We are apparently dealing with a "fixed delusion" now. Nothing fixed about it. Entirely broken in my non-medical opinion. I have spoken with medical professionals, law enforcement, counselors, DCF (yes, they changed the acronym this year) and the local county attorney's office. So far, everyone with an idea has sent me on a chase that has come up empty. All too often, there are no ideas at all.
When a delusional person whose medications have stopped working
repeatedly files false accusations, there's nothing that can be done,
because, "we wouldn't want to discourage people from making reports." It
doesn't even count as harassment. Apparently, it's not even harmful to
my children, who have been called out of class over and over to talk to
strangers about imagined abuse. (I would argue that, but my opinion doesn't carry much weight, since I'm merely the mom.)
Ironically, the first time this happened to us, the
interviewer told me (later) that my eldest daughter was the happiest
child she had ever interviewed. After a half dozen false reports and
about a dozen interviews, she's not such a happy interviewee any more.
I
don't want to imply that abuse doesn't happen--I know it does. And
reporting helps catch perps. But there needs to be some way to stop
false reporting from being a way to freely harass.
The County Attorney refers all his cases to the doctor before sending it to a judge. I understand why, in simple terms. No judge wants his courtroom turned into a circus. But if a person needs a Care and Treatment Order, and the last resort is to get it from a judge, why would that judge toss it back at the same doctor who is asking the judge for it? I don't see the logic. Jail or prison is not the appropriate place for the mentally ill, or at least I don't think so. Not most of them, anyway. But when you make it nearly impossible for a doctor to place a person under care unless they think they want it, seems to me you're setting everyone up for a whole lot of mentally ill people without care, or even in jail. Paranoia is an insidious beast, and not limited to shambling hulks you might envision living under a bridge somewhere. Add in the unfortunates turfed out as quickly as possible because they may or may not have any sort of medical coverage, and, yeah, the old insane asylums of horror movie fame actually might not be quite so bad... as prison or death.
I was given the advice (I think it was supposed to be... soothing?) that sometimes people with severe mental illness push away anyone who might help them. Not to worry, this is normal. Well, yes, I am aware that Alzheimer's patients are known for becoming somewhat combative and argumentative with their caregivers, sometimes not recognizing friends and family. Not quite the same situation. She knows exactly who I am, and is attacking with finesse and precision. If she had not been Bipolar, with decades of medical history on file, I'm not too sure my kids wouldn't have spent time in foster care "just in case" by now. Or possibly that hubby or I might have been detained for more detailed questioning.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Hiatus
Life gets away from us, sometimes, and this blog certainly fell into the cracks for me. If anyone was watching, I apologize.
Much news, but where to start... where to start...
Mother moved back to town. And the sky didn't fall, the earth didn't crack in two, and life essentially kept plodding along. She pressed--hard--for a meeting, and much against my better judgement, I finally set one up, with a moderator. Mother wasn't happy with that, and had a number of unkind things to say about it, but I survived. Felt as though she'd run me over with a semi truck, then picked it up and hammered me into the pavement with it, but that's merely the subjective perception. Some little while later, she pressed for another meeting, which I attended again. Took along some written notes, so that she couldn't disconcert me enough to leave out some salient questions I wanted her to answer. I don't feel as though she actually responded to the facts and questions presented, but at least they were aired in front of a neutral observer.
Afterwards, the moderator requested a meeting with me and my husband, so she could get some idea for herself about the sort of man he really is, apart from the hype my mother has been spreading to everyone with ears. I think she was pleasantly surprised. And she gave us what I consider a compliment. Namely, that she was surprised that we were still a couple. Apparently many of the people she counsels have had marriages unravel under the weight of stresses like ours. She went on to say that I really shouldn't feel the requirement to visit. She could see that it was a great stress, and that mother has no intent to change her position. Though mother did announce that she will stop making police reports, etc., since she's decided that my children are just "liars" and won't tell (her) truth no matter how many times she reports. I'm relieved, to a point, but I suspect I may never stop being angry about the name-calling.
Since then, my aunt (the one who was a school counselor) has retired, and volunteered to be moderator for a couple of meetings. They were a bit calmer, without an "outsider" present, but still took a toll on me. I have not given mother my phone number, and have asked the family to continue to respect this as well. I'd like to believe that my continued lack of communication is only self-preservation, and not something darker, such as vengeance.
If I'm destined to "heal" enough that I can ever return to anything resembling the relationship we once had, I hope it happens soon. But something tells me that somewhere down the road of life, I'll be able to say I skipped that.
Much news, but where to start... where to start...
Mother moved back to town. And the sky didn't fall, the earth didn't crack in two, and life essentially kept plodding along. She pressed--hard--for a meeting, and much against my better judgement, I finally set one up, with a moderator. Mother wasn't happy with that, and had a number of unkind things to say about it, but I survived. Felt as though she'd run me over with a semi truck, then picked it up and hammered me into the pavement with it, but that's merely the subjective perception. Some little while later, she pressed for another meeting, which I attended again. Took along some written notes, so that she couldn't disconcert me enough to leave out some salient questions I wanted her to answer. I don't feel as though she actually responded to the facts and questions presented, but at least they were aired in front of a neutral observer.
Afterwards, the moderator requested a meeting with me and my husband, so she could get some idea for herself about the sort of man he really is, apart from the hype my mother has been spreading to everyone with ears. I think she was pleasantly surprised. And she gave us what I consider a compliment. Namely, that she was surprised that we were still a couple. Apparently many of the people she counsels have had marriages unravel under the weight of stresses like ours. She went on to say that I really shouldn't feel the requirement to visit. She could see that it was a great stress, and that mother has no intent to change her position. Though mother did announce that she will stop making police reports, etc., since she's decided that my children are just "liars" and won't tell (her) truth no matter how many times she reports. I'm relieved, to a point, but I suspect I may never stop being angry about the name-calling.
Since then, my aunt (the one who was a school counselor) has retired, and volunteered to be moderator for a couple of meetings. They were a bit calmer, without an "outsider" present, but still took a toll on me. I have not given mother my phone number, and have asked the family to continue to respect this as well. I'd like to believe that my continued lack of communication is only self-preservation, and not something darker, such as vengeance.
If I'm destined to "heal" enough that I can ever return to anything resembling the relationship we once had, I hope it happens soon. But something tells me that somewhere down the road of life, I'll be able to say I skipped that.
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