A Day In The Life

I had dinner with friends the other night. The conversation turned to my friend’s job, he is a social worker in a hospital. He is a case worker for people who come into the hospital because they have had some sort of “mental breakdown.” They usually are schizophrenic or suffering from some form of mental illness and have gone off their medication, which has led to the break with “reality.” My friend counsels them while they are getting back on track. He then puts together a discharge plan, perhaps along with family members, as to how the person will proceed when discharged from the hospital. I asked him what happens if the person is not willing to go along with the “discharge plan.” He said often they do not want to go to a homeless shelter as they have “been there, done that,” and would rather stay on the street. Sometimes they are living independently and go home. I asked if family members are always present. He said no, as often when a person is suffering from mental illness it takes a toll on the family and so it is not uncommon for the family to bow out, and not be involved. I took in what he was saying, remaining quiet, as I am one of those family members who has bowed out.

My brother suffered a traumatic brain injury 30 years ago, after being involved in a motorcycle accident. He recovered, but lost some short term memory, along with some “critical” thinking ability- thinking something through, figuring out an outcome before it happens. He married and moved from the East Coast to the West Coast where he lived and worked for 10 years. Then things began to change, he made some bad decisions and he and his wife decided to move back East to be near our mother. His marriage unraveled shortly after that, and so began his descent into a world of mental illness. It is not uncommon for someone who has suffered a TBI to years later develop depression or some sort of mental disorder. Part of what was challenging about my brother’s mental issues were that he appeared very normal and “functional.”  But he was filled with anger, rage and distorted thinking and a total lack of reasoning. He was unable to approach things logically, or reason things out, which led to frustration for everyone involved. He has attempted suicide three times.

He eventually ended up living in a group home, and was there for the last 6 years. During that time I have had little contact with him. He expressed not wanting to have anything to do with his sisters. Then 2 months ago I got a call from the woman who runs the group home telling me my brother was leaving- he had asked her to drive him to the main bus station in the city and leave him there. She said she thought she could convince him to stay if he knew people cared about him, would I call him. I agreed to call, and it was the same old story- he was irate and disgruntled and as much as I tried to convince him to stay where he was, tried to reason, he wouldn’t hear it, and hung up.

He did end up leaving, and boarded a bus which took  him 800 miles from where he was, to the area where he had gone to college. He was found by the state police, with no ID, apparently he had buried it somewhere. The social worker assigned to his case called me, and I explained his background. I told her he could not come to live with me, if that was what she was thinking, as his behavior was erratic, and he was unstable even when on medication. I didn’t mention there is a part of me that is afraid of him too. I couldn’t believe I was saying it, but knew that was how it had to be. I gave her the contact number of the group home he left and said the best thing would be for him to go back there. I have not heard anything since. He did end up at another hospital and the social worker there called my sister. My sister told her that she too could not be involved.

My sister and I struggle with the decision we have made, choosing not to let him into our lives. Knowing we cannot heal him, help him- our attempts over the years leading only to frustration for all of us. If anything the situation has become fraught with more intense problems. We hope he is safe, safe from harm, from the demons that play in his mind. Hoping he did find help. Holding our breath for the phone call that could come telling us it is over. I hope you will not judge me too harshly after reading this. Sometimes we make decisions in life that we are not proud of, but know that given the circumstances, there is no other way.