Daughters of mothers

My mother has suffered from a mental illness for as long as I can remember. It took me a long time to realise what it was: looking back, I think she may have suffered from postnatal depression after I was born. Our GP saw her often, but it was not possible to make a diagnosis at the time.

When I was 2, the first psychosis occurred: my mother stopped sleeping, became loud, heard voices on the radio and behaved completely inappropriately. My father reached his limits and was unable to get any real help. Then she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital for the first time: I was only allowed to see her from the outside through the fence, nothing was explained or said to me. The following years of my childhood were a constant up and down: complete withdrawal, where she often lay in bed for months watching the world go to pieces, alternated with psychoses, arguments, insomnia and, unfortunately, alcohol. My brother and I were placed with different relatives and no one ever talked to us about why our mother was behaving like this. They said she was ill again.

I couldn't talk to anyone about my mother's illness, on the contrary, it was like a family secret. School, on the other hand, was a safe haven for me, where I didn't have any obvious problems. So, I led a double life: at home my mother was seriously ill, but at school there was nothing out of the ordinary. I often reached my limits, but I didn't get any support. When I was 14 or 15, my father asked me to help take care of my mother and run the household. Even in Austria in the 1970s, attitudes towards mental illness were sometimes catastrophic: the disease models of the early 1940s were still too prevalent in people's minds, and my mother not only suffered from a very serious illness, she was also shunned and ridiculed.

My father and most of the other relatives had no understanding of her illness. Thus, it was not possible for her to accept it and live with it. All her life, her own illness was her enemy; I often heard her say: I would rather be in a wheelchair than have this disease. In between her psychotic episodes she was a wonderful person, full of love, intelligent and warm-hearted. There were many painful experiences associated with her illness and its side effects. But I would never want to have a different mother!

Over time, better medication came on the market and for a few years she was no longer ill every year. Unfortunately, the side effects of the medication began to take their toll and the frequent psychotic episodes that lasted for months took their toll. She changed as a person, had hardly any interests anymore, and developed some physical illnesses. My mother did not live very long; she spent her last years in a nursing home. She was given more and more medication, in ever-increasing doses.

I was a very good student and found it easy to learn. I went on to university, but at first I found it difficult to leave my parents' house because I felt I was abandoning my mother. My parents were very open about this. Because I was very afraid of exams at the beginning of my studies, I went to a general practitioner to get help. I told her my family history, and she referred me to a psychiatrist with the diagnosis 'mother schizoaffective'. I was lucky, that the doctor focused on my examination fears and did not see me in terms of a possible family illness of a psychosis.

I wish that today's children and teenagers with a similar fate would receive more support and understanding! Sometimes a wordless hug, a warm chocolate drink and a piece of cake would have been enough to help me.