This was posted originally on February 25, 2008. Though I haven't heard anything of my friend since December 2008, I'm still thinking of him, and hoping for the best-that he is hanging out on the beach somewhere in Cali, and charming everyone he meets with his wit and kindness.
Since Everybody's Changing, and I Don't Feel the Same
Three years ago today, I signed papers requesting an involuntary commitment to a mental health treatment facility for one of my dearest friends. He had been acting in such an erratic manner for the three or so weeks prior, that none of his friends understood where he was coming from, or what was going on with him. There were no parents to call: his mom died from cancer when he was six, and his dad raised him on his own after that, and from what I remember, they had a volatile relationship. His dad was murdered in their home the fall of our freshman year in college by a neighbor looking for cash for drugs, and he knew that Mr. S kept cash in the house. Ironically, Mr. S was an attorney and had defended the neighbor on drug charges as a favor to his parents a few years prior to that. The neighbor murdered and robbed Mr. S, and stole his Lexus, and was caught shortly after that at a nearby park. My friend was summoned from his university to come home to identify his dad's body, and from there he began the journey of fear, heartbreak, and mental illness. His friends were his family, and no one knew exactly what to do. Although we all had varying opinions on what should be done, we were united in that we were terrified that it would not end well.
When did his illness begin? Had it been there all along, and was he just too charming and loved for us to see it? He was eighteen when his father died, and he had family friends with whom he cut ties when they attempted to enact their role as guardians. They were insistent that he stop the imprudent spending of the ridiculous amount of money he received from his dad's estate, and that he return to school to finish his degree. He did end up going back to school-he would start each semester strong, and then would just stop going. It wasn't that he wasn't smart enough to do the work-he is annoyingly intelligent-he justcouldn't finish. As the years went by most of us ended up finishing our degrees and moving out into the work force. Because of the money he had, he lived a life of haunted leisure, buying whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, picking up huge dinner bills and bar tabs for his friends and sometimes strangers. He was innately charming, loving, humorous, and generous to a fault-no one could help but love him.
For me, the first time I really noticed behavior that worried me more than usual was at JWO's and my wedding in October 2004. 37 of us went to Negril, Jamaica and spent days together celebrating and enjoying paradise. He kept to himself most of the time, which was uncharacteristic of him-he usually seemed to hate being alone. Following our return home, his behavior became more and more bizarre, and he stopped returning calls and initiating contact with his friends. When people did see him, he could not follow conversations or differentiate reality from fantasy. He had delusions of grandeur, and sometimes felt sure that he had mystical powers. After days of deliberation, tears, agonizing and arguing, his best friend called me and said that he was afraid that our friend was going to leave, and our worst fears would come to fruition-that he would commit suicide or run away and we would never see him again. A group of six of us got together that night and tried to find him since he had taken off on foot, and then we decided to go to the police station in order to sign the involuntary commitment papers. In an even more bizarre turn of events, our friend walked into the station while I was signing the papers. He had had another friend drop him off there because he thought his car had been stolen, and he had come to the police station to file a report. I was not visible to him from where he was standing, but I could hear him talking to the police on duty a room away. Surreal is not even the word for it.
As an aside, it was disturbing to me how easy it is have someone sign a request for involuntary commitment for anyone. I basically had to put down his full name, birth date, and address, and then a listing of behaviors he had exhibited that indicated that he might be a danger to himself or others, and then my name, signature, and phone number. That. Is. It. I even asked the magistrate if he needed to see some ID, and was told no. That should have been an indicator to me of how ineffective and supremely disorganized our mental health system is, and that our battle of meandering through the mire was just beginning, but that is a whole 'nother blog entry.
To make an epic story a little shorter, our friend went to the hospital for a bit, was released, and bounced around for several months after that. The money began running shorter, and we saw less and less of him. When we did see him, he was subdued-I think he was afraid to do or say anything, because he truly did not understand why we were so worried, or what about his behavior had pushed the decision for us to have him committed. In his eyes, we had betrayed him, and though I think that he desperately wanted to be with his friends, he was terrified that we would have him committed again. How horrible must it have been for him to see at least 20 of his friends stand up at his hospital hearing and ask the judge not to release him? So, he kept his distance, and quietly got sicker and sicker. It has been over two years since any of us have seen him, and the last anyone heard, he was somewhere in California drifting around. He is completely out of money, and he is sick. We miss him.
There are a myriad of emotions I have about the situation. There are times when I think it is tragic, and there are times when I miss him terribly. There are times I get so angry with him and anyone else involved for allowing him to go over the edge that I want to cry. I feel guilty that I didn't realize what was happening before it got so bad-I have Master's Degree in a psychological field-where were my observation skills, training, and instinct? It is so clear now-I can track his psychotic episode timelines in my head. When the group of friends is all together, I always feel that someone is missing, and then I remember that it is him. In all honesty, if he were to come back, I think I would be scared of him. Who knows what is going through his head at this point? Would he even remember us or what happened?
Overall, though, I and others miss him, and wish it were different. Please forgive me, friend, for not doing a better job. We did the best we could-I am beyond sorry that it wasn't good enough.