Lawson Woodside on his battle with schizophrenia
Tuesday, October 14th, 2008Taken from the Impartial Reporter (Thursday 2nd October 2008).
By Rodney Edwards
e-mail: rodney@rodneyedwards.co.uk
Former Fermanagh man Lawson Woodside has had a difficult life.

His story is sad, heartrending but most of all, terribly poignant. Here is a man that was homeless for 14 years, sectioned in eight different mental hospitals and waited a staggering 29 years before he had his own place to live. And now after a lifetime of illness, his sad and lonely struggle with schizophrenia continues.
“I really want the voices to stop,” pleads Lawson, still haunted most days by voices in his head. “The voices scream my surname; ‘Woodside, Woodside, Woodside’ they say. I want them to go away, I really do.”
Lawson reacts to the voices; “Sometimes I talk to them,” he whispers, before getting louder; “Sometimes I shout at them to make them go away. I shout at the person next door; ‘I’ve never heard you say a word,’” I’d shout, to my 99 year old neighbour. “I’ve never heard you say a word since you came here, although I know you’ve spoken before in your flat but in a low voice.” I’d say things like that, you know, in hope that the voices stop but they don’t.” he said.
He lives alone in a tiny flat in Belfast now. He’s hardly old; just 55 but the effects of his deeply troubled life have taken their toll. He smokes 70 cigarettes a day and spends his days painting, “I hope to hold my own art exhibition one day.”
Lawson believes his schizophrenia will never be cured; “I don’t even think the doctors know what it is, it’s an incurable illness.” he says.
Born in Belfast in 1953, Lawson moved with his parents to Enniskillen in 1957.
Lawson’s father George was a “hard-drinking” civil servant in H.M. Customs and Excise, his mother Agnes (nee: Finlay) was an “old-fashioned” housewife.
“Mum didn’t drink herself and hated my father drinking. They would physically fight. Why was he so pathetic? My mother was hysterical. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was early teens, it spoiled my life. I just wished my parents were normal like everybody else’s parents.” he said.
As a young boy, Lawson struggled with loneliness and isolation from his mother; “She never said ‘I love you’ and never gave me a hug. I was the little nit that got custard to eat; she gave me the burnt offerings.”
Lawson attended the Model Primary School and Portora Royal School in Enniskillen and the University of York. “Times at the Model were tough. I didn’t just want to focus on the school work. I think at that age I wanted some sort of social life, I was lonely and wanted a friend.”
Witnessing trouble at home and rejection from groups at both schools had a big impact on Lawson’s life. “It made me become verbally violent - but I did physically hit my mother and father as well, I thought I could take them on.”
But Lawson has regretted hitting his parents ever since. “I felt I was full of mental illness and my parents were full of mental illness. I thought there was mental illness everywhere. When dad died, I helped bury him at his funeral. The twisted knotted rope slid through my fingers as the box was lowered into the earthy pit. Now there was just me and my mother. I regretted hitting her.”
Lawson entered St Luke’s mental hospital in Armagh in 1977 after an interrogation with police; “I was arrested earlier in the night for knocking on a vicar’s door but wasn’t charged. The police were called because some kids were throwing stones at his window. I was innocent. A Sergeant told a policeman to shoot me if I moved, the next thing I know, the police psychiatrist declared I was a schizophrenic, I was injected and woke up in a mental hospital.”
Lawson was to stay in a further seven mental hospitals for the next 14 years, including; The Downshire in Downpatrick, the Holywell hospital in Carrickfergus, the T&F in Omagh (twice), Springfield Hospital in Tooting, a hospital in Bradford and one in Canterbury.
“I was admitted to the hospital in Tooting because I was homeless and had a criminal record. I stole £3.97 worth of food from Liptons Supermarket when the DHSS wouldn’t give me any supplementary benefit because I hadn’t a proper address. I used to steal pork pies or cereal because I didn’t have any money.” he admits.
In one of the hospitals, an old man would urinate in Lawson’s wardrobe; “He fiddled around in the middle of the night, I awoke to find him urinating all over my clothes. In another hospital, a man came to visit his wife and she kept hitting his head off the wall. I heard the screams; there was blood all over the wall and bed. I was appalled by the people around me and company I had to keep. And I was scared of getting electric compulsive therapy where you would be given electric shocks through the brain.”
After further medical help, a much healthier Lawson was placed in Clearwater House, a hostel in Belfast in 1996 until 2003. He continued with hospital emissions for three months at a time before finally getting his own flat in 2004. He was then formally diagnosed with chronic schizophrenia. “I think I am better than I will ever be now, I don’t think there’s anything such as a recovery. I just hope for the best and hope that’ll I’ll be happy in my life.”
Lawson has found writing about his life therapeutic. His first book, called ‘Autobiography of an ordinary public schoolboy’ published by Shanway Press, is to be released later this year.





