The Borderland of Mental Illness

 

Imagine the call at midnight. He can’t close his eyes because of the images that come to him then. I ask him what the images are, and he tells me, and the images have to do with him hurting himself again some more.

 

A prospective landlord questioned me yesterday about his behaviors and his problems and how it could affect others. She wants no problems in her house. I told her the biggest threat he poses is to himself. Otherwise I see him as no more dangerous than anyone else.

 

And it’s true, he doesn’t have problems with people. He’s not argumentative. He doesn’t go out in public and act “crazy.” Sometimes he withdraws, sometimes when he’s out in public he wants to just shut down, lock himself in a corner and melt down until there’s nothing left, but no one even notices those times, and if they did he certainly isn’t dangerous to anyone then.

 

He still has his sense of humor. He’s also sensitive about some things, and it can change from minute to minute, so even though humor is used frequently around here, it can also backfire. We just persevere, when it does, apologize, reassure, and go on our way, making fun of the next item on the agenda.

 

We are looked at oddly, me and my friend. I am, sad to say, the one person most skilled at dealing with his illness and with him. That’s not particularly sad, I just don’t know why it’s so difficult to understand that he’s still a person with normal person feelings and emotions. And some feelings and emotions not quite so normal, but so what?

 

Try renting a house with a friend who is mentally ill. Try explaining that. I explain because I don’t want anyone to say, later, “Why didn’t you tell us he was crazy?” He’ll tell them himself. He’ll come right out and say it. He won’t hesitate. Sometimes I hesitate, sometimes I’m unsure about saying it out loud in front of him, as if he doesn’t know and I can keep it from him for just one more day. Which is ridiculous, because we talk about it all the time. I suppose it’s letting other people in on it that I hesitate at. People don’t understand.

 

Sometimes what they don’t understand is why I’m still taking care of him. But who better to do it? He is my friend. He was once my husband. No longer of course, I’m in a good relationship now with another, but he’s still my friend. He’s still smart and funny and wants to do good. Wants to do well. And he needs a bit of help with that. And there seems to be no one better equipped for the task than me. Imagine that. Me, well equipped for anything. Hard to believe.

 

So we continue to look for a place to live where he’ll be under the same roof, so that when he has terrifying visions in the middle of the night and calls me I can tell him to meet me in the kitchen, and I can make him hot chocolate and talk him down from it, and then send him off to bed. I have, for an amateur, remarkably therapeutic powers. As it is now, I talk him down over the phone, and it’s simply not as effective. But there’ll be no traveling back and forth in the middle of the night.

 

We look and we tell prospective landlords the truth, and sometimes they look at us funny, but they are unfailingly polite.

 

A place to keep him safe. That’s what I’m looking for. But it must also be a place I can work and be comfortable in. I don’t think that’s asking too much. When I first made my search known I heard from many quarters. Many houses were too small. I need my private space, and he needs his. I was offered master suites in other people’s houses. A couple of rooms in someone else’s house. That’s not what I was looking for, but perhaps people thought I was desperate for a place to live. I’m not, I want someplace where I can keep him safe and where I can also work. I work at home, for the most part.

 

A place to be safe where I can look after him easier and where I can control his household expenses. As it is now, with him living alone, it’s too much for me. People think this will be worse for me, but I think it will be better. He’ll feel safer, with other people in the house with him, perhaps not so isolated, and if he feels safer and less isolated he’s healthier, and if he’s healthier he’s easier to deal with. He’s easygoing, always willing to help out when he can, to do things for me, and I think he’d do better not living alone.

 

Besides, I like living in houses. I’ve always had houses before, back in the distant past. I usually owned them, but that’s probably why I’m choosy about my rental. And I’d like my dog to be onsite. Right now she’s with him most of the time because I know it’s really good for him. She’s good therapy, and having her ensures he gets out during the day to walk her. But I miss her. This way, he’ll still have her around, and so will I.

 

And so I continue the search for a house where I can keep him safe.

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The house did not work out. Did not materialize. We could have had the top part of a house, two floors, part of the garage, but there were no appliances included, the rent was too high considering there were no appliances included and the yard was not fenced, and the basement she would not rent to us at all, but wanted to rent it to someone else. Anyone else. I wanted the basement for Stew – it had a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, a bedroom, all its own, with access to the backyard. His own space, and I could have mine upstairs. I considered it. Thought about putting Stew in the three small bedrooms upstairs while I took the master suite. That left the ground floor, the kitchen, living room, dining room, family room, one of which could have been my office. Then the landlord started talking. The dog was extra. Access to the backyard would depend on who was living in the basement, and the only access would consist of going out the front door and walking around to the back. Which we could finish fencing in if we wanted, and she’d pay half. No appliances, but perhaps we could share with the other tenant?

 

I didn’t call her back. It wasn’t the arrangement we’d talked about, and she knew it.

 

Found another house, but someone else got to it first. Nice fenced yard for the dog, she would have been happy. Floor plan not the most amenable for me, but a great yard.

 

Found a better one though. Loved it when I saw it. An older house, but remodeled on the inside. Lots of room for Stew downstairs, lots of private room for me upstairs. Reasonable rent. I didn’t get it of course. Someone with better credit did. Stew was so stressed by that time, and I was so tired, and our leases on our apartments were due to be signed, that after a spectacular crash we quietly gave up on finding a house. Change is so difficult under the best of circumstances, and these were not the best of circumstances.

 

It would have been good, but sometimes getting from point A to point B is just too much, and so I elected to stay at point A until I could get things together a bit better.