It’s been quite a while since I’ve blogged. I was away in Durban being a medic on Habonim’s winter camp. I had a really fantastic time, met lots of cool people and relaxed. I’m in the process of setting up an ADSL resale company with one of the people I met. I spent most of today getting quotes from wholesalers.
I got this phone call from my mother this evening right before supper which was really irritating, typical, worrying, disempowering and enraging. She started off by telling me that my sister is really not doing well at all. She described how her obsessive compulsive disorder was getting worse and that she practically cannot do anything without having to go through a million rituals and that she has started to get paranoid.
At this point I started thinking about a list of worrying diagnoses. Then my mother started trying to talk about how she was trying to talk to my dad and I had to put my foot down.
For years I used to be the person that my mother dumped the stuff she was carrying about my father. This destroyed my relationship with my father and fed into my anxiety and depression to the extent that it nearly destroyed me. I will never play that role again, no matter the stake.
I put my foot down about it which caused my mother to end the conversation quite early and abruptly.
In my head I have a picture of myself rocking up at that filthy hole they call a house with the police and saying in a loud, calm and clear voice. “Alright, this is over.” Finally, once and for all, over. No more of this chaos. My psychotic sister is taken by the police and institutionalised She receives appropriate antipsychotic therapy and cognitive behavioural therapy and eventually is able to live a normal healthy life. My mom, freed from the burden of having to care for my ill sister and now without anybody to feed her mutual separation anxiety and illness rediscovers painting, which she used to do years ago. She suddenly gets re-invigorated and comes out of her 20 year long depression and clears her life out. Over time. A few years my family heals back to functionality and normality.
Out of my head that does not happen. It is not my place to step into my mother and sister’s home and fix their chaos. I do not know how to help my sister and my mother. My opinion on the courses of action that they are currently undertaking is clouded by my negative opinions of them and what I hear from my fathers. My gut instinct see’s me going into my sister’s psychiatrist’s practice one day and having a very serious discussion with him about inappropriate management of his patient, then reporting him to the health professional’s counsel of South Africa. My mom is unsavable and my sister… who knows?
