My Brother The Devil Full Movie

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I resent having to care for my mentally ill brother. She might despise herself for saying it, but one woman admits she bitterly resents having to care for her mentally- ill brother - and says she has lived with the dark secret her whole adult life. All my adult life I have lived with a dark secret. My friends know I have a younger sister: we are very close, look ridiculously alike, and spend lots of time together. But I rarely tell anyone of our older brother. Or that he has schizophrenia.

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I’m not ashamed or embarrassed, but it’s a complex issue and, although this sounds harsh, sometimes life is just easier if I pretend he isn’t there. Last summer, though, I got the phone call I’d long been dreading. Ross, now 5. 4, was ‘acting crazy’ so his friends had taken him to hospital: but he’d walked out, and now he was missing.

My knee- jerk reaction was, shamefully: what do you expect me to do about it? We barely know each other any more. Why is this suddenly my problem? Louise Atkinson, pictured above, says all of her adult life she has lived with a dark secret.

But the uncomfortable truth about having a disabled or troubled sibling is that when your parents are no longer around, ultimately, the buck stops with you. Whereas I’d do anything for my three teenage children, the sibling bond is different. I felt a strong moral obligation to help, but I struggle to shake off the bitterness linked to the schizophrenia trashing my teenage years.

It is so sad, because I have such happy early childhood memories. He’s just 1. 5 months older than me, and we formed a united front of games and giggles after Helen arrived when I was two. Dad was a technical editor for a large oil firm and Mum made wedding cakes. We were cherished and neighbours fondly referred to us as ‘the perfect family’. Ross was a sweet and gentle boy, startlingly artistic and musical.

He could sketch portraits with photographic accuracy and sailed through his piano and clarinet exams. The madness struck when he was 1. Watch The Choirboys Online. Suddenly Ross was charging up and down stairs all night and festering in a sheetless bed (his choice) all day.

He’d scribble ‘meaningful’ symbols over his bedroom walls. Every family meal became an angry debate as Ross ranted that he was the second Messiah. Her friends knew she had a younger sister but she rarely told anybody about her older brother Ross who has schizophrenia (above left with Louise as children)He was diagnosed with depression, stress, then ultimately paranoid schizophrenia, a psychotic illness causing hallucinations, delusions and muddled thoughts. It affects about one in 1. It is treatable, but there is no cure. Devastated, my parents struggled to maintain some semblance of normality. But, effectively, my childhood ended when, aged 1.

I found my amazingly strong mother sobbing helplessly at the kitchen sink. She was beaten. Over the next few years, Ross spent periods in hospital. When home, we tip- toed around him. Mum encouraged him to continue his studies or get a job, but it was futile. It was impossible to maintain a relationship with a brother who couldn’t watch TV without seeing hidden messages. WHO KNEW? Around 2. NHS  I was 2. 1 and in my final year of university when Mum got a rare form of bladder cancer.

She was only 5. 2 when she died. We were all completely heartbroken. Numb, I went back to finish my degree, then took off to India for a year. Helen moved away to university herself. Dad was left to cope with Ross alone.

He was a proud man who didn’t believe in asking for help, but he struggled. On more than one occasion, Dad returned home to find the front door wide open, the TV blaring and Ross gone. Eventually the police would call, from hundreds of miles away, to say they had picked him up. Usually barefoot and dishevelled. He was never violent or threatening — the whole thing was as terrifying for him as it was for us. But with schizophrenia you never know what’s going to happen next. It was a relief when Ross became involved with a Hare Krishna community and, 1.

Berlin. The simple, monastic life turned out to be perfect for him. He was supported, took his medication and, on the rare occasions I was able to track him down by phone he seemed happy. Meanwhile, Helen and I both married, settled in the Cotswolds, had three children each and made new friends. People rarely asked if there was another sibling.

Last summer Louise (left) got the phone call she'd long been dreading. Ross, now 5. 4 (pictured as a child), was ‘acting crazy’ so his friends had taken him to hospital: but he’d walked out, and now he was missing. Louise says 'I felt a strong moral obligation to help, but I struggle to shake off the bitterness linked to the schizophrenia trashing my teenage years'But a cloud hung over us always. Our cousin Peter was also diagnosed with schizophrenia about ten years after Ross.

This double strike in one family means there’s a high chance of an inherited link; it’s so hard not to dwell on the possibility of this evil genetic lottery falling on one of our feisty, funny children. Then Dad died of bowel cancer in 2. Helen and I knew the noose was tightening for us. Ross flew back for Dad’s funeral and stayed with us for a few days in turn. We tidied him up, kitted him out in new clothes and packed him off back to the airport with a huge sigh of relief. But living in denial made the shock of responsibility, when it did come, all the more sickening.

With Ross missing and vulnerable in Germany last summer, I hit the phones. Despite my best journalistic endeavour, I was bamboozled by red tape and dead ends.

It turned out Ross had been living illegally with no passport (too paranoid to fill in the renewal forms we’d sent years before) or health insurance. After three weeks of sleepless nights, we discovered Ross was alive when a hospital in Germany called to ask who would be paying the €1. He was clearly ill and very confused. His German friends said they could no longer manage him, and without documents or insurance, the British Embassy in Berlin wanted him shipped back to the UK. So I lay awake night after night, my heart racing, trying to work out what to do. For weeks I barely saw or interacted with my kids. My husband took on the role of counsellor and I found myself measuring my friends by those who ‘got it’ and those who didn’t (unfair considering many of them didn’t know I had a brother in the first place).

Ross (above) was a sweet and gentle boy, startlingly artistic and musical.