A Poor Prognosis

By Rose Áthas

I was told that I was a ‘poor prognosis’: a hopeless case. I had incurable catatonic schizophrenia as well as brain damage and dissociative identity disorder. But I had faith in Jesus borne out of a desire to know the nature of God. After getting involved in drugs and the hippie counterculture, I encountered Jesus. When I became ill, I was certain that he would heal me, which he did after many years of suffering psychosis and a splintered mind, and after being trapped in a mental hospital and tortured by the staff. The key to my final healing was having love for others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984505460

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Copyright © 2020 by Rose Áthas.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission. NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® and NIV® are registered trademarks of Biblica, Inc. Use of either trademark for the offering of goods or services requires the prior written consent of Biblica US, Inc.

Scriptures taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Rev. date: 08/13/2020

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Contents

Chapter 1 An Owl in the Ruins

Chapter 2 O Lucifer, Son of the Morning

Chapter 3 The Dayspring from on High

Chapter 4 Bulls of Bashan

Chapter 5 Hope Deferred Makes the Heart Grow Sick

Chapter 6 A Bed in Hell

Chapter 7 And He Sent His Word

Chapter 8 Love One Another

Epilogue

Chapter One

An Owl in the Ruins

I see very little light; my life is mainly lived at night

The sun’s rays cause me great distress; too much morning and I’m a mess

Butterflies and rare pink flowers, are replaced by moths and midnight showers

When I walk, I always stumble; instead of rock and rolling I just tumble

Zombie. Zombie. The shouts seemed to hit against my brain. I couldn’t get away. There was nowhere to go. These boys hunted me down at school like I was a wild animal. They were merciless, relentless. The bullying had gone on for years – in the morning, at lunchtime, in the afternoon, after school, on the way home. I fled into the recesses of my mind to escape.

I had been a champion high jumper and long-distance runner in primary school. But my body seemed to slow down with all the stress of being bullied and I was less and less able to perform. I was isolated. When I came home from school, I said nothing and hid in my room. I didn’t know what to say. I had no good news and figured relating bad news was antisocial. I hid in my school books; but whereas once it had been easy to get good marks, I had to try harder and harder to maintain the same standard. My handwriting deteriorated so that it was almost illegible. I rapidly lost the ability to speak coherently and used to try to work out how other people knew what to say to each other. I didn’t have a clue. They didn’t appear to think too much about it, but I deliberated for minutes sometimes hours before opening my mouth. I remember hitting my head against a brick wall at school repeatedly, trying to alleviate the mental pain.

In the last two years of school, I had a friend Laranya, who was loyal, but most of the students wouldn’t even say hello. None of the staff or students did anything to stand up