I guess I skipped the part where my brother Andy moved in with us. Two days before the statewide health emergency was declared – though we knew there was a virus to be concerned about – my brother was evicted from his apartment. Literally, a week later and they would not have been able to kick him out.
We moved him the weekend after basketball. It was quickly apparent to all of us why he was getting kicked out – the apartment was a pit. Is “squalor” the right word? It was worse than that. It looked like an abandoned home that had been taken over by drug-addicted homeless people. Homeless because there was no sense of ownership. We threw out much of what Andy wanted to move to our house. As it was, we put what was salvageable on a trailer and left it outside in our backyard to air out and kill any bugs.
Then things got worse.
Andy was diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was 18. He’s been medicated since then and has been on an even keel for a very long time. But when he moved into the apartment complex that would eventually kick him out, he got in with a crowd who introduced him to meth. Now, I’m not a chemist, but I wouldn’t think high-powered psychotropic drugs mix well street drugs – especially meth. Andy got addicted. Lost all his teeth. Became truly unhinged. And, even after he moved in with us, he continued to fraternize with his dealers – people who did NOT believe in the state of emergency we were living in.
Even while living in our house, there was no priority given to cleanliness; there was no sense of urgency to find his own place to stay – which, of course, was hindered by the COVID shutdown. All Andy had time for was his failing mental health. He’d scream profanities at all hours of the day and night at what Greg came to refer to as “his ghosts.” It was frightening not only for us; but, for Andy, it was a nightmare that he wasn’t sure he’d ever escape.
So, while it’s understandable, it was the hardest thing we’ve ever done when we had to commit Andy to the UNM Psych ward this weekend.