Sentenced With a Side of Stigma

May 23, 2014

Today my son was sentenced to 3 years in a level 5 facility for crimes he committed in March of 2013. Because he has been incarcerated since his arrest last March, he only has 2 years more to serve. The sentence he received was the mandatory minimum sentence so for that we are grateful. We are also hopeful that with time off for good behavior and with completing a court-ordered treatment program while in prison, he may be released earlier than scheduled.

So the sentencing is over. Now we know what to expect; we have a clearer picture of the future. But something else happened today in court that has me troubled. Actually, the more I think about it, the more it bothers me.

There is something in my state called Mental Health Court. This has different implications depending on the severity of the crimes committed. In my son's case, Mental Health Court would allow him to have a probation officer who has mental health training once he is released and put on probation. Today our attorney asked the judge to consider this as part of my son's sentence, citing the volumes of documentation he has of my son's mental illness history. The judge denied his request.

But that isn't what bothers me. What bothers me are the words that he used while denying this request.

The judge said instead of Mental Health Court, he thinks my son should "just do it himself."

Do what exactly, your honor? Do you mean he should manage his neverending waves of mania and depression alone?  Isn't that what landed him here in the first place?

While I would have liked to see my son assigned to Mental Health Court for his probation, I am not really angry about that decision. I don't understand it, but that's not what upsets me. No, what upsets me is that a person in such an important position of power, a well-educated, seasoned professional --a judge-- could be so ill-informed about mental illness that he thinks it is something one can simply self-regulate.

And to think, May is National Mental Health Awareness Month. Perhaps he missed the memo.

This experience is just one more in a long list of ways that the stigma of mental illness has affected our lives. The stigma kept us from revealing our crises and seeking help in the first place. Now it has surfaced once again, in what I hope is the last chapter of this hellish story.

A Big Step Forward

May 9, 2014

Today I took a big step forward. I told our story in public.

Our local NAMI organization hosted a Crisis Intervention Team training for police officers. It was a one week course designed to prepare them for mental health crises. I was asked to give a fifteen minute talk during the Family Perspective portion of the program. 

There were about forty people crammed in the stuffy room where I was scheduled to speak right after lunch. I was sure that my audience would be ready for a nap, not ready to witness an emotional mother blubber on about her bipolar son in prison. 

But I was wrong. They were ready and willing to listen to me and for that I am grateful.

It wasn't easy. I am a teacher so I can talk to a thousand twelve year olds without a problem, but put me in a room with forty grown ups, that's another story! My voice quivered as I began to speak. My tremor kicked in and my hands began to shake. I had to steady my papers on a nearby projector cart. I probably looked and sounded like I was falling apart...

But I made it through and I think I may have had an impact. Or at least I hope I did. Afterwards several people came up to thank me for sharing such a personal story, and they asked lots of questions. Many of them also shared their own personal mental health stories with me. One gentleman told me that he lost his fifteen year old daughter to suicide, calling it "the S word." He thanked me for talking about it because it's so rarely discussed in public. He reminded me that I still have a chance to reach my son and that I should be grateful. Talk about powerful. That really got me. Lump. In. Throat.

So what I did today was important, even if is was emotionally exhausting. 

One thing I said was, "Though my efforts ultimately weren't enough to keep my son from going to prison, I hope that by talking to you here today I may make a difference for someone else's child before it's too late for them."

And if I do make a difference for someone's child some day, even just one, then I've begun to turn this tragic chapter of our lives into something more positive. That's definitely one big step forward.