May 25, 2011

My last entry I painted the picture of what life was like before I looked to him as someone with schizoaffective disorder.  I'm not sure if I feel like going through the entire downfall the past year.  But long story short it was filled with outbursts, exaggerated stories, bizarre dress, behavior and obsessions, delusional relationships, frivolous spending, disconnected communication and more.

At the end of May 2011, my brother had some sort of an outburst to his professor/at school.  The details remain uncertain to me.  However it was enough to have campus security called on him which lead him to being held against his will at the mental health unit of a local hospital.  He called me to tell me he was in the hospital.  He didn't tell me why he was there or what he was there for.  I was at work, thousands of miles away and paniced.  I frantically called the local hospitals until I found him.  We went into a screaming match, he was filled with so much anger and hostility.  I was moments away from having an anxiety attack.  I was yelling at him, unclear of what was going on.  I called my dad and burst into tears.  The kind of tears where you can barely catch your breath.  All right outside of my office.  The embarressment was beyond me at this point.  I felt scared and helpless.  For lack of a better phrase, shit had hit the fan. 

After informing my dad of what I had just learned we had to piece as much together as we could on our own.  I called back up to the hospital to find out as much as I could and I was told that very little could be relayed to my family or I without my brother's written consent.  I then told my dad this and encouraged him to go see him.  Apparently that night in Michigan there was a severe rainstorm that was flooding the streets.  My dad told me that he would try to see my brother tomorrow.  Upon hearing this I was almost hurt.  Your son, my brother, is in a hospital for losing his mind and you cannot see him right now?!  I calmed down slightly and tried to appreciate how driving to the hospital at that late hour through the storm was almost counter productive. 

My mom was on her way home after what was already a rough day for her at work.  It was Dad's job to tell her when she got home where their son was.  I sat at my apartment, feeling terrified.  Terrified for them, for him... and the overall anxiety of uncertainty.