This is Chapter 3 of a memoir-in-writing about navigating my mum’s slide into mental illness and how her mind unraveled into all our days. As a member of The Wellery you have access to Chapters 1 and 2.
These posts are a little bit of a departure from what I normally write about here, but in a way they are the background to everything I do.
This has become the norm, our painful equilibrium: middle of the night emergency calls with mum screaming, smashing things, in pain; my dad struggling and needing help as he finds another therapist, hypnotherapist, acupuncturist, herbalist, who offered solutions that never solved; thinking we had another lifeline with someone who promised the answer, support, care, but disappeared when they were too worn out, frustrated, inept.
All this became family life to us and we thought we could manage, cope somehow, until one indistinct October when my younger brother Chris called:
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