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I am still in the same place as when I last wrote. A landscape without landmarks, no Land's end or land's beginning.
My son's process, is a black-hole chaos drive.His rage crackles and spits like high tension cables.
I remind myself that here, there is no win and no lose. To stay sane in this place focus on what works. Turn away from the catastrophic, disconnect from fear and reconnect to compassion.
Easier said than done when I’m sitting on a chair blocking my bedroom door, listening to my house being smashed up.
As the police took my son into custody...I watched the adrenaline / cortisol fizz subside and sat down for the first, fear-less and quiet night I have had since august last year...My heart felt ripped to shreds, but I was clear in my own mind that this was the end. We have done all we can. As we cleared up, my husband found a kitchen knife under my son’s bed. My blood ran cold. Messages from everyone steadied me. My other son and daughter wanted ex service user gone, my daughter worries about me. My other son is just angry. My heart is breaking…
I think Citalopram and the treatment from the Home visit team was a contributing factor to what came next, and now he has a body full of traumatic memory which he feels is in his future. His rage and anger don’t have a place, within him yet. Rage and anger manifest in ways that don’t make sense. They are externalized. Things just break, and it is as if he is inhabited by the people who have hurt him...he speaks with their voices.
Thursday night the policeman who rescued me had explained what came next. Could press charges - like getting a criminal record would help - he may be sectioned, I didn’t have to get him back from the station. I thought about all the months he has been talking about rape, murder and killing. I thought about the knife. I decided that no was the right answer.
So when the phone rang and I was told that he had not been sectioned, I also asked what happens next for people in ex service user’s position? I had assumed that there is some kind of sheltered halfway house? No, there is not.
As I nudged the car into the motorway queue, my husband wanted to know, why did I think we were going to get him back?
I remind myself that here, there is no win and no lose. To stay sane in this place focus on what works. Turn away from the catastrophic, disconnect from fear and reconnect to compassion.
Easier said than done when I’m sitting on a chair blocking my bedroom door, listening to my house being smashed up.
As the police took my son into custody...I watched the adrenaline / cortisol fizz subside and sat down for the first, fear-less and quiet night I have had since august last year...My heart felt ripped to shreds, but I was clear in my own mind that this was the end. We have done all we can. As we cleared up, my husband found a kitchen knife under my son’s bed. My blood ran cold. Messages from everyone steadied me. My other son and daughter wanted ex service user gone, my daughter worries about me. My other son is just angry. My heart is breaking…
I think Citalopram and the treatment from the Home visit team was a contributing factor to what came next, and now he has a body full of traumatic memory which he feels is in his future. His rage and anger don’t have a place, within him yet. Rage and anger manifest in ways that don’t make sense. They are externalized. Things just break, and it is as if he is inhabited by the people who have hurt him...he speaks with their voices.
Thursday night the policeman who rescued me had explained what came next. Could press charges - like getting a criminal record would help - he may be sectioned, I didn’t have to get him back from the station. I thought about all the months he has been talking about rape, murder and killing. I thought about the knife. I decided that no was the right answer.
So when the phone rang and I was told that he had not been sectioned, I also asked what happens next for people in ex service user’s position? I had assumed that there is some kind of sheltered halfway house? No, there is not.
As I nudged the car into the motorway queue, my husband wanted to know, why did I think we were going to get him back?
“Because, I can’t allow myself to be responsible for making one more homeless person. Because if he is going to kill someone, I’d rather it was me than a stranger who he randomly picked. I don’t think being with us is the best option. It isn’t the best for me, or for you. I seriously doubt that I can do the second year of my course, and you are in bits, stressed out. Ultimately though, what do we really know? Only that if we don’t get him, he is going to be let out of the cell and be homeless…”So, we are back to how it was before. Assessing all the changes that have taken place over the year is difficult, but I am aware that when he came home last April he was completely without affect. He didn’t laugh until November. It is as if his feelings are being plugged back in. Self awareness returns with his feelings, and so sadness, pain and terror come back with a force that rips things apart. Add regression and challenging behaviour…
So what about me?
Same old old, try to learn from what I experience.
This is one of those situations where navigation depends on an inner compass, and my ability to live with someone who makes me feel as if my skin is crawling with flies.
I don’t think I’m getting this right...
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