WE'RE HOPING SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, CAN HELP US by Nicole Finn

We're in need of some help and hope that someone may have suggestions. 

Six weeks ago, while in an acute psychotic episode in which he believed he was Jesus Christ, my brother, Rich, broke into a Pizza Hut, ate a pizza, drank a Mountain Dew and called 911 to self-report the crime. He admitted to having schizophrenia on the 911 call (a call that somehow managed to go viral as it was shared by radio and news stations around the globe as a comedy piece). Rich was arrested without incident and was placed in the High Point, North Carolina jail.

One could argue that he should have received a mental health evaluation prior to being placed in jail, but he did not. Nor does it appear he ever received an evaluation as he was left in jail for three full weeks. Not only was he left in jail, but he was also placed in segregation due to reported "bizarre behavior" with the seemingly continued lack of his much needed mental health care and medication.

At the three-week mark, Rich self-amputated his tongue and we still don't know if that happened in jail or in the ER. Now it seems the state is actually willing to place him in a psychiatric hospital, but this potentially life-long physical disability precludes him from being placed in the local psychiatric hospital which he should've been sent to in the first place. It appears that leaves the maximum security prison hospital as the only option for him to receive the mental health and physical care he needs while awaiting the court date for his crime. 

Rich is an adult and a ward of the state. As such, we've not been given access to any direct and meaningful medical information despite multiple and repeated requests to the Department of Social Services. They've been receptive to the sharing of information in the past and have relied on my mom (who lives in close proximity) for help when Rich had previous issues with meds and treatment compliance. Shutting the family out now is concerning. We're extremely worried about his well being, both psychologically and medically, but we're struggling to get access to him. 

We're open to suggestions anyone may have for resources to help Rich and/or our family gain access to his medical information so we can assist in making sure he's being properly cared for. Advocacy groups have been mostly unresponsive and/or unable to provide requested assistance when we've reached out. We're hoping someone, somewhere, can help us navigate this mess before it turns into an even bigger tragedy.

I just created a Facebook page specifically for Rich that provides more information about his situation. We're just feeling incredibly helpless and hopeless.

Click here to see Rich's Facebook page.

Rich with his sister Brooke, his mom Alice, and his sister, Nicole

Rich with his sister Brooke, his mom Alice, and his sister, Nicole

REACH OUT TO OTHERS WHO ARE STRUGGLING

Last night, as I left the State Hospital, I crossed paths with a woman who caught my attention. 

It was the pizza box she carried and the multiple bags she had slung over her shoulder. All that stuff you bring to a visit - your purse, dinner, snacks, drinks, games, books, an iPad, napkins, silverware, new socks and shirts and underwear - just in case.

Even though she was a few steps ahead of me, I commented to her that I was glad I wasn't the only one who looked like I was moving in when I came to visit. 

She turned around. And then I saw her tears. Immediately, my arm was around her. 

She told me her son's story - a classic story of how schizophrenia steals your child's soul and leaves you with a disconsolate uncertainty about what the purpose of this trial is. 

It included the worst parts. Run-ins with law enforcement. Multiple hospitalizations. A marriage that couldn't survive it. Her attempts to do her very best, alone, with no improvement. Tolerating the ranting and swearing because you know it's the illness talking - not the child you love. The unrelenting caregiver fatigue. The willing abandonment of your own dreams and things you love because there's no time for anything but battling the illness. 

We exchanged phone numbers and email addresses and a long hug. 

She said, "I didn't know how I was going to be able to drive home. You're like a little angel that was sent to me." 

I told her I was blessed as well, because her courage and her unwillingness to give up on her son was beautiful and inspiring.

Even though we were strangers, we knew each other very well. We were having the same experiences.

The experience of all those bags and the desperate attempts to help with the only tools available - those being love and Domino's. 

The experience of walking out alone, in tears after a failed visit, and having to re-group before making a long drive home. 

The experience of grieving over a young son whose destiny was not to serve a church mission or go to college, but whose life would be to battle a tormenting illness that sometimes makes him do things and say things he never would have before.

I tell you this story not to garner sympathy or promote my own actions last night, but to plead with you to reach out to others who are struggling. Tell your story as you feel comfortable. 

If you'll approach the journey this way, you never know when you'll be presented with an opportunity to be someone's angel and, in return, meet someone whose courage and beauty will inspire you to carry on as well. 

Stay strong, moms.

This post is from MothersAgainstMentalIllnessStigma

 

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KAREN'S STORY ABOUT WELCOME HOME HOUSING IN SACRAMENTO

Before I came to Welcome Home Housing, I was homeless for ten years. After receiving a mental health diagnosis and finally receiving SSI, I was able to move to a room and board. To make a long story short, I felt unsafe at two of the room and boards and ran away. In one case, back to the street. At another room and board, the residents were not allowed to go into the main living areas of the house and we were confined to our rooms for basically 24 hours a day. When I heard from my social worker that there was this really unique and wonderful room and board with an opening, I decided to give it a  chance. She said there was nothing else like it in Sacramento.

It turned out to be a good decision, as I have been here now for about ten years. Some time ago, we had a kitchen remodel. With the president of Welcome Home Housing's permission, I was allowed to provide some really beautiful cafe curtains for our kitchen. It was my way of contributing to a place that had finally become my home. I was able to get the material on sale at a closeout price and had them made up by a pattern designer at an amazingly low price. Every time I look at them, I'm reminded of what Welcome home Housing means to me.

Another thing I really appreciate about living here is that, working within a budget, we are able to pick out reasonably priced foods from the grocery store of our own choice. This means a lot to me as, due to health problems, I have to be on a special diet. When I first came here, my cooking skills were very limited. Welcome Home Housing provided me with a cooking mentor until I could get on my feet. It wasn't long until I had the confidence to cook on my own. Now I have a wide variety of recipes to make that I can both eat for my health and really enjoy.

Having staff available means having emotional support when I need it and brings a lot of stability to my life. I hope to be here for a long time to come. I have finally put down roots. I don't have to run anymore. I am home.

NOTE FROM WELCOME HOME HOUSING: We are excited to announce that we are among the nearly 600 local area nonprofits participating in the fifth annual Big Day of Giving. On May 3, 2018, from midnight to midnight, our community will come together in the spirit of giving.

We are grateful for our very generous supporters that helped us raise $5303 last year. Your gifts made it possible for us to expand our program by opening another house. Now six more people have a place that they can call home. We hope that you consider us as your first donation choice again this year and help us achieve our goal of $8,000.

Click here to go to The Big Day of Giving and to make a contribution to Welcome Home Housing.

You can like and follow Welcome Home Housing on Facebook:

www.facebook.com/WelcomeHomeHousing

Karen's cafe curtains

Karen's cafe curtains

I'D GIVE UP EVERYTHING TO GIVE HIM A NORMAL LIFE by Sherry

I went to see my son today. He smiled and seemed happy we were there. I had to get a picture of us since I feel I don't go see him enough. It breaks my heart each time.

He's written on so many of his shirts, as he did on this one. I wonder what's inside him that feels like he needs to express himself this way. He got in trouble for writing inappropriate things on the bathroom walls but didn't want to talk about it.

I pray for improvement each day, yet my son seems to be getting younger in his mind each time I see him. His hands shake and he closes his eyes tight as he tries to remember what he ate only an hour before.

I would give up everything to give him a normal life.

Sherry and her son

Sherry and her son

THE NEW BREED by Alison Luterman

-- for Emma Gonzalez and the other student activists

I see her on TV, screaming into a microphone.
Her head is shaved and she is beautiful
and seventeen, and her high school was just shot up, 
she's had to walk by friends lying in their own blood,
her teacher bleeding out,
and she's my daughter, the one I never had,
and she's your daughter and everyone's daughter
and she's her own woman, in the fullness of her young fire,
calling bullshit on politicians who take money from the gun-makers.
Tears rain down her face but she doesn't stop shouting
she doesn't apologize she keeps calling them out,
all of them all of us
who didn't do enough to stop this thing.
And you can see the gray faces of those who have always held power
contort, utterly baffled
to face this new breed of young woman,
not silky, not compliant,
not caring if they call her a ten or a troll. 
And she cries but she doesn't stop
yelling truth into the microphone,
though her voice is raw and shaking
and the Florida sun is molten brass.
I'm three thousand miles away, thinking how
Neruda said The blood of the children
ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood. 
Only now she is, they are
raising a fuss, shouting down the walls of Jericho,
and it's not that we road-weary elders
have been given the all-clear exactly,
but our shoulders do let down a little, 
we breathe from a deeper place,
we say to each other, 
Well, it looks like the baton
may be passing
to these next runners and they are
fleet as thought, 
fiery as stars,
and we take another breath
and say to each other, The baton
has been passed, and we set off then
running hard behind them.

--Alison Luterman
I hope this poem finds its way to whoever can use it.

Alison

Alison