January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her by Michael Schofield

been dealing with this for months. One moment she is sweet and the next she is violent and then back to sweet again like nothing happened. So we’ve been trying to figure out what is going on.”
    “That doesn’t explain how she knows about schizophrenia.”
    I know where he is going with this. Without a clear answer from doctors, I spend much of my nights on WebMD.com. A year ago I was resistant to Asperger’s or autism, but now I look over the symptoms again, trying to find Janni in there. But she isn’t. The symptoms don’t match. I keep coming back to the page on schizophrenia: “ almost complete lack of interest in social relationships, restricted range of emotions or no emotion at all (flat affect) .” I think back to Janni saying she “hates” Violet with no passion. “ Bizarre behavior, making the person seem ‘odd’ or ‘eccentric’ because of unusual mannerisms.” I think of Janni becoming enraged when others dismiss her rats as imaginary. But it is the violence I desperately need to explain. “ In active stages of schizophrenia, a person may react with uncontrolled anger or violence to a perceived threat, regardless of how illogical that threat might seem.”
    So yes, she’s heard us talking about it. What the hell are we supposed to do? This consumes our lives. But if I tell Wingfield this, hewill think we are “leading” Janni. We’ve never “led” Janni anywhere in her life. We’ve just been trying to keep up.
    “It’s in our families,” I answer instead, which is true.
    Wingfield is silent for a moment. Then, “Well, we’ll keep observing her.”
    This is not what I want. I want a plan.
    “We just need to control the violence. That’s all we need. She’s been in for a week and there haven’t been any medication changes.”
    “Because we aren’t sure what she might need. She clearly has some issues with controlling her anger. I don’t deny that.”
    “What about Lexapro?”
    “What about it?”
    “I …” I hesitate, wondering how to proceed. “I used to have problems controlling my anger. I would blow up over little insignificant stuff, similar to how she screams and hits when her brother starts crying. I could feel it coming, but I could never stop it.”
    “Did she ever see any of this?” Wingfield asks.
    “Sometimes. Very rarely, but I finally went to a psychiatrist who put me on Lexapro. It does take the edge off for me. I’ve talked to Dr. Howe about trying it, but she refuses because of the increased risk of suicide.”
    Wingfield is silent for a moment. “She’s right. Antidepressants can increase the risk of suicidal ideation,” he finally says.
    I’ve been diagnosed as having chronic depression, but the manifestation of my depression was anger. Maybe it is the same for Janni. Maybe my miracle drug is her miracle drug, too. I’m not really worried about suicide. She’s only five, after all.
    “But,” he continues, “if it works for you, then maybe it will work for her. Let’s try it and see if it helps her anger issues.”
    I feel an immense sense of relief. This may just be the answer. If Janni is just like me and if Lexapro saved me, then it can save her as well.
•  •  •
    THE NEXT DAY, the sixth day since Janni went in, we arrive but I don’t see Janni waiting for us in the hallway like she usually is, waiting for the food we bring since she hardly eats anything from Alhambra’s cafeteria.
    “Janni?” I call out.
    One of the female “technicians,” as I have learned they are called, a woman covered in tattoos, approaches us. She looks like she just got out of prison, but she is nice. “She’s sleeping in the quiet room.” She points to our left.
    I know what the “quiet room” is. It’s not a patient room. In the old days, they used to call it the “rubber room.”
    I turn and see Janni through the open door of the room, lying on the bare mattress, her back to us.
    “She’s sleeping?” Susan asks, surprised. Janni