The last few months have been chaotic for me. I am still very unclear as to my mother's charges against her, her condition, her psychological state, etc... With the holidays singing in the air, I have struggled terribly to be happy with everyone else. My mind keeps going back to the most ridiculous scenarios I have dealt with for the last decade and a half.
One memory that refuses to leave my mind is how my mother was treated, in my presence, by a mental health tech in Lake City, Florida. My mother had been on a "petty crime" spree and the jail transferred her to an indigent facility, I later transferred her to a better facility in Gainesville, Fl. The building was beige, all beige even the chairs. It stunk and it was tiny. There were 30-40 patients in a small T.V. room to the side of the intake room where I met police as they transferred my mom. She had been there just the previous week and getting her transferred the week before had been unsuccessful by phone, so I chose to drive the 100 miles to do it in person. It was required that this facility take her vitals before we loaded her back into the police cruiser and head south to her usual facility. I stepped in quietly and listened as the barely-eighteen tech began taking her vitals. My mother was calm and doing as he asked, raising her arm for the blood-pressure cuff, lifting her tongue for the thermometer, etc..
He began speaking to her extremely condescendingly, but I knew he didn't know who I was so I chose to keep my mouth shut. He began "Now Juliet, are you going to behave for me this time?" She was still being perfectly cooperative. He continued "You don't want this to get physical again do you? You aren't going to act like you did last week, you saw how that ended for you!" and with his last statement I opened my mouth. I questioned first "do you realize I am her daughter?" He shook his head no, then decided to jump to his own defense, "you didn't see it! She was a wild woman!" I cut him off "and she is being perfectly fine now. I understand she can get belligerent, but you are trying to instigate her to action!" "I am not!" he retorted. With my smirk and head wobble I began my speech "if I am here right now and you are speaking to her this way, what are you doing to the family-less patients here? I do believe you are the reason my mother had 2 black eyes last week, I was suspicious of that, but now I know!" His supervisor came out to intervene and "deescalate" the "situation." He explained the tech was new and please forgive his indiscretion. I refused forgiveness and demanded he be fired, the supervisor looked at me blankly and said "no!" I requested his supervisor, whom conveniently was on vacation, and a contact number. I called numerous times and was never contacted nor informed whether the tech still works there. I cannot let go of what my mind tells me happens to those patients that don't have family willing to intervene.
It is extremely difficult balancing having my mother around when I have 4 children myself. I often worry, and am blatantly told by some, that her being around my kids will damage them somehow. I never choose her over my children, when an incident beyond control takes place, thankfully there have only been a few. My children love and accept my mother. My older two understand there are issues that play into the often strange advice that comes from her, but they have a tremendous understanding of how delicate our minds truly are. They are fully aware of how grateful they should be for their minds and ability to think. The twins adore my mother, and while sometimes they know she does silly things, she meets them at their level and they have a kinship with one another. If it weren't for my being unwilling to forget my mother, I don't know what would have happened to her.
Yes, "letting her go" would realistically be "simpler" for me, but deep within me I cannot do it! I rarely receive thanks from my mother, but when I do it is touching. My heart hurts for those like my mother defenseless and in our justice system. They have no one fighting for them, no one in their corner, and are often "demonized" by local media. They receive no fair trial, because so many have used "insanity" pleas, and accept whatever heavy-handed judgement is deemed. They sit in prisons, often being taken advantage of by other inmates, and waste away. No visitors, no letters, no commissary money, nothing. Those that make it to hospitals for their sentence often end up in indigent care where "techs" are a dime a dozen and provoke their illness.
I am currently working on getting my mother's official police incidents, papers, etc... I have help from a family member that is an attorney and she has been such an amazing gift! Truly I hope my mother will not die in a prison in Georgia, but the possibility remains. The next time you see a "demonized" criminal whose actions seemed unreal, they may have been. They may be like my mother.
Showing posts with label schizophrenia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label schizophrenia. Show all posts
Monday, December 2, 2013
Friday, November 29, 2013
The Little Thief!
As a child, I spent many, many long road trips and often times extreme-hiking trips with my mother. Being a schizophrenic, she went when she got "god's orders." Sadly, "god" forgot to mention little kids need to eat. I would walk and ride with her mile after mile after mile. When we ran out of gas, we walked. Depending on which mission she was on, we couldn't stop unless she said so. Most times, she would get distracted and I could find a way to steal a meal. A meal was a snickers bar and if I got really gutsy a bottled water. I was good at it or maybe gas station employees knew I was starving. I got caught once, but quickly stole a dollar from a little old ladies purse. To this day, I still love snickers, but pay for them now.
Going 12-30 hours without food as a child was torture. As I aged, I kept a "kit" on hand at all times. One can of creamed corn and one can of sweet peas. I even brought can-openers. I remember, when I was around 11, my older sister realized I brought these items everywhere I went when I stayed overnight with her. She asked "why is there a can of corn and a can of peas in your bag?" I answered quickly, "I really like corn and peas!" She explained she could get some if she didn't already have any. What she didn't realize, was hers wasn't the only house I went to with the items in tow.
Many things from my childhood boiled over into my life even now. I don't cry, if it starts I dry it up with a quickness. No one cared when I was little if I cried or not, so I guess I learned not to. I want to cry so badly! I also read every street name as I pass. Every intersection! Survival techniques die hard I'm afraid. There are other "lingering effects" I won't discuss, simply because it hurts to tell them and since I can't cry, it will frustrate me. Trying to "break" old habits is beyond difficult.
When I look back and try to determine which ones originated where, then decide if they are useful, it is overwhelming! For instance : My husband HATES road trips with me! The entire drive from Florida to Arkansas must have been torture for him. I have this overwhelming need to know at our current distance (adjusted about every 10 miles) and speed what time will we arrive at X destination. After determining the distance and time frame desired I insist on a steady speed at the preformulated rate. I have tried not to do this, but it is beyond my control! I cannot keep myself from doing it. If I try, I look on the verge of peeing myself and he instinctively knows and tells me the speed he is traveling. I check the map, note the time, plot mileage, and announce what time we should arrive. Normally 2 hours of my questioning and he is driving 120 at a 10-2 position floating in "the zone."
These "annoyances" are hard to break! I have decided to give up actually, the little thief in me is refusing to let go of her stolen goods. Who says I need to break them anyway? Why am I pushing to break them? Does it really matter that I am impossible to ride in a car with? I understand everyone has their "little thieves" as well. Maybe a change in perspective is in order? For now, I am letting go of the "break those bad habits" ideals and just being me. Formerly tortured, now peculiar and amazing me!
Going 12-30 hours without food as a child was torture. As I aged, I kept a "kit" on hand at all times. One can of creamed corn and one can of sweet peas. I even brought can-openers. I remember, when I was around 11, my older sister realized I brought these items everywhere I went when I stayed overnight with her. She asked "why is there a can of corn and a can of peas in your bag?" I answered quickly, "I really like corn and peas!" She explained she could get some if she didn't already have any. What she didn't realize, was hers wasn't the only house I went to with the items in tow.
Many things from my childhood boiled over into my life even now. I don't cry, if it starts I dry it up with a quickness. No one cared when I was little if I cried or not, so I guess I learned not to. I want to cry so badly! I also read every street name as I pass. Every intersection! Survival techniques die hard I'm afraid. There are other "lingering effects" I won't discuss, simply because it hurts to tell them and since I can't cry, it will frustrate me. Trying to "break" old habits is beyond difficult.
When I look back and try to determine which ones originated where, then decide if they are useful, it is overwhelming! For instance : My husband HATES road trips with me! The entire drive from Florida to Arkansas must have been torture for him. I have this overwhelming need to know at our current distance (adjusted about every 10 miles) and speed what time will we arrive at X destination. After determining the distance and time frame desired I insist on a steady speed at the preformulated rate. I have tried not to do this, but it is beyond my control! I cannot keep myself from doing it. If I try, I look on the verge of peeing myself and he instinctively knows and tells me the speed he is traveling. I check the map, note the time, plot mileage, and announce what time we should arrive. Normally 2 hours of my questioning and he is driving 120 at a 10-2 position floating in "the zone."
These "annoyances" are hard to break! I have decided to give up actually, the little thief in me is refusing to let go of her stolen goods. Who says I need to break them anyway? Why am I pushing to break them? Does it really matter that I am impossible to ride in a car with? I understand everyone has their "little thieves" as well. Maybe a change in perspective is in order? For now, I am letting go of the "break those bad habits" ideals and just being me. Formerly tortured, now peculiar and amazing me!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Extended Perceptions
I have the downright worst virus I have had since the Shingles two years ago. I was running a fever all night, so my perceptions were utterly distorted. My dreams were wild and the slightest noises took on an entire different meaning to me.
My kids were making gingerbread men, blame Walmart for the skip from Halloween to Christmas, and my daughter left some in the oven entirely too long. I must have smelled the smoke and my dreams turned it into a wild scene. I started dreaming the house was on fire and the fire department refused to put it out. They told me I had to put the flames out myself, so they gave me buckets full of vienna sausages! As I would throw the buckets, the vienna sausages would burst into popcorn. I soon realized there were no more flames and my house was intact, but there were easily 1 million vienna sausage-popcorns to now dispose of.
Later in the night, with a fever still, I dreamed I was put in charge of the "world's computer brain." There were men in hazmat suits handing me wrenches to fix the machine and I would look for bolts to tighten. I kept saying "do you realize I have no clue how to fix this sparkling rainbow machine!" They just kept insisting I was the one chosen to maintain the brain and refused to understand I had no concept of what I was doing. I was getting furious the longer this scene went on. I can't remember much else of the dream except my utter exasperation with the ridiculousness of it.
My perceptions were terribly distorted during the "sleep-wake" of my sickness. I remember absolutely nothing accurately from the last 36 hours. This has me once again thinking of my mother and our justice system. My mother is constantly in a torment of the mind, yet the justice system's sole purpose is to get her sane enough to stand trial. If I, with a simple virus, could not make any sense of reality, how is my mother expected to do so? How is it justice to seeks a harsh penalty on a person who was not in their right mind at the time of the crime?
It leads me to believe, some form of our justice system was perverted. Are we confusing "crimes of passion" with "insanity?" My mother has decades long proof of insanity, yet I am told it will be nearly impossible to get her an "insanity plea!" Our court systems have become judge, jury, and executioner of the mentally ill. My mother is ill-equipped to defend herself from cellmates and others looking to take advantage of her medical state. At 60, 5 foot tall, and 97 pounds, she is no match for about anyone, but "justice" must be served so they say. Justice is an idea of course and the severity of justice sought depends on the people and the environment. In my corner is my schizophrenic mother whom I have no right to demand preventive measures for, but when she "breaks" (for lack of a better term) it is my fault and I hear "why din't you do sum'in bout' her?" Then in the other corner, is the rest of the world seeing a crazy-eyed lunatic that needs to be removed from society forever.
Of course, removing her from our presence would be the easiest resolution, but what about her life? Is her life being lived fully? Is "justice" for her being sought? How about others like her? I know I am not the only one coping with this set of circumstances thanks to Google. As a collective group, we need to stand up and say "hey! this isn't ok!" We expect accommodations for the physically disabled and some mentally disabled, yet my mother's group is left "out in the cold." She deserves a life where she is safe, where she is protected from the rest of us. Not in a jail cell and not in the headlines of the "local ignoramus news" labeled "Bonnie" from Bonnie and Clyde.
My kids were making gingerbread men, blame Walmart for the skip from Halloween to Christmas, and my daughter left some in the oven entirely too long. I must have smelled the smoke and my dreams turned it into a wild scene. I started dreaming the house was on fire and the fire department refused to put it out. They told me I had to put the flames out myself, so they gave me buckets full of vienna sausages! As I would throw the buckets, the vienna sausages would burst into popcorn. I soon realized there were no more flames and my house was intact, but there were easily 1 million vienna sausage-popcorns to now dispose of.
Later in the night, with a fever still, I dreamed I was put in charge of the "world's computer brain." There were men in hazmat suits handing me wrenches to fix the machine and I would look for bolts to tighten. I kept saying "do you realize I have no clue how to fix this sparkling rainbow machine!" They just kept insisting I was the one chosen to maintain the brain and refused to understand I had no concept of what I was doing. I was getting furious the longer this scene went on. I can't remember much else of the dream except my utter exasperation with the ridiculousness of it.
My perceptions were terribly distorted during the "sleep-wake" of my sickness. I remember absolutely nothing accurately from the last 36 hours. This has me once again thinking of my mother and our justice system. My mother is constantly in a torment of the mind, yet the justice system's sole purpose is to get her sane enough to stand trial. If I, with a simple virus, could not make any sense of reality, how is my mother expected to do so? How is it justice to seeks a harsh penalty on a person who was not in their right mind at the time of the crime?
It leads me to believe, some form of our justice system was perverted. Are we confusing "crimes of passion" with "insanity?" My mother has decades long proof of insanity, yet I am told it will be nearly impossible to get her an "insanity plea!" Our court systems have become judge, jury, and executioner of the mentally ill. My mother is ill-equipped to defend herself from cellmates and others looking to take advantage of her medical state. At 60, 5 foot tall, and 97 pounds, she is no match for about anyone, but "justice" must be served so they say. Justice is an idea of course and the severity of justice sought depends on the people and the environment. In my corner is my schizophrenic mother whom I have no right to demand preventive measures for, but when she "breaks" (for lack of a better term) it is my fault and I hear "why din't you do sum'in bout' her?" Then in the other corner, is the rest of the world seeing a crazy-eyed lunatic that needs to be removed from society forever.
Of course, removing her from our presence would be the easiest resolution, but what about her life? Is her life being lived fully? Is "justice" for her being sought? How about others like her? I know I am not the only one coping with this set of circumstances thanks to Google. As a collective group, we need to stand up and say "hey! this isn't ok!" We expect accommodations for the physically disabled and some mentally disabled, yet my mother's group is left "out in the cold." She deserves a life where she is safe, where she is protected from the rest of us. Not in a jail cell and not in the headlines of the "local ignoramus news" labeled "Bonnie" from Bonnie and Clyde.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Laughter Gets Me Through It
While many people are often shocked to hear what I have been through with my mom, many times I choose to laugh rather than giving in and crying myself to sleep. Police officers have become street psychiatrists; unfortunately, this is neither fair to the mentally
Ill facing arrest nor the officer. A rookie officer got "broke in " well a couple years back when he called me, my mother's official contact in these situations, to inquire of her "mental state."
My mother had been hallucinating for weeks and fasting to purge demons from her life. Many midnight calls had been received from her at my house; in each, she was frantically begging me to seek forgiveness from the voodoo witch I had apparently pissed off. The witch had sent a message to my mother, via a german shepherd in my mother's yard, that I must be sacrificed for my sins. I ignored these as usual, did not call the police for a welfare check because I knew it was futile with as elusive as my mom can be in these episodes, and hoped she would somehow get herself placed on a mental hold. My mother was being tormented by the demons she saw and they were commanding her to do as they wished.
She later described these events to me, I am explaining them prior to my phone call from " the rookie" ( I have names for them I make up) to help set the scene. The events she described:
Her priest had given her special prayers to ward off the demons tormenting her. As she began the prayers, with rosary in hand, her house began to shake. The walls moved as if flags driven by the wind and the floor became gelatin like. This opened a portal for demons, sent by the witch, to interact with her. They told her she was no match for them and they were now attacking her seven fold. They threatened to dismember me and spread my bowels in the great lake of fire if she did not do as commanded. They began by making her remove her clothes then walk to the riverbank beneath her home. As she looked out across the moon blanketed water, she saw the orange glow of gator eyes. The demons commanded her to get in. She pleaded not to and again they threatened me. She did as she was told. She said they made her stay until dawn. When the sun rose, the demons commanded her to walk to a nearby home. There was a young mother outside playing with her toddler son. The demons commanded she kill them, my mother begged them to kill her instead. The demons replied "instead of killing them, walk to her garden and pee in it." My mother did as she was told and was commanded to walk into the woods and not stop until the demons returned to direct her. For four nights she wandered in those woods until the demons returned. They promised not to kill me if she walked to the interstate and committed suicide in the median for all the world to see. She obeyed.
With the back story in mind, hopefully, understanding of my actions with "the rookie" might make sense. I hadn't heard from my mom for ten days (truly a short time in comparison to her usual) when I received the officer's call. I knew it was an officer by the area code, I also knew it wasn't being routed through the dispatch team at the sherriff's office, this was a personal cell phone; absolutely a terrifying sign. Our conversation:
" Hello, is this Jennifer, daughter of Juliet Austin?" he began.
Me: "yes, what do you need?"
The Rookie, " well, ma'am. I am here with your mom and miss if I can say, something is very wrong with her."
Me: "continue"
The Rookie: (stumbling over his words terribly) " I am so afraid to upset you."
Me: " I highly doubt you will, but go ahead and spit it out!"
The Rookie " we recieved 17 calls within 3 minutes of a naked woman on the interstate trying to commit suicide. I got here, and ma'am I do not think your mother is ok, she is suicidal! She has a broken beer bottle and has repeatedly stabbed herself in the neck, arms, and torso. She is refusing all medical treatment. She wants to be left here to die. Has she ever been suicidal before?"
Me: (irate at this point) "well! ROOKIE! My mother is a devout catholic and would never commit suicide. She is SACRIFICING herself to save me from the voodoo witch. Get that correct first and she may allow you to get her treatment!"
The Rookie: a long pause then "well, ma'am how long has she been considering sacrifice?"
Me: " I guess at least a few days, but sacrificing herself is new to me. Put her on a psych hold and I will call her doctor."
The Rookie: "ma'am, I called you from my personal phone because I was so concerned about your mother. I will do my best to get her the help she needs."
Me: "I wish you the best of luck with that! I will call her doctor. Goodbye."
As I sighed while hanging up, I glanced at my husband who was driving us onward to our vacation. He was driving with hands at a perfect 10 and 2, not his usual 6 o'clock, his lips folded in, and his face beet red. I asked " what the hell is wrong with you?" One look in my direction and the laughter burst from within him! "Do you think my mother trying to sacrifice herself is funny?" That did it, he had to pull over. With tears in his eyes from the now hysterical laughter, he explained "while you were 'schooling' the rookie, nice name for this one might I add, you certainly didn't think before you spoke!" I was livid now, I raged "what is your problem, you are being so insensitive! I can't stand you!" He said "I am sorry honey, but I won't be surprised if you end up on a hold!" It was then that I realized what I had said. Yes, it was me explaining sacrifices and witches. I was now laughing too. Truly, that poor officer was probably scratching his head as to why I, the "supposedly sane" one, was my mom's emergency medical contact! Oh how we laughed together. A nice respite from the usual tears. While the situation was in no way a laughing matter, somehow my mistake made it better; it lightened my burden.
My mother was hospitalized, medicated, and released 96 hours later. She was on to new missions and quests. Of course, I got her out of that trouble too.
Ill facing arrest nor the officer. A rookie officer got "broke in " well a couple years back when he called me, my mother's official contact in these situations, to inquire of her "mental state."
My mother had been hallucinating for weeks and fasting to purge demons from her life. Many midnight calls had been received from her at my house; in each, she was frantically begging me to seek forgiveness from the voodoo witch I had apparently pissed off. The witch had sent a message to my mother, via a german shepherd in my mother's yard, that I must be sacrificed for my sins. I ignored these as usual, did not call the police for a welfare check because I knew it was futile with as elusive as my mom can be in these episodes, and hoped she would somehow get herself placed on a mental hold. My mother was being tormented by the demons she saw and they were commanding her to do as they wished.
She later described these events to me, I am explaining them prior to my phone call from " the rookie" ( I have names for them I make up) to help set the scene. The events she described:
Her priest had given her special prayers to ward off the demons tormenting her. As she began the prayers, with rosary in hand, her house began to shake. The walls moved as if flags driven by the wind and the floor became gelatin like. This opened a portal for demons, sent by the witch, to interact with her. They told her she was no match for them and they were now attacking her seven fold. They threatened to dismember me and spread my bowels in the great lake of fire if she did not do as commanded. They began by making her remove her clothes then walk to the riverbank beneath her home. As she looked out across the moon blanketed water, she saw the orange glow of gator eyes. The demons commanded her to get in. She pleaded not to and again they threatened me. She did as she was told. She said they made her stay until dawn. When the sun rose, the demons commanded her to walk to a nearby home. There was a young mother outside playing with her toddler son. The demons commanded she kill them, my mother begged them to kill her instead. The demons replied "instead of killing them, walk to her garden and pee in it." My mother did as she was told and was commanded to walk into the woods and not stop until the demons returned to direct her. For four nights she wandered in those woods until the demons returned. They promised not to kill me if she walked to the interstate and committed suicide in the median for all the world to see. She obeyed.
With the back story in mind, hopefully, understanding of my actions with "the rookie" might make sense. I hadn't heard from my mom for ten days (truly a short time in comparison to her usual) when I received the officer's call. I knew it was an officer by the area code, I also knew it wasn't being routed through the dispatch team at the sherriff's office, this was a personal cell phone; absolutely a terrifying sign. Our conversation:
" Hello, is this Jennifer, daughter of Juliet Austin?" he began.
Me: "yes, what do you need?"
The Rookie, " well, ma'am. I am here with your mom and miss if I can say, something is very wrong with her."
Me: "continue"
The Rookie: (stumbling over his words terribly) " I am so afraid to upset you."
Me: " I highly doubt you will, but go ahead and spit it out!"
The Rookie " we recieved 17 calls within 3 minutes of a naked woman on the interstate trying to commit suicide. I got here, and ma'am I do not think your mother is ok, she is suicidal! She has a broken beer bottle and has repeatedly stabbed herself in the neck, arms, and torso. She is refusing all medical treatment. She wants to be left here to die. Has she ever been suicidal before?"
Me: (irate at this point) "well! ROOKIE! My mother is a devout catholic and would never commit suicide. She is SACRIFICING herself to save me from the voodoo witch. Get that correct first and she may allow you to get her treatment!"
The Rookie: a long pause then "well, ma'am how long has she been considering sacrifice?"
Me: " I guess at least a few days, but sacrificing herself is new to me. Put her on a psych hold and I will call her doctor."
The Rookie: "ma'am, I called you from my personal phone because I was so concerned about your mother. I will do my best to get her the help she needs."
Me: "I wish you the best of luck with that! I will call her doctor. Goodbye."
As I sighed while hanging up, I glanced at my husband who was driving us onward to our vacation. He was driving with hands at a perfect 10 and 2, not his usual 6 o'clock, his lips folded in, and his face beet red. I asked " what the hell is wrong with you?" One look in my direction and the laughter burst from within him! "Do you think my mother trying to sacrifice herself is funny?" That did it, he had to pull over. With tears in his eyes from the now hysterical laughter, he explained "while you were 'schooling' the rookie, nice name for this one might I add, you certainly didn't think before you spoke!" I was livid now, I raged "what is your problem, you are being so insensitive! I can't stand you!" He said "I am sorry honey, but I won't be surprised if you end up on a hold!" It was then that I realized what I had said. Yes, it was me explaining sacrifices and witches. I was now laughing too. Truly, that poor officer was probably scratching his head as to why I, the "supposedly sane" one, was my mom's emergency medical contact! Oh how we laughed together. A nice respite from the usual tears. While the situation was in no way a laughing matter, somehow my mistake made it better; it lightened my burden.
My mother was hospitalized, medicated, and released 96 hours later. She was on to new missions and quests. Of course, I got her out of that trouble too.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
She Would Have Been a Shaman
About 5 years ago, I watched a primetime show (I don't recall which one) about shamans. As they portrayed their amazing feats: extended fasts, holding their breath while heads buried in the sand, etc..., I remember saying to my husband "hell, that is nothing compared to my mom!" He agreed with me and we discussed some of her "feats." She has walked thousands of miles to see me, I have seen her place acid in her eyes and have no lasting damage (she was curing her "cancer of the demons" that had been plaquing her brain), she has fasted herself to the point of kidney failure twice, and yet here in the USA she is "crazy" not a spiritual leader of her community.
The show awakened something in me that night and I truly believe it is worth investigating. Aside from the obvious question: who IS this "normal" person psychiatry and psychology use as their grand measuring stick? I needed to answer questions for myself. Here is my "short" list of questions:
Is she actually a shaman?
How is she "different" from a shaman?
Is there any merit to her visions and dreams?
Would she be "cured" if only her fellow man would leave her alone?
The only answer I could come up with is Yes! indeed she is a shaman. Like a shaman, she had a "death and rebirth." Before schizophrenia "claimed" her she was prom queen, well educated, and athletic ( all normal by American standards); afterward, she was distant,stuck inside herself, and on a quest for enlightenment. Like a shaman, she regularly practices amazing miracles. I have removed her shoes after she hiked 1096 miles to my house, to reveal blackened skin and exposed bone. As I pleaded with her to allow me to take her to the ER, she calmly walked to my bathroom, grabbed rubbing alcohol from the cabinet then poured it on her feet without flinching, then calmly asked if I could spare a pair of clean socks. Her feet are still attached and they healed, so yes, she MUST be a shaman. She and shamans are one in the same no doubt.
Many of her visions require interpreting. Much like the bible (yes, the prophets were either shamans or schizophrenics too), but beneath the often garbled, non-sensical words, lie deep truths. I will "interpret " for you as I am her "student" if you will.
"All people are useful and desire to help"
" graciously accepting a gift is as important as giving one"
" truth is not real, only lies"
"Karma will get you 100 fold"
The answer is yes. Her visions have merit and are worthy of repeating.
"Coexist," with all the symbols of the major religions, is seen on the bumpers of cars everywhere. My mom deserves that too. While she has had a few major crime incidents, I can whole-heartedly proclaim she was the victim, she is honestly rather harmless. Our judicial system would disagree, but her attacks were provoked, and her perpetrators warned numerous times to leave her alone. She truly is more afraid of the world than the world is of her. She constantly avoids crowds because she believes everyone is uncomfortable (because she believes there is ink she cannot see on her forehead warning others she is "psycho") around her. If people could and would accept that she may say or do things they wouldn't understand, a life lived happy and free could be attainable for her.
A poem (yes, I wrote a poem) about my mother:
Shaman Mother
She would have been a shaman,
In another place and time.
Her death and rebirth complete.
Control of the spirits at her will.
This world subdues her!
With its medicine.
Medicine Man she would have been
With her cures seen,
through enlightened eyes.
They cure her themselves,
As she prepares for a long sleep.
Never to truly awaken.
Stop! She tells them,
Let me be!
But they won't.
Only through their eyes,
Will they see.
Her words garbled,
They refuse to hear.
Only the outward appearance,
She is their plaque.
Hide your children!
She comes!
Wild eyed and crazy,
Weaving tales of demons!
Do not hear!
We have the cure!
You shout!
But you are weak ,
Refusing to listen,
In your ignorant state.
Walk on by!
Do not stop!
Fast you should run!
Take your seats.
Bow your heads,
In humble remembrance
Of your Lord.
Where is he,
When she cries out?
Won't save
Her wretched soul.
Give her peace!
Yes you can!
Leave her be!
Look away!
Let her live
And be free.
Because she sees,
What you won't.
Only a poem could express what I feel. While my road to this state of acceptance has been long, I propose we change. Change our minds, our hearts, and our souls.
The show awakened something in me that night and I truly believe it is worth investigating. Aside from the obvious question: who IS this "normal" person psychiatry and psychology use as their grand measuring stick? I needed to answer questions for myself. Here is my "short" list of questions:
Is she actually a shaman?
How is she "different" from a shaman?
Is there any merit to her visions and dreams?
Would she be "cured" if only her fellow man would leave her alone?
The only answer I could come up with is Yes! indeed she is a shaman. Like a shaman, she had a "death and rebirth." Before schizophrenia "claimed" her she was prom queen, well educated, and athletic ( all normal by American standards); afterward, she was distant,stuck inside herself, and on a quest for enlightenment. Like a shaman, she regularly practices amazing miracles. I have removed her shoes after she hiked 1096 miles to my house, to reveal blackened skin and exposed bone. As I pleaded with her to allow me to take her to the ER, she calmly walked to my bathroom, grabbed rubbing alcohol from the cabinet then poured it on her feet without flinching, then calmly asked if I could spare a pair of clean socks. Her feet are still attached and they healed, so yes, she MUST be a shaman. She and shamans are one in the same no doubt.
Many of her visions require interpreting. Much like the bible (yes, the prophets were either shamans or schizophrenics too), but beneath the often garbled, non-sensical words, lie deep truths. I will "interpret " for you as I am her "student" if you will.
"All people are useful and desire to help"
" graciously accepting a gift is as important as giving one"
" truth is not real, only lies"
"Karma will get you 100 fold"
The answer is yes. Her visions have merit and are worthy of repeating.
"Coexist," with all the symbols of the major religions, is seen on the bumpers of cars everywhere. My mom deserves that too. While she has had a few major crime incidents, I can whole-heartedly proclaim she was the victim, she is honestly rather harmless. Our judicial system would disagree, but her attacks were provoked, and her perpetrators warned numerous times to leave her alone. She truly is more afraid of the world than the world is of her. She constantly avoids crowds because she believes everyone is uncomfortable (because she believes there is ink she cannot see on her forehead warning others she is "psycho") around her. If people could and would accept that she may say or do things they wouldn't understand, a life lived happy and free could be attainable for her.
A poem (yes, I wrote a poem) about my mother:
Shaman Mother
She would have been a shaman,
In another place and time.
Her death and rebirth complete.
Control of the spirits at her will.
This world subdues her!
With its medicine.
Medicine Man she would have been
With her cures seen,
through enlightened eyes.
They cure her themselves,
As she prepares for a long sleep.
Never to truly awaken.
Stop! She tells them,
Let me be!
But they won't.
Only through their eyes,
Will they see.
Her words garbled,
They refuse to hear.
Only the outward appearance,
She is their plaque.
Hide your children!
She comes!
Wild eyed and crazy,
Weaving tales of demons!
Do not hear!
We have the cure!
You shout!
But you are weak ,
Refusing to listen,
In your ignorant state.
Walk on by!
Do not stop!
Fast you should run!
Take your seats.
Bow your heads,
In humble remembrance
Of your Lord.
Where is he,
When she cries out?
Won't save
Her wretched soul.
Give her peace!
Yes you can!
Leave her be!
Look away!
Let her live
And be free.
Because she sees,
What you won't.
Only a poem could express what I feel. While my road to this state of acceptance has been long, I propose we change. Change our minds, our hearts, and our souls.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Driving Ms. Crazy
Much of my adult life, has been spent caring for my paranoid schizophrenic mother. I have been asked my favoritequestions "why don't you do somethin' bout her" and "is she on drugs?" The answers always are "No!"and "No!" The truth is, it isn't illegal to be "insane" in the USA and my mother is completely medication/drug free (unless of course she has been court ordered to take her meds for her mostly petty crimes).
It is time for this country and its doctors and scientists to wake up, listen, (I hope you notice my purposeful exclusion of law enforcement because that is a novel's worth of reformation) and insist on change. Medications need to change, interactions need to change, and acceptance and insistence need to lead the reform.
Having driven her cross country numerous times, after rescuing her from our legal system, has taught me lessons no one could comprehend. I am grateful for the unique perspective on what I call the "human condition" because of my crazy little mom. From learning how to stand up to her "victims" and give them the "I told you to leave her alone" speech, to simple, yet moving children's stories only her and her "crazy mind" could pen, my life is lived abundantly and fully because I know full well of the 7 billion + of us that share this planet, most of us take our minds and souls for granted.
My life has seen many horrors, but I have lived, been scarred, and been awakened. Trust me when I say, many "sane" people quickly take advantage of the mentally ill, and in my life, the small daughter that wandered with her. I hope to give some understanding (never try to understand it fully you will drive yourself mad), peace, and a sense of equanimity for those like me; and a glimpse of truth for those untouched by mental illness.
It is time for this country and its doctors and scientists to wake up, listen, (I hope you notice my purposeful exclusion of law enforcement because that is a novel's worth of reformation) and insist on change. Medications need to change, interactions need to change, and acceptance and insistence need to lead the reform.
Having driven her cross country numerous times, after rescuing her from our legal system, has taught me lessons no one could comprehend. I am grateful for the unique perspective on what I call the "human condition" because of my crazy little mom. From learning how to stand up to her "victims" and give them the "I told you to leave her alone" speech, to simple, yet moving children's stories only her and her "crazy mind" could pen, my life is lived abundantly and fully because I know full well of the 7 billion + of us that share this planet, most of us take our minds and souls for granted.
My life has seen many horrors, but I have lived, been scarred, and been awakened. Trust me when I say, many "sane" people quickly take advantage of the mentally ill, and in my life, the small daughter that wandered with her. I hope to give some understanding (never try to understand it fully you will drive yourself mad), peace, and a sense of equanimity for those like me; and a glimpse of truth for those untouched by mental illness.
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