Screw it. Before I get into this, I'd like to point out that this is a mild form of revenge. I have no compunctions about talking about this issue: it's my mother who is concerned about it. Since I'm none too pleased about her at the moment, here we go:

My brother has schizophrenia. Over the past three years he has steadily degenerated from a man suffering from mild psychosis and high anxiety, to a violent alcoholic who is so caught up in his delusional reality that he can no longer safely function in real society. He steadfastly refused to take most of his medication, his delusions causing him to believe that alcohol was actually a cure for his problems. Naturally, of course, alcohol and mental illness do not actually mix...

For the past several months he has kept us up long into the night, screaming, banging on the walls and floor, and even physically attacking furniture in behaviour closely resembling a tantrum. This was only compounded by the violence which began to manifest: though he has never physically struck me, he has struck my mother several times, and he has thrown various objects at me (including splashing liquor on me).

I tolerated this as long as I could, hoping that he would come to terms, accept that he had an illness, and seek help for himself, but I couldn't tolerate this forever. On June 11th, I wrote a letter of recommendation — again, giving full disclosure — which, upon Scott's next scheduled visit on June 14th, pressed Scott's ongoing psychiatrist to write a hospitalisation certificate.

Scott has already been in the hospital twice before this. The first summer where he began to exhibit his mental illness, two years after I graduated, I spent all day, almost every day, in the hospital, providing support for him through my familiar presence. At this time, he was aware of the presence of everyone around him but chose not to acknowledge it -- a mild form of catatonia, if you will. The second time he went into the hospital, another summer following, he had committed himself -- we took this to be a very good sign. My mother and I visited him nightly. However, he failed to disclose all of his symptoms and rapidly came to the conclusion that he shouldn't have committed himself at all... as such, he lied through his teeth until they granted him a release.

I was not willing to have a repeat of the last two times again. From the severe mental and emotional stress that Scott has caused me, I stated point-blank that I would not be able to visit him more frequently than once every week or so. This infuriated him, since he already blames me for sending him to the hospital to begin with (when in fact it's neither my fault nor his fault that he has a dangerous mental illness, and I was only doing what was right).

The main reason I'm making this post today is because I'm angry. Not at my brother, but at my mother. My mother is about as blameless for Scott's problems as I am, but even so she still has an irrational scorn which makes absolutely no sense to a logical mind such as myself. The story goes as follows:

At Scott's hospital, he continues to exhibit the same symptoms. Today, the resident psychiatrist at the hospital phoned me and stated that he had witnessed several of my brother's tantrum-like occurrences, and that for my mother's safety she would not be allowed to visit him.

"Do you think that she would ignore it if I asked her not to come in?" said the psychiatrist.

I was honest. "Well, yes." I know my mother very well and I know that she would go against any suggestion to stay away from her own son. Hell, I would go against such a suggestion too.

"All right. What I'm going to do is I'm going to write an order to forbid your mother from visiting your brother until he becomes less violent."

I was humbled a bit, but accepted it. "Okay, that should be fine."

"Can I get your mother's work number so I can tell her?"

I hadn't called her at work for a very long time, since she hadn't even been working for a very long time -- she was on LOA for several months in order to help care for Scott. After fumbling around for the number, I gave it to him.

"All right, thank you once again--" (I had given him a full description of Scott's symptoms the last time he called me) "--you are very helpful."

Seems fair enough, right? Well, when my mother got home from work, her piercing yell could have shattered pottery. Now, not only was she furious that the man called her at work, but also accused me of offering to have the man call her at work. This was of course untrue. I did know that she never wanted the people at the hospital to call her at work, but I didn't say so to the man because of two reasons: 1) I didn't know whether she intended to visit Scott immediately after work or not, since she had been doing that recently, and 2) if I was issued a restraining order against my hypothetical son, I'd certainly like to know about it as soon as possible! No job would be more important to me than knowing the full details of the mental health of my offspring, and I am so royally pissed that she felt this way that words can't even begin to describe the rage I feel.

With this post button, I hereby commit this for all to see. Instead of just making this an angsty rant on the stupidities of my day-to-day life, however, I'll part with advice:

Do whatever is right -- including (and by) obeying the law. It doesn't matter what other people think of you.