Most of the time, the voices in Keris Myrick’s head don’t bother her. They stay in the background or say nice things. But sometimes they get loud and mean — like when a deadly pandemic descends on the world and shuts down society as we know it.
“It’s when things go really, really fast and they seem overwhelmingly disastrous. That’s when it happens,” says Myrick, who was diagnosed with schizophrenia 25 years ago. “I literally had a meltdown right here in my house. Just lost it.”
Like a lot of people, Myrick, who lives in Los Angeles, kept a large stash of toilet paper under her bathroom sink in the early days of the lockdown. But when one of the pipes started to leak and her precious TP got soaked, the mean voices emerged and attacked.
“Calling me stupid, and what kind of idiot puts their toilet paper under the sink?” Myrick remembers.
She was able to calm herself down and quiet the voices, and as the pandemic wore on, she kept them at bay by keeping busy: working for a foundation, hosting a podcast, and writing a children’s book. She was able to manage, but worried about others like her — about 3.2 million Americans have schizophrenia, often characterized by hallucinations, delusions and disorganized thinking that can interfere with a person’s ability to work or care for themselves.
“People with schizophrenia were not actually deemed as ‘the priority vulnerable population’ to be served or to be addressed in the same way as people who had other chronic health conditions and who were over a certain age,” she says. “So we kind of got left out.”

