the smoking room.  Once again you asked if you could have a cigarette, but this time you asked another.  He gave you one and smiled.  You lit this one and quickly smoked it.  Quietly.  The other person and myself left the room and you again began to speak to your invisible counterpart.

This went on for a few days.  I met many invisible people you knew.  A woman that you loved once, a police man that continued to hassle you, a doctor that wouldn’t listen, a random person that you did not like, many more.  I shared these little moments with you, sitting in wonder as you spoke your heart to them.  I’m not sure you knew I was there at times.  Later, I think you did know I was there, some, but didn’t care.  It wasn’t like the people you saw weren’t there…at least not in YOUR eyes.  You saw them.  You saw them as flesh and blood as I was.  And you continued to bum cigarettes off me and others.  

Many would tire of your needing cigarettes but I had a feeling you were in that psych. ward for life.  I had a feeling you had more issues going on than they could handle.  I also have a feeling you sit there, by that window, engaging in conversations with your past at this very moment.  Oh how I wished I could do that at times.  Truly face my past and speak up about it.  You are able to do that, yet it’s seen with such disdain. 

Yes, it keeps you from being active in the world.  It is a distraction in your own life, as well, I’m sure…but what a way to handle fears and anger!  I admired how your mind was broken yet so active.  I admired how you kept your memories close to you on a daily basis.  I was told you were schizophrenic and had other issues.  Nobody really knew the whole story.  I often wondered if your therapist would ever uncover it all.

I never knew your name.  We talked but it was sporadic.  I can say that I won’t forget your face.  I won’t forget the eyes that you would look at me with.  You had such kindness and warmth…but you looked so lost.  I wanted to help you but knew the only thing I could offer you was that next cigarette.

Thankful for small blessings -

Cat