Raising Angels

By Kris Ralston

Author Kris Ralston has previously published a book about schizophrenia, entitled Sending in the Clowns. Raising Angels, her second book is a greater novel, dealing with many more characters and utilizing more of Kriss talents to perceive the workings of the mind. Ralston grew up in Seattle and graduated as a 4.0 valedictorian of her high school class. She went on to study at Stanford University where she was diagnosed herself with Paranoid Schizophrenia. Her tales are touching and exciting, enticing and hard to believe. Take a read of Raising Angels and meet Kris in its pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 30, 2010
• ISBN: 9781462820573

Kris Ralston

Precious Cargo is author Kris Ralston’s fourth creative and imaginative book based upon characters who have Paranoid Schizophrenia. Is God Schizophrenic? Kris examines the question with investigation into God’s being. Jenny, a Bearded Dragon Lizard is the main Precious Cargo throughout this book, belonging to Kevin Sweeley. A high school Valedictorian with 4.0 GPA, Kris left Stanford University as a Sophomore when she was hit with Schizophrenia, herself. She now writes with authority and experience. Kris knows that there is no gold at the end of the rainbow, but believes she will one day be walking streets of Gold.

Book preview

Walter’s First Puppy

Walter was a changed man. He agreed with everything. Yes this and Yes that and Yes everything. He thought if he was nice to everybody, then maybe they might like him. He had a friend in Jesus, but no one else. So he prayed. And he prayed a lot. Wherever he parked the GEO to cry or bear his pain, he would launch into half hour prayer sessions, and pour out his heart, his aches his dreams, his hopes, needs, and desires. And even when there was no instant answer, God always spoke back to him.

Small signs. Driving across town at night in the dark without headlights turned on was a small blessing. Leaving the car window open with valuables from R.E.I. in the front seat as he went to take a guitar lesson. Small things. Nothing missing, and maybe just the perfect cup of coffee on a sunny morning before class as he sat ruminating about his directionless life. There were moments of peace. There were times when the rage was subdued. That was enough right there, for the brilliance of God is that he works miracles in everybody, and even when one of God’s children is lonely, friendless, there is always a blessing just around the corner when you least expect it.

The frolicking dog came into Walter’s life when he turned twenty-two. It was a little black and white beagle—Labrador mixture with a big heart and a big appetite. Piper, as Walter named him loved to go for walks, to chase around the house, or just to lay next to the couch when poor Walter was plagued with symptoms of his disease. He had a friend. Piper would not leave him, even when Shyla came over, an old high school class mate who used to be a friend, but who now could not understand his sheepish ways as he tried to hide his illness. Piper liked Shyla, and wagged his tail for her. She played with him as she tried to converse with poor Walter, unwashed, in sweat clothes and now sitting on the couch. So wretched was he to himself that he forced her to leave. I’ll be back to see you, Shyla said, her dark green eyes focused softly on this figure of pain in front of her. And she meant it.

Walter locked himself in the bathroom and cried, rocking back and forth to pacify himself. He sat there alone for many minutes, before going back out the door where Piper was sitting. The puppy launched himself up to Walter’s chest and began to lick his face as the man held him close, weeping, and the big, pink tongue licked every tear away. Walter wandered down the hall of his parents’ guest bedrooms (Walter’s brother’s and sister’s had long since moved away), to his room at the end of the hall on the left where he slept and prayed. Walter knelt down beside his bed and lowered his head, placing his forehead on the red wool blanket. Quietly he prayed, and he knew that his prayers were going up to Heaven.

What was in Heaven, he thought to himself. Maybe someday he would find out. Right now he needed to pray about Shyla. How on Earth could he get to know her any more, when he felt like the abominable snowman beside her? He had no more feelings down there. Sexual dysfunction is one of the side effects of the medicine he takes, which he disconcertingly abhors.

So Walter turned to exercise. He ran miles and miles and he sweated and sweated. Piper at his side, his friend and companion. Piper brought a smile to his gaunt and miserable face. Shyla was true to her word. Reluctantly Walter welcomed her into his home, and Piper jumped all over her. They both laughed nervously. Her long red hair was striking and she was wearing it down around her shoulders, and Walter was caught in her soft green eyes that seemed to know so much already.

Walter was so very nervous that he ran to the pantry, and seeing no cereal there, he poured nacho chips in a bowl with milk and pretended to eat it. Shyla danced around the kitchen, admiring the gorgeous view of the lake and the island beyond. Finally she sat down and stared at Walter. She knew Walter had graduated with her from high school, she knew he’d worked at 7-eleven for quite awhile, but she didn’t know what he was doing these days. It did matter. She wanted to know his hopes, his visions, his dreams, his plans, and expectations in life.

Poor, poor, Walter had not much to say. He’d never graduated from college, but he’d tried. He was still trying, he said, but not enough to go right now. I’m taking some time off, he explained to her. I want to figure out what I want to do before I take any more random classes and fail them due to loss of interest. I just don’t know what I’m interested in!

Let’s get out, let’s go do something, Walter, Shyla spoke earnestly. I want to get to know you better. We’re not just kids anymore. She spoke softly and out of the side of her eye. Not sure if she was serious or not, Walter immediately let on that he didn’t feel well. Besides, I can’t leave Piper," he said very matter of fact. Walter leaned down and picked up the little puppy. He squeezed it very hard and it wagged its tail and licked his face vehemently. Shyla sat down.

She sighed. I can’t get you to talk to me, she pointed out, but what would you think about going camping with me this summer? Piper could come with us and we wouldn’t have to keep talking, we could just spend some time together and get to know each other more. Look, Walter, I like you, you know I always have. I want to know you better. If I can get some time off my job this summer, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than take you and Piper camping in the woods somewhere by a beautiful river where we could sit, and think, and talk the breeze, no stress. What do you think? Please Walter? She cocked her head.

Walter put Piper down to tie his shoes. No camping, Shyla, but I’ll go for a walk with you and Piper, if you want.

You mean it?

Yeah. I might as well let you in on the secret. Walter’s heart was pounding and they hadn’t even left the house. He picked up the leash and put it on the bouncy puppy. Out the door they want, Walter ducked an evil spirit, and held close to the leash, carefully negotiating the steps to the sidewalk. Outside the world was different. He hadn’t said a word since they were outside.

What do you like to do, Walter? Shyla questioned him at first. But his reaction made her confused.

You mean when I’m doing something or when I’m trying to do something that I want to do? Noting her confusion, he rephrased his reply. I like to read, but I have to try to read because it’s hard for me to focus. That’s just one thing. I like driving in my car and watching things. I like watching things a lot. I like watching you, Shyla, he replied.

She blushed and turned away.

Walter got confused.

His pain forced him to up the pace. To feel pain where there should be pleasure was insidious. It’s Okay Walter, she said, I know how you feel. I feel the same way, I mean sort of, it’s just that I have never really been with a guy before, and I like the idea of being friends."

Walter smiled. You mean it? You mean it? Friends? Oh Lord yes! Girls, they always want so much, and I don’t want to go there right now. Life is full of problems you know. There are so many problems. I could protect you Shyla, I mean from the otherworld, I’ve fought the aliens for years, at night especially at night in my dreams. Now since I’ve had Piper for a friend, the voices have gone away. You see, Shyla, it’s my turn to talk now. I’m Schizophrenic. What do you think of that?

Shyla’s Imagination

Up above the crows flew in formation from one tree to the next building. Their loud caw’s were welcome to both Walter’s and Shyla’s ears. Crows brightened up the day for Walter. Many days he had sat in a stupor on campus steps watching the crows eat in and around the garbage cans. They were like angels to him. Blessed are those who will take the refuse and make use of it. Like me, he thought miserably, human refuse like me could be used for something, somewhere, somehow. Miserably and sadly, alone in a cold room, he awaits the guillotine. The mechanism that will hack off his head and take away the pain forever. But Jesus is there. He won’t allow it. He wants to see me through this pain, Walter thinks to himself. Having read the Bible, he knows truth when he sees it. He knows truth, he knows justice.

Walter and Shyla find themselves comfortable holding hands as they walk around the lake. What is wrong with you? she asks, a little timidly. For God has given us a bold spirit.

My head doesn’t work right.

You were fine in high school.

That’s when it all started. That’s why I started skipping classes and smoking, because I couldn’t focus in class, and I was confused and it hurt and I almost didn’t pass.

What else is wrong? she shyly pointed to his dirty sweat suit and old shoes. You’re not taking care of yourself, properly. She laughed. I can understand if you painted houses or something . . . but this couch business stuff I don’t know. Take it from a friend, Walter, stay away from the TV. There is so much stuff on there that will mess you up more if you let it. I’ve never told anyone this. I have a sister one year younger. We were separated at a young age. She lives in Florida and I visit her as much as I can. Walter, my sister has Schizophrenia. I know a lot about it and what it can do to you if you let it."

What’s her name?

My sister’s name is Mindy. Shyla began to cry and turned to Walter for a hug. As they embraced, Piper pulled loose and chased after some geese on the green lawn, covered with goose poop. They continued to hold one another. Walter felt tears coming, and panicking he pulled free from his friend. Piper! Piper! The puppy came running at his call.

He couldn’t let the tears come. They would never stop coming, and he was not prepared for a public confrontation. Why me? He wondered. Why anybody? He thought of Shyla’s sister Mindy, wondering how long she had been ill. So he asked her, How long has Mindy been diagnosed with Schizophrenia? He shuddered.

Well, it’s been coming on for quite some time now and nobody knew what it was, until she started talking about voices, and people following her constantly watching her and conspiring to turn her into the President of the United States of America. She was paranoid of having a pie thrown in her face like she saw in a magazine once, and she believed that the leader of Iraq had given her a rubber ball to play with.

What?

Want to hear more? There’s a lot to say about Mindy. She’s very intellectual, and out of contact with her imagination, that’s why she thinks ghosts are real and stuff like that.

Ghosts are real, Walter said emphatically, and so are angels, and spirits, and demons and aliens. There’s even a devil, a God, a Jesus, Son of God, and a Holy Spirit! Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. They’re just trying to pull the wool over your eyes, to blind you to Christianity and all it is worth. Walter swallowed hard. He hated doubting his religion, but doubt was inherent with the religion, and that’s why there was faith, a gift from God, if one would only accept it. Doubt because of faith, and faith because of doubt. Walter accepted religion and believed in it whole-heartedly.

He went on to explain why the truth was so important, and that Jesus was the way, the truth, and the life, and that no one could convince him otherwise, for he had spoken with Jesus himself. That place, that place in his heart reserved for Jesus was always kept clean and swept pure. For forgiveness he repented, and for lust, he was ashamed.

He channeled his energy as much as he could in the right directions, but with schizophrenia, it was hard to initiate things, and so often he found himself stuck in a rut.

What are you doing? Shyla asked.

I’m musing, he replied a little cryptically. Is Mindy dangerous? To herself or others?

She’s been hospitalized several times for long periods of time. Shyla became emotional. Mindy had once threatened her with a kitchen knife, then dropped the knife and ran upstairs to her bedroom where she lie on her bed watching the moon through the open window, a cool breeze blowing the curtains about. She was alone. She wanted to be alone. She couldn’t stand being alone. She was motherless, fatherless. She was born a Christian and a potato freak and all these other bad things that came pouring out as Shyla held her symptomatic, psychotic sister closely and wiped away tears, carefully reminding her of her family and everyone who loved her. People who were so proud of her thought she was so strong. Mindy was so strong to be in the throes of her illness, and still managed to shower every day. She read books a little, walked a little, and mostly sat in the yard with her guitar, singing quietly and humming as she strummed and picked her own tunes so tenderly.

Shyla bent over and picked up Piper. This dog is a miracle! she cried. He is so gentle and funny at the same time. You’re sure lucky to have a dog like Piper. Walter took the dog. Piper is my friend, he exclaimed adamantly. Nobody else has a friend like Piper. Right Piper, my Bud?" Walter put him down and ruffed up the furry fellow.

Well, Shyla, this walk has done me a lot of good. I really had no idea about your sister. I’d like to hear more, if that’s Okay. It gives me strength to know that there are others like me. He felt a tear form. Thank you, he said. If you want to be friends now and then and hang out here and there, that’d be cool, he mustered up awkwardly.

That is if I don’t scare you away or anything like that. I promise not to hurt you or anything like that, and I’ll let you know how far I can go, and stuff like that because this illness makes me get tired fast sometimes like this now so I’d better say good bye. He turned and marched off with his head hanging and tears pouring out. Walter felt like such a failure and decrepit nerd. Oh Lord, he said to himself, why am I so ugly? Then he heard a small voice.

Walter?

He looked. There was Shyla coming after him. He tucked his bruised emotions away.

What is it? came a muffled question.

I wanted to hug you good bye. You know, like friends and stuff. Piper barked and wagged his tail as Shyla wrapped her little arms around Walter’s big upper back. His tears moistened her shoulders.

Let’s keep in touch, she whispered.

Okay.

Bye.

Bye.

They parted and went separate ways. Walter walked home wishing he had a ball to throw for Piper who seemed pleased just to be out with him.

The Bike Ride

Days went by and Walter was feeling pretty good. Every now and then there was an exception, and that usually happened on its own. Feelings came and went. He couldn’t credit it to anything, except possibly the weather or exercise. He tried not to let it rule him, but he did get thoughts and feelings when he watched a pretty girl so all hope was not lost. Perhaps the conditions would be temporary. As it was, Walter was a watcher. He watched words, birds, peoples, puppies, cars, bugs, and anything that moved. Movement caught his attention. In movement there were patterns. There were circular patterns, rectangular patterns, figure eights, spirals, vortex holes that he carefully avoided, and baseball diamonds.

He liked to watch them play. He never was much of a hitter, but it got him and Piper out to go watch base ball or soccer practice down at the kids’ schools. The playgrounds were unique and reminded him of his childhood where he used to wrestle and play hoops with his friends. Elementary school seemed so far away. So young and innocent he was then. Now he was versed with the underworld, and carried this great weight of loneliness wherever he went, because he couldn’t fit in.

Not in the natural world, but in the world of mental illness he was a prime candidate. He fit into nearly every category, all except bipolar and obsessive compulsive disorder. The clock is ticking he thought, and soon that didn’t matter any more. Soon he was fried like a tiger in the sunshine spread on it’s back and tied down in that position. The fleas got him, his skin shriveled, and tufts of hair seemed to fall off of him. He roared and roared, but no one heard. One day in a therapy group session he heard mention that there are nineteen ways to skin a cat. He was rattled and this stuck to him. It stuck like glue and he knew not why.

Walter was alone and furious. He road his sister’s bike now and then, but soon that went out of order when he ran into a parked car. Luckily there was no damage, other than the damage to his ego, the part that shredded like a block of cheese every time something went wrong. Every time. That day he walked the bike home in defeat as the aliens had their glory. Pushed down again. Down, down into the patterns on the cement where he focused as he shuffled up the hill to his parent’s home. There he would lie down and read a book, Piper on his stomach, and faith making room for patience as he swallowed acceptance of what had just occurred. How many grown men ride their bike into a parked car? He tried not to cripple himself with condemnation, and remembered Jesus. Suicide he thought. Without Jesus there would be suicide here. His fingers began turning pages as he slowly read Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Meade. Carefully his mind rested as the drama took place of his own destitute situation.

It was marvelous how he came out of this failed attempt to fit into the world. Walter knew that if he were ever to be successful he must fit into his own world, and live on his own plane of life. He must have courage to reach up. Faith to reach out, patience to bear with, gratitude to compliment himself, strength and stamina to keep disciplined, motivation to guide him along and self-initiate, and no fools gold, but love to keep the bond of peace that unity brings when all spirits are together on the same plane of agreement without falsehood and make up.

Walter’s lips stuck to his beer bottle. He had a way of nibbling on the opening when the beer was almost gone, as if to kiss it good-bye. The taste he found soothing, and mildly elevating. He liked to drink beer and listen to loud, very loud music. He listened to music that rocked the house and threatened to crack the windows. This is when Walter grew actively aggravated, and instead