On the one hand, I think “She could have brought the kids to a neighbor and then left town, or gone to an ER and told them she’d had thoughts about killing her kids, she’d have been admitted to psych at once.” Something, anything.
On the other hand, I had a psychotic break 12 years ago. I only remember bits and pieces. I heard the voice…not of God, but of Philip Seymour Hoffman who’d OD’d that week. I looked out the window and saw the sun streak across the sky in an instant. I was convinced that some of my friends were gods, others demons. Other stuff. Joe told me later, much later, once they got my meds right, that he had gone to the kitchen at some point and hidden the knives. Hearing about the things I was saying and doing, I’d have done the same thing. I mean Jesus Christ. It’s weird when your brain breaks.
You have to understand—I’d never even been to a therapist. I was calm and levelheaded to a fault. I helped people all the time, with a shoulder to cry on, with my expertise, with money. Nothing fazed me. I was the most capable, busy, organized, efficient person. My whole life I was keeping all the plates spinning, the balls in the air, the ducks lined up.
Until I wasn’t. It was a long fall and a hard landing.
Now, having recovered, still on meds and still in therapy, I read back on my many years of blog posts about mental illness, all the CBT (therapy), the scores of people who helped me through it—and I wrote it more than once—it’s weird when your brain breaks. Guys, I never thought it would be me.
That was long to read, but some of you have some very strong feelings about this woman’s trial. I have never had a child or been post-partum, but I have been psychotic. It’s no joke. You don’t have control of your faculties. You don’t know what you’re doing or saying.
Something to consider.
Unless, of course, the husband did it.∎
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