My Mentally Ill Son Hurt Me

I too am a mother of a mentally ill son, he is now 23 years old, and is living with me, because if I kick him out, not only do I have to fear for my life, but I have to fear for his too. He will be one of the many faceless homeless people on the street. He has never used drugs, smoked marijuana, or drank more than one beer - and always in the presence of family or close friends. He volunteers hundreds of hours at our church, and has for over 15 years. Adults love him, kids look up to him, neighbors rely on him - but they never see the mental illness and what it has done to my family. God gave me all of my children, to care for and protect. My other two have found their way in life and are successful. They despise him. Sadly, he idolizes them.

Everything that Liza Long says is fact. I had a drill with my kids when they were young about what to do when their brother had a meltdown. One time I was at the grocery store to buy the ingredients for baking food to take to school. They called, scared for their lives. I instructed them, as I ran from the store, to grab all of the knives and lock themselves in my bedroom.

A few years later, that plan would not work. As I rushed home from work, to the frantic call from my daughter, he kicked the door in to go after her. A locked door was no longer enough. She called my mother, who was nearly 80 at the time, because she hoped she would get there before the police. My son had called the police. On himself. He called because he was afraid he would hurt her. He didn't. But instead of them taking him to the hospital, they took him to jail. They refused to allow me to bring his medications, or for the pharmacist to dispense them - yet the pharmacist told me that he received routine calls to dispense birthcontrol medications while women were incarcerated.

My writing today is not just about my mentally ill son. It is about the other children of mine who suffered horrific childhoods filled with doctors, hospitals, and emergency rooms. My daughter still suffers today, and fears for my life. My son has buried emotions, refuses to listen to anything I have to say about his brother – thinks I am a moron for letting him continue to live with me, and sadly no one will stand up to their father to ask him to help me with the care of his brother. He has erased him from his life – that is how he deals with him.

My daughter hates him so much, I worry about what she might do to him the next time he hurts me. I could never bear that. She is too precious to throw her life away defending me. So sometimes, I don’t tell anyone when he hurts me, or the many, many times he scares me so bad, I don’t want to come home. I fear for what he will destroy in my home when he is in a rage, if I leave to protect myself.

I am a single mother of a mentally ill and learning disabled son, whom I love – but live in fear of every time I sense he has missed his afternoon medications or his balance of his coctail of four medications(dispensed a total of 13 pills a day) are out of whack and therefore the dosage of the lithium. Depakote, Adderall and Abilify are not synced. He is also on a high dose of Synthroid.

At age three, our lives changed. My son became unmanageable. No parenting books, tricks, skills, classes would work. He began seeing a child psychologist at age 4. At age 5 he promptly told me he would not go any more, because all she did was play stupid games and she let him win, and he had now played them all. She suggested the on-staff psychiatrist. Even though I told the doctor that there was a history of bipolar in the family, he prescribed antidepressants. I found out a few years later, as my son continued to do worse, raged more, and was more unmanageable that antidepressants in a child actually make the bipolar syndrome worse – forever. So much for trusting the highly degreed psychiatrist.

Compounding his mental illness was the fact that he had no white cells to fight infection as a newborn. To keep him alive, he was hospitalized often, given heavy doses of antibiotics, and who knows what else to keep him alive. No one knows if the childhood diseases and medication altered his mental state permanently or if he was born that way. In all of this time as a single mother, I have never missed a day of work, I go to work – often wondering what I will find when I return home.

His father left us when he was nine, but he had been living a double life for seven years and was never home, as he traveled abroad most of the time, most of the time with another woman. He refused to believe and still does to this day that his son is mentally ill, so he provides no emotional support, financial support or even respite from the constant care of a mentally ill child/adult. I have begged him to take him for a few weeks to provide some respite for me, but he refuses. When he did take him on a vacation six years aog, that lasted more than a few days, he failed to medicate him properly, so when he returned, my son had a complete mental breakdown and was hospitalized for thirteen days. He never bothered to come see him.

At one point, early on in my son’s diagnosis, his father insisted that if he was to be labeled - yes, that was his word, menatlly ill that we should have a second opinion. So I sought out doctors specializing in bipolar disorder listed in a renowned book on childhood bipolar. The appointment was set with one of the top doctors in the field at Children’s Hospital in Philadelphia. We were to be there one week, and I had arranged care for our other children. The night before we were to leave, I heard him selecting the seats on the plane. He only booked two. He had no intention of ever going with us, even though it was he who demanded a second opinion. The doctor was furious when we arrived and she found out that he refused to come. Work was more important to him, and he could take off for Europe again to live his other life.

I firmly believe that it would make him happy to have my son kill me and end up in jail for the rest of his life, or to take his own life – because then he would have no responsibilities – not that he has any now. When a parent refuses to accept a child for who they are, and love them unconditionally, it further impacts that child’s ability to cope with their world. My son has learning disabilities as well, yet his father, in the rare communications he has with him, continues to talk about him going to college. My son tried college – for two years – and flunked out. He is not dumb. He is just hindered by his disabilities and the college system, even the community college system is not equipped to truly help those with significant disabilities that are not physical. The college tried, but you are also at the mercy of the professors – who for the most part are clueless and not interested in helping one student out of a room of sixty.

I am tired. Exhausted. I don’t want to be responsible for ensuring that my son will take his meds, go to work on time, take out his dog, feed his dog, not hurt anyone, not do anything that destroys the ability for me to work or live where I live.

There are no solutions out there for the mentally ill. Years ago, when the government shut down all of the mental hospitals, not because they were not needed, but because they allowed abuse and misdiagnosis to rule the way the facilities were run. Not unlike the issues later on with nursing homes. I have never taken a dime from the government for the care of my son. No Social Security payments – because then he would have money to do even more crazy things with – and they would not involve being in a group home. Which, by the way, do not exist for people like my son. Not where we live, and the one that I have found in another state is over $3,000.00 a month. If the courts forced him to pay rent with the SS money, that would just, in his sick mind, give him the right to destroy more things, threaten me more, and make me fear more for my life, and I fear he would buy guns.

He has taken up paint ball in the last month, and his father fed the fantasy by buying him a used paint ball automatic rifle online. I wonder if that is how they all start – with the fascination of shooting a paint ball gun. His dad did not ask me first, nor did we even discuss it. I believe that he would love to see me physically harmed – blinded maybe – by our son, so that he can live out his hate for me, and dispose of his son in the criminal system at the same time. My son buys all of the paint balls and canisters to fire the paint balls, on line. He has bought a protective jacket and pants on line too. And he has a helmet. Where are my protections? When I have locked him out in the past, he kicks the door till it is nearly broken – inside the house and outside. Now that he has seen it work with the police, I have not doubt he will do it for sure the next time. When I have changed the locks, he breaks in. When I call the police, they never do anything to help me or him.

Here is a real life example…my son had been “fragile”for some days – his psychiatrist knew it and was working at regulating his medications. She had even said, if he gets worse, he will need to be hospitalized and you will need to call the police to have them do it. He was over 18, he refused to commit himself, and he said he was not going to hurt himself or others – so nothing could be done. Then he took a microphone from the Rock Band set and smashed every TV I had in my home. Televisions I had worked YEARS in order to be able to afford. I called the police and while his psychiatrist was on the phone, she asked to speak to the police officer in charge. She told him that he needed to be Baker Acted. The idiot police officer refused. He said my son was not a danger to himself or others. I begged the officer, the psychiatrist begged the officer. The officer told the MEDICALLY DEGREED PSYCHIATRIST that HE was in charge and that HE would determine if anyone was going to the psych ward at the local hospital. My son even begged the police officer to listen to me, to take him to the hospital. The police officer refused. He actually told me that if he wanted to go, I could take him myself. Are you kidding me? A 6 foot 1” tall, 165 pound raging child should get in a car with me while I drive him to the hospital 45 minutes away??? This is the insanity of caring for the mentally ill. Oh, the police all make a good show if they hurt you now, because of what they ignored for years that happened to a celebrity –but they do not help you or the mentally ill person get help that is meaningful. They wait until you are dead. Then they say, “There was no criminal history”. What a travesty.

I guarantee that is what Liza Long experienced on more than one occasion. There is no help for the mentally ill – that is a disability that is ignored. In this century it is still treated by whispering about it, sweeping it under the rug, ignoring the behaviors, the fears, the needs of the mentally ill – and the needs of their care givers.

I’m not suicidal – but I have no life. I can’t vacation without him, and if I do go away for a few days once in 12 years, I have to live in fear of him when I return. I can leave notes for medications, notes with neighbors who are well intentioned. But no one is equipped to manage what I manage 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. The mothers of mentally ill children, when left by their spouse, rarely remarry. They know that there is no sense bringing someone else into the equation that will only end up leaving, or causing more episodes of raging – because they are trying to “fix” them, when they are not fixable.

I have not had a date in 12 years. Not because I would not love to have companionship, but because I can’t deal with taking care of one more person in my life. There is no more energy for me to care, then for the ones I have to care for already. I am not a peacemaker. I am a sanity keeper. That is what is required of me, 24/7/365.

I know more about mood stabilizers, pharmaceuticals for the mentally ill, medication cocktails, timing of medications, than most doctors do.

About three weeks before Liza Long was killed by her mentally ill son, my son kicked me until my leg felt like it was broken in at least one place. I haven’t had the guts to go to have it x-rayed yet. The same leg he has kicked before. He knows I bruise easily on my legs, so he chooses to hurt me there, because he can always claim that I have “banana legs”, so the photos of what he did won’t look so bad in his mind and this is how he intends to defend himself. I called 911. I have always told my son that if he hurts me in any way, I will call the police. While I was on the phone with 911, my son called his dad on his cell phone. His father told him to run. The operator on the 911 call heard it. I begged my son not to run. I knew that the police could possibly shoot him. Guess that is what his dad wanted. When the police arrived, my son was still in a mental hyper mode of mania. He refused to move from in front of the door ­blocking me from getting to the door and refusing to open it, even though the police yelled for him to open the door. Instead, my mentally ill son goded them into breaking my door down on my beautiful home. They kicked it in. My sick, mentally ill son said he wanted to see them do it. They threatened to taze him. I begged them not to, telling them that he has lots of medicines in his system. I was afraid between the medications and the tazing, that they could kill him. They hand cuffed him. He argued with them when they told him to sit on the floor, and he even tried to get up off the floor and sit in the chair. They pulled him off the chair. Even in the face of handcuffs and the police and facing arrest, he was arguing, debating, not afraid of authority. Mental illness does that. It makes you not know what fear is. At least that is what I think.

On January 29, 2013 my son faces trial for what he did to me. He has a lawyer. My guess is that his father hired him, and I can promise you – this will all be about making me the guilty party, and my son the victim. And his father will do all he can to help him prove it. Yet, all the time he was in jail, his father never called to see how he was. My son will say I “baited him”, he will say that I wouldn’t let him eat food in his room. He would be right about me not wanting him to eat in his room. He is such a pig that I had to have the carpet ripped up it smelled so awful, carpet that was only one and a half years old. I had new tile – beautiful tile laid down, not in my bedroom, or the guest bedroom – or spend the $1000.00 on myself or put it into my retirement. No, I made HIS room nicer. He does literally nothing around the home. I have all the lawn equipment, but he refuses to do it. He could clean the house as his rent, but he refuses to. He could do the dishes, but he refuses to do them. Not even his own 80% of the time. You will accuse me of creating my own monster– that I am too easy going on him, that I never set boundaries. You have never lived in my shoes. I have tried it all. MANY times over the years. Nothing works, and since he knows he can hurt me, he refuses – knowing I will not “bait him”. The fact is, that most of the time, when he is in a manic state it is due to him not taking his medications at noon – often for days. I ask him every day, I check when I can, but there is no sure way to be certain. I bought him a watch that has 6 alarms on it, to remind him to take the medications. I wake him in the morning and give the first set of meds to him while he is in bed. The last set is at night, and I watch those being taken – OR if he refuses, I wait until he is sound asleep and then I go in and give them to him in his bed while he is in twilight slumber.

He ruins most all holidays. This Christmas was not too bad, because I threatened him that I would call the bail bondsman to come get him if he acted up. He isn’t even afraid of that. He said that the bail bondsman can’t take him back to jail unless he threatens me. Being mentally ill has NOTHING to do with being smart. Yes, he has learning disabilities too – but I spent a fortune giving him the best tutors, therapists, etc. so he could achieve as much education as possible. Guess I should have spent my money on changing the system on the care of the mentally ill. Did you know that there are only so many “sessions” a mentally ill person can have each year with a mental health provider before the insurance no longer pays? Wonder how that would fly with a man who was impotent and needed his appointments with his urologist. Or for a diabetic who needed their visits with their endocrinologist.

Did you know that the National Institute of Mental Health states that 1 in 4 adults have mental illness – or over 57.7 million Americans PER YEAR are diagnosed? Did you know that NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness states that one in every seventeen Americans live with a SERIOUS mental illness? Did you know that the U. S. Surgeon General reports that 10% of the children and adolescents of the United States of America are mentally ill? Yet we sweep it under the rug, whisper about it, refuse to accept it in our loved ones, never tell our relatives – when it might help us to discover that others are suffering too. Too often I hear, because I DO SPEAK UP, I am not afraid to tell people, my son is no different than if he had required a heart transplant and medication for the rest of his life. But people are quick to tell me that what I need to do is kick him out. Where is the Wounded Warrior Project for the Mentally Ill?

The stigma attached to mental illness is real and prevents diagnosis, treatment, funding and paralysis within our country. It is time to recognize and speak lovingly about those American's who face this horrific disease every day of their lives - and yet must remain in hiding for fear of losing a job, not receiving a promotion, being shunned, etc.

My fear is that by the time this Nation does anything, it will be too late for my son. Or for me.