Dear Mom (3)

Dear Mom

So much has happened since you became ill and left me, and last summer T broke. Completely. He slipped further and further away from me and into his own reality. A reality so far from mine that I had such a hard time grasping it. He became more and more afraid of the world, and he became afraid of me, too. It all culminated the night he went to the kitchen and got a knife. He was just sitting there holding it in his hand and stared into the darkness, he was so afraid. I was afraid, too, but I didn’t dare to do or say anything. I didn’t dare calling for help either. T was so far away, and I was afraid of what would happen, if someone came to our house. After what felt like hours, he finally put the knife down and fell asleep. I was too afraid to sleep. At 9 am I called the psychiatrist he had an appointment with three months later. I explained to her what was going on. ”He needs to be admitted immediately”, she said. I needed to take him to the psychiatric emergency room. The day before he had been against getting help, but luckily now he was so exhausted that he just came along. I really wanted to take a taxi, but it was important to me not to make it dramatic, so we took the bus.

They were expecting us at the emergency room. The psychiatrist had called ahead and told them we were coming. Even though T was acting completely crazy, they were kind and professional. They didn’t seem to notice his strange behavior, and I became more and more afraid, they were going to let him come home with me. We didn’t wait long before it was our turn. The psychiatrist asked different questions, and T answered randomly. After a little while the psychiatrist said, ”We need to admit you. You need to go to the closed ward”. I was in shock. T turned and looked angrily at me. ”So now you got it your way”, he said. I broke down and cried. Nothing was how I wanted it. I had hoped that they would admit him for a few days, but the closed ward? The severity of it all hit me hard. The psychiatrist explained that T was bipolar, and that he was manic now. He was so manic he had become psychotic. I knew of his depressive side, but this was new to us both.

They gave us a few minutes to say goodbye. T needed to go to the ward to get some medicine, I needed to go home and pack a bag for him. I didn’t know when I was allowed to see him again. I cried and cried, as they took him away, and I felt like the worst wife in the world. How could I just leave him, when he was so afraid? I knew he needed me, but I wasn’t allowed to be with him. I took the bus home, packed his bag and took the bus back to the hospital. As I delivered his bag, they told me I could visit him the next day. My body and soul screamed was desperate to be with him, to hold and protect him, but I wasn’t allowed. It was horrible not knowing what was happening to him, but I was relieved that we didn’t have to go through another night like last night. They promised me to look after him. Tired and relieved I took the bus home. I didn’t care that people could see I was crying.

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