Meals with schizophrenia are not the same as meals without. My son’s hands shook sometimes due to the medication he was taking, so his clothes got stained. On birthdays we went to restaurants where people turned around to look at us. Either they knew us and wanted a closer look, or, our son’s comments caused them to whisper about us. Waiters or waitresses smirked on occasion which upset our son and the occasion that was supposed to be a celebratory one, was often in ruins before the end of the evening.
At home, we only managed to eat together in the evening as there was no real breakfast for my son. He rose at noon, partly due to the effects of his medication, partly because he went to bed very late, and partly because he had nothing special to do, so sleeping helped him pass the time.
On a bad day, mealtimes were not pleasant but on a good day, we discussed the news or chatted a bit. But, if someone asked my son; “How are you today?” he’d launch into a long harangue blaming us, his doctors and the army for all his woes. He was convinced that we had ‘planted’ microphones in the house to convey his whereabouts to the military. In fact, I seldom enjoyed a meal.