By the Author / Source: abuaram.site
Early in my life, as a young child, I lived with my family in my late father’s house. I left that home when I was eight years old. The reason was my father’s brother—my uncle, who is still alive today at 70 years old—and his children. They treated us terribly, and constant conflict broke out between our families, culminating in his ill son stabbing my mother’s hand with a sharp knife right before my eyes when I was only seven or eight. That ordeal left me deeply traumatized and terrified, sending me into severe crying fits over my mother. I believe that incident, along with another around that time, altered my young consciousness and set the stage for schizophrenia. I was an innocent child, and I know that amidst my mental disorientation and descent into deep despair, that event was the root of a form of schizophrenia within me. It completely distorted my personality—a vengeful schizophrenia born of victimhood’s pain, stealing my innocent thoughts to turn me into a man while I was still just a little boy.
The trauma reshaped my awareness and shattered my thinking, making me far more vulnerable to chronic schizophrenia. This might sound like an exaggeration, but for such a young child, an event like that made illness inevitable. Throughout my life, after leaving our first home where my siblings and I were born—with my mother taking care of us alone—I moved with my small family through numerous rented apartments across different residential buildings. Being the eldest son, I always felt the weight of being the man of the house, which led to frequent clashes with neighbors. The apartments were crammed together, and I suffered through grueling psychological and emotional episodes. I would drink and play loud music, and neighbors constantly confronted me over the noise I caused in those large, crowded complexes. Every time I moved to a new place, I heard voices in my head urging me to leave. My mother protected me for a while, explaining my condition to them. I received treatment in various care facilities before eventually moving on to yet another home.
By chance, four years ago, I returned to the very house where I was born, and I still live there today. The same people from my childhood still live in the neighborhood, in the houses right next to mine. I returned out of necessity: I needed a home of my own. I lacked the money to buy a proper house and could no longer afford rent. I was exhausted from shared living spaces; I had come to resent everyone. The home I live in now is detached—a standalone house with no one living above, below, or directly attached. Though the neighboring houses are close, it is still far better than an apartment in a building, and certainly more comfortable. I have been living there safely with my wife and children for nearly five years now!
The presence that took hold of my mind as a person living with schizophrenia—hearing, seeing, and sensing spirits around me—first appeared in one of those apartments where I had caused so much noise and conflict. I was already suffering from schizophrenia, but it transformed into this form there, and it has not left me to this day. I still believe that these spirits were brought upon me through the actions of people around me who knew me. Alongside this, I endured other harsh experiences after leaving our first home, between the ages of eight and fourteen, including childhood bullying and severe beatings in the streets. All of this worsened my condition until I reached a breaking point. I became severely ill in those rented homes during my adolescence, and as further complications escalated, it eventually led me to seek treatment.
