In Whose Eyes?
Portrait of a Schizophrenic
by
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I worry too much, that’s one problem. And I analyze things to death, always trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do. Then of course I play right into the hands of anyone plotting for or against me. Later, unfailingly, I hope I did the right thing. I guess I’m what you call a "good person." Another way of putting it is that I’m easily manipulated. And paranoid. Very un-"Zen" of me not being more mindful in my day-to-day life. But then again that must be what happens with schizophrenia. Why I got so obsessed at college I don’t know. Certainly deciding to finish the degree was a positive thing. I had goofed off back when I was a freshman in school year 1970-71. Now at 26 years old in fall 1978 I thought sure I could handle the challenge. Look at what I had had to put up with in my various jobs, I thought. Nothing to scoff at. Since life in a big city had left me feeling somewhat jaded, I had to summon up all of my enthusiasm for this big push. So I went overboard in the opposite direction. I wanted to be noticed as a hot shot student. (So insecure.) And it was easy for me to be transformed into a "fact processor", taking profuse notes and writing long answers on tests. "It was all there, Anne," said one Ph.D student teacher after a test, and I was so proud of that. What a setting to go crazy in, though – the "inner sanctum" of offices and classrooms on the campus of a well-thought-of university. At least it seemed that way to me. The strange truth about my "case" only became obvious to me years after the fact, but the summer sessions of 1980 were ground zero, I know that. I latched onto a professor of economics named Malcom Collins. Truth be told, in some ways I was in love with him. Kind of a school girl crush, though it really ended up spawning something a lot more dangerous. When he asked me if I knew what I was "getting into" with him as my thesis advisor, I said yes, though I actually thought he meant all the rigorousness. Just his asking that question should have been a sign to me that something was amiss. Throughout this unfortunate relationship, I alternated between being a savvy player and an innocent ditz. I thought the whole honors degree thing would be "fun." That’s really about how far ahead I looked. A silly and distant thought was that maybe some day I’d get a Ph.D. I liked to take on challenges, but was not always up for the hard work and mental acuity required. I looked up to people I thought were "brilliant in their field," and had actually been obsessed with a professor at a big university before. I was easily impressed. At Tydings it was Malcom who caught my eye. Later I thought that various people at that university had set me up to run through a maze where "significant" others could look down and see me trying to scratch my way out. The eerie thing was that maybe that was true. But Malcom’s reaction to me and my personality was rather underhanded – he certainly didn’t play fair. And like I said, I’m easy to influence. I got caught hook, line, and sinker thinking I was so smart when actually I wasn’t. Obviously that was upsetting to me. To say the least, in the end the pressure of an unbelievable college effort and an inappropriate preoccupation with "powerful" people led me down a road that would eventually cause me to go over board. This story lies there.
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About the Book
Anne Bergeron reenters college life in 1978, seven years after dropping out. She seeks an "honors degree in economics," and the academic pressure leads her into a nervous breakdown and paranoid schizophrenia. She works with a young professor, and he plays with her mind for his own self-interest, knowing she has a misplaced "school girl crush" on him. She seeks out a college psychologist who completely misses her psychosis, but Anne miraculously manages to graduate with a BA degree in 1980. Six months after graduation, she comes close to death after a self-imposed 38-day fast. Then, amazingly she gets up and travels cross-country on a bus to see her family, who commits her involuntarily to a mental hospital. This happens six more times over the years, and she always reconciles with her husband. Anne writes straightforward accounts of her experiences, though of course many of the thoughts reflect her paranoia and schizophrenia. But she recounts the details with sharp insight, an enjoyable but tragic story that "ends" well. One percent of the U.S. population has schizophrenia, and most of them are gentle souls, in spite of people's misconceptions.
About the Author
Anne Bergeron is a paranoid schizophrenic. There was no history of that in her family, which made it more difficult to first diagnose. Her schizophrenia progressed gradually over time for multiple reasons including academic pressure and alcoholism. Anne grew up in a large Catholic family. She started writing in high school and was awarded a journalism scholarship. She wasn't serious and dropped out after three semesters. She was married at age twenty-two, her husband graduated from college, and they moved to Washington, D.C. all in the same week. She was swept away by life in the nation's capital during the 1970s--Watergate, disco, money and the good times with their many new friends. She went on strike and became an alcoholic. When returning to college in 1978, it was kind of an "Alice in Wonderland" story where she toppled into the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. Unfortunately, she was by then always plagued by perfectionism and the stress that came with it. She lost her sanity in that endeavor. She was involuntarily committed to mental hospitals six times over the years. She was voluntarily hospitalized the last time in 1989. She has her own family now and leads an optimistic life.