When I received a distressed call from my son two days before he died, I was in denial. I thought that I could talk sense into him; I did not understand that this was the onset of psychosis. I hope to help other parents and carers to recognise the signs that may be present during an altered state. I also wish to share my journey whilst dealing with trauma and grief; it will never be easy, but maybe I can describe some of the strategies that have helped me. I don’t wish to hide the darker moments though. It’s important to let my readers know that it’s okay to be human; we can cry, we can get angry and sometimes we can mess up. During these times we must forgive ourselves.

 

Unicorns and Demons

Chapter 1 – The Bank – Jackie

I’m confused, consumed with the onslaught of sudden dysfunction. But where exactly am I? And why? Everything around me has gone into slow motion like a clogged wheel. My vision is blurry and tunnelled as I stagger over to a seat and desperately reach into my bag. I’m clasping my phone, fumbling through texts and emails. I’m determined to prove to a man close by that I have confirmation. Of what? you may ask. I’m not quite sure myself, and I don’t even know if this is real. Is it just another one of my anxiety dreams? Surely, I will see the gradual reformulation of familiar shapes and colours and realise that I’m in my bedroom. Nothing. The relief of wakefulness is not here to comfort me. At last, I’m beginning to regain some clarity in thoughts and recollections: I’m stranded in a busy, bustling building; it’s a bank. And I remember what I’m looking for. Maybe it is somewhere else; maybe I took a snapshot. I’m shaking uncontrollably, and, amidst the consuming pain of grief, there is embarrassment; my privacy is being invaded by this appalling display of emotion in a public place. My eyes sting as the first few tears emerge, and now comes the challenge of disallowing audible sobbing.

It’s Monday, 18^th March, 2024. Earlier this morning, I felt uneasy but ready to face the inevitable challenges of the day. I was well prepared for my appointment at the bank and punctual too; typically, for me, there was a gnawing sense of anxiety and apprehension, but this was outweighed by a feeling of relief and hope. Surely today was going to be the day – the day when a simple task within the bombardment of ‘stuff’ was going to get done, something else ticked from the overwhelming ‘To Do’ list.

As I walked towards the door, I felt the tension in my shoulders release, and my body posture changed from stooped to upright. ‘You can do this,’ I told myself. ‘You’ve got this, Jackie.’ And there I was, strong and primed, striding confidently into the bank.

I was greeted by a rather agitated man wearing a polo shirt that was possibly more suitable for a holiday village or sports centre than for a bank. Anything below that was hidden by a lectern upon which sat a laptop. ‘How can I help you?’ he enquired.

‘I have an appointment at 10 o’clock,’ I informed him.

Staring at me blankly, he shook his head. ‘No, that can’t be,’ he replied nonchalantly. ‘Both 10 o’clock appointments have been shown upstairs.’

‘But I have an email to confirm,’ I protested.

‘Sorry. There’s nothing today. You’ll have to make another appointment, but there’s a two-week wait. You could just fill out a form online; it’s quite easy,’ he said dismissively as he tactically made eye contact with the next person in the queue.

How could that man, who clearly had no enthusiasm for his apparently tedious day at work, possibly know that trauma and anguish were beginning to pulsate through my body?

My mind allows me to drift towards the present – back to the harshness of reality. My throat tightens, and my head is throbbing as I vaguely comprehend how trauma and tragedy have brought me to this moment. The blurriness is diffusing; I can differentiate between colours: blues, greys and dingy shades of yellowy white. Shapes of furniture, laptops and people reformulate. I become aware of a young man in a grey suit standing next to me. ‘Can I help you?’ he asks softly. Thankfully, there is kindness in his tone. I force some composure and attempt to speak. All that I can offer is a blubbery and muddled reply: ‘I made an appointment for 10 a.m., but it’s not on the computer. I must open new accounts. The funeral company are giving me compensation for losing some of my son. It’s not an enormous amount of money, but I must put it away safely for my other son.’ I’m not sure how audible this is, and I know that the delivery is disjointed. For a moment, I’m not in my body; I’m looking at myself judgmentally through somebody else’s eyes – very possibly those of the agitated man. I hear his thoughts: ‘Bleedin’ Hell. What’s the matter with her? She’s not all there.’

I come to and am aware of his gaze, along with sideways glances from others in the room. I am back in my body again, head hunched towards the floor, hoping that the kind man cannot see my tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. Then, bravely lifting my head, I show my face to all. I detect a slightly defiant tone in my voice (more for the benefit of the eavesdroppers than for the kind, young man): ‘I’m sorry that I’m crying. I’m not making much sense, am I?’ The onlookers are no longer staring, and I am not sure that they ever had been.

The kind man proceeds to arrange an appointment for two days later, rather impressively putting the agitated man through his paces; as he remains focused upon the goal, he ignores some mutterings of objection from his colleague as if subliminally swatting away an annoying little fly.

And so, the appointment has been arranged, and I am back in control of my mindset. In a distant part of my mind, I have been contemplating which way I should drive home: the fast route or the ‘sweet route’? I acknowledge that you are part of this decision, too, St. John. You are with me, my precious, elusive son.  I know you are. And now, of course, we have more time on our hands. The fast route takes us straight onto the A14, but the sweet route takes us through beautiful countryside: lakes, ancient forest land, and, of course, evokes precious memories we both share.