Mental illness doesn’t discriminate; it can strike anyone, anywhere, regardless of age, sex, race, creed or economic status. And when it does, it’s not just the individual who is affected, but their loved ones, as well.
Joanne’s son was besieged by mental illness and, as a result, became homeless in his mid-20’s. Her story is not unlike other families’ whose loved ones — fathers, mothers, sons and daughters — have been affected by mental illness and felt the impact of its sometimes devastating effects.
We have great strides to be made as a society to better equip ourselves to effectively treat mental health issues. In the meantime, the sharing of stories like Joanne’s will help others to realize they are not struggling alone and highlight the importance of organizations that assist those living with mental illness and experiencing homelessness in our communities.
Joanne, can you describe your son, Kevin? Before his mental illness, during his lowest points struggling with it, and now, presently?
Kevin is an introvert, a thinker. In his teens, he got his first keyboard and taught himself how to play. Friends would come over and set up their instruments in his room. They’d make awful racket at first but over a period of months, I saw marked improvement. It even got to the point where I recognized the music. While in college full-time, he honed his programming skills by working for a small business. With his income, he bought his first vehicle, a Nissan Xterra. These lessons in determination and perseverance would serve him well.
In hindsight, I now see early signs of his illness starting in his early 20’s. Increasing isolation. Sloppiness. Minimal communication. At the time, I didn’t know or recognize it as an illness. I thought, ‘that’s just his personality.’ Oh, how I wish I’d known better then.
When/how did Kevin begin to experience homelessness?
In February 2012, I got a frantic call from his girlfriend informing me he was in the ER. Before he agreed to stay, he told me he “heard voices.” I knew what that meant…NO! Not My Son! Denial protected me temporarily from my worst fears because while he was in the hospital, my son’s schizophrenia and I met for the first time. Schizophrenia, his lifelong menace. Fortunately, I was in therapy at the time (I’m a firm believer in the power of talk therapy and have benefitted from good therapists for close to 15 years) which provided me with a safe outlet for my fears. After his release, medicated and stabilized, Kevin decided he didn’t need meds anymore. Schizophrenia happily reclaimed his mind. Our family could not live with Kevin in an unmedicated state so he went to the streets of DC.
In November 2014, I allowed him to come live with me, my daughter and her son. He was unmedicated; his behavior was bizarre. Frightening. The physical being was my son. The mind belonged to schizophrenia. My daughter was so frightened that she slept with a hammer under her pillow every night. I was suicidal. Confused. Scared. Angry. In March 2015, I asked him to leave so he went back to the streets of DC.
He stopped calling. I cried. Prayed. Hoped. Waited. I wanted to know he was still alive. Then it came. The call from a 202 number. I googled it. Georgetown Ministry Center. The website said “seeking lasting solutions to homelessness, one person at a time.” I clicked the link. Gunther Stern (GMC’s then-Executive Director) wrote an article on homelessness and mental illness. I read it. I cried. I emailed Gunther. HE KNEW KEVIN! Then I found Sabrina (GMC’s Case Manager). She is the one with whom I was in constant communication. Status checks periodically. I believe where there’s breath, there’s hope. As long as Kevin was alive, there was hope he’d find recovery. Sabrina’s “Kevin sightings” kept me going. When Kevin’s condition worsened, Sabrina encouraged me to come see him. “He needs to see you,” she said. My daughter and I met Sabrina in person in August 2017. I was finally able to personally thank her for everything.
In October 2017, Kevin spent 10 days at Washington Hospital Center. This time it stuck. He’s been with me since October 23rd. His requirement for staying is that he take his meds. So far, we’ve only had one incident where he’s challenged me. When he understood this was non-negotiable — that it was either meds and my house, or no meds and the street — he relented.
I describe his situation as “recovery from homelessness.” His behavior is odd. I notice “homeless” characteristics – like the way he protects his food, ice cream for breakfast, borderline hygiene habits – which make me sad. Every day he improves and I see glimpses into the remarkable man he is.
What has the experience of Kevin’s mental illness and homelessness been like for you?
I was once awakened by a call from Kevin at 2AM. I heard cracking twigs, rustling leaves and knew he was headed to the woods to sleep. He told me he wanted to get a knife to protect himself. My heart hurt.
A day never passed that I didn’t think of him, say a prayer for his safety. There were times I was consumed by fear. Talking helps, but among my circle of friends, few understand exactly what it’s like to be a mom to a homeless man with schizophrenia.
Can you share your experience working with GMC? Are there ways you feel GMC was able to help while Kevin was living on the street?
GMC was a source of calm and strength for me. Once I learned he checked in there every day and I found Sabrina, I was comforted beyond measure. Hearing Sabrina say, “Kevin was here today,” lifted the fear from my heart because I knew he was alive for one more day. Where there’s breath, there’s hope.
What words of advice or wisdom that you’ve gleaned from your experience might you share with another family facing a similar situation with a loved one who is experiencing mental illness/homelessness?
Google it. If your loved one calls from a strange number, Google it. You never know where that might lead you.
Be persistent. If you learn your loved one is in the hospital, call the social worker and make friends with him/her. At one hospital, the social worker called me after-hours to give me information she probably shouldn’t have because she knew I was his mom.
Be kind. Always. I got more information and more help when I was kind.
Get involved. There are homeless people EVERYWHERE and they need our help. My entire perspective on homelessness has changed in the last 5 years. They don’t choose it. EVER.
Use your resources. I have friends who are police officers, nurses, physician assistants, therapists. I don’t hesitate to call and ask for help.
Pray. My biggest source of strength is God. Secondary are my daughter and brother. I would not have survived without their support, honesty and strength. Honesty is key because I continually got wrapped up in wanting to save him no matter the cost to me.
Take care of yourself. Your life is valuable, too. Think of what the flight attendant tells us: put your own oxygen mask on first then take care of those traveling with you. If I don’t take care of myself, I cannot take care of those around me. Exercise and running is my main thing. That coupled with my lab, Toby, enable me to face whatever life throws my way.
Keep your eyes wide open and brain engaged. I never know where or from whom information will come.
Recovery from homelessness is a slow process. When he arrived at my house, Kevin’s fingernails were very long, his hair and beard were scruffy, he needed glasses…and, of course, I’m ready to fix him, clean him up and make him better. I quickly learned I needed to back off and let him handle it. I focused on what was most important: he had food, he was in a bed, warm, safe — and, selfishly, I knew where he was. I let him do the rest. It’s been slow but then his decline to his bottom was slow, too.
I have taken great joy in noticing his milestone moments. A few weeks ago, he got glasses. Just a week ago, he trimmed his nails. And even more recently, he went to the barber, cut his hair and trimmed his beard.
Kevin’s time, not mine.
God’s time, not mine.
Names and other minor details have been changed to protect the privacy of those sharing this story.