Hello again costello,
I hope you didn't find my posts from yesterday to be too confusing. I can see some of these things quite clearly because I'm seeing them from the inside-out. I understand it can be bewildering for those who are trying to view them from the outside-in.

There are some archetypal themes present in your son's experience that I can see, notably: Masculine/Feminine; Mother/Father; Shadow/Anima. As noted, there may well be more. No matter, the person who is in the best position to determine if Jungian applications will be helpful is your son. Those posts above offer a snapshot of how someone might use a Jungian model to interpret, assimilate and integrate their own experience.

Meantime, to back up to your earlier post yet again...

costello: I'm not sure what he thinks of his experience. He doesn't believe he's ill, and he hates the word schizophrenia. Much of the time he denies there's a problem at all, although he admits that other people perceive him as being mentally ill and that his current life isn't in a very good condition. He also admits he wouldn't be able to live alone right now.

I've yet to speak to anyone who has experienced fragmentation and didn't become aware at some point that "something" was happening. They might not use the labels to describe their own experience that others might say they should but they are very much aware that something unusual or different is happening to/with them. If your son hates the word schizophrenia, chuck it. Find out what his words are for his experience and use those. This helps to place you in his camp as opposed to being on the other shore.

An article I came across this morning captures this shift well...

In terms of my own child, we often referred to their experience as "a personal crisis". This tiny shift in perspective can also have a profound impact upon eventual outcome. After all, people can recover from a personal crisis even if it's difficult but people who end up with a label of "schizophrenic" are repeatedly told (in this culture) that there is no hope of recovery. Some may take that as a challenge that serves to motivate them to prove others wrong, but many others internalize that message of hopelessness and begin to structure their lives to meet those lowered expectations. People around them can do the same.

This is where mentors can become of critical importance. In my own recovery efforts I've been very fortunate to come across a number of individuals who served as mentors to me. For example, reading the stories of people like Dan Fisher, David Lukoff and Rufus May told me that people did recover. In turn, this gave me hope that if others had, I could too. One important point about mentors is they must be self-chosen. If, for example, I feel inspired by Lance Armstrong's battle with cancer and his prowess as an athlete, that's one thing. However, if someone were to say to me, "Lance Armstrong got over his problems," that can feel like a standard I'm expected to measure up to. Lance Armstrong might no longer exist as a source of inspiration, rather, he might become a measure of my own lack.

It might be helpful to encourage your son to sit down and fill in the blanks: Who makes up his personal support team? Who are the professionals he trusts and feels comfortable with? Who are the family members he identifies as helpful and supportive? Who are his mentors? Who are his peers? What does he call his experience and what does he think he might need to be able to move forward in his own life?

One of the values of this kind of exercise is it moves the individual in crisis into an active as opposed to a passive role. It helps move them toward reclaiming their own life.