It's been a nightmare of a week as far as Ryan goes. His anti-psychotic meds finished last week and he was okay for a few days. Starting Thursday night, he started to really lose it and woke my parents up at 5am asking them to bring him to the hospital to check out his leg. This is the same leg that he broke 12 years ago and has a metal plate in it. Long story short, it took almost nine hours for him to get "ready" enough to go. He took five showers, had to smoke a joint between each one, then a cigarette, then had to make a phone call to someone after some showers. They finally made it to the hospital and it was a three hour wait. He freaked out and left and made them take him to another hospital.
They finally drove home, Ryan now with a cane, at around 11pm and he got into a fight in the car with my dad and accused him of trying to kill him because he was driving too fast.
I woke up Saturday morning to chaos. My brother had called the police asking for a restraining order against my dad. I decided it was time to get the police involved so I went to the police department and met some of my dads old colleagues (he's former cop in town) and we decided that the best way to do this was to have me drive up first and they follow ten minutes later acting like they came on their won accord responding to Ryan's phone call and that he didn't show up to the department to "file" the report.
We all talked with him trying to get him to go in for a psych eval. He finally agreed to go to the hospital but NOT the psych ward. He was just appeasing us. The cops couldn't get an ambulance to take him, which pissed off the two cops. I volunteered to take him.
That was at 11am. We eventually got into the ER at 5pm because he needed this, needed that, needed to calm down. All the while he was mad at me for one thing and then not mad at the other. I had to use his focal point safe word to calm him down about 200 times. I did it right maybe 100. They other times I was an assh*le for not listening.
Long story short, the hospital couldn't admit him because he wasn't suicidal or homicidal even though he technically threatened to burn down the house. I bought him home and and was pissed at me for making him go through that while also thanking me for doing the right thing even though it was the wrong thing.
I dropped him off and went to bed. My dad stayed in a hotel that night to diffuse the situation.
...
The next day my dad came home and Ryan saw him and immediately lost his sh*t. My dad left, went down to the police department, and the same two officers then came up with a plan to try once again to get him into observed care. My dad got a phone call that Ryan was destroying stuff at the house, a lamp and such, and they went up there.
They explained that this was my parents house and that he needed to behave or leave. If he kept breaking things, he'd end up in jail. The cops were actually pretty great through the whole thing. Ryan left and stayed in a hotel last night. My dad stayed another night in a hotel just to give my mom a night of peace, which she really didn't get because Ryan came back at midnight getting more clothes.
He called me and told me that I'm not his brother anymore and that he's not coming to my wedding. I didn't take it personally.
We're in contact with his doctor who prescribed him more anti-psychotic meds. Ryan has them though, and hopefully he's taking them.
That's where we are. Hopefully my dad can stay in the house tonight. Hopefully the meds start to kick in. It's a day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute thing.
I'm exhausted. If you don't notice me around here much in the upcoming days...this is why. I thought I'd give you guys an update. It's pretty f*cked but there are plans in place.
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