When I was told that my mum was living with schizophrenia – by my school counsellor, when I was about 14 – I had almost no concept of what that really meant. All I knew for sure was that it felt dark, scary and taboo. In other words, my understanding of complex mental health was almost entirely defined by the stigma that surrounds it.
I had begun to suspect that there was something rather odd about Mum, beyond the normal eccentricities. Maybe not everyone’s parents spoke to unseen voices from time to time, or became wildly obsessed with home break-ins. Putting a name to the diagnosis made parts of the puzzle fall into place – but it also opened the door to more questions: What was schizophrenia, actually? Who else was living with it? And why hadn’t I heard their stories?
