scissors

Why are there so many pairs of scissors in my drawers?? I am well known amongst my friends for misplacing small items but it seemed that every drawer I opened, I found scissors. It didn’t dawn on me until one of the many encounters I had with my mother.

My mother used scissors to cut her long fingernails and as a form of protection. I hated that she cut her nails with scissors because a.) they were beautiful, and b.) why not use nail clippers? She wouldn’t have it any other way.

The problem with my mother owning scissors is the second reason mentioned above; protection. She kept them hidden under her pillow which was not a problem until she began living in a board and care with a roommate. There were periods where we (the staff and I) could not get her to take her psychotropic medications and therein problems ensued.

Prior to being diagnosed with cancer, Ruby could be a formidable person to encounter. No, she never harmed anyone but still… She was also antisocial and would not eat in the common dining area with the other residents. This made me sad because prior to her new residence, she seldom interacted with non-family.

When her symptoms were at their worse, she would threaten the attendants who brought her food. Bless them. Bless the administrator also who could have called the police but instead allowed me to deal with it. First, her meals were brought to her by a burly male. That was funny. The second course of action was stealing her scissors in front of her.

“Mommy. Mommy. I lost my phone. Can you help me look for it?” She’d rise from the chair wherein I proceeded to search under the covers and finally her pillow to slip the scissors into my sleeves. (I always wore long sleeves to make it more successful). My phone would magically appear and wala!

Once again, I’d have to begin the process of rebuilding her trust in me and the staff to get her to take her medication. “Are you in on it too?” she would demand more than ask searching for signs of lying. She was paranoid and I was forgetful because finally I could get her to take her medications again. Then when the calm, soft spoken Ruby asked for another pair of scissors, I would provide them because I always obeyed my mother.

When I heard the verdict for the Kelly Thomas trial, I grew sick. What happened to Thomas is the fear that every family member has for a loved one who lives on the streets. We usually think that it will be another homeless person that does them or that they die from illness or disease. Mostly, we don’t think that law enforcement would needlessly take the life of our loved ones; except of course, if you are a person of color.

It was Thomas’s mental illness that placed him in harm’s way of a deadly confrontation that normally does not happen between “most” police officers and middle class white people but is normal for others. Nevertheless, I feel for his family and had my own fears about my mother interacting with the law; particularly, when her diagnosis of schizophrenia was compounded by dementia. When she lived with my cousins, she would call 911 to report that someone was breaking in the house. That someone was a younger cousin. Situations like that could have ended his life and even hers.

My mother lived in South Central Los Angeles for approximately forty years and slept with a hammer and/or knife under her pillow. In the hood, the threat of someone breaking in your house was no illusion-it could get real in a hurry. The problem was she continued this habit and had dementia. My cousins called me and I had to hurry to get to her less she pulled out a pair of scissors or a knife on an officer.

I will blog on this later on but wanted to touch on it because of the recent verdict and to say that this could happen to anyone whether we have or have not been diagnosed with a mental illness.

I Hear Voices-Can You Hear Them Too?

This WordPress.com site discusses mental illness, culture, and family.

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