My schizophrenic uncle - a very long story

27 years ago my gran adopted a child. His real mum was from Scotland and white, his dad was a native of Mauritius. Michael was six.

I was born shortly afterwards and five years later my mum, gran Michael and myself moved house. Most people assumed Michael and I were brother and sister as I too am mixed race, we're close enough in age to pass as siblings.

Michael began to develop problems, we lived in a pretty backwards area as far as ethnic minorities go and bullying was pretty much the norm. I was verbally abused but I was strong enough to deal with it, Michael was regularly assaulted as well as being victimised by teachers at high school. He was a really good looking guy, all the girls in his school loved him which probably made the bullying worse.

He stopped going to school at fifteen and discovered raves and drugs. At home he locked himself in his room and 'buzzed' aerosols. He rebelled his mother and most of my own mums attention was taken up on him. There were arguments and fights every night, he went out shoplifting, drank himself to a stupor and would go missing at weekends. He was desperately unhappy.

He confessed to me at sixteen that he was gay. I was ten at the time and it was a lot to take in. He became a hairdresser and made loads of new friends. He got a part time job as a dancer at Hanger 13, moved into his own flat and really seemed to be getting it together. The drug taking continued but nobody was overly concerned about that, mum knew it went hand in hand with his dancing and was happy as long as he was.

Things were fine until he moved into a flat with his boyfriend, another Michael 15 years older than him. A few months later the boyfriend persuaded him to go to Benidorm with him where he could get a job dancing and stay for a while. We waved them off quite happily.

About two weeks later we got one of those scary "who's died" 2am phone calls. It was the Embassy calling to say they were putting our Michael on the next flight home. Mum and myself went to the airport to get him. He was in a mess. His face was badly beaten and he was acting weird, the other Michael has assaulted him, destroyed all his clothes, stolen his money and locked him out of the apartment.

Michael came back to us for a while, then got another flat of his own. The dancing stopped but he became a proficient hairstylist. His behaviour began to deteriorate fast. He became very dependant on me telling me that I was the only one he could talk to. He wrote me odd letters describing what I thought were his dreams but which turned out to be what he thought was really happening (if that makes any sense at all)

He went to stay with my auntie, his older sister. She was an alcoholic and they dragged each other down for a few days. He then had a fall out with her and walked home in his bare feet. Fifty miles. By now my gran was convinced she was going to lose him, his behaviour became more and more erratic, he blamed my gran for his problems saying she should never have adopted him, he said he would never fit in and he hated the family for it. He traced his own mother who wanted nothing to do with him. He sent me a suicide note. In it he begged me not to tell anyone because he didn't want to be found. I was about 14 years old and terrified. I told my mum. He was admitted to a psychiatric hospital and diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic.

When he was released from hospital the council moved him into a nice new house. He totally abused it. 'Friends' took advantage, stealing all his electrical appliances and using his home as a doss house. Time and time again my gran dug him out money wise time and again, her and my mum spent a fortune replacing his things only for them to be stolen or destroyed again. Then he destroyed the house again and harmed himself. He was convinced the neighbours were spying on him. He was sectioned again but once again was out within a week.

He started coming to the house and stealing my grans medication. His favourite phrase was 'Poor me'. The whole family felt guilty and unable to help. He phoned round the clock. By this time I was sixteen and living 30 miles away with my boyfriend. Michael turned up one night with an irate taxi driver demanding his £50 fare. He stayed with us that night, spent the night drinking himself silly on the couch. I had to take the next day off work and borrow money in order to send him home. We were all frazzled.

My gran developed cancer. She was dying at home. My mum could no longer bear to have Michael turning up. He lurked around looking unkempt and thin. He was now hooked on herion. Mum made the decision to cut him out of her life. The last time I seen him was at my grans funeral. He commanded everyones attention once again. Poor me, poor me poor me.

Now, the chase. He's been in and out of hospital and is now living near my mum with two supposed carers. They give him a certain amount of money from his budget, the rest is kept from him - to bury him when the time comes I guess.

He's been there for about three years now, I've heard that all sorts go on in his flat, he's still taking herion as are his many visitors. Occasionally he takes a beating and gets admitted to hospital. My mum has received a few bitter letters, he is desperate to see her and myself again, but we know exactly how that would turn out. The last letter was posted by hand which scares me.

My mum lives alone in a big house. She is not rich, far from it. She works twelve hour shifts and the house is often empty. I worry enough about her as it is, but now I worry more. If Michael is sitting spouting out his bitterness to a room full of known theives and drug addicts, how long will it be before one decides to take a chance on my mums house?

I don't know what I want to hear - how can anyone reassure me? I feel better though for typing this out. I wish I could afford better security for my mums house, she has two little dogs who are her life now, they yap like crazy but how easy would it be for a would be burglar to silence them?

If you had the patience to read this you are probably either bored stiff or disappointed, but any advice - please - would go miles towards making me feel better. Thanks.