mental illness

Green light, red light 5

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Another crisis was averted when Arabella rescinded the release order she signed the day after her voluntary commitment. Paul and I decided it was time for us to visit Arabella.

We arrived during adult visiting hours in the evening. Once again we had to lock up all of our belongings including our cell phones and sat in the waiting room with a sad lot of people. Like in an elevator, no one looked long at each other. We all got swept by the metal detector screening us for weapons. Then with a buzz the outside door unlocked and we silently walked down the long hallway into the cafeteria where we waited for our loved ones to arrive.

It seemed like we waited a long time for Arabella to arrive. Everyone else arrived before her. We watched while the others embraced with a smile and sat down as if in a regular restaurant to have normal conversations. Arabella arrived in disarray clutching a notebook with the word password written on it. She said password was the password and if we could read it, we could look inside. She cautioned us that the hospital was bugged. First we had to bug the system to debug the system. It was strange because they were having issues with their phone system which Arabella slid comfortably into a delusion that everything was bugged so we had to go to a different algorithm.

Arabella said she was a genetic freak. She was born of one woman and two men. She had an extra chromosome. She said she was colorblind, men can only see primary colors and women can only see secondary colors. She said she liked apple juice because she ate from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. When she ate she knew all the answers to all the problems of the world.

She said she needed Bryan to come to the hospital because he was her soulmate, her other half. Her bloodwork wouldn’t be complete without him coming in the have his blood drawn. They were storm chasers and she could leave now because it wasn’t storming. She spoke of science, DNA, physics, time travel, and biology. The things she was saying had an iota of truth but was jumbled and didn’t make a lot of sense. She was unable to hold a conversation with us.

But the most troubling thing was that she was slurring her words off and on. We noticed that when we were talking on the phone several times but thought maybe it was from being sedated. She held her mouth funny at random times and words almost seemed to whistle through her teeth. She said she couldn’t talk because no one ever showed her how to talk right. She also said no one ever showed her how to brush her teeth and she had gingivitis.

We were very concerned about her new symptoms. Then she started singing. They said sometimes she would sing loudly in her room. When visiting time was over, the patients had to line up on one side and the visitors on the other. Arabella went her own way and started to take one of the signs off the wall. We told her she couldn’t take the signs off the wall.

We left in shock. Our daughter was still gone. Would she ever be the same again?

Green light, red light 4

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The aftermath after our daughter was committed was like that of a bomb going off. We were left with shattered lives and broken pieces of rubble. Shards impossible to put back together even as it was a few weeks before everything crumbled.

I can’t find the way back.

We both walked around like zombies afterwards. It’s even hard to focus enough to tell this story adequately. But that’s all a part of being in crisis mode. In utter despair our tears fell to the ground. Arabella was doing so well for the first six months after jail living at home. She found a job. We gave her a stable environment and that gave us a false sense of hope and control. The stress of her tonsillectomy was enough to send her into a relapse worse than we ever saw her in before. She was seeing things and talking to people who weren’t there.

I can’t find the road she is on.

The prognosis bleak, the illness severe. But it’s not the kind of illness where anyone brought her flowers and sent her cards to get well soon. There will be no speedy recovery. Schizophrenia, people shudder in fear and stay away as if it’s contagious. It’s not the mental illness offering up cutesy meme’s of awareness and support. It’s scary and shameful without go fund me and caring bridge pages.

I can’t find anyone who really cares.

I don’t want to talk about it over and over again to people who don’t understand. It’s exhausting in every possible way. I feel tired when I wake up. Bipolar mania, she needs support day and night. She needs support when I need to sleep. No, you can’t buy a snake. You talk too long and too loud. I need a break just to get the things done I need to get done.

I don’t have the strength to do this anymore.

Borderline personality disorder, sometimes you love me and other times you hate me. Which will it be today? It’s too much trapped inside of one body. Finally the doctors were seeing in the hospital what we were seeing at home. Right away, she signed an AMA (against medical advice) to come back home. They had 24 hours to evaluate her before she was going to come back home. Could we even take her back home? She had nowhere else to go.

I don’t know how to help her.

Sunday morning I tried to hide my swollen eyes as I went to church. I felt bitterness enter my heart. I didn’t want to see the happy healthy families. I don’t want to hear about kids going into the ministry. My daughter thinks she is God, does that count? It’s painful to see the normalcy all around me, like being impoverished while everyone is feasting on their riches. I don’t feel the joy or God’s blessings. I think I’ve been cursed since the day I was born. I don’t want to see suffering anymore. Sometimes I even get bored with my feelings of anger towards a God who is supposed to be loving.

Yet I can’t find the way.

What were we going to do? Where are the answers? What if she comes home too early in an agitated psychotic state? Do I call the police? Do I send her back to jail? Do I have her face her felonies or go to prison for an illness she didn’t choose and doesn’t have control over? How was I going to make hard decisions when I couldn’t even think? Decisions that could affect the rest of her life.

Yet I can’t find the way.

We had to find a way to get her to stay as if our very lives depended on it.

Where is the way?

Green light, red light 2

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After not being able to reach anyone to talk to besides the receptionist at the psychiatrist’s office upon opening in the morning, Paul and I called the crisis center. The lady at the crisis center asked us to try to bring Arabella in. We weren’t sure if that was possible, but we were going to try. Paul went to her bedroom to try to convince her. She said she would go. Paul asked me to grab his jacket so we could leave ASAP.

I tried to follow Arabella out to the car while she screamed at me to get away. There was no way I was going to stay home. When she got into the back seat, I slid into the back seat on the other side. I was afraid she might try to jump out of the car on the way and that somehow by sitting next to her I would be able to prevent that or could de-escalate her.

Once we got on the highway, Arabella wanted us to take her back home. She said she left Bryan at home sleeping in her bed. She wanted him to be with her. Then she said Bryan was her dog and she was Stuey from Family Guy. But Bryan was also her other half, her soulmate. He felt the same way and they were going to get married. Bryan’s boyfriend found out he was no longer gay on a VR headset and now she could marry him.

Arabella asked us to turn on a radio station in the car that was on her wavelength. It had to be a specific number she could get messages from. She asked Paul to turn the volume up. Anything to placate her. Then she asked him to open the car windows, which he did a little as it was cold outside in the morning. She was only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but she seemed impervious to the cold. Paul didn’t know how to get to the crisis center. I took her there before but he never did. When I tried to give him directions, Arabella screamed at me to shut the f up multiple times. She shoved me back into the seat.

Not only was Paul trying to get there in the hurry, he was distracted by the thought of me being in danger. He drove erratically with one eye on the rearview mirror. I typed the address into my phone map and tossed the phone to him. We convinced her to go into the crisis center with us by saying Bryan was inside waiting for her. Once inside, Arabella became quite agitated. The employees at the crisis center called the police. I told them to ask for a CIT officer, someone trained in mental health crisis intervention. Arabella ran into the parking lot to try to find Bryan who was interchanging between her soulmate and the dog. She yelled into her phone at him like it was a walkie talkie but he wasn’t really on the phone with her.

She left wearing clothes inappropriate for the weather. We asked if she would be considered a danger to herself and they told us she would not be unless she decided to walk into traffic. We wanted her to be committed, but she had to be a danger to herself or others first unless she went in voluntary and that was going to take A LOT of convincing.

Paul tried to talk her into coming back in, which she did and finally started the assessment with the crisis center employee. She was saying off the wall things. She said she has autism which was the same thing as Down’s Syndrome. The only cure for Down’s Syndrome was meth which would make it into Up Syndrome. The officers arrived as she was talking to the assessor. We explained everything to the officers.

We weren’t sure if Arabella was going to stay. She was nervous once the officers arrived, but said since the exit sign above the door was green instead of red it meant she had to stay. She started repeating green light, red light repeatedly. Then the police officers left and were replaced by officers from the sheriff’s department. Everything happened in a blur but we were there several hours. The officers told Arabella she needed to follow the rules. You cannot push your mother. She replied that she was shaken as a baby. For some reason that shocked me more than anything else she said.

The officers said if Arabella was not willing to seek treatment, they might be able to arrest her for disorderly conduct for shoving me. Then she would have to go back to jail. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to press charges. That would mean her probation would be revoked and then her felonies might be on her record permanently at the age of 20. I didn’t know if I could do that to my daughter, but I didn’t know if I could bring her back home in the state she was in either.

She was agitated, manic, delusional, and having hallucinations which clearly wasn’t her fault or how she would have chosen to live her life.

Green light, red light 1

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Arabella’s tonsillectomy on Valentine’s Day went smoothly. Four days after the surgery, we did end up taking her to the ER late one evening because she was bleeding from one side. I felt rather iffy about taking her in. I wanted to try ice chips and some other things first but she was having nothing to do with it. She was freaking out and said if I didn’t take her in, she would drive herself. I ended up taking her in more because of her mental state than her physical state. She was starting to spiral. It didn’t turn out to be anything serious.

Other than that, everything was relatively uneventful. For a week, she had a really sore throat and could barely talk. Once she started feeling better, she did nothing but talk. At first I thought she was just making up for lost time. She was awake a lot more than normal. She started asking if she could have a pet snake. I told her no. She went to the pet store to look at snakes, did a little begging but the answer remained the same.

The next several days she didn’t seem to sleep at all. She spent much of her time playing video games, watching TV, and texting friends. She seemed rather agitated if anyone tried to get a word in edgewise and dominated conversations. She started to talk about strange ideas. She said she had Dissociative Identity Disorder and that cartoon characters were her different personalities. Then she said she had autism. She said she was just trying to understand herself and while she wasn’t sleeping her brain was processing a lot of information quickly.

She was awake when I woke up in the morning, awake all day, and pacing the floor in the evening. She was awake when I checked on her in the middle of the night. She told me her best friend Bryan was the reincarnation of Jesus Christ and she was the reincarnation of Mary Magdalene. The Bible, YouTubers, and TV shows were talking to her in subliminal messages. She was able to go to a different algorithm in an alternate world.

She set up an appointment with a new therapist. She left on time wearing inappropriate clothing with unwashed stringy hair. I was feeling hopeful about it but later she said she didn’t go. She couldn’t tell me why she didn’t go. I was concerned it might be a probation violation. By that time it was almost a full week of mania and delusions which were progressively getting worse. One of her friends reached out to me saying she was worried that my daughter needed help. She was texting some people nonstop about her delusional thoughts.

Any hopes I had of her living a relatively normal life were completely dashed. The first six months after getting out of jail, she was doing really well. Everyone was getting along. She was taking showers and wearing makeup. She got a job and was scheduled to go back to work after her surgery. Then after surgery everything started falling apart. I don’t even know why.

She said she was cutting herself to try to get out of her body. But now her skin was see through. She had x-ray vision and was able to see into people’s souls. She had super powers. It’s all very hard to explain because it makes so little sense to me.

By Friday morning, she was a lot worse. We knew we had to do something. When I went to check in on Arabella in the morning, she screamed and swore at me wanting me to go away. She was very agitated and didn’t want to talk. I could hear her in her room angrily yelling and swearing on a one sided conversation.

The first call we were going to make was to the psychiatrist’s office which wasn’t open yet. In the meantime, we got ready to leave in a moment’s notice.

On caring

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It’s been four years ago today since my daughter Arabella’s first suicide attempt. In this I am rejoicing because she is still alive. It’s been a long hard road, but here we are.

Yesterday, in the early morning hours of Valentine’s day, Arabella had her tonsils removed. So far nothing crazy has happened, unless you count the nurse splattering blood all over the floor with her second attempt to start an IV. All of that makes me quite queasy, along with the thought of anyone I care about being in pain.

I was asked this week if I considered getting medical training to care for my parents in their home. Nope, that thought never crossed my mind. Then I felt the guilt of maybe that thought should’ve crossed my mind. I just don’t think I could do it.

I’ve been a caregiver since the beginning of my time, while I myself was still in the need of care. The earliest (traumatic) memory of that is of watching my three younger brothers by myself in the lake when I was six. My youngest brother almost drowned. I was always the ‘second mother’ since I can remember. I was my mom’s ‘best friend’ and I had to take care of her and make sure she was okay while I went uncomforted.

As a teenager, I was providing care for my autistic brother Matt who was less than two years younger than me. I was also helping with showering and personal care. My mom relied on me more than she relied on my dad when I was yet a child. Starting at age 12, I started working as a babysitter for about a dozen neighborhood families.

In college, I worked as…you guessed it, a caregiver. I was still a caregiver for my brother Matt along with a man with schizophrenia and a woman with dementia. Two months after college graduation, I got married, and two months after that I was pregnant. I never questioned whether or not I would be a good mother. I was actively parenting my own three kids from 1998 through 2021. While actively parenting, I became a babysitter to several other children, one of whom was in a wheelchair. I also provided care for my Great Aunt Grace who had dementia which also included bathing and personal care.

Then in 2020, exactly 4 years ago today, my daughter developed a serious mental illness. Even though she turned 18 in 2021, I will probably have to provide care for her in some capacity for the rest of my life. I will also become the guardian of my brother Matt when my parents can no longer do it. Last week we had the conversation of putting me on my brother’s account so I can write checks if my parents are unable to so he can continue to stay in his group home without disruption.

Right now my mom seems to be slipping into dementia, but physically she is in great shape. My dad is of sound mind but in horrible condition physically. The only thing normal about my parents is that they both want to stay in their home as long as they can. They don’t want any caregivers to come out to the house because they don’t trust that people won’t steal from them. I have been helping them check what their options are. I am totally fine helping them manage their care and making sure they are in a good place, but I don’t think I would be willing to be their caregiver.

Some may say it’s selfish, but I have my own life and my own problems. This week I started a new medicine for ulcerative colitis. I have my own health issues. But even if I didn’t, I still wouldn’t want to do it. I can’t recall one single good memory with my dad. He was abusive and his issues with addiction pushed most of the family away. If he was a great dad, I would bend over backwards to help him. There is truth to the old saying of you reap what you sow. When I was younger I hungered and thirst for justice. But not any longer as I see it playing out before me just as it was meant to be.

There is a reason why some old people are sitting alone with no visitors at the nursing home. No doubt, it is incredibly sad. I wish it wasn’t that way either. But if you never put any money in the bank, how are you supposed to take any money out?

I try to put everything I can into my relationships that are meaningful. Everything else can take the back burner.

The last of November

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It’s hard to believe it’s been a whole week since Thanksgiving came and went.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. Angel came home for a couple days while her husband was hunting. She had Wednesday off of work and came along with Paul and I while we volunteered helping families in need. Thanksgiving morning Paul and Angel got up early to run a local race. Then we had friends and family over for the evening meal. Everyone was on their best behavior. No drama, and almost everyone offered to help me with the cooking and clean up afterwards.

No one stayed really late as some of the guests had to work the next morning. Paul, Angel, and I went to listen to some of Alex’s new music he created for school. We had a great time talking and visiting. Arabella wasn’t very involved in the family celebration. While we were visiting later that evening, Arabella went out to meet someone from an online dating site. The guy told her he had to go to the ER. She drove an hour and sat outside the hospital for hours, then finally came home. The guy said he was sorry and wanted her account info so he could send her money for having to wait. Then Arabella came home and ate the rest of the deviled eggs I made, around a dozen which upset the rest of us. She tried to meet up closer to home with the guy the next day, but he did the same thing again making her wait. Once she said she wasn’t going to wait any longer, the guy ghosted her. She figured it was a scam and thankfully didn’t give out any of her account info. But it did cost her time with her family.

Friday morning Paul, Angel, Alex, and I went Christmas tree shopping at a nearby tree farm. Arabella didn’t want to get up early to go with. We had a great time anyway. It’s wonderful to have adult children in the area who still want to have family time even though they are all grown up. Angel had to leave shortly after we got back, but Alex stayed all day and hung out. After his girlfriend got done with work, we decorated the trees. We got two trees, one a traditional tree and one was a sparkly purple tree. Thankfully our new pets don’t seem too terribly interested.

Saturday was when things took a turn for me. I was so exhausted I had to take an hour nap in the morning and another hour nap in the afternoon. Everything seemed so perfect that it was such a letdown when it was over. I became irritable and there was some fighting, and crying on my part. Then I went to bed an hour early and slept 9 hours which is very unlike me. I thought something was wrong and was convinced it was the medicine I’m taking. The next day it was the same thing, napping in the morning and afternoon.

By the evening, I was in full blown PTSD. I was having flashbacks to childhood and feeling terror and fear towards my dad. I was so scared I wanted my grandma, but my mom wouldn’t let me go. My eyes darted back and forth and I cried a lot. These attacks don’t happen very often, but I felt very similar to when I was having the pseudo seizures earlier this year. I did some research and it seems it is not uncommon for people to struggle with both PTSD and pseudo seizures.

I think I was triggered by several things. First, it was the anniversary of when my daughter found child porn on my dad’s computer. It was the beginning of one of the darkest periods in my adult life. Two months after that was Arabella’s first suicide attempt and her descent into serious mental illness. I was reading a book about Borderline and was irritated she didn’t make the effort to spend time with family. Second, there is a commercial where a Santa character looks exactly like my dad. I even saw it yesterday while I was getting gas at the gas station. Apparently, it’s unavoidable.

I am feeling much better now. It usually lasts two days and then it goes away. This was the first time Paul sat with me through an episode.

On to other things

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The cat war is over and now we have moved on to other worries.

The evening I posted the cat wars post, Paul and I made a trip over to Will’s apartment to get Arabella’s big items, such as her couch, because she just got out of jail earlier in the week. While we were there, Will said he would give Arabella her cat back on two conditions. The first that she would not lock the cat up in her room and the second that she would allow him places to hide. I called Arabella right away and she said she would agree with the conditions.

After the break up, Paul and I tried to have a non-adversarial relationship with Will. I think this really helped the cat situation. Although, I believed the cat should just stay where he was at for the cat, I believe it was in my daughter’s best interest to get the cat back. Will still had some compassion for her. My daughter’s mood improved drastically. We felt more secure about leaving Arabella at home without us to go on our annual sailing trip with friends. I was willing to stay back if I needed to. But after she got the cat back, I felt she was more stable.

While we were gone, I told Arabella I did not want her to bring any new friends we haven’t met to the house. After we got back, we met her first jail friend. This woman was rough. She told me she first got in trouble at age 14 when she stabbed her dad who was abusing her. She made it clear she did not kill him but that did not make me feel much better.

After she was released from juvie, she was homeless and lived on the streets. Although this woman was as small as a child of 10, I wouldn’t want to mess with her. She has the glean of insanity in her eyes along with a shaved head and multiple tattoos. I took an interest in her tattoos and asked her who the face belonged to of the person tattooed on her arm. She said it was a tattoo of Hannibal Lector. Sickening! Idolizing a sadistic serial killer. I didn’t know what to say. I was feeling more apprehensive by the minute. Only 24 with a decade in the system. I told her it was not too late to turn her life around. But who am I kidding, she doesn’t have much of a chance.

To think at one time I thought the psych ward friends were bad. However, the girl was over the top polite. Told me she protected my daughter from fights although she was over half her size. She helped my daughter unpack her belongings and was helpful. But she still made everyone uneasy because there was something not quite right about her. It was Labor Day. The weather was perfect for one last summer hurrah. My son had a couple friends over and so did we. My best friend brought her 13 year-old son who wanted to hang out with the girls. This really stressed me out. The girl was really sketchy and was wearing an ankle bracelet. Was she under house arrest? Was she breaking rules by being at our house? Would the police show up? Where they talking to my friend’s kid about jail or inappropriate topics?

Perhaps I made a mistake. But could I tell my daughter everyone can have friends over but you. Should we have new boundaries? No felons in the house? My daughter is facing 3 felony charges. Maybe we should have bailed her out of jail earlier. The should’ve would’ve started creeping in. We thought she would be a shoe in for mental health treatment court. No one lead us to believe otherwise, but we were wrong. We are treading in new waters once again. I wish someone would’ve wrote a book about what to expect when your kid gets out of jail.

My daughter told me her friend was on the bracelet for a DUI. But I don’t believe anything I hear anymore. I did a little investigative work on my own. The criminal records in our state are public record. My daughter’s friend has a long list of criminal records. She is 24 years old and most recently has drug charges involving meth and narcotics along with the DUI. She has battery charges as well. She has a history of being a violent felon with hard drug charges. I found out she is also a mother, but I am assuming her child has been taken from her.

What is my responsibility here? Will she introduce my daughter to hard drugs? Would I rather have her friend hang out here where I can keep an eye on things or have my daughter hang out with her wherever that may be? Our initial reaction was to kick her friend out. But she didn’t do anything wrong at our house as far as we could tell. As of right now, we are closely monitoring the situation. Arabella doesn’t make good choices and all her friends are pretty messed up. She just doesn’t attract the nice quiet church girls. Most of her friends make us uncomfortable. I knew this was going to happen, but I don’t have any good answers on what to do about it.

Hanging on

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I reached the end of my rope yet somehow still kept hanging on. An ambulance ride to the ER, two MRI’s, an EEG, and 25 vials of blood later nothing can be found wrong with me. I’ve heard that stress can kill you and boy did it do a number on me. I am feeling better, back to myself again. Or back to some sad version of me anyway.

My dad had his surgery, spent the night in the hospital, and was back in the ER the following day. But things have settled down. My brother Luke was in town and stopped by for a visit. It’s good to know we are on the same page. Our mom is starting to slip mentally. We are not sure what to do about it. She is not taking good care of our dad. But our dad made his own bed through a lot of bad decisions and has to live with that. We are going to play things by ear. Kind of like a watchful waiting.

Meanwhile, we are starting to prepare for Arabella to get out of jail. Yesterday we invited our old friend over whom we haven’t seen in over 10 years and told him our daughter was accusing him of raping her as an infant. It was a difficult but necessary conversation since Arabella spoke recently of contacting him when she gets out of jail. We know he didn’t do it. Come to find out he now lives a block away from us. I did a Google search on him and it pulled up his full address and phone number. If I could find him in two seconds, I know she will be able to as well. She could even walk to his house to confront him. We had to warn him. He had no idea why we would reach out after all these years. He thought maybe we were offering him a job or something not telling him he might have to watch his back and possibly file a restraining order.

This is the first summer I’m not really looking forward to. Life just has been way too serious lately and not very much fun. I’m not sure what life is going to look like when our daughter gets home. Plus now we have legal expenses and medical bills when I’d rather use the money for travelling.

On a good note, my husband, Angel, and Alex really stepped up when I was sick. I have a core group of people who are pulling for me. Through all of the stress, Paul and I are working together to keep our marriage strong. Although I’d rather not struggle at all, it helps to have a partner to go through this together. I’m not very hopeful for my daughter’s future, but we are doing everything we can to support her which I can say no matter what happens we did all we could.

We might have to put down our cat in the near future. He is around 17-years-old and is not in the best health. I know, I know…not a lot of good news, but that’s life. I’m just glad right now to be feeling better. What a wake up call. I thought I had MS. I had visions of myself spending a good chunk of the rest of my life in a wheelchair. It was terrifying and I can’t imagine having serious health issues. I think it opened my eyes in a new way to the suffering of others. It’s scary when your body doesn’t do what you want it to do. I couldn’t trust myself. I had to cancel the motorcycle class and I’ve decided to let that dream go.

I’ve been trying to deal with my stress in a healthy way. It got pretty scary when what was once working no longer seemed to work. I think I’m back on track again. We’ll see what happens.

Breakdown

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I think it started with the Mother’s Day letter I got in the mail Arabella sent me from the mental hospital. It was a well written heartfelt letter telling me what a great mother I am. When she called me later that afternoon from jail I was looking forward to talking to her. But since she wrote the good mom letter her mood had changed to me being a bad mom. The contrast from the letter to the phone call the same day I read it was from day to night. She accused my husband and I of horrible things to the point where my husband walked away from the call and I stayed. She blamed us for being shitty parents and that is why she is in jail.

It was that day I decided to let it go. I had to accept she is never going to change. Everyone had been harping on me to let go and let God. I don’t understand how people can find comfort in God. Although I loosely believe all I seem to find is anger and pain. I made the choice to let go and I stopped caring. I had finally reached the end of my rope. I drank more than I ever drank in my life. I just didn’t care. I didn’t even want to live anymore. I struggled with insomnia and nightmares. I woke up exhausted and my body ached.

Arabella called me about her delusion that an old friend of ours sexually assaulted her. She asked me what I thought of it. I asked her if it was possible she was delusional to think our friend raped her while she was sleeping as a child. She said what I was saying was correct, he didn’t rape her as a child but as an infant. She said she was planning on finding and visiting him when she gets out of jail. My stomach dropped. We have to find him before she does. He is in danger.

Meanwhile, my mom cancelled my dad’s surgery. I don’t think she wanted to take care of him after the surgery because she had plans for an extended weekend away to celebrate her sister’s birthday. She asked if I would take care of him. I told her I was busy. I had to work Friday and Saturday then had plans on Sunday to watch Angel complete her first half-marathon. Afterwards, Paul was going to show me how to do some paperwork for our business and we had some things we needed to do around the house because come Monday he was scheduled to work 9 days straight. It’s the busy season for our business.

My mom left anyway. On Saturday my mom asked if I could take care of my dad. She said he wasn’t able to carry food with his walker. I replied if dad needed me to help him give me a call and I would try to figure something out. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt. That is when the tremors started in my arms. My mom never responded to my text but decided to come home early. She posted a picture of herself at home that evening on her BeReal looking disappointed.

The next morning I started having tremors in my hands, face, and legs. I was having a hard time walking. I hadn’t been feeling well and had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for later that afternoon. My son insisted on taking me after he saw my tremors. At the doctor’s appointment I was tremoring pretty badly. The doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She ordered a MRI and took 15 vials of blood. I didn’t bother trying to hide how stressed and depressed I was. I was always mistrustful of telling the doctor about the severity of my anxiety and depression and that I have PTSD. I was afraid I would be committed and medicated. But I no longer fear that because with my daughter I realized how much of a joke the mental health care system is. I did relent to being put on anti-depressants though.

The tremors turned into seizures where I was fully conscious. I started to think something was seriously wrong with me like MS. I had other symptoms too. My eyes hurt. They were blurry, puffy, and very sensitive to light. At times I had double vision. I stopped eating. Food stopped tasting good. I felt nauseous and my stomach was upset. I only ate a few bites once a day after being forced by my family. I couldn’t even be tempted by my favorite foods. I was still experiencing insomnia. I felt numbness and tingling in my arms similar to the feeling right before a blood pressure cuff is released. My body ached. I couldn’t focus on anything and the exhaustion was overwhelming. I struggled at times to think and speak. I thought my life was over.

My dad was in and out of the ER. One day my mom posted a picture of him on BeReal in the hospital in a gown on a gurney with a nurse taking care of him. I don’t know how I felt about my dad and the possibility of him dying. I can’t even remember the last time I saw him.

Thursday night Arabella called and said grandma was going to bail her out of jail if it was okay with me. We got into an argument. I felt angry with my mom thinking she threw me under the bus. I told Arabella she can’t get out because if she messed up again with the felonies against her it would mean prison. But she didn’t listen. Then I talked to my mom. My anger turned to worry. She was worried about my dad. She was worried because she thought my brother Luke was angry with her. She dumped her problems on me and I felt stressed.

By Friday morning of Memorial Day weekend my seizures got worse. I could barely walk. My mom texted me my dad was back in the ER. Then as Paul was checking on me from work, I had a huge convulsion where I fell to the floor. I hit my head on the refrigerator. Paul could hear me flopping on the floor. He called our son to come over and check on me. Alex found me convulsing on the floor. It wouldn’t stop and I had no control over it. Alex called 911 and told them to please hurry. He talked calmly to me, patted my arm, and told me I was going to be okay.

I could hear the sirens getting closer. The next thing I know there are a whole bunch of people in my house. They gave me a shot of Benadryl, but the seizures still didn’t stop. They strapped me in a chair and put me into a gurney then got me into the ambulance. They gave me another shot, this one was painful and the seizures stopped. They tried to put an IV into my arms but they both collapsed. They were talking about my veins out loud and I thought I was going to throw up. They finally got an IV in my hand. I felt tired and dizzy as I watched the traffic behind us as the ambulance took me to the hospital without the sirens on. I watched for my son’s car but couldn’t see him.

The next thing I know I was in an ER room. A few minutes later Alex and Lexi showed up with Angel and Dan. I could tell my kids were frightened and crying. Paul left work early and was on the way. My best friend works in the hospital and soon she was on her way too. They set me up to get a MRI right away, but the seizures started up again. This time they put me on a strong anti-anxiety medicine. Paul arrived right before they wheeled me into the MRI. I was in and out of dreams. I heard loud noises. My family went to the cafeteria and waited. They thought it would take a half an hour and it took two hours. They thought maybe I would die. At the end I was awake. I felt a lot of pain in the back of my head. I was becoming restless.

The doctor came in after everything was done. He said he was puzzled by my condition. The MRI turned out fine. I didn’t have a brain tumor and it didn’t show up anything concerning. They told me to contact neurology after the holiday weekend and sent me home. The seizures continued. I imagined my life in a wheelchair. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to be a burden for my family.

My daughter cancelled her plans for the weekend including going out of town for a friend’s wedding. She worked out of my house. She did the cooking and cleaned my house. She wouldn’t let me be alone for one second. She didn’t let me walk alone. My son helped out with appointments and wouldn’t let me leave his side while he was with me either. My kids really stepped up. Even their friends offered to help. Arabella didn’t know anything about it. Even my dad called several times to check on me which was puzzling because of our relationship. In those ways, it brought us all closer.

For the first few days everyone was amazing. They treated me like I was on my deathbed, all hugs and love you’s. Everyone thought I could die. Then they became desperate. My husband was sobbing because he felt helpless and didn’t understand why I was suffering the way I was. He never cries. He became a Google doctor. He thought maybe this was a side effect of my sleeping pills. He wanted me to stop taking them. So did my son. His girlfriend and Angel thought it was dangerous to just stop taking my meds. They were discussing me like I wasn’t even there. No one knew what to do.

Meanwhile, my mom went up north for the holiday weekend and left my dad home alone. My dad ended up falling in the middle of the night and calling the rescue squad. My sister-in-law Carla got into a fight with my mom up north. She screamed at my mom out in the yard, regardless of the neighbors around, for cancelling my dad’s surgery and not taking good care of him. She totally lost her shit and my brother Mark had to leave with her.

Arabella yelled at Paul saying he turned grandma against her. She said someone in jail might pay her bond if she does special favors for them when she gets out. My daughter could be showing up on our doorstep at any time. Without talking to me Paul asked my parents if they would take her in if she shows up. My dad went to the ER again. My mom told us my dad wants to die. Paul said to her well join the club. I thought my husband was going to have a heart attack he was so stressed.

I kept having seizures. Sometimes I felt like I wanted to die. At other times I felt a great amount of fear like I was going to be attacked. Any small thing could set me off.

They told me to get an appointment with the neurologist after the holiday weekend. The earliest they could get me in was the middle of July. They told me to call everyday to see if there were any cancellations. I was able to get in the end of the week. My husband raced me there like I was going to the ER. He was incredibly stressed and almost got into a couple accidents on the way. As I was sitting in the full waiting room I started having convulsions again. I started crying saying I didn’t want to do this anymore. They took me in to do an EEG right away. They also took 8 more vials of blood.

Although I didn’t get all the test results back yet, the nurse said she couldn’t find anything wrong with me. She basically told me in a polite way that it was all in my head. She didn’t think it was ALS or MS, she thought it was from stress. My husband was overjoyed exclaiming it was wonderful news. I was pissed. I felt like something was wrong with me. I felt like I didn’t have any answers. If it’s all in my head why would my body do this to me? I can handle a lot of stress. I felt embarrassment and hatred towards myself. I just wanted to crawl in a corner and die. My husband asked why I wasn’t happy with the news. Did I want to die? I told him spending the rest of my life with a serious illness is not how I wanted to die. I just couldn’t believe my body would betray me like this. How could I trust myself? I had to cancel my motorcycle class. I’m not even allowed to drive right now.

After the appointment, I started to feel better. I’m not going to die. I started to eat again. Every day I’ve been having some small tremors but nothing major. It was a very traumatic experience for my family and I. Through it we learned some important lessons. I really matter to my husband and two oldest kids. They will be there for me if I need them. It was a wake up call to find a way to de-stress. In some ways it was a positive experience.

I really hope nothing like this ever happens to me again. I just wanted to explain what happened and why I was gone.

change the system

/ Outrunning my demons / 4 Comments

My daughter is going back to jail today. Trying to get her treatment was a big waste of time. They did change up her medicine a bit. They gave her something to calm her, help her sleep, and for PTSD. I want to know what gave her the diagnosis of PTSD. What trauma??

I called and called the treatment center. Sometimes no one answered the call. One time the nurse said I needed to talk to the therapist. I left several messages with the therapist. The only time she called me back was to tell me my daughter was being released. Apparently she is the only therapist for the whole ward. I asked to speak to a doctor but was told they were too busy because this was their third job. They barely had 5 minutes to talk to patients. From that 5 minutes, they allegedly gathered more information than the patients family who spent a lifetime with them.

Yesterday I finally found a nurse who was willing to listen. I told her my daughter was having delusions. The nurse said Arabella did not report having delusions. I told the nurse my daughter is not aware she is delusional. I told her my daughter is in jail for felonies relating to having delusions. I told her my daughter is suicidal because she made comments of life not being worth living once she is released. I told her I am afraid Arabella will kill herself or hurt someone else from the delusions she is having. I was feeling very hopeful after our conversation.

Then the case manager called and dashed every hope I had. I had plans yesterday afternoon which I was late to because of having to take her call. She said the likelihood of Arabella getting into a group home is virtually impossible. Even if I sell my soul and offer up my firstborn. She said I should look into a residential treatment facility. We decided we are not going to pay for that again. She gave me other numbers to call but said they probably wouldn’t talk to me because my daughter is an adult. She said my daughter will be released tomorrow. They think she is just trying to stay to get out of jail.

I am absolutely livid. The mental health system in the US is one big fucking joke. No wonder why there is so much violence. If only we had a system focused on suicide/homicide prevention and the treatment of mental illness!! My hands are tied. I’ve done everything I could do and it wasn’t enough. I’ll just watch as my daughter hurts herself or someone else.

I have lost all hope and faith in the system. I don’t have a lot of faith or hope left in anything. It takes a lot of courage to continue when everything I do seems pointless.

I just got home from taking my daughter back to jail. It’s very upsetting that she did not get the treatment she needs. Arabella said the therapist only talked to her for 5 minutes and only to ask her why she was in jail. The facility is very understaffed. Even Arabella felt she did not get the treatment she needed. She wanted help as much as we wanted help for her. On the way back to jail, I stopped at the gas station to get her pizza and soda. She won’t be home for Mother’s Day. They will be putting her back into isolation for the next 10 days. She will be spending her 20th birthday in jail in a cell by herself for 23 hours of the day. Something must be done to fix the broken mental health system. Stop the senseless loss of life. I am so pissed and motivated to fight the system and advocate for mental health reform. I had no idea how bad things are. But now that I know, something must be done.