Sometimes we experience things in life and it becomes a trigger for something that happened in our past. If we are educated about triggers, we may be completely aware that it is happening. Having insight, though, doesn’t always change the intensity of the experience.
Last year about this time, I did a series of blogs on the mental health system based on my experiences with my daughter. The purpose was not bash the mental health or medical system, but just to share my experiences in hopes that it would be helpful someday to someone, and who knows? Maybe a small, tiny pebble of change might happen in the large mountain that needs to be moved.
Recently, I had another episode and I spent the morning being painfully aware that I was reliving that experience. The details are different, but there are two things happening inside of me that are so real I could touch them.
First, is the utter helplessness and powerlessness I can feel as a human being. It is so strong it makes my head spin and it is maddening. I found myself again knowing what someone needs, but also knowing that I had no idea how to help her get it. She has been in and out of the mental health system for much of her thirty years of life. In my (professional) opinion, she has not ever been properly diagnosed and therefore not ever properly medicated. She re-lives her self-destructive cycle over and over again and then is filled with self-loathing because she can’t change herself. She has been become a danger to self and others. There is a spouse and a beautiful newborn in the mix.
There is literally no system in place to get her what she needs. She needs a very thorough evaluation. That’s not how the system works. But I was in the ultimate catch-22. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I couldn’t. That would be unprofessional, unethical, uncaring. I couldn’t let her go home. Yet I knew that putting her through the system might not help either.
I spent three hours with her, canceled all my other sessions. Called the mobile unit. I was scared, sad, worried, sickened because I care so damn much. I didn’t just go the extra mile. I went the extra six miles, because that’s just what I do. And in the end, her last words to me before getting in the ambulance were: I never want to see you again. Now I will embark on several days of documenting everything that happens. I will spend hours on the phone trying to get a different experience for her. And I am painfully aware that my chances for success are slim to none. The only analogy I can come up with, is that going to work is like walking into a room and purposefully banging my head on the wall. But I have to do it. I have to do everything I can for her, even though I am doubtful it will help.