Whisper

By Paulina Banardi

This book is about a young woman called Isabella who is born with Schizophrenic Disorder, a mental illness that makes it hard for her to do things. Despite her conditions, she tries to live a normal life with a husband, a child, and a family. However, she fails over and over and ends up in the hospital time and time again. Later on, Isabella fin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paulina Banardi
• Release date: Jul 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958690277

Book preview

cover.jpg

W H I S P E R

PAULINA BANARDI

Whisper

Copyright © 2022 by Paulina Banardi

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN

978-1-958690-26-0 (Paperback)

978-1-958690-27-7 (eBook)

978-1-958690-25-3 (Hardcover)

This story is for the families and people who suffer from this illness. It has no certain face, no certain race. It hits every walk of life. Please, if you know anyone with this illness, please seek early help for them. God Bless you all.

-Paulina Banardi

Chapter 1

Looking out the window, I see the snow falling softly on the ground. What a beautiful sight to see. The world seems at peace today. I wish peace would come to me like this, but peace isn’t free for me. Peace comes with a price for me: lots of pills, shots, and of course lots of good old therapy. Just what the good old doctor ordered; this all combined keeps the demons at bay. Then when I decide that I have had enough and go off my medicine, they start to rear their ugly heads again.

I look down at my shaking hands; God, they are bruised, and my veins look as if they could pop right out of my skin. The texture of my hair has changed, and I feel tired all the time. What has happened to me I am paying for dearly. If someone had listened to me when all this began, I wouldn’t be in this damn place. I am so angry at the world: what a cruel place we live. In this world we are expected to be perfect, and God knows, if you are among the unfortunate, you’re an outcast. Today I get to tell my story. Someone from the newspaper is coming to talk with me. For the first time in fifteen years, someone will listen to what I have to say.

I hear the doorbell buzzing, so I better comb my hair. That’s right; I don’t have a comb. I will run my fingers through my hair; Lord knows, I can’t be trusted with a comb. Well it’s showtime, and I guess I look OK for warmed-over death. A young man is walking this way. He sighs as if he is out of breath. Are you all right? I ask.

Yes, he replies still breathing heavy. Excuse me!

I laugh and reply, I have all the men around here breathing heavy!

He just smiles and says, I am Joe, from the newspaper.

I respond quickly, I gathered that.

You must be Isabella? he asks.

That’s me! I reply. Joe says he thinks I have a beautiful name. I say quickly, Do not let the name fool you; it’s the real person behind that name you need to know before you talk about beauty.

He looks at me as if I had two heads. I got you going, didn’t I? I laugh.

Joe smiles and says, Yes, you sure did!

I ask him to sit down and I say, Come on, Joe, let’s get this over with.

Joe begins to speak. First I would like to thank you, Isabella, for talking with me today. I know this must be hard on you.

I reply fast, Yes, it is, but I really want the world to know the truth about me. I am labeled as this awful person with no heart, and that just isn’t true. The only thing that worries me about my story is I wonder if the world is ready to hear the truth as it really is, I say cautiously.

Well, Isabella, Joe says, Let’s rock their world and get the real story out there about you. Who cares if they are ready? Let’s tell them! Joe says very eagerly.

OK, I agree, then let us begin our journey. I begin telling Joe my story, through my eyes.

I grew up in South Georgia. I was a real Southern peach; as of matter of fact, all my friends called me that. It was fun back then. My father was a real Southern lawyer, and my mother, bless her heart, was such a social bug. She was so proper, and the smallest thing would upset her. If you didn’t keep good grades, you were sent to see your father. MY father expected you to be as smart as he was, period; no exceptions. This was the way it was. My mother, she always had to keep up with the neighbors. Sky, my brother, and I grew up in an extremely strict home. Mom and Dad loved us, but we were expected to be perfect in every way. My father was a little less hard on us than Mother. My poor mother had a deep, dark secret, and she didn’t want Sky and me to ever know.

My mother had a twin sister named Jessie, and we met her once when we were about ten years old, I guess. I never saw or heard from her again. My brother and I really liked her and often asked about where our aunt was. Mother always replied that she moved out of the country and wouldn’t be back. She insisted we stop bothering her about Aunt Jessie. So, as children often do, we forgot. Out of sight, out of mind. I never really thought anymore about her until years later. That is a whole other story! Back on me, I was thirteen when this thing happened to me. I was in class one day, and I thought I heard someone say something to me. I looked around at the class, and everyone was looking at the board. I looked at Patty, a friend from school, and asked if she said something to me. She said no, with a puzzled look on her face. I said OK and turned back around. When I got home, Sky was outside working on his bike. I sat down beside him and asked what he was doing. He said, What does it look like, Sis? What is bugging you anyway? When are you ever interested in what I am doing? Sky asked me. I asked him if he had ever thought someone was talking to him, and then they aren’t. He answered, No, Isabella, I haven’t. He told me to stop watching horror movies, that they were getting to me. OK, I got mad and popped him on the head. He laughed. I ran straight upstairs and flopped on my bed and began to cry; maybe I am watching too much TV, I thought.

After that I was fine for about two years.

Then one day Sky and I were at the lake swimming. I wanted to go out to the deep part, and he wanted to stay closer in. I yelled out that he was a chicken, and I swam out to the deepest part. Isabella! he yelled. Come back in, that is too far! I just laughed at him and was having a blast. Then suddenly it hit me; I felt the strength being pulled out of me. I felt like I was going to drown for the first time in my life.

Then a deep voice said, Die, you bitch. You are a loser. Then it started to laugh so loud it scared the hell out of me.

I screamed, Sky, help me!

He yelled back making fun, HELLP! Sky laughed. Stop clowning around, Isabella! You are just trying to get me out there, and I am nowhere near the swimmer you are.

I gasped for my breath. I yelled out, I am not kidding, Sky, I am drowning! Please help me! I kept screaming out.

Sky looked and me and said, I am coming, hold on! Finally he got to me and pulled me out of the water. Shaking all over and still in a state of shock, I could hear him say ask, You OK, Sis?

Finally I could breathe again and I responded. Yes, I am OK now. Thank you, Sky, I said. I put my arms around his neck and began to cry.

It’s OK, Sis, he said. You’ll be fine; let’s get you home and into some dry clothes, he said, comforting me.

On the way home he asked me what went wrong, because I was such a good swimmer. I don’t know, I tried to explain. I guess I got cramps. I was thinking to myself, should I dare tell him what really happen? He wouldn’t believe me anyway. What would be the use?

My mother talked with me after she heard what had happened. Did you get sick in the water? What went wrong, dear? Mother asked. So I decided I would tell her; after all, she was my mother.

Mom, it began when I was in the water. I heard a voice, a scary voice that told me to die and then it started to laugh, I told her.

That is the most stupid thing I have ever heard. Really, Isabella, you can really come up with some stories! Mom laughed.

Mother! I said loudly. This is no joke; this is really what happened. To me, not you. I explained more. I am old enough to know right from wrong and what is real and what is not, I yelled. Good old mother; this wasn’t what she wanted to hear, and so to her it didn’t happen, end of conversation.

The next few days she acted like she hated me. Mother, I asked her, are you still mad at me?

She said, Yes, I am. What if you tell someone, this and they think our whole family is crazy? Mom yelled.

I tried to explain more. What can I do? Take it back? Mom yelled at me.

She screamed at me, shaking me hard, OK, it didn’t happen, I said.

Good, Mother said. Let’s not speak of this matter again, not to anyone. I mean it, Isabella! Do I have your word? she asked.

Yes, Mother you do, I said.

I was so emotionally disturbed over this. My own mother doesn’t believe me, I thought; what am I going to do? Maybe I am crazy, I thought. I was sitting on the bed that night looking out the window and I saw the silhouette of myself. I wrote down this poem; I still remember it as if it were yesterday.

Looking at the silhouette of me; is this outline really I, or do I know what is real and unreal. Do I dare even try to say? Is this person I am me? Or does my mind belong to someone else you see. The voice, which speaks to me at times is it, my voice or someone else who is really unkind.

I just cried and prayed for God to take this thing away. Please, I really can’t live this way, I prayed.

Again, a few years passed, but I found the voice within. I knew I had no one to talk to about it. One day in school I was in the bathroom, and the lights got real dim. The voice came again, laughing at me. You stupid bitch, it said.

Go away! I screamed. I had a paper clip on my book, so I took it and the louder the voice got, the deeper I stuck that clip in my arm. Go away! I screamed, and it laughed louder this time.

Jill came running to me. Isabella, what are you doing? Stop it now! she cried out. She took the clip away from me. She sat in the floor and cried. Isabella, you are my best friend, but why are you doing this terrible thing to yourself? Jill asked. She hugged me, and I cried and told her about the voice and what my mother had said.

Isabella! Jill said. I don’t care what your mother says, you need to tell someone about this.

Do you think I am going crazy? I asked her.

No, sweetie I don’t, she replied. I don’t know what it is, but we need to find out, so we can make it go away, Jill explained.

For the first time, I felt relieved that someone believed what I was telling them. I covered up my arm until the cut from the paper clip went away. I acted at home how my mother wanted me to act. I smiled when I felt like crying. Doing anything to make Mom happy. I was so disgusted that I had to do whatever she wanted me to do. I had to have a lot of self-control in order to carry on; times were very hard for me. I began to think everyone was watching me. One night at the dinner table, I thought Sky was watching me eat. What! I yelled at him. What are you watching me eat for?

Sky looked puzzled. Gee Isabella, he said, what is wrong with you? I don’t care to watch you eat.

Mother looked at me if she could eat me alive. Isabella! she screamed. We will have no more.

My father looked at both of us and asked, Is there something going on between you two that I don’t know about?

I answered quickly. No dad! I replied. Not a thing. Mom is just being Mom. Then Sky changed the subject like he always did when Mom and I were into our disagreements.

Every year as I got older, I felt worse: not sleeping well, sometimes eating a lot, and other times being unable to eat. I was in the ninth grade and I went out for cheerleading, and to my surprise, I made it. I was so happy and so was my mother, for she thought this was good for her social club to tell everyone that her daughter was a cheerleader. I was just happy to do something with my friends and get out of the house. The voice seemed to go away for a while. I was actually happy for a change and was having a good time. I met a real cute guy named Matt, and he was just the thing I needed in my life. One night he took me out to eat. We were having a really good time; Jill and her boyfriend came with us. I suddenly started to laugh out hysterically, and Jill called me down. Isabella! she said. What are you laughing about? I just stopped real fast and changed the subject.

I would be walking down the street or in class, and I would feel so strange, like people were watching me. The voice would whisper to me, Isabella, I know you hear me. I would run, trying to outrun this, but it had me. Face it, I thought, I am possessed by a demon. I need to talk to a priest, I thought, so I went to confession to talk to Father Anthony.

What is it my child; what do you confess today?

I talked with him about the voice. Father, I asked, am I an evil child?

Father Anthony asked, Do you believe that you are evil, my child?

I don’t think so, I replied.

God will remove this demon if you pray, child. Put the rosary under your pillow at night, child.

I asked him, Father, pray for me that I may be without this demon that is in me.

He replied, I will, my child. We prayed the rosary prayer together.

I finished high school living with this demon; some days were better than others. I had really long, blonde hair, and Matt loved it that way. We were sitting on the porch one day talking of college or what job we wanted and our hopes and dreams. Then some kids came walking down the street; their mother came and yelled for them to come back. She looked at me, and I got paranoid, and I thought she said my hair looked awful. I blacked out, and the next thing I knew, I was in the bathroom with a pair of scissors and had cut pieces of my hair off. Matt came in and said to me, Isabella, what have you done to your hair? I just looked in the mirror and couldn’t believe what I had done. I was inflicting harm on myself without even being aware of it. I guess when I blacked out, things happened without me knowing what was going on. My world just kept getting crazier by the minute.

Of course when Mother came home she screamed at me and said, What have you done to your beautiful hair?

Mother, I don’t remember! I replied.

Of course you remember; you are not stupid! she said. We started to argue and she threw a glass of water in my face. Maybe this will wake you up and help you remember; you and your sleepwalking! Mother yelled. I got so mad. I was soaking wet, and now I really felt like a fool. My mother kept screaming at me. I just can’t believe you, Isabella, you are trying to drive me crazy, Mother yelled again.

No, mother, I replied, crazy is what I am.

Weeks went by, and mother and I didn’t speak. Then one day my father was sitting in the den reading. I walked over to him and asked, Dad, why does Mother hate me so?

He grabbed me by the hand and said, Sit down, Isabella; your mother doesn’t hate you. She just has high hopes for you. She loves you dearly; you have to admit, Isabella, you have been doing some strange things lately, he explained.

Dad, I know, and I really don’t understand what is going on with me, I told him.

Have you told your mother? Dad asked.

Yes! I have, and she said for me to never speak of it again. I tried to explain. Dad said he would talk with her. Thank you, Dad! I said. I went out with my friends that night.

My mother got me an appointment with the family doctor; she had instructed him to find out what was wrong with me. What exactly do you think you are suffering from? the doctor asked me.

I looked at him and said, How should I know? You are the doctor, not me.

The doctor asked, Well then, just how do you feel? Is it a sick feeling?

I said, No, I am picture perfect. Didn’t mother tell you?

The doctor asked again, Are you physically all right?

Yes, I am! I replied. I have blackouts and do things when I have blacked out, I explained.

You don’t remember what you are doing? he asked.

No, I sure don’t, I replied.

What else happens to you? The doctor looked puzzled.

I announced, Well the good news is I feel OK, but the bad news is I hear voices.

Voices, you say? he asked.

Yes, voices. I said.

What kind of voices? he asked me. By this time I was really getting tired of the bullshit. Listen, dear, the doctor said. I just want to find out what to treat you for. Have you ever had a condition of this type before? I said no. He told me to get dressed. I am going to have a little talk with your mother, he said.

My mother could give a rat’s ass about what is really wrong with me, I yelled out at the doctor. He looked at me and shook his head and walked away.

I got dressed and went back into the waiting room. The doctor and my mother were in his office talking. My mother came out and said, Let’s go dear.

I asked, Well what did the fine doctor find wrong with me? Mother said he didn’t know at this point. What point is that?

Mother said, Isabella, I told you I don’t feel like talking about this right now. That’s it: not what she wanted to hear, so she shuts it out. I could be dying and she would say, Oh, the world is bright, and Isabella isn’t dying. On the drive home, she never spoke another word. I just sat there, and I knew I was alone on this trip. Whatever this thing I had was, my mother would never face it and never be able to help me. Time went by, and mother never wanted to take me back to the doctor; whatever he had told her scared her enough that she didn’t want any more answers. I think she got the answer of what was wrong with me that day and never wanted to face it or have to deal with it every again. It seemed that my life was getting worse. I really wasn’t getting any better. I was afraid to talk to people for fear that everyone would say I was crazy. The days were hard for me, but I was determined to make it in this world somehow. I was working in the bank and trying to stay busy. My mother and I had really lost any feeling we had for each other; she didn’t tell me the truth, and I didn’t trust her. I really hated that we felt this way about each other. Dad and Sky were always telling me how much Mother loved me, but that she was just so stubborn and wouldn’t admit how very much she loved me. Isabella, Dad would say, your mother came from a very poor family, and when she and I married, she wanted to never admit she was poor or anything was wrong with our family.

Dad, you do know there is something really wrong with me?

Dad answered, Isabella, there are times when there is something wrong with anyone.

So you see no one took me seriously; they all thought I was putting on an act. Sky would always say, Sis, you really should have been an actress. You really act out some good stuff. Attention seeker, he would call me. I would get so mad at him; he would only make matters worse.

Jill called me one day and told me about this clinic she had heard about through someone at work. She said I should go in and talk to someone about my problems and that they aren’t allowed to tell anyone without your permission. She thought maybe I might benefit from the clinic in some way, just at least to have someone to listen to your problems, she said. I asked her where it was at and said I would think about, Please go! Jill pleaded with me.

I told you I would think about it, I told Jill. The next day I got the nerve to drive by it. It was a small place. I decided I would go in and look around. People were waiting all in the room. The lady at the desk asked if she could help me. I said, "I would like some