Documenting my journey through the mental health system

My brother has betrayed me.

I got a phone call from my mom while at work last night, at VA. She never calls me at work, and in fact, if you do, it means it’s an emergency. That’s the code. She told me George was flailing about the house, screaming and carrying on, and most likely took something. He had been normal that night before, normal before I left for work, slept awhile, then woke up like this. By the time my mom was calling me, it had been going on over an hour.

I get there and basically can’t function as I do at work in similar situations because I don’t have the tools I would normally have at work, and I was plain pissed. I called 911 and begged him to let EMS assess him. The police arrived first. He was screaming, locking himself in my bathroom and nearly flooding it, behaving erratically and incoherent. They tried twice just to get a blood pressure but he ripped the cuff off. Then they just left. Useless. And people wonder why I say avoid the police and healthcare system at all costs. Even in my desperate hour they abandoned me and my mom to a violent man.

That left me and mom alone with him and I was emotional. I screamed at him a few times. Told him he was never coming back to my house. My mom got me to calm down, told me it wasn’t helpful. His antics went on for hours. We tried to ignore him. Kept having to get him out of my bathroom. Mom took a lot of pics and videos – at one point he even took his pants off and ran around outside.

Tonight I finally took him home. It was mostly a silent ride but he did try to tell me how he was feeling as he was feeling it but I didn’t really care. He insisted he was sober and it was all anxiety. Neither my mother nor I believe that for one minute. And even if it was, it doesn’t change the fact he refused all help and terrorized us all night. I told him he isn’t welcome back without express permission. (And that won’t be happening any time soon). He just said “whatever” and slammed the car door.

For my mom, the betrayal is pretty profound. They had an agreement, no drugs, no bullshit behaviors we can’t manage. He doesn’t come over to see her, though. He comes over to use us. And now he knows 911/EMS services are either going to come and go or not come at all.

My feelings are really hurt too, and none of my skills in managing behavior or assessing a patient or taking care of a patient were present at all. I feel guilty despite my anger. I feel like a shitty patient provider.

But in my defense, I don’t work mental health or substance abuse issues. I do rehab and hospice, for years now. Medsurg is only the last two years, and when shit goes down, I have resources – security, drugs, personnel. At home with my 200-pound brother flailing about I was completely at a loss. And I lost my control. I felt more anger than concern and still do. I showed it when I shouldn’t have, it wasn’t helpful. And in the end, I did get him home. We gave him some food. I told him I do hope he feels better.

Now we have to have a serious talk. I also need to talk to my other brother, Sam, who is doing all the housesitting. I just want to stress to him to keep the place locked up tight when he isn’t there. I gotta make a key for him.

My mother and I are still very jankety-janked. I went to work, praying to a god I don’t believe in that I have an easy set of patients at SH. 8-hour shift. I’m uneasy leaving the house alone. Her inside. Especially uneasy leaving the house alone for my Alaska trip for two weeks. My anxiety is roiling. I’ve always kept it to myself, I realize. George wears it on his sleeve. Revels in it. Imposes it on others. So, I lose sympathy. He doesn’t want to address it, doesn’t want help. Just wants to make it everyone else’s problem. This is what needs to be called out.