The Harrowed Path describes the experience in 1972 of a 21 year old man struggling to come to terms with experiences diagnosed as Schizophrenia. It is a vivid and compelling account of events both within and out-with his fractured consciousness. The story describes the breakdown of all his normal ability and perception and their replacement with a terrifying, debilitating and self-destructive inner world. It depicts his extraordinary struggle and many lost battles. It describes the various types of help offered, both medical and non-medical. Finally it outlines the experience of his healing. All this takes place within the vivid landscapes of London, Gloucestershire and Hampshire.

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The Harrowed Path

A Journey Through Schizophrenia

By John DW Macdonald

AuthorHouse

Foreword, xiii, 
Introduction, xv, 
Prelude, xxi, 
Part 1 – City, 1, 
Part 2 – Country, 41, 
Part 3 – Depths, 71, 
Part 4 – Sea, 89, 
Part 5 – Land, 101, 
Epilogue, 107, 
Conclusion, 109,

CHAPTER 1

City

"Who am I in the night"

Shepherd's Bush, London—April to July 1972 The Room

The following day I moved again to London. This was a new flat in a tenement building in Richmond Way, Shepherd's Bush.

My room was on the corner of the building and I liked that room more than any I had lived in before. A small corner wall gave it a pentagonal shape. There was lots of light and enough room in which to move about. I made a couple of desks from old pieces of wood, one for myself and one for Caroline. I did not do much at that desk, and Caroline showed no interest at all.

I had no direction anymore. Nothing I read seemed to have any meaning. Nothing I wrote could be of any use. And I found that I could hardly talk to my flatmates.

As of a new day
Outer faces change.
Who am I
In the night?

Rock is breaking
Within the isolated,
Whirling head.

Dry sounds,
Gone off the ground,
Bang that old best drum
Under threat of attack.

Noises are everywhere,
The children cry.
Who am I
In the night?

Only midnight could know
The glowing eye
And moving light
Of this new one.

Where is
That uncrowned
Self?
Who am I
In the night?

Work Abandoned

I returned to the streets between Kensington and Notting Hill where I had formerly built up successful and enjoyable self-employment through gardening, car-cleaning, and other odd jobs. My clients from the previous year seemed delighted to see me again. The early summer should have been a fine time to get this side of my life going again.

However, I found that I simply could not concentrate. The tasks I worked at were not as they had been. Nothing was automatic any more. Cleaning a car became a strange and complex job. When I started to clip a bush, I could not decide which twig to clip next. In front of me was a confused mass of foliage, within me a growing sense of discomfort, apprehension, and confusion.

The more that I tried to work out what order to do things in, the more confused became my view of what I was trying to do. This was work I had previously taken great pride in. I had built up from scratch my clientele and took on diverse tasks. Now the source of my pride became a source of fear. I could not explain what was going on to my clients. Although they did not comment, I still began to feel too terrified to return to the streets and houses where I had been so fulfilled the previous year.

Claire and Caroline were worried about me. They wanted to help me find something on which I could concentrate. Our meditation group needed to raise funds, and so they came up with the idea that I should organise the jumble sale. However, by this point I was not capable of organising anything ...

There was a break-in. Several items of clothing were stolen from the basement where they were being stored and these included an expensive velvet suit donated by the manager of a well-known pop group. To me, this seemed to be a terrible occurrence for which I was responsible; I blamed myself for everything that had gone wrong.

I made a final attempt to get my jobs going again by ringing Mrs Dobson and arranging to clean her paintwork. It was only afterwards that I realised I had fixed this up for the same afternoon as the jumble sale.

As soon as I realised this, I also knew that I was unable to decide which commitment I should honour. It did not occur to me that I could have rearranged the time I had fixed with Mrs Dobson.

I simply waited as the day grew nearer, worrying about what I should do.

On the day of the sale, I lay on my bed unable to decide which course of action to take. As time passed by, it became more and more impossible for me to go to either place. Eventually, it was too late to do anything. I felt twisted with regret for my failure to make a choice. And I knew that I could neither return to my work or to the meditation group.

Silent days
Tread leanly on
With faces
Of the dusk.

A face too long
And raw with disbelief—
Thoughts sink.
The mind is moaning.
Wood beat him once,
Coercing him to work.

Ignored
He enters through the door,
Hefty, booted, bored,

While others whistle
At their work,
Even though
The purpose is not there,

Or else go on with greed,
Separate
From seed time,

Still silent days
Tread leanly on
With faces of the dusk.

Will long maces
Pierce his mind
Outstretched
To feel again
A resurrection?

I gave up the idea of organising my own work. Desperate for some security, I followed up with a job I had seen advertised locally. I went to the phone box on the corner of our street and talked to the hospital domestic manageress about the work, which was cleaning floors in the wards.

I asked if I might have some contact with the patients and she said that she would attempt to arrange this. I accepted the post.

Then came the doubts ... and the fears. I thought of the heavy equipment which I would be using and feared that I would not be capable; and in my mind, I saw a huge wilderness of green linoleum.

Feeling that I had made the wrong decision, I rang the Manageress and informed her that I did not want the job after all. Then, five minutes later, I changed my mind again. This was my chance, my opportunity to organise my life again. I rang up again. I was told that they had given the job to somebody else.

I was racked with remorse that I had lost the opportunity provided by this person who had been so considerate to me at first and then lost patience with me for very good reasons. I did not feel I could possibly ever have another chance like this again.

Indecision
Strangles my uncertainty.
I wander
In streets of a grey dust.
The old men are standing
In times of disquietude,
In times of change after change.

Minutes streaking onwards towards the end
Of the road,
We look through lace curtains.
Time is an empty lattice,
Spaces in the night air.
Under the bare boards
Is a scurrying.

People are running through,
Over to the other side of the road,
Signalling life to stop
And be done with it.

I will have to decide.
So split between different ways
That I cannot move.
The chance of love in my being
Leaves me frail of mind,
Always waiting,
For it to be made up for me.
Thoughts Broken

And so I lay on my bed on the floor worrying ... worrying about what I would do next, worrying about where the rent would come from, and worrying about myself. And yet I could not draw together my concerns and make any decisions.

I became more and more frightened that I was becoming incapable of doing anything anymore. It was this fear which made me lie there. Day followed day, stretching towards the empty future.

Finally, one day, I made myself sit up at my makeshift desk and attempt to type out my thoughts. I began to write a very long paragraph informing myself...

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