It's hard to write about anything else because this is all that's on my mind.
If you are unaware of what has been happening in my life, I encourage you to go watch the video explanation that I posted on my Facebook. There, you will find the information indicating that my mother has relapsed with drugs, causing her mental illnesses and medications to also spiral out of control. She now has a warrant out for her arrest; however, she is missing and not disclosing her location to anyone.
I'd like to break this timeline down for you so you can understand my frustration. Disclaimer: this information is what I've gathered through texts, voicemails, emails, law enforcement, psychiatrists, friends, and family. It's a tangled web and difficult to sort out, but I'm doing my best.
Let's go way back for a moment. Back to the fall of 2019. Mom had a close friend, a best friend. They had gone through sobriety treatment together and AA meetings. But this friend relapsed (to the best of my knowledge; also keep in mind that there is further information that I'll get into later, which I didn't know about at the time). My mom told me that she decided to cut off contact with this friend, even though it was incredibly difficult for her since they were so close. I expressed how proud I was of her.
The next couple of months continued as normal: I got engaged, Christmas was beautiful, New Years brought hope for 2020. We took Mom out for dinner for her birthday in February. I talked to her on the phone almost every day.
Then the virus picked up speed and the United States started taking measures to encourage social distancing. Mom's concern was about her AA meetings and group therapy; in-person meetings were cancelled and she was quarantined alone. I continued to talk to her every day and we discussed mental health, our head space, fears, hopes, desires, everything. She's my best friend and we needed each other's company in some way constantly.
Easter came. I spent it at home with Anthony due to the virus, but he made it special with just the two of us. I talked to her multiple times that day. Looking back, Easter Sunday was the last true "normal" conversation I had with mom. It seemed like she had a wonderful day as well; my grandparents dropped off an Easter meal for her.
Later in the week, her texts concerned me. But sometimes this happens and I'm simply overthinking, so I assumed she was just tired or having a bad day (which she confirmed for me at the time).
Then Friday rolled around.
Her texts that day were setting off red flags, especially in the evening. She was extremely paranoid and asking me if I was mad at her; paranoia in her is never a good sign with her mental illnesses, so I wondered if her medications needed to be readjusted.
I took a shower and came back to five missed calls. Upon calling her back, my heart sank. She was talking a mile a minute, too quickly to catch every word. As she jumped from one topic to the next without letting me respond, I texted my close friend and told her to quickly jump on video call with me. I had her record the conversation; that was all I could think of in the moment.
The reason for this? I've been here multiple times in my life. The last time mom sounded that manic was about three years ago and she had claimed she would hurt herself. This time around, I wanted documented proof that she was a danger to herself; I was terrified for her safety. This way I could hopefully contact her doctor and get her treatment as fast as possible.
But the recorded phone call went a little differently than expected. And the realization slowly crept in: she was on drugs, not just experiencing a medication malfunction.
I was able to interrupt her constant stream of talking with "What are you doing right now? Who are you with?" She said she was hanging out with that friend; I wondered if that meant she had used.
She then said "Cass, I feel suicidal" and I knew that was coming. I was a little relieved knowing my friend had just caught that audio recording. But in the same breath, mom continued: "and homicidal." Before I could fully wrap my head around that statement, she kept going.
I've seen and heard my mom in some incredibly dangerous mental states in the past. But the words she directed at me in that Friday evening phone call had never been said before. At least, never said to me.
I can't go into a lot of detail on what was said, but I can tell you that for the first time, I was genuinely afraid of my mother. And I was afraid she was going to take her own life.
The difference this time, compared to any other past incident, started with that phone call: the vicious, targeted words. The physical threats thrown at me and also at my fiance. The reminder from her that she knows where I live and that she'd have her male friend drive to me. The agitation in her rapidly escalating voice, which transformed to hate.
After that call, I contacted the police in her area. I explained everything, told them I had proof that she was threatening to hurt herself and others. They assured me they'd go check on her.
The cops called me back with an update about twenty minutes later, and they told me the same thing I've heard countless times in the past: "We arrived at Dina's house and talked to her. She seemed stable besides being a bit hyper, and denied making any threats."
But this is what I was trying to avoid by recording the threats, so you can imagine my shock. "But...she threatened to kill herself and hurt me. I have proof of that. Can't you detain her?" Nope. They need to see an active threat. The officer then said "We are very familiar with Dina in this area and as of right now she seems stable enough. And in the past, she has never carried out her threats."
I was stunned. Why were we basing the situation off of previous situations? Why were we trying to understand the pattern of drug use mixed with mental illness? There is no pattern in my eyes.
That night, Anthony came home early from his night shift to be with me. We stayed awake until 5am, jumping at every noise outside, peaking out the window at any passing car. Eventually we dozed off for four hours.
I spent Saturday calling my grandparents, the police, my dad, and reaching out to my mom's friends; I wanted to get ahold of mom's parole officer or her doctor, but nobody seemed to have the proper contact information. It was recommended to call MY local police and make a report just in case mom showed up with a weapon. So I did.
The details blur in my head, but that weekend was difficult because once I finally tracked down the correct parole officer, I discovered that their office is closed Fridays-Sundays.
Upon talking to the PO on Monday, she couldn't help me much. It's not her fault, just how it works: Dina was able to hold a conversation with law enforcement and was not technically breaking any laws (even though I also had documented proof of mom admitting to drug use, which violates her probation). I was advised to make a report claiming she broke her probation. After the PO confirmed that they could not arrest her for any reason at that time, she told me to think about filing a restraining order for my safety.
The week continued in that frustrating pattern. I stopped responding to my mom's texts, calls, voicemails, and emails until the following weekend. At that point, there was a trusted friend checking in on my mom and bringing her food and making sure she wasn't driving. She also kept me updated; she had looked in mom's phone to get my phone number. The goal was to simply keep mom safe, but I knew without help she would continue to spiral. It was only a matter of time. I couldn't stand the law's plan of "wait until something bad happens." It kept me awake every night. My fiance begged me to have friends sleep over so I wouldn't be alone.
Towards the end of the week, mom seemed to be crashing from the drugs and tried to talk to me rationally. I explained that we needed space from each other, and she agreed in the moment. But the next day, she skyrocketed back to mania. Her voicemails were horrifying. I listened to every single one, crying, wondering why nobody else seemed to be taking this seriously.
The next weekend came and chaos ensued: mom committed a robbery to someone close to us. And then she disappeared.
I called the PO and she already knew about it. She told me there was now a warrant out for her arrest, and this excited me because I just wanted a reason for law enforcement to detain her. But the PO said it wasn't that easy; mom knows how this works, so she was hiding. The police didn't know her location so they couldn't go and arrest her. They simply had to wait until they crossed paths with her.
Finally, in the next few days, I received a call from mom's counselor. I expressed my gratitude because it would be ideal if they could Pink Slip her (meaning she would be forced to go to a hospital for psychiatric care). But my heart sank as she explained the same problem: she didn't know where Dina was. She felt my pain and had spoken to Dina and knew how badly Dina had fallen into her own mind. She wanted to send the Crisis Team to her to take her in for her safety. But how can we send the team to her if we don't know where she is?
I continued to wait. And wait. And wait. I stayed in contact with some family friends that were getting calls from mom, but none of them could figure out her location. A few of them expressed how severe her mania was and how there was no trace of the Dina they knew in her voice. But still, there was nothing to be done.
There was one day that sticks out to me: a family friend told me that he thought mom was at her house. He heard her on the phone and she admitted that. I quickly called the police (the counselor's office was closed because it was the weekend again). I asked them to do a wellness check at her house. They read her address to me for confirmation, and I said "No, that's incorrect." The officer argued with me for a moment. She put me on hold and when she came back to the call, she admitted that they had saved the wrong address in their records. I'm still not sure how I refrained from screaming at her.
An hour passed with no update. I called the police again for a followup. And here is the response I got: They were understaffed due to the virus. They hadn't been to the house yet. And I'll admit, in that moment my composure broke a bit. With a shaking voice, I asked her if she honestly thought my mom was still at her house. To me, they had missed their chance. I understand there is certain protocol to follow, but it felt like my pleas and fears were simply swept under the rug.
Time continued to pass and mom had never been missing this long. My head spun every day, thinking of worse case scenarios, trying to reassure my friends and family that I was fine. But I wasn't. I wondered how she slipped away from me so fast. I wondered how I had missed so much.
Remember that original friend? The one she'd cut off contact with? I was told by the PO that mom received a court order back in NOVEMBER to not contact this friend. That led me to question: how much didn't I know? How much was mom hiding from me? The counselor told me her medication had be readjusted every month since October. Why didn't mom tell me this?
I forced myself to complete my school semester. After, my fiance and I visited my siblings so I could have a mental break. Nothing had changed.
On the way home from the visit, my grandma called me with news: mom had possessed a weapon, and a friend called the cops. They had their warrant, so they arrested her. Since she broke probation, there is no bond.
And that's where we are now.
It feels as if a weight has come off me, but I am floating too high, feeling dizzy and spinning from the events that transpired over the last two months. And I'll start falling soon, trying to grasp what happened and figure out where to go from here.
I wanted to share this because there's some things you need to understand. You need to see some of these scary details, because from the outside it might seem simple: cut her off now and be done. This pattern has repeated for my entire life, and this time there were lies and words spoken that can't easily be forgotten.
But now step inside. Step into my territory, where it's not that simple. For awhile, I was trying to cope with the fact that I need to cut off my mom. But now that the chaos has slightly calmed, and she's safe for now, and we wait for a court date to be scheduled...I struggle. She's my mom. My best friend.
My therapist and I have been talking about mental illness, particularly multiple personality disorder (this is what my mom has, as well as schizophrenia). We talked about how a normal brain does technically have "multiple personalities" on a different scale; we have various parts of ourselves that come out in different circumstances and they react in different ways. But for someone with multiple personality disorder, those personalities experience amnesia. For my mom she also has the layers of other illnesses with that, as well as drug use. It's a complicated, dangerous game to play.
But knowing this, I know that the best version of Dina is in there. The version that is kind and gentle and selfless and shy. I hear glimmers of her before the manic, angry versions take over. It confuses me and makes me question all my choices every day.
For the people that think I'm being selfish and making Dina out to be a monster: you are misunderstanding everything I've said. My main priority is to make sure she's safe. But now I feel deflated, ragged, hopeless. I can't stop her from using, I can't stop her from hiding secrets. I've tried over and over and over. And admittedly, I'll probably still try. But the course of my future has changed because of this entire situation. Moving forward, my relationship with my mom will never be the same. And my heart breaks every day over it.
While I'm glad she is safe and detained, now I manage the task of healing. The adrenaline has come down, and I am exhausted. My bipolar episodes are unstable; throughout the course of one day I go from happy to aggressively angry or upset. I had a panic attack at my place of employment. I snap at my fiance. I cry over the smallest inconvenience. When I fall into a deep sleep at night, I'm tormented with nightmares. I'm working on practicing what I've learned in therapy: I am not in control of every circumstance, but I am in control of my reactions. The problem is my trauma from all of this. I've been allowing every emotion to manifest into physical reactions. I've been struggling to grasp the thoughts before they run off and escalate. I lash out, shake, cry, or hide from the sheer panic coursing through my veins.
I wish I had the answers, but I don't. I never have and I don't know if I ever will. If any of us will. Nobody has said anything mean about my mom because we all know this isn't her. We know that substance addiction is evil and real, and that it can hurt anyone. We know that this has been a lifelong battle for Dina, and we are tired of watching her suffer.
I want better for her. I want better for our country. I want better for the people that struggle with their addiction, as well as the family and friends of that person. Substance addiction and mental health both cause ripple effects; they hurt one individual, which trickles into everyone that loves that person.
I don't hate the addicts, but I do hate the addiction. It ruins lives. Not everyone hears about the dark side, but I want people to be more aware of it. Be more aware of the complications and the hoops we have to jump through to get our loved ones help. And the worst part is they have to WANT the help in order to be willingly admitted to a facility. Otherwise we have to wait for disaster to strike. Over the years, this pattern has brought me more stress than I can put into words.
Where do we go from here? I don't really know. But I want to keep talking about it. I want to talk about the difficult parts, the task of making the hard decisions and trying to figure out the best options. Some of it will hurt, but the priority is to be mentally and physically safe. And I will continue to work with my therapist in order to properly process everything that's happened.
I don't know how to close this, so I'll leave you with some thoughts: addiction is a real disease. I know that the person chooses to relapse, but it's because the chemicals in their brain trick them into thinking they need it. Addiction tells you that you will die unless you get your fix. In your head, it's a matter of life and death.
I've lived through traumatic experiences due to addiction and mental illness, and it frustrates me when people throw so much hate at the individuals suffering. At the end of the day, they are still people. They have their demons, just like all of us. Unfortunately, some demons are more dangerous than others.
But we will keep marching forward. We won't give up. We will continue to fight and advocate. We will be strong. And I will keep praying for a world where we conquer the demons. I'm positive that we can get there.