TheBanyanTree: Mental Illness Ain't No Picnic

[Monique Colver]

I would answer, but I don't know. There's a lot of rhetoric flying around.
The left blames the right, the right says the left take things too seriously
(like cross hairs on politicians), the middle is confounded, everyone's
trying to pin it on someone else. The gun advocates say guns don't kill
people, people kill people, and those opposed to guns say, "yeah, but it's
easier with guns," and everyone's so busy pointing at everyone else I can't
make heads nor tails of it.

And there was a very important football game on tonight, so football fans
have absented themselves from the conversation altogether.

Hopefully someone has an idea.

On Mon, Jan 10, 2011 at 9:12 PM, Sally Larwood <larwos at optusnet.com.au>wrote:

> I don't know what to say Monique.  I knew what you lived through but I've
> never seen it set out like that before and my heart aches for you and for
> Stew even more than it ever has before.  Just know my thoughts are with you
> today.
>
> Getting back to the actual incident.  My husband keeps asking me what my
> American friends think about this latest incident.  Does it make more
> Americans think about the gun issue?
>
> You all know what I think about guns and therefore I don't bring it up, but
> could you answer for my husband's sake?
>
> Sal
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: thebanyantree-bounces at lists.remsset.com
> [mailto:thebanyantree-bounces at lists.remsset.com] On Behalf Of Monique
> Colver
> Sent: Tuesday, 11 January 2011 3:44 PM
> To: Banyan Tree
> Subject: TheBanyanTree: Mental Illness Ain't No Picnic
>
> This is not what I'd wanted to write on the occasion of Stew's birthday,
> but
> circumstances seem to have a mind of their own. Today, January 10th, Stew
> Young would have been 40 years old, if he hadn't died of cancer 3 years
> ago.
> It's hard to imagine Stew at 40. It was hard to imagine him at 37, since
> he'd gone backward in time a bit and was just getting ready to return to a
> semi-normal life and adulthood when the cancer struck.
>
> Prior to the cancer thing, Stew was severely mentally ill. By that I mean
> he
> was more than depressed, more than anxious, he was occasionally a full
> blown
> psychotic. Not too often, fortunately. It's not the sort of thing one wants
> to repeat if one doesn't have to. Over the years he fought his illness he
> was diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic, schizo-affective, borderline,
> bipolar, depressed (and who wouldn't be, with all that going on?) and with
> major anxiety. Again, see the depression comment.
>
> Throughout the day I've seen comments on various websites regarding the
> Arizona shootings. I've seen people comment that the shooter should have
> been receiving help, that his parents should have done something, that
> perhaps something should be done about crazies before something else like
> this happens.
>
> Really? This is an original thought?
>
> As if we hadn't considered that before.
>
> Let me tell you what happened with us. I was married to Stew when he
> started
> becoming mentally ill. It was a slow descent, and we kept thinking that he
> was getting better, or would get better, and when necessary, when he was
> suicidal, which he was several times before the Great Psychotic Break that
> led to years of uncertainty and pain, he would even take himself to the
> hospital. He was good about that, about seeking help. At the time he had a
> job, and health insurance. He worked for a large health insurance company,
> so insurance was a given. But what could they do for him at the emergency
> room? Talk to him, make him promise not to hurt himself, and then send him
> home again, that's what.
>
> So we'd go home again and hope things would get better.
>
> When the Great Psychotic Break came it brought with it blood, all his, and
> I
> took him to the ER. They signed him up for daily outpatient treatment, and
> he couldn't return to work for weeks. When I went to tell his boss what was
> going on he stood there and listened, and then visibly stepped back from
> me,
> as if I were carrying the contamination of mental illness with me and might
> infect him. He then began walking away, backwards, waving feebly as if
> shooing me and mental illness away.
>
> Despite having been a valued employee and a likeable guy, Stew's co-workers
> ignored him during this time. Perhaps they thought it was one of those
> where
> the less said the better, but Stew would have greatly appreciated knowing
> anyone cared. After having contributed to cards when others were sick and
> helping others out when they needed it and being ignored during his crisis,
> he felt more isolated than ever.
>
> This is how it starts, the isolation. Let's ignore the mentally ill guy and
> no one will catch it.
>
> He returned to work and everyone pretended nothing had happened. But it
> had.
> Anyway, he didn't get better. He'd get far worse before he'd get better.
>
> Stew lost his job because he couldn't work. He had six months of
> disability,
> and during that time we had insurance through Cobra. He had a psychiatrist,
> a therapist, and many meds. Some made him sleepy, some made him angry,
> mostly they made him dull and foggy, and he became a ghost of himself. He
> saw things that weren't there. He heard voices that weren't there. He
> struggled with knowing what was real and what was not, and with his parents
> two states away and me the only family we attempted to make him better.
>
> The diagnoses changed, he didn't fit into a category. And then the
> disability and the health insurance ran out.
>
> So then what? We struggled through. His meds cost several hundred dollars a
> month. His psychiatrist eventually fired him because we couldn't afford
> her.
> His therapist hung in there and kept treating him even when we could only
> make token payments. I was working, but I spent at least several hours
> every
> day making sure he was safe and not suffering too much, so my income was
> spotty and I was always tired. His parents sent money. We went various
> places to see if he could get help. By then he was living in his own
> apartment. At one agency we were told there was nothing they could do
> because he still had a roof over his head. "Come back when you're on the
> streets," they told him, "And then we can get you on the list."
>
> Oh good. I left messages with no return calls. I insisted his psychiatrist,
> who had fired him, provide a scrip so he could keep getting his
> anti-psychotics. She provided it grudgingly. I monitored his medications. I
> kept track of him. And both of us lived in a state of isolation. He ran
> errands for me and when I became overwhelmed he'd talk me out of it, or try
> to. Sometimes we both collapsed under the weight of our isolation and
> desperation. I sold anything I had that had any value.
>
> And one day he went to a political rally with a knife, not sure why, but
> knowing he was angry and that a candidate had to be stopped. Who knows why
> these things happen. His rages were legendary, though he never ever hurt
> anyone. The political rally was a bust because he couldn't find a parking
> space. Sometimes no parking is a good thing, no? When he came back to my
> apartment and told me I was straight with him. "If you ever do anything
> like
> that again, or give any indication you might, I will have to call 911 on
> you."
>
> And I would have. There was also the incident with the car dealer when his
> rage almost got the better of him, but I dealt with it.
>
> Our mental health system is in bad shape. It's not always easy to get help.
> Easy? Sometimes it's impossible. Sometimes family members can do everything
> they can and it's still not enough. Sometimes the mentally ill try
> everything they can and still can't get the help they need.
>
> But on the occasion of Stew's birthday, this is what I have to tell you,
> and
> this is what he wanted you to know. Dealing with mental illness is really
> hard. If you haven't had voices in your head telling you to cut your own
> throat you may not understand how very difficult it is, how very isolating,
> how it can be so very hard to tell the difference between reality and
> what's
> only in your own head.
>
> When Stew was dying of cancer he was more at peace than I'd seen him for
> years. He wanted to live, and he'd begun recovering from his demons. But
> once he was told he was terminal he realized that this was one way to
> ensure
> he'd be free of the demons forever. Death could not compete with mental
> illness. For him, it was a release.
>
> I am so sorry that people died and were injured in Arizona. I'm so sorry we
> pretend mental illness always happens to someone else and we shouldn't be
> concerned. I'm sorry about so much.  I'm sorry that today Stew isn't here
> to
> celebrate his birthday with us, but we'll celebrate anyway, because he
> would
> have wanted us to. And I will keep telling his story, like I promised I
> would.
>
> --
> Monique Colver
>
>


-- 
Monique Colver