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Ever since I can remember I have seen and heard things that other people couldn't. People always thought I was intelligent because I took so long to answer when they asked me a question. They thought I was a serious thinker, trying to come up with something profound. I was just trying to think, trying to understand what they were saying to me. I had always had trouble reading and concentrating. The only reason I passed high school was because I could remember what I heard.

I thought I was a robot, and something was broken that needed fixing. I had been in and out of the hospital. I had been to several doctors and it was always be the same story: take pills.

I slept most of the time. When not asleep, I was yelling.

Take more pills.

Take different pills. Yet, the hallucinations and delusions persisted. I felt that I wasn't real. The only thing I was sure of was that I was broken and needed to be repaired by someone or something. In my high school years, I just thought that everyone saw and heard ghosts and monsters, so I just carried on like I always had, thinking it was normal.

In 1979 I got married, and soon Renee and I had our first child. In 1983, one month before the birth of our second child, I was hurt in an industrial accident. I lost my right hand and part of my left hand. Then the schizophrenia went into full bloom. I knew things weren't right, but no way, no how was I going to see a "nut" doctor. They would lock me up!

This went on for several years, with me telling people about the things I saw and heard and them telling me to grow up, or telling me it was demons causing my problems. Until one day, a family friend told me to either go to the doctor, or he was going to take me there himself. I went and they did lock me up and doped me up. I came out of the hospital still seeing and hearing things and very angry.

I went from one doctor to another, one medicine to another, trying to get some real help. Many times I was told that this was as good as it would get. I would just have to learn to live with it. Finally, I just gave up.

I can't remember talking to the people at IPS Research. I don't even remember going in for the first check-up. I don't remember packing to go to St Anthony's Hospital, but I do remember waking up about three days after starting the aripiprazole. Waking up and realizing that I was a person again-that I was a human, and my name was David. Aripiprazole gave me back my life. Aripiprazole gave me back the ability to enjoy my family and friends again. I didn't ever think things would change until I woke up that day in July 2000 and found myself a sane human and realized that I was David again. So, needless to say, I am anxiously awaiting the Food and Drug Administration's approval of this drug.

My son also has been diagnosed as schizo-affective, so we have a double reason to want aripiprazole on the market.

I have since had to change to Risperdal, as the drug study I was in wouldn't allow an anti-depressant taken with aripiprazole. The Risperdal works quite well-though not quite as well as the aripiprazole did. But, I am still sane. I am still David. I'm just a "better" David on aripiprazole.

Don't give up. I did, but my wife did not. I found out that there is hope and a much better life with the new generation of anti-psychotics that are now available. They are expensive-but they are well worth the effort it takes to get them. Hopefully, they will become available to the people who need them most. So hang in there. There is a real life possible-even with schizophrenia-not just survival.