I am attempting to write an articulate piece about urgent care. I’ve calmed down a little. I’m feeling guilty about trashing the RCMP, but not really. How does anyone get anything noticed if you don’t say anything?
Over the past three weeks, a lot of front-line workers have lacked the knowledge to recognize urgent mental health issues… In my opinion. Not just the RCMP.
My 10 ft angry mother is not pleased. How would you feel if it was your child, sister, mother?
The triage nurse at the mental health ward in Jubilee had security escort her out two weeks ago. Olivia was in full psychosis. She was having auditory hallucinations and threw her food tray. They put her out on the street. Literally. The RCMP. They have been at my house three times in the past week. Nothing was solved. (Well, I felt better after blasting them.) The receptionist at the walk-in clinic, who couldn’t wait 2 mins for me to grab her health card. Two minutes. It’s so frustrating.
My nosey neighbor from three doors down got a good show. I should tell her to read my blog if she wants the real story.
This is the time one says if she had a broken arm, she’d get taken to the hospital right away, Despite her age and mental health capacity.
Mental health is not something we can see. It’s invisible on the outside. It doesn’t bleed, it doesn’t split, it doesn’t need stitches. Because it’s something you can’t see, people suffer. A lot. No, she didn’t succumb to her suicide attempt a month ago. She regretted it immediately and went and had her charcoal milkshake, nevertheless, nobody tried to contact me.
The paramedics didn’t even get a chance to assess her. They were parked up the road waiting for the o.k from the cops. So the RCMP … (who last I checked are good at fighting crime not assessing patients) decided she didn’t need to talk to the paramedics. And again she is 23. And stubborn. I mean I just don’t understand. She was obviously not ok.
My darling child can be charming, and quite convincing… apparently, even when she is spiraling about a conspiracy against her, and clutching random papers to her chest. Her evidence.
She gave the officers the whole story. They must have known… no?
I was asked to wait outside.
All I had to do, was look into her eyes. It’s so hard when your child reaches the age of adult but can’t actually make rational decisions. And you have to stand by and rely on some 25-year-old white kid from around the corner to make the decision for you. I really don’t mean to be so disrespectful. Langford is picture-perfect, and most of my dealings with the RCMP have been positive. They helped me so much getting Rae out of my life. I mean it’s the system, right? But I also think the system needs some tweaking.
To be clear, she still has not physically seen a Dr. yet. A month… a month since she started showing crisis symptoms. And no medication actually prescribed to her. For a month I’ve been trying to figure something out for her. I am the one who has figured out immediate care. I am the one who decided to give her my insomnia medication, to make sure she sleeps, I am the one who has explained to every support person and Dr. what was going on, looking for suggestions. I am the one who is trying to make sure she doesn’t go down the drain with her intrusive, racing thoughts. I am the one who is taking her on four-hour walks so she’s exhausted, and doesn’t have the energy to think. This may be obvious care for a mom, but I am not a nurse, dr, or licensed health care person in any way. It’s scary man, and it’s hard!
The RCMP’s last suggestion? Basically wait for her to commit a crime, get a charge, and be arrested. Great, let me give her back her computer so she can continue to alienate herself from all her friends on social media. Maybe one of them will call the police, and you guys can come out here again. Not the ideal ‘last straw’.
So now what?
*A little housekeeping here, my blog content moving forward is for 19 years and up. To protect myself and my family, I will be adding a membership login to this part of my site. Your support means a lot to me and thank you 🙂
So it’s close to midnight am I am just going over my day. Recollecting one’s thoughts…as we do.
In the past three weeks I have;
Had her speak with my Dr, telephone appointment.
Gotten referrals set up for a mental health intake assessment – for this week.
Got her on a schedule, for sleep and food. – For some this may be hard to believe, I need sleep as well. I also unfortunately don’t have restraints on her bed to force her into submission…(oops I mean sleep.)
Nor do I have any actual prescription medication to give her. Ya, that Benadryl really does the fucking trick. (I being sarcastic.)
Removed her phone and computer many, many times.
Unplugged the internet. That’s so great. That’s been really helpful to my younger daughter, online school, friends, entertainment, distraction, and all. (fuck off.)
Today we have;
Called the paramedics twice and the RCMP (they are always first.)
The RCMP has acknowledged – she is delusional and very unwell. Awesome help me, get her into the hospital.
Nope, nothing they can do because she is 23 and is refusing to go to the hospital.
So I’m lying in bed fully clothed waiting for the next fit to take hold so I can spring into action.
Her dad is sleeping outside the house in his truck.
The stupidest thing I heard today? “you know her sleep is really important..” – RCMP officer
Ohhhhh…Is that before or after I peel her off of the recycling bin she has climbed up on while screaming in a manic state? Or is it when she’s done telling me about the hackers that are listening and watching every word. Hmmm, maybe it’s after she verbally assaults and spits venom at us, her parents?
Yea, thanks Pillsbury doughboy. Fuck off and go suck an egg, you useless twat.
Run back to Langford and direct some traffic, you Ass Hat. Go live a fucking life.
Next time you try to offer to advise in your condescending tone. Consider this, have you ever actually left Vancouver Island? Have you ever actually worked a fucking shift in tent city?? Do you know anything…about mental illness??? Fuck you.
Go home and eat some more vanilla ice cream and lose the fucking hair gel, before I punch you in the fucking neck.
I met Rae in a bar after I had just finished a really emotional breakup with my husband. It was during my divorced party girl phase. He was beautiful. He had perfect teeth and a perfect body. He liked to party, but would never admit it. We were both heavy drinkers at that time and continued to be during our 9-year relationship. I was never head over heels in love with Rae, but we were good party buddies. He was a complete pothead and drank a 26er of Bacardi a couple of times a week. The salon was busier than ever, and I was partying hard.
My perception of him when we first met was that he was not the smartest guy, but handsome, kind, and quiet. In reality, he was a jealous, vain person and he never got any smarter.
He had a grandiose fantasy that he was this huge, Latino rap star. And he took it sooooo seriously..helping him take a photo was an ordeal. When we had sex, he would never look me in the eye. He would watch me, but when I looked at his face, he would look away, with no emotion in his eyes. Shark eyes.
Processing my last experience with him is a little like trying to move through the stone wall that’s built out front of my house. Without hands. A lot of pushing and shoving. Peter pan asks me where do I stop digging. I guess now. When I admit how much it has affected me.
He played many narcissistic mind games and would accuse me of the same. To the point where I thought, I was crazy. I used to get these really intense physical reactions when he was with me, he was suffocating. My chest would get really tight and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. We often had fights about my friends and family, he would try to isolate me from them. This particular fight was about my oldest daughter moving back to BC. He did not want her here, not just the house, the province. He shouted at me, and told me she was using me, and to not talk to her. During this fight he was standing over me, lecturing really intensely. He told me to not get up from the chair, I did not…I remember verbally disagreeing. Fuck….who knows. I was scared. I was physically paralyzed with fear, although at the time I did not realize it.
We broke up and got back together several times. This would be the same pattern over and over again for 9 years, I’d break up with him then get sucked back in with his stupid accent and his love bombing. Once I moved without telling him. He found me. During our last breakup, I left the province and did not ask him to come. Again, found me. Until finally, the abuse got so bad the RCMP was involved and he was arrested. He was escorted out of the house and sent packing back to whence he came. I have these really intense questions around it, how did I get there? Why did I keep going back? How did I let it get to that? My family was shocked, I had hidden all of it so well.
I haven’t seen Rae since that day, but it sticks with me. Sometimes I hear the things he used to say to me in my head. I hear it in his voice. I know I’m not done talking about him, but I’m done for now.
The 30-day Alcohol-free experiment is where I started in September 2020. Covid so all the AA meetings were online, plus I wasn’t really sure that was what I wanted to do. For the rest of my life I mean – never drink again? That sounded pretty far-fetched to me at the time, but I am actually ok with that now. I am really happy to have made it 105 days without a drink.
I got A LOT out of this experiment and the online support groups. There is a daily reading or video and a daily journal to complete, I just looked back at mine. It was pretty cool to see I have made some progress.
This book was really useful because it helped me recognize what was triggering the constant “fall off the wagon” or relapse.
I didn’t stop drinking after I finished this book and the 30-day experiment. I think I made it to 36 days or something like that. It’s best for me to “practice being sober”. The third time’s a charm, right? January 1, 2021, is my date.
Reading about different people’s experiences of trying to cut down or quit, was quite inspirational. It offers a lot of virtual support. I joined the social media groups and it was really great to talk to other people in the same situation in real-time.
I have been falling in and out of codependency my whole life. In and out of toxic relationships. All kinds of relationships, friends. lovers, family…in and out like waves. This is the first time I’ve really looked at it…not true, I’ve researched it before, and tried to work on it. But I actually really feel it this time. The more I read about it the more I learn about it, the more I recognize it.
Guess what? Classic behavior pattern for the child of an alcoholic.
People who knew my mom would say she was a creative, beautiful woman who was quick-witted and talented. Sing, dance, play the piano, act, sew, knit, cook, and do them all very, very well. People who really knew my mom would know that she was all these things plus, she was a troubled, sad, person, who couldn’t communicate and was a mean drunk. In all my therapy and reading, that is probably the worst, and most derogatory term to use, but it’s true.
She could be really difficult. I could walk into her house at any given time of the day, see her from the side and know, just know she was wasted. I would immediately go into caretaker mode, or rescuer role depending on what was going on, and then go into the suitable next step in the codependency drama triangle. She could hold her booze though, she never passed out on the couch, never vomited nor did she ever say or appear she was hungover, ever. Although I know from experience, the best cure for being hungover is just to not stop drinking. I could always hold my booze too, the first one to start and the last one to end. Apart from a few booze-fuelled fights with my most ex, I don’t really remember being mean to my friends or family. People liked to party with me, they always invited me on benders. I do have very specific times that I regret, some nights on the town. And some very fun ones that I don’t. Ever been to a party where people are not heavy drinkers? (regretful but fun). Or to one you’re not invited to but decided to crash it anyway in your dead mother’s fur coat? (Blackout regretful, not so fun)
I imagine my mom’s social life was like that, fun until it wasn’t and she’s calling me wasted saying she’s going to jump off a balcony. Not even kidding, the top floor too. The anxiety and depression that goes hand and hand with alcoholism is insane.
The one thing we codependents need to learn and to do is detach. Like mentally detach. It’s letting go of all the chaos. The chaos that goes along with living in a codependent state. You try to control everything, and in turn control, nothing, not even your own life…let that sink in, you get so caught up with what’s happening or “caretaking” (trying to control) your relationships that you ignore your own life.
Gross…. but that feels familiar doesn’t it? Here, let me relive taking care of my emotionally unavailable mother….forever, for every alcoholic and addict that I know in my life, (I live in BC…I know a few). Because it means I’m worthy.
Fucking upward reflection lizard brain. Brutal.
That is a really simplified version of my codependency, I have read a lot of academic papers and self-help books on this. The thing is, in codependency behavior caretaking is looked at as a problem. A negative thing, always ending in a victim role. Caretaking to the point where it turns the corner on the drama triangle into the victim role because “they didn’t listen to you” or do what you said, and don’t they realize how perfect their life would be if they just did what you said?! Then turn into the victim… oh poor me.
There isn’t a lot of information on the goodness of caretaking, or the compassion that goes along with it. I have helped a lot of people, who asked for it and wanted it. I feel good about it and they are happy about it. I actually love looking after people and caring for people. I guess the key is offering it for good, not evil. I am working on giving my relationships space to allow people to live their life or “truth” completely opposite of mine, while still having love and compassion for them.
Shutting off the chaos I am putting myself through. I mean, how many nights have I stressed and worried and thought about other people, and not my own thing. Work, relationships, kids, family, … honestly it is exhausting.
This apocalypse is probably not the perfect time to live out my life online, but I can’t help it.
I literally can’t stop. It’s hijacking my creative ability to do anything else! Stories are pouring out of me in big globs. Some are actually happy stories too. A few people like my writing and I like doing it. I am trying not to think about the people who may not agree with this, (and let’s face it I need to get back to actual life at some point). But for now, this is happening and helping me. And maybe getting some perspective might help other people too. A kinda social experiment on myself, that I didn’t really mean to start.
Karpman, S. (1968). Fairy tales and script drama analysis. Transactional Analysis Bulletin, 7(26), 39-43.
Well, I had a spectacular breakdown this week, it started with my new job, I thought I could handle it.. I thought it would be fairly easy and uncomplicated. It was …turns out I am not so easy and uncomplicated.
I have been working hard on my mental health, staying sober, exercising, meditating. But at the moment I feel like a crazy person. Let’s start with the panic attack I had at my new, now old job. After about three days of training, I mean really remedial training. I sat down to complete the corporate training online. It was pretty standard, lots of ethics preaching, be like us, Canadian Tire for a career and live a happy life. Middle-aged women, whose soul had slowly disappeared as their asses had slowly expanded. Lifers…lifers, That term seems extreme but the staff room felt like a prison cell, dark, dated ripped furniture, no joy, random people sitting eating their lunch with no conversation. No life, no joy, no ….nothing. I thought I can get through this, just eat outside, once the garden center opens I won’t have to train with Pete, the kind, older gentleman who was hired with me and could just not grasp the merchandise handheld computer. I was already helping him use the damn thing, It took me about two seconds to get it. I would be able to get outside, work with the plants and it would be ok.
My PTSD had other plans, you see PTSD is sneaky… it’s like that mean friend you have in high school, everything is great until she undermines you by stealing your boyfriend right from under your nose. And suddenly everybody hates you.
I think it’s under control but then I have these very dramatic explosions. Paranoid thoughts that I can’t control and that I actually believe …at the time. Racing thought, and physical pain in my body. That travels…one minute my elbow hurts, then it’s my hip, then my shoulder, and …and to top it off …a beautiful migraine, which will only be soothed with deep cold analgesic gel on my face…that shit is not meant for your face, But the stinging and smell is enough of a distraction along with a couple extra-strength Advil’s to make you forget about anything for an hour.
So I’m sitting down at the computer in the equally drab “conference” room at one of the two computers, following along with one of the other new hires. And it happens…I get a third of the way through, and I start to get this feeling of …no, nope…no…I couldn’t sit there for like one more second. The screen goes blurry, my heart starts racing in my chest. My ears start buzzing. The room is closing in. All I can think of is how to make my escape. Do I just bolt? Do I say something to someone? Which stairs will get me outta here the fastest without anyone noticing? I get my shit together for 2 secs. Got up from the computer, put my handheld computer on the conference table, and walked into the GM’s office. I told her it wasn’t for me. I gave some bullshit story and walked. I felt ok, I felt relieved, I thought whew…that’s over. I walked to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner and basically don’t remember that part. I know I came home with super random items because I was like a zombie.
Now I did not realize this at the time, at the time I thought it was just another spectacular fail, a walkout in true Louisa rebel fashion, It took me a week….a week to realize what had happened. I was thinking about it and guilting myself about it because I felt that I have been on EI long enough and it was time to join the land of the living. My mind had other ideas. You see I’ve been a bit of a hermit since I left Brentwood. I haven’t seen anyone except one other person, my daughters and Peter Pan. I’ve been walking, but by myself mostly, and the only other people I speak face to face with are the grocery store clerks and that’s it. In six months. That in itself isn’t so far-fetched with Covid restrictions going on. But it’s not great. And I have no desire either. I have been perfectly happy to sit in my house for days and do my own thing. I know I need to tell my Brentwood story but I’m not ready to process that yet. There are a lot of emotions involved and I’m not sure I can go there.
After crying and sulking for a week and getting some medical help, I feel a bit better. But not really. I’m afraid, I’m afraid that I won’t ever get better. I’m frustrated that I’ve been working really hard on inner peace and finding the self-awareness and strength to look inside myself. I feel stuck. And broken, unrepairable. I’m afraid that the people who love me will stop because I can be such a monster and say such horrible things when I’m having a crisis. I can’t think straight, my head spins and my mind races with unreasonable, paranoid thoughts and I believe them.
I’m so afraid.