Why tell my story...

Why tell the story of my childhood? It is painful and brings back many
memories that I would rather forget. Many people have told me I must
forgive and FORGET. I have forgiven; that was a long hard road I traveled
forgiving those who hurt me the most. Forgetting is not something I can do,
in this case, it is too important that others know what happens in the life
of a child whose parent has an untreated mental illness. We must reduce the
stigma that is related to mental illness, we must start supporting each
other. It is time for the world to care about those affected by mental
illness. When we make it hard for the consumer to seek treatment, we damage
more than the patient, we hurt the others in their life as well.
I was having an enjoyable conversation the other day, with someone that
recently moved to a new neighborhood. He mentioned that the neighbor was
very mouthy, and if you stood in your yard you could hear the neighbor
yelling at his family inside his house. He assured me that he was sure
there was no physical abuse towards his children and that the neighbor was
all mouth. This brought back more memories; long since forgotten. My
mother, in a rage, yelling at us all night. Once I went to the bus stop
after a long night of my mother’s yelling to have the next door neighbor and
the girl across the street tease me because they could hear my mother
yelling at me. That is right teasing me for the actions of my mother. That
told me how alone I was at such a young age. I now knew that the neighbors
could hear; and all they did was pick on me and make me feel even more
ashamed of my life. If someone yells something at you everyday you
eventually start to believe it. I had no self-esteem as a child or as a
teenager because I was told everyday, by someone I loved, that I was
worthless and bad and whiny.
What could have been done? First you must recognize that someone that
experiences rage like this needs help, not punishment. My mother didn’t put
me down because she didn’t love me or because she wanted to hurt me; she did
it because she couldn’t stop herself. I will never know if she saw the
damage or felt bad afterwards, because we do not have the kind of open
relationship that would allow this kind of talk to take place. I am sure
many people realized that my mother suffered from a mental illness; and if
they didn't, it is because they didn’t want to believe it could happen so
close to home. These people include her husband, her parents, her friends
and even her doctors. How could her doctors miss this? They relied on what
she told them and no one ever questioned the family. She was committed when
I was a young child for suicide attempts; she would be taken to the hospital
have her stomach pumped and then committed. She would be released after
three days. She would always be released with the same diagnoses:
Depression. Then the whole cycle would start again. How could she be fixed
in three days? The answer is - she wasn’t. To this day she suffers.
She has lost many things that we take for granted. She lost her marriage,
her relationships with her children and grandchildren. She missed the
births of 5 of her 8 grandchildren. She has now lost her house due to
uncontrollable spending sprees. Some days she does not even get dressed.
Did she fail us? No we have failed her. All of us; me, my father, her
parents but mainly society. "How can this be?" you may say. My mother has
admitted to many ailments in her life, and is even on disability for a
chronic back ailment; so why not admit to having a mental illness? I never
understood this until her last suicide attempt.
Right before Easter, my Mother’s last manic episode caught up to her. She
had stopped paying the mortgage on her house, and was in danger of losing
the house my grandparents live in as well. She had turned to my husband and
I for help in saving her parents’ house, by asking us to take over the note.
When we went to our bank for a mortgage, they told us it was being handled
as part of the foreclosure of her house; since they are neighboring
properties and she is the owner of both. We began working on getting my
grandparent’s house separated from the foreclosure. At the same time, my
father filed to have his support payments dropped, because he has no income
since he lost his job. She was presented the papers with a letter from her
lawyer telling her he would not represent her because she still owed him
over $3,000.00. She went to her parent’s house and talked to them all
afternoon. Upon leaving she told her mother she wished she were sick so she
could go into the hospital. I received a call from my mother fifteen
minutes later. She started telling me her friend was coming to get her
cats, and my grandparents could live with her sister and that she loved me.
I tried to keep her on the phone, since my husband and brother would soon be
home and I had no one to watch the children. She told me she had to call
her doctor, to say goodbye and then she hung up. I took my four children to
my grandparents and ran to my mother’s house (I live in between the two
houses). I found all the doors locked so I called her and asked her to let
me in. She did; and I found an empty bottle of pills lying on her bed. I
then called 911 and explained my mother had overdosed. After this she
became angry with me, and began yelling at me in front of the sheriff that I
am always committing her. This was very hard for me to hear, because I hate
being the one she blames, but I also realize that I did nothing wrong. She
was taken to the hospital in an ambulance and she signed herself in.
Enabling her to leave after two days instead of the three days that comes
with an involuntary commitment.
This was a tough time for my family and me, as no one could understand how
we felt and no one wants to talk about mental illness. You really learn who
your friends are at a time like this. Many people simply would change the
subject if we began actually telling them when they asked how we were doing.
People become noticeable uncomfortable when I talk to them about my
mother’s mental illness. If I feel the stigma, and am treated differently
because I am related to someone with a mental illness; then how could my
mother hope she would be treated fairly? That she could keep her family and
friends if she admitted she had a mental illness? My mother will probably
never be treated for her mental illness. So far I am the only one in the
family willing to even talk about this issue.
Currently my relationship with my mother is pretty shut off. She is civil
to me for my grandparents’ sake, but still blames me for her last committal,
and does not see that it is a result of her actions. My mother’s illness
has progressively gotten worse over the years; I wish I had seen her illness
in time to get her treatment in the fleeting moments when she would have
been receptive to treatment. She may never be able to enjoy her life as I
enjoy mine: Watching my children grow and just enjoy time passing by. I may
not be able to help her, but I hope to bring awareness to the difficulties
faced by consumers suffering from mental illness. In doing so, I hope to
save other families from going through the same pain as my mother and I
have.