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