Let the Healing Begin

I worry.
Because there were just three options:
rehab, jail, or death."

I often reflect back on how my son turned to drugs, and how he lost touch with reality. I see the statement above (taken from an article I read in GQ on Charlie Sheen)

That was my son, months ago, it’s a part of me I wish I didn’t have to remember.

Him sitting in jail in a mental ward in isolation, blocked from reality and the comforts of home.

I see him faithfully every Saturday. I wait the day away at
LA County Jail Twin Towers in Downtown Los Angeles.

I watch the madness within the Medical Tower,

moms, wives, sisters, aunts, dads, brothers, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers, cousins, & last but not least friends.

Ive come to know a few of them.

We wave across the vast waiting room, smile at one another and sit talking until our prisoners name is called. Ive met some pretty nice parents, lost like myself in our own worlds. Ive met others who I wish I hadn’t.

It’s our inability to comprehend mental illness.
To understand WHY this is happening to our beloved children, and our families.

You constantly ask WHY, why did you hand me this in life.. and all you can do is stand at the edge of his/her grave mourning a child who isn’t dead.

Yet his/her mind is.

How can life hand you such a pile of shit? I’ve often asked myself and even begged GOD to turn the tables giving me the short end of the stick so to speak

Im still waiting. I grasp the whole everyone has their destiny, yada, yada, yada.
 BUT DAMMMMN IT.

My son was/is BRILLIANT!!

How can he be dealt such a shitty hand?!

It’s been a long 120 days. I yearn to hold my baby boy in my arms.

To hold him tight, holding his hand as I do so.

I stare at my son trying to read him, I watch his every move. I scan his face hoping against hope that he’s not going to start talking about the voices again.

To ask me if I see them? The demons, The angels. As he reaches to touch them, my heart would drop.

I’d die a little more each time he spoke about them.

(I hesitantly ask, are you..Are you still hearing the voices? Seeing the angels? Fighting the demons)

He smiles and says NO. It’s ME MOM. I SWEAR.

I stare him in the eyes. It’s not uncommon me staring at him. Ive been known to stare people down, not intentionally mind you, it’s just my inner, inner, ah, well, hell, this is going to sound weird, my ability to read ones actions, (no not minds!!)

I’m a reader.

A person’s body language, expressions, eyes, movements, their voices when they speak, I can usually tell what your next move is...

It’s hard to explain and difficult for me to try to express it.

I go with my “gut” feeling. But its more than that, It’s the feeling itself.

I know by words, what you’re doing, how you subtly ask questions and what you want from that question.

I once asked my grandmother, how come I’m not a genius like you gram?!

We’re given gifts before your born, You know when something isn’t right.

As a teenager, I refused to listen to my own body and its ability to know things.

The feelings. I wish I had the right words for you, I cant for the life of me explain to you how it works.

My sister and brother are also blessed with the gift.

I read my kids, and they HATE it.

J, has become immune to it now, I scan his face several times, I listen to his voice, the velvet sound, and know he’s healing, but it’s the unknown. 

I wish I was able to understand his mental state, his determination to heal, or if he’ll be one of the unfortunate ones who head back to jail because he couldn’t keep himself clean.

Having Schizophrenia, is like being a professional liar. They manipulate you to make you think they really are on track. Trying to stay afloat in the vast sea of “Mental Illness” after all,  Its “US” that are ill, NOT them.

I remember when my son was severely delusional, I hugged him, and held his hand, talked to him, kissed is cheek often, he’d stop staring at the wall, look at me and say..
STOP BEING WEIRD MOM.

Your. Freakin. weird,

Off he went staring at his angels. I was always at a loss for words, how could I deny him the angels? I’ve had my experiences with them, so how did I know they weren’t there protecting him from..from. the “unknown” ?

The demons played havoc with his mind, they spoke evil and mean things, often times he repeated what they said. The names hurt, Id flinch like being hit by a fist. Words, by a mentally ill man hurt all the more.

My Precious son, 1 of 3 I had birth into an unknown world.

1 of my 3 children suffered a mental break so sever hes still in jail. THAT kills me.

I crave his hugs, the kisses to the forehead, the maaaaaaaaaaaaaa Im home what do you have to eat?!

Ma, Im taking this steak home ok? Ma, you have 20.00 I need gas,

Ma, I hear him.. and my heart aches.,

When I saw him on Saturday I spoke in code, my mind desperately trying to remember how the words sounded, yet I failed, miserably!!   

(The boys tried for years to get me to learn “Dragon”) a made up language between friends.

The kids in the group did it so their parents wouldn’t know what they were saying...

Yet, my boys tried desperately to teach me. I never grasped it. Never quite got the hang of it.

I focused in on his eyes, and said, you need to trust me, your gunna be okay.

He worries he’ll be there for another 120 days. In isolation and fearing another beating.

I stared hard into his eyes, and I said I wish I spoke DRAGON.

He smiled and said, yeah ME TOO MOM.

Yet, as I spoke in my “own” code he grasped what I was saying..and my heart beat a little faster and my brain screamed HE’S HEALING.

I kissed the glass, and put my hand to it picturing touching his face...I said it over and over...

I LOVE YOU J, and the day I found out I was pregnant at 17 was the HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE.

We made it then.... and we’ll make it now...

You and me...

Me and you...

US.

LOVE,

MOM

Forgetaboutit

Im appalled …

I was gunna act like Caroline Manzo. Be a lady about the whole thing and say

Così è la vita (that’s life)

But I cannnnnt.. heh.

Ive become bitter over it.. bitter over a whole lotta crap.

Have you ever watched from afar the hurt parents can bestow on a child?

I have.

Have you ever fallen victim to it?

I have.

Have you ever realized no matter how hard you try its NOT going to get better?

I have.

Have you ever allowed your parents to convince you to do something you didn’t want to do in fear of “hurting” their feelings or having to deal with their disappointment?

I have.

Have you ever sat back and listened to one of them say (after being treated horribly by a sibling) I wont go if your sibling isn’t invited?

I have.

I LIVED it.

Yet….

My son was the FIRST born grandchild (boy). And was left out of a ……… “bonding” by the grandfather, uncle and cousins.

The grandfather “ALLOWED” it to happen.. never brining up the fact that THE FIRST BORN GRANDSON who carried HIS name was left out.

He allowed it.

If my child had asked him he’d have clearly made it known that his son and other grandchildren carry the name and would need to be invited.

I can hear my dad now.

Yeah that hurt…

More than you can ever fathom…

Since I was a little girl I have dealt with favoritism, 

(grandmother and said brother),

(Mother and son),

(Father and son)

My sister for years resented it, Id beg her to let it go, move on, forgive.

(Why can’t I take my own advice?!)

Why CANT I LET IT GOOOOOO?!  It NEVER bothered me previously. WHY NOW?!

But the minute my son, the first born grandson (who will pass on the family name) was so blatantly looked over because of one’s fear of his son “being mad at him” made me realize no matter how hard one tries, you can NEVER measure up.

Christmas 2010 My son was devastated by his uncle, aunt and cousins behavior. I told him to let it go. We were never really a part of that family anyways and what they said and did didn’t matter.

Be yourself. (This was 7 months before his mental break) He still took it hard and cried while talking to me.

I remember that night like yesterday.

LET IT GO J, …let it go.. 

*remembering his hurt over what was said, and his tears* breaks my heart… *shakes head*

We love one another, while they look at people for what they “have”

When I found out about the tattoo and my brothers callous remark to me that I was NO longer considered family by my “Maiden” name but only family by my married name.. I told him he was full of SHIT.

My father agreed with my brother.

Forget it. (said with a laugh)

With family like that who needs fooken enemies?

I’ve never favored my children.

I LOVE them all the same. (each one requires a different kind of love)

If I give one, I give them all.

NOT so in the house I grew up in.. and now later in life, its come between my kids and cousins.

 (Even my brother a grown man and a father I had held on a pedestal)

Pssssssh. How ridiculous,

*heart lurches*

How disappointed I am in all of them.

A father/grandfather, who so unsympathetically “forgot” his first born grandchild.

Didn’t even think to ask.. because It was all about his son.

Hey… MY SON MATTTTERS

 just NOT to you

A brother so consumed on being 1^st he’d fook over his own blood.

And 2 cousins who’d stab that knife in, just to be first.

Y’all make me wanna HURL.

Through my heartache of my sons sickness I found other family members who stood by.

Held my hand through the pain I’m going through.

Is here to pick up the pieces, while the others choose to be ashamed. (that’s how I’ve taken it)

For the brother I used to adore, I harbor no hatred toward you…I no longer hurt from your hateful remarks and your unfeeling ways

I only pity you for the hatred you hold within your heart for members of a family who love/loved you.

I love you, I just choose NOT to be around you.

And for my dad,.

Disappointed look on face, shoulders hunched,  hurt evident on face…

(you once said.. you set yourself up for disappointments Tamerina, you expect people to have  your integrity, your beliefs, your morals & finally your values)

You’re right dad… I thought I had gotten those from you…

I set myself up for disappointment..NOT everyone has my morals or values. I’ve had to find those on my own..

I pray your son and family members find theirs.

And a 23 year old boy looked on, swallowed the lump in his throat, and pretended it didn’t matter…

(ooh it mattered) Why NOT ask him?!

Hes MY hero… That 23 year old man/boy. Who had NOBODY but me, his aunt, brother and his cousins while growing up…

HE’S MY HERO… To me,  you ough’ah to PAY him to carry your name…

Healing

Never be ashamed of the scars life has left you with. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed, you endured the pain... and GOD has healed you. ♥

The Mysterious Stranger.

I’m sitting here trying to pull my thoughts together. I have a lot to say… but never the right words to pull out of my head. It’s difficult to share this.

Difficult to show the world my weakness and release my emotional side.. (usually I do that privately)

I know, some of you have read my blog from earlier on. A few true friends have been following me since the beginning .

(When I fell apart over a tragedy) and ended up having to close my blog due to media, and their relentless harassment to get a story.

I refused to give them one. Nor did I want to stir the pot with anything I wrote.

I silently walked away.

The stage went black, and my 600 followers with it.

It isn’t so much the followers, as it is the friendships you make.

(HuGZ my girl friends) you know who you are.

V, T & G.

Its tough to talk about my son. I have a mountain of “grief”.

I grieve him like he’s dead… 

You say….

He’s NOT dead Sybil Why the grief?

You don’t get it… nobody understands until they are in the same situation.

My son has been replaced with a mysterious “man” . A man I DON’T know.

He went from J, my son who had the brightest personality, a loving demeanor, a wonderful relationship with family and friends.
Reflects back...

He had patience, he was understanding, and HE LOVED everyone..

To a man who is peculiar and weird..

I feel my son died.. and he’s a walking Zombie. Forget the skin falling off ‘movie zombie” Im talking about a man who slowly talks, but not like “Forrest Gump”

He no longer has his wonderful mind.

He’s no longer gentle, bright, amusing, or fun to be around.

He’s dark, and speaks of demons and angels.

He glances back and forth trying to get a glimpse of the demons that  run rampant through his mind.

He is easily annoyed, temperamental,  often times crying for no reason.. heart wrenching sobs rack his body…

Staring off into space…

Smiling at nobody yet, according to him everyone.

Don’t you see them…?!

He reaches and smiles.

*His angels*

I ask.. Why you crying J?

He glances at me..a far off look in his eyes…

And mutters…

I’m so happy…

do you see them?

And my heart breaks a little more..

Is it possible to have so many broken pieces and still continue to live?

I swallow the lump in my throat.

My everyday life has changed.

I walk on eggshells when he’s home.

I hide the knives as instructed by his physiatrist, locked in my room within a safe I had to purchase in case he decided he was going to give away the few precious pieces of jewelry I had left from my grandmother.

He gave away his possessions before his first break.. or perhaps during his break.

I could accept this if he had been born this way.

But to have a normal loving man taken from me at the sweet age of 23, kills me.

I’m friggen BITTER damn it. IM ANGRY… and I HURT…. A LOT.

By society standards, my son is a criminal. Literally a felon.

If J, was in his right mind, he’d be horrified by the things he’s done.

Sitting in a jail cell, in a psyche ward. He’s not allowed to be un-cuffed, he walks with shackles on. He’s dangerous according to police.

I want to shout, you don’t know him like I do!!

You don’t know
how wonderful he was,
how gentle he was,
how caring he was.

I want to bang my fists against the guards chest and cry and say…

If you knew him last year you’d like him.. you’d say J, what happened…

You wouldn’t feel threatened by his height, or his weight, or his strength.

You’d know he was an actual teddy bear.

You’d know he was a gentle giant.

YOU’D KNOW DAMN IT!!!!

Now he’s a shell of a man, a man I don’t even know.

I can’t tell you how hurt I am.. How my heart aches when I see him through the 5” glass at the jail.

I can’t tell you how I envy those families who have normalcy with the 4 walls they live in.

I’m not striving for perfect. I’m striving for NORMAL.

I’m striving to regain my sons health back.

I’m striving to make people aware of Schizophrenia, and the effect it has on people.  Not just the mentally ill family member..

BUT the family as a whole.

His brothers, his aunt, his cousins, his dad, and lastly myself.

I’ve taken it hard… id rather sit in a cell then walk through that jail seeing what he’s up against…

A mother’s love, Id gladly give my life for his.

I’d gladly exchange brains with him.. if it were possible Id seek out the professional who could do it..

Id think nothing of it.

I’ve lived.. 42 years.. 42 years of a good life..

I’d give my precious son my last remaining breath…

I love you Jace.

<3 Mom.

Nightmares

WHEN?! does one come to grips with what’s been handed to them in life. heh. I feel like flippen life the bird.

Technically speaking it’s not my life. But the life of my son J.

I can’t help but hear his voice in my head..

It’s my journey mom. Quit steppin on it.

(I cant help it Hejo, as a mother its my job to step on your journey along the way to make sure you stay true to course)

I never really understood mental illness.

Happens to everyone else but YOUR family. Right?!

I spoke with a doctor sometime ago when J, was first hospitalized.

Does anyone suffer from depression in the family?

I hesitated…

Really? I thought in my head.. is she going there?

I understood she was trying to help my son.

I understood she needed answers.

Here’s my reply.

Arent we all suffering depression?

I mean we’re in a recession!

How many people are jobless? Have No money and cant pay their bills?!

Of course we’re DEPRESSSSSED!

Stupid question.

How about asking , when did your son start hearing voices? And acting delusional?

I cant rightfully say… Im not sure.

I honestly thought this was drugs, and he’d be better in no time. (A week tops)

But the days grew into weeks and weeks into months.

The days progressed, and his mind continued on his delusional thought process.

I had no answers…

When they mentioned the “S” word.. My knees buckled.

Schizophrenia..

I said the word over and over in my mind.

I wanted to shout..

THAT’S MY SON YOU’RE TALKIN BOUT.

Not some weird guy on the street you just met.

He’s handsome.. he’s a charmer.. he’s funny.. he’s my EVERYTHING.

This cant happen o ME.

I hung up with the doctor, I called my mom, Schizophrenia!! Are you F’in kidding me?!

My son isn’t weird. He’s on drugs, DAMN IT.

As the months passed he started saying bizarre things.

Things he shouldn’t know.

Spiritual things.

He knew things about people…

He’d ask me about the spiritual war.

Did you know there are angels and demons fighting?

A HUGE war mom… I see them.

I chalked it up as him hallucinating. I cant get the look of him trying to convince me he saw it.

Him: You think Im lying!!

Me: No, not at all..

Him: IM NOT F’ing lying.

Me: relax, I never said you were.

Him: F you.

How could I believe him when this person who spoke to me like that WASN’T my son, but a complete stranger?

Weeks later, he’s back in jail and isn’t allowed to even have mail. He’s sick. Severely ill. I went the other day to visit him.

I was that fish out of water. I mean.. I cringed and cried…

How do these people sit there so nonchalantly and not CARE?!

Was I the only one falling apart?! *YES*

Was I the only one who had tears running down my cheeks..? *YES*

I rocked back and forth.

A friggen nightmare.

I glanced around the room watching each person… Not one looked misplaced..

Maybe I had a BIG FAT RED ARROW over my head pointing directly at me…

Hey.. she’s oughtta placeeee!!

I awaited them calling his name… what floor he was on and which way to go..

I repeated it in my head as I walked down the long corridor… turn left after I get outta the elevator.

Several people filled the elevator..

Each time someone would hold the door… and Id make a Psssssh sound.

I walked out on his floor..

I came around the corner… to the left.. and saw him standing there..

I froze.. Stopping in midstride. I stared..

And we both smiled. I mouthed I love you…

I walked quickly over and realized he was still cuffed.

I watched as he backed up to the door lifting his hands out the slot.

It killed me to watch… my son in his right mind would be horrified by what he had done.. or where he was at.

My son was always a good kid.. I NEVER in all my life thought Id be in this situation..

EVER.

He closed his eyes as he picked up the phone..

J, I said..

Silence.. his mouth moved.. but I couldn’t hear him..

I saw him talking.. and I shook my head letting him know I couldn’t hear him..

My heart broke…

The phone was broken.. I hadn’t seen him since the 8^th of Aug.. Except for a brief moment at his hearing.

Today was the 20^th!!

I need to hear his voice..

He called the guard.. GUARDDDDDD..

I heard the muffle through the glass.. and blessed sound came to my ears..

J?!

Mommmm.

My chin quivered…

I MISSSS YOU.. I said.

His eyes closed again..

Mommm.. Ive missed you so much…Im sorry.. Im sorry you have to see this.

I shook my head back and forth..

I placed my hand on the glass.. His reached to touch mine.

I left my hand there picturing the warmth of his.. Remembering when he was little and Id reach for his hand and MAKE him hold  it.

Then years later he’d reach for mine..

I love holding your hand ma, you’re a beautiful woman.. you make me proud.

Instead I felt the 5” cold glass.

Im sorry he said over and over..

and my hearts still broken