THAT F@CKING BUMPER STICKER by Ray Weaver

This is rough...but it's my heart…

I got angry at a woman, today. I don't know her, and she doesn’t even know I'm alive. And yet, her very existence, well, more to the point, the existence of the bumpersticker on her car, filled me with a stupid, unreasonable rage.

That f@cking bumpersticker. 

You know the one. It’s festooned with the same innocuous slogan that is plastered on every minivan in America. “My kid is an honor roll student at YourTownHere Middle School.” Really? Who cares? Who really f@cking cares?

My daughter is an inmate at Clifton T. Perkins psychiatric hospital in Jessup, Maryland. There’s no bumpersticker for that.

So, good luck to you, lady, and your honor roll student. Believe me, that sh@t changes without warning. My daughter was an honor roll student, a world-class musician, an actress, a funny, well-loved kid with a beautiful smile and laughing eyes. Now she has schizophrenia.

Or is it bipolar? Or borderline? Or schizo-effective disorder? Or none of the above? The fact that she was diagnosed — or misdiagnosed — under virtually every category in the DSM-V (or is it IV?) is part of the tragedy that has tormented my daughter and my family since she was a child. Because after a being let down and abandoned by medical systems on both sides of the Atlantic, my beautiful daughter could fight no longer and succumbed to the demons that have haunted her for nearly all of her short life.

They raged through her body and soul, writhing like snakes beneath her skin, robbing her of the ability to think, go to school, work or even show the most basic of human compassion and emotion. Her life became a wasteland of days spent searching for and then wallowing in whatever she could find to self-medicate her pain and fear away. The demons had won, it seemed. 

Despite our best and constant efforts, my good wife and myself, weary from the fear-filled days and sleepless nights felt like all was lost. At least, we would often console ourselves, things couldn't get any worse. 

Until they did.

Ray

Ray

THE BEST TEACHER I'VE EVER HAD by Deborah Fabos

My son, James, is 34. I'm so proud of the man he's become, and grateful to everyone who's helped him get where he is today. Mostly though, I'm grateful for him.

You see, although I'd take away his illness if I could, his journey's made me a better person. Although I'd eliminate all the pain he's walked through, his pain's enabled me to be more compassionate. Although I'd give him back the life he knew before his symptoms took it all away, I'm grateful each day that he is alive and able to give and receive love.

This picture was taken in January 2017. James looks the same except that he's thinner now. There were so many times along the way that I never, in my wildest dreams, thought he could enjoy such a wonderful quality of life. Don't get me wrong, he can't hold a full time job and will never be totally independent, but he's accomplished so much more than we dared to hope for.

James

James

A wise man once told me that what I needed to do was give my son something he didn't want to loose. This was what I built everything on. It's a solid foundation. Of course, as you well know, doing it takes a village! 

Just a little back story because I understand how hopeless and overwhelming caregiving for our loved ones can be — the pain, the endless stress, the blocked paths to treatment, the grief, and the feeling of isolation.  For my son, his journey started before his birth, really. I was high risk due to having placenta previa and he was in fetal distress during labor. They couldn't find a vein for an IV so I could have a C-section so other methods had to be used. James was blue from a knot in the umbilical cord that was wrapped around his neck.

When James was in second grade, he was diagnosed with ADHD and we started behavior modifications along with medication. He continued with behavior modifications until he became so ill that they didn't work well.

James was always a gifted athlete. In his freshman year of high school, his coaches told him to look for college scholarships in basketball, baseball, and football. But, by age 15, his symptoms were  severe and he was put in a locked down facility out of state because he was still a minor. I appealed to the court to release him into my care so I could get him treatment. He needed treatment, not punishment, and it's in the right treatment that we found our hope. That's why I do what I'm able to help more find their treatment in time. 

My son's been and continues to be one of my greatest blessings and the best teacher I've ever had. I'm honored to know him and to have the privilege of being his mom.  At long last, he's at peace with his life. He's on the other side of his horrific journey. His kindness, gentleness, and his never giving up have lead him here. He's able to enjoy the present and let go of what once was. 

OUR STORIES CAN RESONATE IN WAYS BEYOND OUR COMPREHENSION by Dede Ranahan

At year's end, I'm so proud of this blog and the storytellers who've made it happen: Marie Abbott, Margie Altman, Gilbert Anderson, Jr., Janet Wood Asbridge, David Bain, Mary Barksdale, Tama IsesaJah Bell, Joyce Berryman, Ronni Blumenthal, Judy Waldo Bracken, Kendra Burgos, Crystal Burks, GG Burns, Robin Burton, James Callner, Sylvia Charters, Laurie Lethbridge Christmas, Elizabeth Courtois, Deborah DeLash, Sonia Fletcher Dinger, May Enos, Deborah Fabos, Laural Fawcett, Anne Schmidt Francisco, Heidi Franke, Mike Gaeta, Patricia Gager, Sheila Ganz, Deborah Geesling, Val Greenoak, Jeanne Gore, Donna Hairston, Janet Hayes, Gloria Hill, Sherry Hunter, Dj Jaffe, Joe IV, Amy Kerr, Kevin, Nikki Landis, Ray Maternick, Maggie McGurk, Lynn Nanos LICSW, Linda Olivia, Teresa Pasquini, Laura Pogliano, Donia Que, Diane Rainbowitz, Patrick Ranahan, Ryan Reyes, Karen Riches, Frank Robbins, Kate Schultz, Joann Strunk, Andrea Turner, Sandy Turner, Cheri VanSant, Laurie Lamsus Vogel, William Vogel, Lynne Warberg, Christi Weeks, Kim West, Craig Willers, Mindy Willers, and Maggie Willis.

Storytelling is ancient. Over time, storytellers, who are good at chronicling the important events of their tribes, come to reach positions of respect and power within their communities. Storytelling is one of our most important traditions because stories instruct and inspire. Stories help us feel what others feel when we haven't experienced what they've experienced. Stories help others feel what we feel when they haven't experienced what we've experienced. Stories help all of us feel not so alone.

Sometimes it's not easy being storytellers. We don't know if anyone is reading our stories. It can seem like we're writing our stories in sand. But look at the photo below. The "story in sand" represents someone's anonymous time and effort. At water's edge, this undertaking will be washed away. Before it vanishes, however, it's been captured by at least one photographer and I'm posting the image here and passing it on. The artist has no idea of the reach and impact of his/her/their soulful expression. Likewise, our stories can resonate in ways beyond our comprehension.

I hope, in 2018, you'll continue to tell your stories. I hope, in 2018, your stories will include accounts of improvement in the lives of your loved ones and in mental illness care. Thank you so much for writing for and reading this blog. And, if you're inclined, please share Sooner Than Tomorrow with your families and friends.

Photo credit: Marisa FarnsworthMarisa is my daughter. She's taken most of the photographs I've used for HAPPY PICS.Thank you, Marisa. 

Photo credit: Marisa Farnsworth
Marisa is my daughter. She's taken most of the photographs I've used for HAPPY PICS.
Thank you, Marisa. 

DANNY LOVE by Teresa Pasquini

#ShatteringSilence4SMI- Sharing a final reflection of our family’s 2017 Christmas Miracle. I think it is clear that Danny enjoyed being home with family and friends and we enjoyed having him home. 

I was able to sit alone with him on Christmas morning and show him his Facebook fan club. He had never seen a Facebook page. He loved the picture of me holding the “My Danny Matters” sign. He loved reading the comments from old friends and new friends. He loves knowing that people care. 

He was sad to pack up and go back to California Psychiatric Transitions (CPT)* but he knows that he has to complete the program before he can step down to community placement. We made the two-hour drive back feeling love and gratitude for the time we had together while holding onto big hopes and dreams for 2018.

We arrived back at CPT to see families like ours visiting their loved ones onsite. We were welcomed back with such kindness by staff and observed how they helped Danny transition back behind the locked doors. A final big hug for mom and dad and he was gone from sight.

I drove home while my exhausted husband slept feeling at peace but knowing that the road ahead for our Danny will be bumpy. I will be working on smoothing out Danny’s future journey and hopefully, we will find the right path for him and all families like ours. I will also never forget those who have no family to pick them up and bring them home to sleep in their own bed. 

I will never give up the fight for #OneCare #Everywhere because I love someone with a serious mental illness. 

Thank you all so much for the #DannyLove ❤️

 

*CPT is a mental health rehabilitation center in Delhi, California, Merced County (cptmhrc.com). Teresa says, "We need a CPT in every county in the state and yet our Governor and legislature cut the budget for these facilities in the 2017 budget. These are also the facilities that the Feds refuse to fund because of the Medicaid Institutions for Mental Disease (IMD) Exclusion.** Discrimination!"

**The Medicaid Institutions for Mental Diseases (IMD) exclusion prohibits the use of federal Medicaid financing for care provided to most patients in mental health and substance use disorder residential treatment facilities larger than 16 beds. This limits the number of beds available for the those with serious mental illness. For an overview go to lac.org

 

Danny with his Mom & Dad Christmas 2017

Danny with his Mom & Dad Christmas 2017

From the oldest
1 Comment