in the fallout of The Goddess' fit of hysteria, I received an urgent call from my father, asking if Herself and I could get together with he and my sister. The premise of our gathering was my mother being in the throes of a psychotic episode, to wit:

- she was making bizarre phone calls to politicians about hungry children, and calls to get the manager of the local grocery store fired because he was using his cell phone at work one day,

- she was calling long lost relatives, people that she has not spoken to in decades, and either having fragmented conversations that had no focus, or chastising them for things that never even happened,

- she was calling another relative and having conversations with her that occurred decades ago,

- she was calling someone with the same name as her first fiancee, a man she has had no contact with since the sixties, and leaving messages demanding he call her back or she will call the RCMP on him, never sure whether it is really her first love or not,

- she was calling me, demanding to return to her hometown, stating that the timing was crucial, and that Dawne and I were to go with her,

- she was experiencing paranoia to the extent that she felt there were people staring at her through the windows,

- she accused people, especially my father, of conspiring against her,

- she was experiencing auditory hallucinations, stating she could hear conversations even without her hearing aid, and that she knew what "they" were up to,

- she was experiencing periods of disorientation, getting lost in the town she has lived in since the sixties,

- she almost drove herself and my father into a car she did not even see...

...So,...

...we gathered Wednesday evening, shared experiences, and made a plan. The Goddess and I contacted the Mental Health Clinic Thursday morning, and in talking to the intake worker, became cognizant of a couple options that were open to us in terms of getting my mother treated. We then called my mother's GP, telling the medical secretary what we knew, and made an appointment for Friday afternoon. We knew that not a great deal could be done proactively without first trying to get her to see him, the goal being that he would refer her to a psychiatrist poste haste, before she sank further and caused harm to herself or someone else.

And when someone is becoming psychotic, remains untreated, that is almost always inevitable.

So in the interests of brevity, she decided to go to the doctor Friday with little coercion, accompanied by my father and Dawne. He gave her another pill to pop, told her she is to see a psychiatrist within two weeks, and sent her on her way. The Goddess and I were not there, of course, since our presence would probably have forced her episode into climax. They then shared a nice family dinner at Dawne's, and life as we know it has returned to normal.

I know I sound jaded. I know I sound like a heartless bastard. However, this familial experience has yet again left me frustrated, a tad angry, and taught me that, regardless of circumstance, family dynamics rarely ever change.

Given all the damaging things my mother has said to The Goddess and me over the last year, I hardly felt motivated to involve ourselves in mother's affairs. We did it because Dad asked for our help, presumably because of our professional experience dealing with the mentally ill for the last decade, beyond the fact that we are members of the family.

We did it to support Dad and Dawne.

Nevertheless, denial is a powerful thing, even more powerful than the truth. I have not been in denial about my mother for a long time now, partly because of my professional experience, and partly because of my personal experiences with mother over the last few years.

Yet, there is my father, holding out hope that my mother's getting treatment will mean we can be a happy family again. I have to ask myself, um...Dad, whose family are you referring to?

There is Dad, sobbing heavily at the Mental Health Clinic. It was a beautiful thing in and of itself, and I was moved deeply by the first sign of pure emotion from my father that I can remember that wasn't anger. Nevertheless, through his abject sorrow he pleads for his wife back, the woman he married. I have to ask myself, um...Dad, are you referring to the woman with whom you cannot remember the last time you were intimate? Are you referring to the woman who has not let you so much as hug her for the last two years? You mean the woman who, during your first three years of marriage between '63 and '66, accused you of abducting her and holding her hostage while you were stationed on a military base in Germany?

There is Dad, exercising bravado in his refusal to accept our repeated assertion that there is a possibility that his safety may be in jeopardy.

"I know your mother," he states, "and she will never hurt me."

I have to ask myself, um...Dad, do you not recall that all of mother's previous episodes have been introverted, withdrawn, the stay in bed for days kind? Can you not see that this time she is projecting outward, is hostile, is more aggressive and abusive than usual? Can you not see her theme of settling scores? Do you forget that she is not letting you use the phone, or receive any phone calls? Have you ever seen a full blown manic episode? Do you realize that the person forgets where she is, forgets who you are, in a blind rage?

There is my father, given all the possible outcomes of mother's manic episode, abjectly refuting even the remotest possibility that the police and ambulance may need to be called, if not this time, then at some point in the future. He will never consider that an option, he states, because of what the neighbors will say. I have to ask myself, um...Dad, where are your priorities? Are they with the overall health and safety of this woman you love? Or, are they with yourself?

There is my sister, Dawne, who abjectly refuted The Goddess' and my assertion that mother was to a great degree responsible for what was happening to her. A diabetic comes to learn quite quickly the signs of hypo/hyperglycemia. Similarly, a manic depressive comes to learn the signs of severe depression. In either case, the person has a choice, a right even, whether or not to take care of herself, knowing full well the consequences of inaction. This does not mean that she is a victim of anything beyond her own devices. I have to ask myself...um Sis, can you not see that mother has set herself up as the quintessential victim and martyr for as long as we can remember? Do you not see that coddling her, feeling sorry for her, not making her responsible for her refusal to seek help when she knows she needs it, feeds into mother's inflated sense of victimization, and actually perpetuates her desire not to take care of herself? Why should she if she knows people are going to come running every time she cries wolf?

There is Dawne, adamant that she will make it her mission that whatever happens will be done in the utmost preservation of mother's dignity. There is no dignity whatsoever in being taken away by the police or strapped to a gurney in an ambulance, and this would be a choice mother would make for herself. I have to ask myself...um, Sis, just how much authority do you think you will have in a crisis situation, when those sent to resolve the crisis make expediting a resolution their priority so that they can get back to the donuts and coffee mother so selfishly interrupted? Do you realize that a blind emotional response merely exacerbates the situation? And where is the dignity in not taking care of herself? Where is the dignity in all the harassing phone calls she has been making? Where is the dignity in abusing our father financially, mentally, emotionally, sexually? Where is the dignity in verbally abusing me and The Goddess? You cannot preserve what is not there, and you will embarrass yourself trying. I beseech you to hear me.

There is both my father and sister, refusing to see to its fruition the doctor's revoking my mother's driving privileges for the time being. It would be taking away her last freedom, poor mother does not need that, she is going through enough. I have to ask myself, um...guys, what about the fact that she is getting disoriented and lost? What about her almost careening the car into another that she did not see when it was right in front of her eyes? What about the fact that she gave up the privilege of driving when she decided not to take care of herself? What about all of the real, potential victims out there that could be injured or killed by a woman out of control and a family that refuses to think of them above poor mother, the perpetual victim?

Ah, yes, those age old family dynamics, that comfort zone of denial that has allowed the members of my family to carry on with their days with the least threat to their self preservation and to the status quo. I am not angry with my father. I can respect how frightening it would be to view the last thirty-seven years through the shades of reality.

The shock, the pain, would be temporarily blinding, so he remains blind permanently, and cannot even see that he is so.

Similarly, I am not angry with Dawne. Seeing mother for who she really is has ramifications not just for her, but Meris, Pookie, and Ms. Thang as well. So she treads precariously every day the tightrope, creeping ever so cautiously towards the end in front of her that is reality, while ever fearful of falling off into the abyss of denial beneath. This takes great strength in and of itself.

It is comfortable down there at the bottom, one's needs can usually get met, but it is almost impossible to get back up on the rope to tread again.

I cannot be angry with either of them for not being in the same place that I am. I cannot expect them to see things the way I do. We chose our path, and therefore ultimately to bear whatever consequences fall upon us, and I cannot expect them to walk along side me. All I can expect is that they do not block my way, and perhaps catch me if I stumble from time to time. I would do the same. After all, the mere truth cannot set one free; hearing the truth, even knowing the truth, will not set one free. Only accepting it, no matter how painful, will.

I am, however, angry with my mother. She chooses to be a cruel heartless bitch whose only thoughts are on who is victimizing her that day, when she is the one doing the victimizing. I am angry with her for never being the mother she has the potential to be, and the one I deserve. I am angry that she does not know how to love her own son, and that my being alive is not motivation enough for her to learn.

I am angry with myself for getting sucked back in and playing the game once more, straying from my path of actualization. For the end is always the same. I am sorrowful for what has never been and will never be. I have to grieve the loss of my mother all over again. I am devalued because the knowledge gained from my healing process has forced me to assert the truth on deaf ears. I again give up work and sleep to lay a foundation for healing, only to be isolated and left out in the cold while my family breathes a sigh of relief that the glass facade is cracked but not shattered, and has a celebratory dinner over mother's new wonder pill.

if life's for the livid
check me tomorrow
we'll see if i'm emperor
my devil's on sugar smacks
down at the radio shack
we're turning shit into solid gold
solid gold
dirty enough i got me a love and it's so bad
it's so bad
dirty enough i got me a love and it's so bad
it's so bad
hello time bomb i'm ready to go off
hello time bomb i'm ready to go off

---Matthew Good Band

 

Be Well