Growing up in a household that was engulfed in trauma, there are gaps in my memory. I knew that this was the case but with my brothers passing, it is haunting me. I remember bits and pieces. Photographs have really helped me.
A memory that came to mind was an awful one. One morning I woke up and I was shaken to the core. I had a nightmare. This nightmare though was, to this day, the worst I had ever dreamt. I shared it with my sister when I woke up and it haunted her as well. When I asked the other day about it she became very quiet and said, yes, I remember. There was an awful foreboding feeling that came with it.
I was probably ten years old. So, the living room in the townhouse was in the back. My father's desk was located on the left wall and his recliner was visible from the stairs entering the home. Many a day we played with him trying to sneak up on him. He would watch TV and, without looking, pretend shoot us from his chair. We would yell out and then try again, all of us giggling. (Most don't realize that, even households with trauma have moments that were special)
In the dream, I walk down the stairs and look in the living room. My dad is sitting in his recliner with his leg thrown over the arm of the chair. I continue and walk outside. When I get to the sidewalk, I hear a knock on the kitchen window. I turn and see a man with the most evil grin staring back at me. In his arms, he is holding my brother and sister. They are sobbing and yelling for me with all their teeth knocked out and blood dripping from their chins. I was screaming and trying to get to them. In the dream, I realized that the man in the recliner was not my dad but this evil man.
My entire childhood, I tried to protect my siblings, as best as I could. Not much a small child can do but I did everything that I could. My sister did as well. We tried to shield John from the trauma but it was not always possible. My nightmare was that something terrible would happen to my brother and sister and there would be nothing that I could do about it.
I remember the call vividly. John called me at my apartment. He said to me, "Lani, Mom is really losing it." I laughed and said, "Yea, when isn't she." He got incredibly serious and proceeded to tell me that she was extremely paranoid. "She has closed all of the blinds. She is crawling around on her hands and knees and peeking out the windows. Last night I couldn't find her and I saw that the back door was open in the basement. I went out and she was crawling up the alley. She is video recording everything. I'm really scared." I stayed on the phone talking with him. I didn't know what to do.
I don't know how much time passed, it might have been the next day. I received a call from my Dad. He doesn't call me, ever. So the fact that he was calling me was of great concern. My mom had my sister pinned in the kitchen with a hot iron. She was screaming at her, "You killed Lani! I know you did. I saw it on the news." I told Dad to hand her the phone. When she was on the phone, I explained to her that I wasn't dead and that I was on my way. She gave Dad back the phone and he said that he called the police. I told him to let them know not to engage until I arrived. She would have freaked out because she was certain that the police could be involved.
Once Mom had spoken to me she let my sister go since Chrissy had to get to work. I arrived and when I pulled up, my Mom came out and was crying. I assured her that I was ok and that Dad and I were going to take her somewhere safe. The police allowed it since we assured them that we would take her to the hospital. She explained that she had to get her tapes, her proof. The tapes were completely filled with nothing. Just images of a quiet neighborhood. To her, they had proof that I was dead and that everyone was planning something against her. I looked at her and said, "Right Mom, but you can see I am alive?" "Yes, I guess I do see that. I must have seen something else and got confused."
We got her to the hospital and had her admitted. I drove my Dad back home as he was beyond shaken and needed some time to himself. Throughout the entire process, I was back and forth to the hospital. Once the medicine kicked in, my Mom couldn't believe that it all never happened. The doctor showed her the blank tapes. To her, all of what she saw was real. The news reports, the people outside, the police conspiring against her was real. It's very frustrating looking in and seeing that it doesn't exist and being unable to prove it to your loved one. Bipolar with Psychosis. One doctor said Bipolar and Schizophrenia.
When I see someone on the street talking to themselves and obviously not well, I become overcome with sadness. I don't look at them like, "What a freak." I look at them with the kindness that I would show towards my mother. They don't know what is going on and they 100% believe that what is happening is real. Be kind. You don't know the hell that someone is living through. Do not judge, or you too will be judged (Matthew 7:1)
Side bar - Most don't know this but you cannot admit someone into a mental facility unless one of two things happens. 1: they must be a danger to themselves or someone else. 2: they admit themselves. Let that sink in for a minute. We had no power to do anything until my mom threatened my sister. Our system is broken. Something must change.
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