At the end of the month of January 2020 I left my job as an aerial bucket operator with a small residential tree service, to pick up my brother ‘travis’. He was to be released from a mental facility in Tennessee. Explaining my reasons for this temporary departure from employment was discussed in
length with my boss who emphasized that I would have a job upon my return.
I hadn’t seen travis in over a decade and we rarely chat as he was constantly bouncing around the country, doing the things he does. Travis had been diagnosed with a mental condition commonly known as schizophrenia quite some time ago.
Travis has spent almost half of his life repeating a vicious cycle of playing pariah to society at large, a pin cushion for ‘professionals’ pushing psychotropics and other pharmaceuticals, a punching bag for self-righteous and ignorant law enforcement officials in private-prison-states and intermittently experiencing reprieve from this oppression through meditation, prayer and a few moments of clarity only induced after days of blatant refusal to take his prescribed psych meds. It is in these moments of clarity, that his reality, his situation, his grasp of this fucking shitty socioeconomic society and his role in it floods his frontal lobe, submerging him in angst. He reacts how any one person in an ever-shrinking cage would react… fuck you. I get it Travis. Fuck you. Fuck you all.
Prior to his release, we had been chatting on a bi-weekly basis. He had mentioned that his overseers were considering releasing him to a group home. In return, I had requested he relay to his captors that if it were feasible, he come live with me at my residence in rural Connecticut. Within a week, a member of the hospital staff called me to verify that this was a legitimate offer and began to make arrangements for the move.
A couple days before my planned departure, I was contacted by a different hospital in Tennessee, informing me that Travis had just undergone surgery. He is recovering after the removal of about six feet of colon/intestine, sports a fashionable colostomy bag and has been diagnosed with stage three colon cancer. Come and get him.
I rented a car and made a few hotel reservations for the trip. I was beginning to lose my grip on composure as my emotions would swap from elation to deep sorrow almost on a minute by minute basis. I thought i could handle this once I knew more, once I had spoken with the professionals, once I’d seen him. And then I did…
When a man cries, he tries to stop it. He tries to hold it in and repress the notion that he is a mortal human with feelings. You know that feeling you get when something is so overwhelmingly powerful that it pushes all else off the plate and you live in that feeling as if it were what drove you to this moment and at that moment the emptiness inside you produces only sadness? A byproduct of sadness, tears begin to form. But a man, a fucking man… is taught this pain leaving the body is weakness and well, that’s a bad fucking thing you piece of shit.
The last time I saw Travis, he was about 75 lbs overweight due to the psychotropics he had been prescribed. Asleep, in the hospital bed lie a skeleton shrink-wrapped with skin, a full beard and a shaggy head of hair, recognizable only because we share the same DNA. I was so happy to see him yet completely devastated, emotionally-fucking-annihilated by the shell of the man that lie dormant before me. I let him sleep.
And so begins the process of reintroducing my brother into a world outside the purview of captivity, apathetic staff, pastel tile walls, a wide assortment of drooling, catatonic peers and shitty food.
Travis wasn’t born like this. He was a smaller version of me, only faster, smarter, a charmer and an incredible fashion sense. His condition is the result of compounded atrocities. During a high school soccer match, a group of kids from the opposing team had physically beat his ass and given him a concussion. Later that year, he had been in a severe car accident, scalping his head in a ‘V’ shape. Serious head trauma. After high school, he had hiked the Appalachian trail and traveled the country by foot… often homeless.
My theory is that (not a doctor, but i read a few articles on the internet) between the head traumas, isolation, recreational drug experimentation, institutionally-induced pharmaceuticals and detention for vagrancy (loitering and/or whatever other reason law enforcement would conjure to arrest, detain, incarcerate then eventually institutionalize) you have a real-time current-events Ivan Pavlov experiment. This shit happens every day. I am not just guessing. I have experienced some of this myself. This theory, based on previous experience with the system and the bullshit rules you play by, fuck you, eat a dick, die slow. This dog’s bell has been rung so many times but he never gets fed… and there’s drool all over the place. (not literally.)
I remember who he was and relish those moments. I understand that nothing I can do will change his condition. I can provide shelter, food and I can bring him to appointments. Compassion, empathy, love… I am to try, but this is not who I am. By default, I am a selfish, find banter and small talk annoying. I prefer solitude.
This decision was not based on an innate desire to be a ‘good’ person. This decision was based on empathy and action, for I had experienced only moments of what he has lived and it scares the shit out of me. I had spent time in padded rooms, in unfashionable leather jackets, in restraints, in illegal detention, being held against my will, had my head bounced off hoods of crown vics, evaluated and sedated. White privilege… suck my dick. fuck you. I am not not Keanu Reeves but I am not a bad person either. I try to do the right thing. Unless it comes to swearing. I love swearing.
There were a few hints to the holy terror that I was soon to be blessed with. First of all, Travis has what looks like a squishy purplish penis tip sticking out of his abdominal wall that secretes poop into a bag. What the fuck do I know about shitbags, other than a few bosses I’ve had in the past. Well, guess it’s time to learn. Due to his track record of getting off of his psych meds and disappearing into the ether, I was concerned that at any moment he was going to disappear, although this thought would subside with time as I began picking up on subtle queues of his recognition of his current circumstance.
I’ve never had to be responsible for anything or anyone, other than showing up to work the next day. This was easy as my work ethic and productive individual ideology reflected that of che guevara in his efforts, working tirelessly and determined to free cuba from the nefarious grip of it’s colonial neighbor to the north. And now, now I had to take care of all of the essential things that I’ve never had to do for myself, as I have, for the most part, been healthy and in great shape.
I began the process of reintegrating him into the system. Establishing his residence, getting him reconnected to social security benefits, department of social services, medicare, medicaid, insurance, primary care physician, psych docs, meds, supplies and oh… the cancer.
This process solidified my theory that our government is bullshit, the system we live in and the freedom you think you have, is based on solely on your financial status and every single person has a suggestion but no one actually has ‘the’ answer.
First of all, I very much dislike talking on the phone. I will ignore unknown numbers and judiciously answer calls based on my ability to undergo current tasks with one hand while holding the phone with the other. Since Travis has been with me, I am obligated to answer unknown or private numbers out of fear that I may miss out on potentially important information. The SS and DSS automated phone lines are a nightmare. The automated menu items are vague and in most instances, not relevant to your call. As much as I dislike talking with strangers, it was a godsend to speak with one after going through this process a dozen times. Dealing with this system is unreal, yet this was the only available way to make this happen given the circumstances. I lost count on the number of times I had contacted these agencies by phone, gone to their offices, filed paperwork and refiled paperwork due to the incompetence of the system. I could go on for quite some time about how convoluted the process is, why it is the way it is and even promote possible solutions to make it better and expedite a few procedures but who wants to hear solutions for a system that aids the sick, destitute and needy? Surely not a government whose role (as we were once led to believe) is to represent the people.
As the pieces were beginning to fall into place: finding doctors, getting insurances and benefits I started to believe that I could pull this off. I may transform into Keanu Reeves at any moment. The thought that I could actually be a genuinely good person began to provide a sense of relief.
And then the coronavirus lockdown hits…
During one of Travis’s psych doctor visits, he makes mention of how the psych meds constrain his thought and he feels limited (I thoroughly understand his frustration). His head doctor begins the process of titration, lowering his dose by 50mg/day for a week, followed by another 50mg/day the next week.
After the second week of a lower dosage, I noticed that Travis’s behavior was slightly erratic, manic at times and he became a bit argumentative. When asked, I told the doctor about this, who, in turn, decided to re-up to dosage. When she had informed Travis of this, Travis flipped his lid and outright refused to take his drugs, at all. At this time, the shit hit the fan… and the floor, walls and basically anything in the immediate vicinity. His concept of hygiene was laughable, yet I was living with it. He may have been doing this to piss me off. Who knows?
Two days later, he decides he should start taking his drugs again without supervision. I advised against this. He did it anyway. I had left the house for no more than three hours. When I returned, he had fallen asleep. The next morning, he had been taking longer than usual to come downstairs for coffee. When I went to check on him, he was standing, wobbling side to side, delirious and dropping ‘F’ bombs to my inquiry. I grabbed him some food and drink from the kitchen where I noticed he had taken the remainder of the previous days medication. He had taken an entire days worth of drugs in less than two hours. He was overdosing on head meds. I called the mobile crisis hotline. A staff member was immediately dispatched, Travis was taken for evaluation… only to be released a few hours later. My thought process, was that either a) they will hold him for medication stabilization or b) release him, and he would understand that there were consequences for this behavior. I was wrong.
I had to get back to work. I contacted the boss to inform him that the following week, I will be available tues-thurs. No reply. I send another text a few hours later… no reply. You know what? Fuck this guy. He is the epitomy of a slave-driving prick, offers no lunch break, I always have to verify my pay for accuracy, pays no overtime rate and is an overall asshole. I begin the unemployment process. One more headache to deal with,I guess. Fucking shitbag greedy fuck.
After being off of his meds for about a week, Travis began introducing me to the concept of prayer, god and the abstract construct of what it means to be schizo-affective. After informing his chemo doctor about his refusal to take his head meds, the doctor informed us that he would be unable to continue the chemo treatment. He would need to be stabilized to continue treatment.
Travis started drinking beer. fun, fun. His attitude was that of disrespect and argumentative although never physical. His hygiene, as bad as it was, was getting worse. Shit on his clothes, bed, bathroom. the smell of tobacco over gingivitis. The stoma wafers were not adhering as well as they could, as he would not remove the previous adhesive and refused to ask for my assistance.
This past weekend, I had decided that we’re going to do an inventory of things that need attention. This was when I noticed the two (full) colostomy bags on top of the toilet tank and I realized that this situation is entirely out of my control. I had lost any confidence I had built since his arrival and congenial communication is not working. We ended up arguing, then shouting a lot of ‘fuck yous’ which was interpreted as ‘get the fuck out’ as he proceeded to grab his backpack and begin his journey in flip flops down the road to who knows where. I called the cops, cops called the ambulance, the ambulance took him to the same hospital that recently discharged him. he’s been there for three days, as of this writing.
I called the hospital to get a status update, hoping I may be able to see him. I was told that they can neither confirm or deny that this patient is in their care. WTF?! I am his health proxy. I am his power of attorney. I am guessing the results of my request would be different if I had a big pile of ‘fuck you’ money. Fuck you anyway. Fuck the system. Fuck the direction this country has gone and if you can’t see what’s wrong with it and are unwilling to listen to reason, fuck you too.
I had to file an appeal with unemployment as my request was denied. As per state law, Section 31-236(a)(2)(A)(i) of the general statutes provides that an individual is ineligible for benefits if he has left suitable work voluntarily and without good cause attributable to his employer. I filed, we held a review over the phone (due to the COVID-19 lockdown) and apparently, the evidence I had presented was insufficient to receive unemployment benefits.
Current status: I am heartbroken, beaten and empty. I feel useless and that my sole purpose is as a line-item commodity, a battery for the economic engine, nothing more. I am unsure what happens to Travis next. I am not sure how I’m going to get a ‘decent’ job under plague conditions. Truth be told, I’m not sure I want to be here, in this state, in this country any more. But the good news is, I finished this blog entry and I can go back to sobbing while job hunting for shit jobs and know that, for the duration, Travis is in a safe place.