This Is Who the Universe Gave Me to Take Care of…and I Need Help
Mom it is after 12 can hv today's money?
A text from the person who has been told - by the police - that he is not to contact me before his court date, which is today. Because I am the “victim” in this case.
It says so on the police report I filled out last night.
The victim of my son’s abuse - verbal but relentless, And I no longer believe it could never escalate beyond this.
I’m scared of - and scared for - this beautiful person I gave birth to 42 years ago.
Universe, I quit this job. I’m done. How I wish I could. I’ve supported him through more crises related to his mental illness than I can count - picked up the sharp pieces and helped him rebuild.
But I cannot “support” him through addiction…and my own destruction
I have fought my son's schizophrenia for over 25 years, ever since his diagnosis, and for years before that, as the symptoms appeared and escalated.
“I’m scared of - and scared for - this beautiful person I gave birth to 42 years ago.”
Believe me, I have done my best. My absolute best.
Let me count the ways:
Troubled teen residential programs in Montana and Idaho.
Three apartments rented, furnished, supported…and dismantled.
Three group homes.
Nine years of medication supervision and free rent in my home,
Ten hospitalizations.
Help getting him out of two arrests - the second time to get him into a jail diversion program.
Serving as conservator of estate and person - fixing financial disasters, helping practitioners help him with careful record-keeping and consultation.
I knew my son’s behavior wasn’t his fault - it’s an illness with the added bonus of anosognosia (he doesn’t know he is ill)
I learned about schizophrenia, wrote a book about it, host a podcast about it, helped other families cope as a NAMI Family-to-Family teacher and trainer.
I’ve been turning the pain into purpose for decades, steadfastly collecting the memories of good days when my son was “almost normal”, making peace with this by telling myself that this is who the Universe gave me to take care of.
I was up to the job.
But I can’t do it anymore - not now that substance abuse has entered the picture.
For over two hours yesterday I retreated from my son as he followed me around a shopping center and then his neighborhood, screaming that I had to give him the money I had set aside to pay for the dental work he has to have. This is why he has a conservator - to make the decisions he is not capable of making.
While he had been in jail this year awaiting a bed in the diversion program, some money had accumulated for him - enough to set him up in a fresh start. We celebrated his “graduation” with some new furniture, some clothes, and kept some aside for the college classes he wanted to take, the used car he hoped to buy, and to pay an oral surgeon to pull the rotted teeth that were causing so much pain, preventing him from landing jobs, and were threatening his life.
He was so excited.
For two days.
And then, I suspect, he started using substances again. Marijuana for sure, but it has to be more than that. The change in him is extreme.
My son currently looks alder than I do. No life in his face. Bags under his eyes. Dirty fingernails. Muscle twitches in his hands and jaw. Is that Haldol side effects? - or is his street purchase of marijuana laced with fentanyl?
We had set a budget together, but he kept asking for the money we’d set aside as well. He wore me down asking and asking and asking. Part of me was glad he wouldn’t have enough for a car, because I could see he was in no condition to drive anymore. Before I knew it, all that was left was the money for the dental work, and I stopped giving in.
Like a toddler who doesn’t get the toy he wants, my son escalated his begging, yelling, and tantruming for over two hours. Every time I got in my car to get away from him, he popped into the passenger seat before I could lock him out. Every time I exited the car, he got out and followed me everywhere, as I retreated down the block and into alleys and driveways.
This is what the passers-by saw: me, walking away, attempting to calm myself with mantras like “it’s his illness, it’s not him”.
Him, two steps, behind, saying the same things over and over:
“It’s my money, it’s not your money”
“Just listen to me.”
“You can’t make decisions for me. It’s my money.”
“I want to go clubbing tonight.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Give me my money!!!!”
“Are you too stupid to understand?”
This is not schizophrenia. This is drug-induced mania. I don’t know what he is using, but I’ve never seen marijuana do this.
Back to my vehicle. After a few tries, I finally succeed in locking my son out of the car.
He stands in front of it, blocking my way.
When he gets distracted enough to move away I take off down the driveway of his supported housing building - and he runs alongside, pulling open the driver’s side door and trying to get in to stop me.
I keep driving. This is my only chance to escape.
He is knocked to the ground, but okay enough to get back up and run after the car.
This man, the boy I raised, this child whose first act after graduating from jail diversion was to buy gifts for his nieces and nephew because he had missed their birthdays, is the source of my terror now.
So I call the police. Ask for a mental health crisis team for him.
But he had already called them to accuse me of abuse.
I drive back to his apartment complex. Wait in my locked car for the officers to arrive, hoping I don’t see my son try to get into my car again.
I think about what I’ll say to my husband if they arrest me.
Eventually after taking our statements, the police charge my son with breach of peace and interfering with a 911 call (he had ripped the phone out of my hands when I had said I was calling the police, that he was scaring me).
I ask for him to be sent to the hospital for a 72-hour hold, but hear the all-too-familiar, “sorry, he’s not sick enough.”
Not a harm to himself or others. Really? After trying to carjack his mother, being knocked down in the process?
So they arrest him, take him to the station to be fingerprinted and processed - and later he s released on promise to appear in court today, with clear instructions not to contact the victim - me.
It’s 2 am now. I couldn’t sleep for more than three hours.
And wake up to that text, sent immediately after midnight. Delete it after the screenshot. Even directives from the police couldn’t stop him from asking for cash.
I have no more fight in me, with two enemies now: schizophrenia and now substance abuse.
Tomorrow, I find an attorney to be the conservator. I can’t do that job anymore. I’ll always be his mother, but I can’t save him again.
Universe, I’ve done my best. I have other people to take care of. As they remind me at AlAnon,
It’s his journey too.
