I'll be sharing a lot about my childhood as time goes on, bit by bit, piece by piece. I am in the mood to share this story. One that I believe catapulted me into what I do today. One that shaped my thoughts on mental illness and one that changed my heart forever.
I was somewhere between 35 and 40; my only training at that time had been Bible college and some counseling classes I took at my church. At that point in my life, I was co-facilitating a sexual abuse group led by a friend and counselor. He wanted me to help out. However, I was very confused as to why. Why did he need me? I felt uneducated and untrained and had not been sexually abused. So why in the world would he want my help? These were the questions that ran through my brain for the entire time I worked with him. And yet--he saw something in me that I hadn't yet discovered about myself. I had it. It being--a listening ear. That's what he believed God had shown him about me. I was a counselor in the rough, so to speak.
And then one day, without too much training, remember, I received a frantic call from my mother-"He's been talking for 4 days, he hasn't slept, and he won't stop talking." I am exhausted and afraid, and I don't know who else to call or what to do. That's what my mother said to me over the phone just about 25 years ago. When my mother called that day, I heard 2 things in her voice: fear and exhaustion. She had had it — she was done — she needed someone to take over. And that's where I entered the picture. I had 3 small children at home, and that's about all I can remember. I couldn't tell you whether it was nighttime or morning, whether it was cold or hot, and I don't remember the season. I just remember being very confused and feeling very overwhelmed, but I knew I had to help as best I could. I told her to drive him over to my house, so she did. I wonder to this day how she managed to get into the car with him, as he was completely out of control.
Believe me when I say this--I had no clue what I was doing or saying. I just acted quickly. I evaluated (how did I even know how to do that?) the situation, and I went into action. I told my mother to take my kids into the other room and stay with them. I proceeded to load my father into my minivan, and with my husband driving and me barking orders at my dad, we drove to the psych ward. That drive was a learning experience in and of itself--let me tell you. Nothing prepared me for his delusions of grandeur. He was completely delusional, saying nonsensical things and acting almost violently. The only way I could control him was to speak with a very authoritarian voice. Now, remember, I was the daughter! This was hard for me to do; he was my dad! However, I realized that the only way to control the drive to the hospital was to speak with authority. And I did, and I did it well. Praying all the way to the hospital, we finally made it.
Once arriving, things took a turn for the worse. My father was certain that the FBI, the CIA, or some other covert organization was after him. He kept yelling and shoving people out of the way, he grabbed a nurse by the hair and that's when security was called. They had handcuffs and guns and looked extremely serious as they made their way towards my dad. I, being the daughter, the protector, stepped in between him and them and yelled for my dad to let go of the nurse's hair NOW! He did. I then told him to SIT DOWN. He did. The guards backed off, and I was once again in control of my father. He was obeying me; I was the only person he would listen to. I couldn't believe it. Something was getting through to him, so I continued in the same vein throughout his check-in, and things went fairly smoothly after that.
Once checked in, he was taken to a hospital room. I then met with the psychiatrist on staff and discussed his situation. Since I was the person who admitted him, it was up to me to make the pertinent decisions. He was administered meds, and he was placed on a 30-day hold so that he could become stabilized. I visited every day. I prayed, I listened, and I waited. I waited for my dad to become normal again. There is more to this part of the story; however, I am going to stop here for now. The rest is more than I can share at this time.
I realize now, looking back, that I grew up quite a bit during that time. I learned some interesting aspects of my personality that might not have surfaced otherwise. For instance--I was cool, calm, and collected during my dad's psychotic episode, I did not panic, ever. And I did not break down once in front of anyone. I was brave. I was strong. Why? Because I leaned completely on God. I kept focused on the task at hand and did not lose hope. I prayed my way through the situation.
After I returned home, though, late at night--I would bury my face in my pillow and cry out to God for hours. Yes, I did that. My husband would hold me in his arms, and I would just sob. I wasn't so brave or strong then, after all, was I? I cried gut-wrenching sobs, wondering what to do next. I had so many questions for God--as to what steps to take, how to handle each situation, how to make sure he stays on his meds, what if it happens again? I prayed, I waited, I tried so hard to be the best daughter ever. Really, I did. However, I learned that the decisions I had to make were very overwhelming for me to handle all alone, so I had to depend on God.
And as far as being catapulted into what I do today? Well, I went on to get a degree in psychology and have been involved in some form of crisis counseling ever since. I discovered that I'm good at it. I'm a natural--so to speak. I love it. I get it. I understand it. It doesn't scare me. My heart breaks for the broken-hearted. And now, I have the tools to help others. I have the knowledge and the education. But mostly I have God. I pray, I observe, I listen, and I am always open to learning and growing.
So, I'll end this story now. I am still praying for my dad. He is still to this day taking medication for his bipolar disorder. And I am still trying hard to be there for him. God has never failed me. He has led me each step of the way. He has given me hope. And as all these many years have passed, He will continue to guide me through this thing called life. It is, remember — my sweet life, and I am forever thankful for it.
No comments:
Post a Comment