May
11
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The Phone Call
The Sister Wives struggled with the decision to make this piece anonymous, but ultimately decided is was more important to protect the identity and integrity of family members. The fact remains, this could be written by any one of us because mental illness hits from every direction, scattering its pellets of suffering among families and friends.
***
I press number three to play the message. His voice jumps through the phone and squeezes my heart so hard I have to sit down. He’s singing to me.
Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear sister. Happy birthday to you.
I close my eyes and press play again. His voice sounds so pure. So…absolutely him it takes my breath away. I can reach out and touch the memories it’s conjuring. Us climbing trees. Exploring creeks. Getting in trouble for eating all the Debbie Snack Cakes Mom just bought for our school lunches. Dissolving in laughter at his dark wit and ridiculously awful impressions. The time he needed stitches after using the weed eater for the first time. And of course the fights. There’s nothing quite as vicious as a sibling fight.
Play.
Happy birthday to you….
Heart Squeeze.
The voice I’m hearing is just him. True him. At the core. Not the him I will get if I call him back. Oh, at first I’ll get true him. But soon the sickness will take over, and the lies will tumble out of his mouth. The pathological lies. They bore a hole in my stomach and make my head spin. I have to remind myself:
He can’t help it. It’s the disease.
Or he’ll bait me with a seemingly innocuous question, which I’ll answer because I’m hoping we’re having a real conversation. Like normal people. But the agenda soon rears its ugly head, and I’m suddenly being evangelized on his latest conspiracy theory. So much anger. So much paranoia.
He can’t help it. It’s the disease.
Play.
….Happy birthday, dear sister…..
Heart Squeeze.
The guilt is an anchor in my gut. I carry it always, dragging its toxic weight. It turns me inside out when I see his name on my caller ID…and I don’t pick up. You’re an asshole, I say to myself. What kind of sister doesn’t answer when her brother calls?
It’s not your fault. It’s the disease.
I used to pick up. For twenty years I picked up. The cyclical, inane conversations that went on for hours were torture. Especially the ones that came in the middle of the night. When the distress calls happened, I invested, physically and emotionally. “I’m here for you,” I would say. “Let’s get you help,” I would plea. Others have tried to help, too. But that’s the thing. Once he’s got your attention. Your time. Once you’re on the hook…
He swims away.
And we’re left dangling, feeling like asses for trying. Lost. Scared for him. Awaiting the next call.
Until it becomes too much to take on anymore. If someone won’t help themselves, isn’t it time to stop enabling? Doesn’t there come a time when I have to show him I’m not that person anymore? That person his disease can toy with? Doesn’t there come a time when I have to draw boundaries?
It’s not his fault. It’s the disease.
I see him once every year or two when he decides to resurface at a family event. He acts as if no time has passed. As if he’s been at every get-together. We hang out. We talk. He inevitably makes me laugh. But his eyes…my god his eyes. They kill me. The sadness behind them scours my soul.
Even after years of me holding him at arms length, he still calls for my birthday. Why isn’t he angry with me? Why doesn’t he hate me?
Play.
Happy birthday to you….
Heart squeeze. Hot tears of sadness. Anger at him for not getting help. Guilt for the anger. His voice is flooding me with memories but I can’t stop listening. Like the lure of the deeper waters even though you know there’s an undertow.
I miss my brother. I fucking hate mental illness.
Play.
Play.
Play.
Play.
Play.
Do you have someone in your life who won’t get help for mental illness, or won’t stay on their medication? How do you cope with them? How do you cope, period? Did/do you keep them at arms length?
The SisterWives 
Breaks so many hearts
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I know. 😦 Thanks for reading. ❤
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I know I’ve read this one. Because I’m forgetful, I do forget who originally wrote it. (I’m sorry!)
The reason I know I’ve read it is because it’s so mesmerizing and soul-seering. Impossible to forget.
It’s very good writing. The kind that hurts on the inside when you read it.
Thank you for sharing.
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I’ve read this as well and I remember it well. I read this right after having to kick my 18 year old niece out of my house after taking her in for a year prior in order to save her life. So many emotions. She ripped me apart. I almost went down with her and her disease. I’m still recovering. 😦 xo
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can’t even imagine, BHC. *hugs*
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thanks for reading, Matt.
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It is indeed the hardest thing to do. I dealt with it in my mom and never really figured it out.
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Can’t even imagine having a parent with mental illness, Amy. Sorry you had to go through that. *Hugs*
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This is such a heartbreaking but accurate picture of what it is like to love someone with a mental illness, especially when the individual chooses to not treat the disease. I have personally experienced this type of relationship and I also work in the field of mental health. The author has absolutely made the right decision by setting boundaries, but that does not make it easy. There is NOTHING easy about it. Just because the person who is ill chooses to not protect himself against the disease, doesn’t mean his family and loved ones shouldn’t. God, I wish I had something more comforting and insightful to say but I don’t…just know you are not alone.
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Thank you so much for your support and validation on this, Dawn. xoxo
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I have a sister and a son with Bipolar . . . this is just . . . wow. I love my little sister so much, but the conversations, the real ones, are few. My son – I’m so teared up right now, I can already see the fissures that have been slowly opening over the years, leaving cracks and holes in the relationship he has with his brothers and sister. It’s hard, those real moments remind me what I’m fighting for.
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*HUGS*
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Crystal, I’m so sorry you’re going through this on such a personal level. It’s so hard, but I hope you found some solidarity here today. You’re not alone. *hugs*
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Being reminded you’re not alone on this kind of journey is a saving grace some days – It can be hard not to feel alone in the midst of the turmoil and heartache it can often leave in its wake . . . *hugs* right back.
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It’s amazing how much it takes over the lives of ALL concerned, and not just those who are affected by the disease. It’s sad, really. I have so many friends and a few family members affected by it, and as an RN, I’ve seen it rear it’s ugly head in so many ways.
Good vibes to you, my friend.
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Thanks, Katie. xo
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Heartbreaking and so accurate of how things can be in such cases.
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Yeah. My brother. Wow! I miss the “real” conversations…….
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I know, Barbara. *Hugs*
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It is so hard, sometimes, to separate the person from the disease, especially when it’s someone we love. There is no shame in saving yourself, particularly when attempts to help have failed, but the guilt can be soul-crushing.
Thank you for sharing.
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This kind of thing doesn’t get easier to read. Fabulously, heart-wrenchingly written though. xo
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This is a particularly meaningful post for me. I didn’t realize till I was in my 40s that my mother had an untreated, undiagnosed mental illness. For years, she just baffled me, angered and frustrated me. I’ll admit that after I realized she was ill, I still felt the same way. Yes, it’s a disease. But like all diseases it needs to be treated. The person who is ill must take responsibility for the treatment. But as anyone who has ever dealt with a mental illness knows, part of the illness is the refusal to treat or even recognize it. It’s an agonizing yo yo existence. I feel for you and wish I knew an answer. All anyone can do is what’s best for them and their families. If that means distancing yourself, that’s what you must do.
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“All anyone can do is what’s best for them and their families. If that means distancing yourself, that’s what you must do.” << exactly, my friend. I'm so sorry you've dealt with this as well, but I appreciate you sharing your story here. #solidarity
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I’m fumbling for words… I could have written this. Every last word of it. It is so nice to know I am not alone in the ambivalence, the anger, the frustration. Take care of you and yours, is what I always say and I feel guilty for it too. Peace and love. . . thanks for putting this all into words so I don’t have to. xox.
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*hugs* Sorry this brought so many feelings to the surface, but I hope it did leave you knowing you’re not alone. xo
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This seems so familiar to me – perhaps because mental illness is everywhere and can affect anyone. I also have a brother whose phone calls I avoid – I totally understand that guilt!
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you know, these posts remind me how many people deal with this same thing day after day, all over the world. Just when you think you’re alone in your feelings, you read a comment section and feel so validated. Thanks, my friend. Sorry you have to deal with it as well, and so sorry for your brother. *hugs*
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I don’t avoid the calls, I choose to not enjoin my brother in the phone. I always listen to any message that he leaves and, if the subject matter is important I will return the call. Protecting oneself while doing the best to stay in the loop is not disgraceful nor shameful. It is being insightful enough to know that you don’t have to be party to a harmful behavior.
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Mental illness that is a bitch and tears people and families apart. Even with medication. My mother wasn’t medicated until I was 16. By that time, the damage was done. And in her last few years, no medications worked anymore. I am one of the lucky ones who has discovered effective ways of healing. Although it’s a work in progress, and may be for the rest of my life, she’s gone, no longer inflicting pain, no longer living a life in hell. The healing has started. Thank you so much for sharing such a searing and heart felt piece.
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Need to edit out the word “that” from my first sentence.
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I can’t even imagine growing up with a parent who suffers from mental illness. Thank you for sharing your experience here. Peace and love to you.
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I am heartbroken for this women, for this sister. I’m so sorry, for this brother.
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Thank you, Blog Woman, and thanks for reading. xo
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I knew who it was… but I didn’t know if I should mention names… I am so incredibly touched by the heart and spirit who could put this into these words. xxoo
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*hugs*
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Wow. So powerful. I have a medicated mental illness and it makes me wonder what I was like before my friends kidnapped me and brought me to an emergency department. I felt like I had it together, but clearly that was not the case. Thanks for sharing.
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I’m so happy you had friends that helped you, Kristine, and I can only assume you’re leading a fuller, happier, healthier life now. It’s encouraging to learn of people who are receiving help (via meds or other means) and have stabilized their illness with such positive outcomes. I think a lot of sufferers avoid help, which is in itself a part of the disease, so it’s no small miracle that sufferers do get help and move forward.
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ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… you break my heart every time… everybody just feel good, be happy, be sane… that is a direct order from the future ruler of this planet!!!
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Yes sir! xoxo
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This is making me stronger in the long run, right?
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one can only hope….. 🙂
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This post touches me deeply. The pain from all the effort and time spent on helping a loved one who won’t help themselves is heartbreaking. Loving someone who is gone in the mind but still here physically is a different kind of hell. Thanks for sharing this.
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“Loving someone who is gone in the mind but still here physically is a different kind of hell.”<< so much YES. I'm sorry you share in this experience. It's so incredibly heartbreaking and frustrating. Thanks for reading. *hugs*
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Heart breaking. I was raised by a mentally ill mother. A few years before she died, I was finally able to distance myself enough to have compassion for her. For the hell she lived with most of her life- even when she was medicated and they helped keep her level. And now I have a son whose brain is not seamless. He struggles from time to time because of it. For him, it’s anxiety that can reduce him to a quivering shell of himself. I now see that as much as we can be damaged by people who live with mental illness (and it can be quite severe), it’s the challenge of being able to rise above it all, and to be able to separate out their behavior from who they are without the illness, to see their true self, that will bring us wholeness again. And for me, it’s an ongoing process.
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I kind of want to hug you for hours.
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Wow…I imagine my auntie could have written this. My father has a mental illness that is made worse by an addiction to speed. I only hear from him when he’s be up for days and has decided he is Christ….no really like the Jesus Christ. On occasion he is the Antichrist. Sometimes I ignore the texts and feel so guilty. What if this is the last thing I hear from him? Sometimes I play into it. I ask questions and it sucks me in. I start questioning my own sanity… Maybe he’s not crazy maybe he is…not Christ but what if Angels do talk to him and I won’t listen. Its a very slippery slope because I have my own medicated mental issues. I just want a sane dad. He doesn’t have to be normal…just not crazy. Sometimes I fantasize that I’m apart of a support group..Hi my name is Milly and my dad is an addicted mental case who only remembers I exist when he is spun out of his mind…and I’m scared to death if I’m not super vigilant I could end up just like him.
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