The severely mentally ill need help – including intervention when they may not want it.
About half of those diagnosed with bipolar disorder hold down jobs and blend into society. Most chronically depressed individuals also somehow manage. But, all too often those burdened with schizophrenia, paranoia or both can barely cope as their erratic brain chemicals send messages that interfere with rational thoughts.
During a recent trip we realized this yet again when we saw a bedraggled elderly man holding a limp cloth bag standing by the side of the road. His graying beard, grubby ball cap and bad teeth said he had seen better days.
He eagerly accepted our offer of a ride, sat in the back and told us his name was Tom. No last name, just Tom, and, despite the cap’s logo “Korean Vet,” he wasn’t really a vet; he had found the hat at a thrift store.
As my husband broke up the monotony of travel chatting with this stranger, we both noted that his conversational responses often sank into a quiet recitation of all the information he had on the topic.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m heading out to San Francisco. I have a brother out there who will help me get a job. I’ve worked a lot of places and he can help me. I have a sister in Michigan and a sister in Boston and a brother … in ….” he voice faded as he repeated a list of siblings and their home cities.
“Where did you live?”
Tom said he had left a sheltered home. He carried only his medications in a pillowcase. He had no change of clothes, no money, no backpack – not even a sleeping bag. He depended on the kindness of strangers to get him where he wanted to go.
He changed the topic, “It was cold last night. Really cold.” It sounded like he had had to sleep out in the open.
“Did you have breakfast?”
“Oh yes, this man bought me some coffee,” he assured us. I offered him some fruit and muffins left over from our breakfast.
“Oh, thank you, thank you.”
He ate a bit and tucked the rest away to eat later.
“I have paranoid schizophrenia,” he suddenly volunteered. “I take my meds real regular.”
My husband asked what he took and how he got medications.
He listed some very good, modern medications and added, “I have a Blue Cross card so I can get my meds.”
We mentioned we would be traveling further west via the southern route.
He had planned a northern route to California. He just needed a lift to the next intersection of Interstate roads.
At the truck stop he shared our meal and our offer of more coffee.
The last we saw of him he was sitting on the curb at the truck stop, sorting through his packages, hoping to find a ride.
Later we wondered if we should have done more; gotten more information, asked if he had contacted his brother, gotten a contact for the place where he had been staying. The more we talked about him after he left us, the more we realized how unprepared he was for his trip.
He looked like the iconic, homeless person – as perhaps he should since as many as half of the homeless suffer from a severe mental illness.
The homeless, mentally ill have families. They have – or have had – access to medication. Yet the very illness itself interferes with their ability to assess danger from the elements and unkind strangers.
Because of budget cuts and the newer medications, the long-term residential facilities for the mentally ill have, for the most part, disappeared. But the need remains – especially during this time with deep cutbacks in government programs. For those on the fringe of society, we still need to honor their humanity with safe houses, sheltered workshops and medical services to keep them safe and stable – and sometimes a cup of coffee to warm their day.
(Joan Hershberger is a reporter for the El Dorado News-Times. She can be reached at jhershberger@eldoradonews.com.)