22 Wednesday Feb 2012
Posted in poetry, Emotions, mental illness
The sound of wheels on pavement
The tick of the tires and the hum of the radio
Indicators that you are running again
Mile markers taking you farther away
Leaving those that care in the glow of your tail lights
Just how far will this ride take you
Just how long will madness steer and enable copilot
Before the fear that fuels you runs dry
Leaving you broken down in some unknown land
And I must find away to provide the parts
To restart the engine and bring you home
17 Friday Feb 2012
Posted in Emotions, holidays, mental illness
I find myself stuck between acceptance and anger. Between feeling guilty and wanting to fix it. My own brain chemistry is beginning to betray me and I am lost in the chaos of my own thoughts.
I’m never thought of myself as genetically damaged, I’ve always believed my issues stemmed from trauma. But someone asked if mental illness runs in my family and it caught me off guard. I know my Mother was a manipulative mean-spirited woman and her father, my grandfather, was just damn scary. I know my father’s side of the family had some eccentric great aunts and one that they called crazy but only after her son was killed in Vietnam. So maybe my genes aren’t perfect.
But I’ll think about that tomorrow.
It’s raining
Not the stuff that pounds you down
But the slow and gentle stuff
The best option, stay in bed
The roof has a leak, a slow one
The kind that over time rots the wood
There is a bucket to catch the drip
So I pretend it’s nothing to worry about
Someone broke the side mirror off my car
The plastic was all over the road
I wrapped the arm in duct tape
I’ll tell everyone she has a broken wing
People say it’s never so bad it couldn’t be worse
Not sure I believe it
But I’ll go along to get along
And wish you a happy Friday
—-
16 Thursday Feb 2012
Posted in just life, mental illness, poetry
Tags
forgiveness, life, mental illness, poem, poetry, thoughts, writing
Someone pointed out to me that I need to stop obsessing about my son and his illness. That I need to let it go because people, meaning everyone but mostly this person, is tired of reading about it.
Maybe this person is right.
I have been so twisted up with the realization that my son has a sever mental illness and I have been using this blog to vent my frustrations and fears. I forgot that people don’t like to read about things that make them feel uncomfortable because heaven forbid their life should very be touched by something that terrible.
To those of you that feel the way this person does please stop reading my blog. Just keep those pretty little rose-colored glasses of your’s firmly in place and I pray that nothing ever comes into your life that forces you to see beyond the end of your nose.
Life rolls like fog
Across the water
Gentle and soft
Creating a smooth
And silky illusion
While the sweet breath
Of the wind
Carries the scent of salt
Used to sting the soul
And leave you wrapped
In clouds of darkness
Lost now in a mix
Of turbulence and delusion
While all the time
We stumble forward
Towards the cliffs edge
Into the uncertainty
That is life
14 Tuesday Feb 2012
Posted in Health, mental illness, poetry
Tags
holidays, mental illness, poem, poetry, thoughts, Valentine's Day
The phone rings, a joyous tone
One that makes you smile
The realization of who is calling
Changes everything
Fear
“Hi Mom I’m out.”
Thick are the words
Heavy with drugs and sadness
My heart skips then cracks
Again
Force a smile before I reply
“Oh that’s great!”
Brain screaming no that’s a lie
Tears burn my eyes
Still
“What now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know… so am I.”
Silence
We listen to each other breath
Each waiting for the other to speak
“I love you”
“I know”
Sigh
For now it is enough
Enough that he is safe
Enough that I hear his voice
Enough that we both try
Forever
“I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Ok, please do.”
“Try not to worry.”
“Yeah ok..bye.”
Disconnect
I whisper
“I love you son…always”
My voice echoes
“Happy Valentine’s Day”
—————
11 Saturday Feb 2012
Posted in Health, mental illness
Tags
health, life, mental illness, poem, poetry, thoughts, understanding
It is estimated that 26.2% of Americans ages 18 and older—about one in four adults—suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year.
Of this percentage, about 6%, or 1 in 17 Americans, suffer from a serious mental illness such as schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, and bipolar I disorder. (information from Choices In Recovery.)
Did you know this? I certainly didn’t until my son joined the ranks of the mentally ill. Yes I have always know that all three of my children marched to the beat of the own drum and at times that rhythm has caused each of them great pain. But I never realized that my oblivious ignorance could lead any of them to the place where there is nothing but blackness. I hollow pace filled with voices and echoing screams of real and imagined dangers. A place where one drug can cost as much as a car payment and without it there is no chance of functioning within society. Where no one wants to help and the most repeated responses are “don’t you have health insurance?” or “I am sorry but we can’t help you.”
Did you know that according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 20 to 25% of the homeless population in the United States suffers from some form of severe mental illness? (National Coalition for the Homeless)
In the blink of an eye it could happen to someone you know or love, several ill and outcast by a society of sacred ignorant people who believe, like I did, that if you just ignore them and their illnesses they will simply go away. We stumble over them on the sidewalk, we see of the street corners with signs begging for change. Or we read about them in the new, “another homeless person found dead.” Yet we hold on to the idea that it’s not our problem.
New federal statistics reveal that the number of mentally ill inmates in U.S. prisons and jails has quadrupled over the past six years. More than half of all prison and state inmates now report mental health problems, including symptoms of major depression, mania and psychotic disorders, according to a just-released federal Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS) report, Mental Health Problems of Prison and Jail Inmates. (Human Rights Watch) We are a society that believes it is easier and safer, for us, to just let the Criminal Justice system deal with them. That way none of us has to get our hands dirty.
I am sorry that for so long I stood toe to toe with most with my head deeply buried in the sand. I am sorry I did remove my rose-colored glasses before they where slapped from my face. Now I have no choice but to remove the blinders and scream from the rooftop that mental illness is real, that it touches every age group, every race, every country. This is doesn’t care it you are rich or poor a genius or an average Joe. It’s affects the lives of those it touches with devastation and it’s tentacles reach out to everyone one of us in some way.
I am asking if you do nothing else educate yourself about mental illness help to break down the walls of fear and erase the stigma.
The sky is power blue
Sprinkled with a dusting
Of the whitest clouds
The orange slice sun
Smiles warmly at the trees below
But the windowpane
Is cold to the touch
A grim reminder
That not all that glitters
Is gold
09 Thursday Feb 2012
Posted in mental illness, poetry
There is nothing like being trusted into a foreign country where everyone is speaking a language you don’t understand and no one has the time to offer you a pocket translator. Where even if you are able to understand a word here and there the odds are meaning is not what you think it is. Welcome to the land of psychobabble and my new home!
Over the past three weeks I have been immersed in it, so much so that it has invaded my dreams. I had no idea just how many mental illnesses there are or how many subcategories one illness can have. I am right in the middle of a crash course studying for a final exam that will never come because my son, my sweet perfect baby boy, has been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. I’m still waiting for this to congeal in my brain, for the numbness to wear off so that I can..do what?
I have ordered books, I have joined organizations, I have cured the heavens and cried buckets and in the end it will change nothing. It’s amazing how quickly a life can turn, how in just a few words spoken from a strangers mouth turn all your hopes and dreams in to nightmares.
My son believes that he will be released today. He has promised to remain compliant with his medicines and not to harm himself and at this moment I know he fully believes he will be able to follow through. My fear, how long can he keep the demon at bay?
Blood pools thick
When the air is warm
The sick sweet smell
Lingers in the air
As the two legged buzzards circle
Ready to pick clean the bones
How sad echo the voices
As they watch in shock
And morbid amusement
Strange now no one noticed
The pain worn like armor
Before the wrist was cut
And the trigger pulled
Easier to turn their back
Quicker to feed him pills
It’s easy now to point a finger
To say what should have been
That the solution was so simple
The answer was easily found
Now that it does not matter
Now that it’s just a body
Crumbled on the ground
06 Monday Feb 2012
I spoke with my son last night and he has decided not to undergo the ECT he feels that the medication is being to help and that course of treatment is a bit extreme without first exhausting all other avenues. (I knew he was in there somewhere) He is still under suicide watch, he has a danger buddy, but because he has made the decision not to have the ECT treatment the hospital will most likely release him later today.
(Isn’t that a kick in the ass, their idea of treatment is drug and release or commit and drug them even more and lets not forgot convulsive shock therapy.) His plan is to continue with treatment on an out-patient bases. The fact that he is uninsured plays a huge part in what services are available him. (slim and none) But I will encourage him and pray that he is strong enough to fight the darkness and the demons that keep him stuck there. I will try to believe that this time will be different and he will once again learn how to smile.
I’m hanging as hard as I can to a very thin string,
The string of life and of a human being.
The string that goes through the core of your heart
And the string that’s keeping me from falling apart.
Life is like a string – you make it thicker or thinner.
If your heart is into it then it gets bigger and bigger.
Depressed is how you’ll live if depressed is how you feel,
But if you fight for happiness then the feeling can be real.
I’ve been through hard times just like everyone else,
But I live in the future and let the past take care of itself.
There’s many chapters in my life I would like to erase,
But I leave them alone and live life page by page.
I can’t keep regretting and living life in the past,
So I think about the future and try to take the right path.
I know I’m not perfect but I always try my best,
Put a smile on my face and ignore the barb wire fence.
I try to finish the puzzle taking it piece by piece
Until the Lord calls my name and it’s time to rest in peace.
05 Sunday Feb 2012
Posted in addiction, poetry, Uncategorized
I have not forgotten about you or this blog. I just find myself in a place where every thought is clouded by the uncertainty of a situation that I have very little, if any, control over.
My son has been admitted to a psychiatric hospital. He has a diagnosis of severe clinical depression and a couple of other things. I do not trust psychiatrist, psychologist, counselors yet I find myself having to put my son’s well-being, possibly his life, in their hands. He’s an adult so I am forced to stand on the sidelines and let them run the game, this scares me beyond words. They have him so heavily medicated that the bright-eyed, inquisitive, brilliant young man who is my son has been replaced by a stranger. I don’t know this person and I don’t know how to reach my son.
The doctors are now suggesting that he under go electroconvulsive therapy. I have researched and read everything I could find on this therapy and have tried to depart as much information as I can to my son. Sadly I don’t know how much of it he is really comprehending or processing. I have to trust that somewhere in the haze he will make the right decision, if there is one.
If you pray please say one for him and maybe toss me in there too.
Gone now are the dreams of a child
Crumbled my chemicals and madness
Lost forever in the darkness
Of a mind that held such promise
It truly is a fine line
Between genius and insanity
30 Monday Jan 2012
14 Saturday Jan 2012
I sit in the silence of my room dialing a number to a distant hospital, my head filled with thoughts so twisted they are impossible to express. My heart breaking yet again as I hear the voice on the other end ask for the code and the utterance of the words drives home the point that again one of my beautiful, gifted children have been admitted for treatment. I seethe with anger at the illness of addiction while I wait for the call to be put through, part of me praying that he will not answer and the other part aching to hear his voice.
How many more times will I have to make these calls, how many more times will the phone ring and a voice tell me that one of my sons has voluntarily or involuntarily been admitted to a rehab before that voice on the other end of the phone says “I’m sorry but your son is dead?” How many more times can I remain strong in my conviction not to enable when all I want to do is say come home and let me take care of you?
When does it become to much for a mother to bear? I can’t answer that because for today I will shed silent tears and be thankful that he is safe and alive. I will be hopeful that this time he will find the strength and the desire to face his demon head on because that’s what a mother does, loves unconditionally, even when it cuts to the bone.
I have wanted to write for days now ….
And have started a million times….
But each time the words fail me ….
And nothing seems to rhyme ….
If I ripped out my heart and you held it ….
Would you be able to feel my pain?….
Could you see that it is breaking? ….
Could you tell it just isn’t the same?….
If I pulled out my brain ….
And placed in you hands ….
Could you see the worry and doubt? ….
Could you understand my confusion?….
Are the need that I feel to scream?….
I know that you are grown now….
That you have a family….
I know you’ve made your choices….
And invited the demon in….
Yet I feel somehow I failed you….
That there was something I didn’t see….
Yes you know you have an addiction….
But do you know its killing me? ….
(How many more times can I do this?)
