(Feb. 18, 2016) My son, Dwayne, was diagnosed with bipolar disorder twenty-four years ago. He is one of the most talented, creative, artistic, patient, and sincere people you would ever meet. He has a heart of gold and loves anyone that half-way loves him – unconditionally.
Dwayne is currently in the Virginia mental health system and it has been a nightmare trying to get him the help that he needs to recover.
Our son was living with us along with his two children in late 2012 when he began having trouble sleeping and began talking irrationally. I called the local crisis intervention services office. They told me there was nothing they could do unless he was trying to hurt or kill himself or hurt someone else.
One night, his girlfriend told him that he had to leave. After leaving the house, he walked to a nearby house, opened the unlocked basement door, went inside and sat there with the lights on. We are not sure how long he was there before the family came home. The police were called. Dwayne was very confused and could not explain why he was there.
My son was arrested, taken to jail and charged with breaking and entering to commit a burglary. He spent two months in jail without medication. I told them he was a mentally disabled person and that he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I tried to get him medication and treatment.
Despite my pleas, Dwayne’s health continued to deteriorate during the two months while he was waiting for a hearing. By this time, he had become incoherent and could not figure out what to do or why this was happening.
At the hearing, Dwayne was declared “not guilty by reason of insanity.”
In September 2015, Dwayne was granted a conditional release and sent to stay at a group home in Lebanon, VA. Soon after he settled in, we noticed during a visit that Dwayne did not seem as stable.
I called the group home to let the folks there know our concerns. The woman supervising the home told me she had been concerned ever since the psychiatrist had reduced his medicine. I was not aware that his medicine had been reduced. I told her that cutting his medicine in half was bound to trigger a mental breakdown, which is what seemed to be happening. We found out later that he had been pretending to take that lower dose.
Four days later, Dwayne went missing from the group home. I became frantic. My husband called to let me know the police were searching our house.
When Dwayne returned to the group home shortly after, I raced over to speak to him.
“God healed me, I do not need the medicine,” he said.
A few moments later, the police came and I watched them handcuff him, put him in the back seat of the police car, and take him back to jail.
Days turned into weeks and then a month went by. I was told that Dwayne would stay in jail until his next court hearing.
On January 27, 2016, my son was finally transferred back to the hospital from the jail.
I am so frustrated. My son is sick. He is not a criminal. Yet now he is trapped in a system that treats him with indifference and refuses to listen to those of us who love him.
DIANA STINSON
VIRGINIA
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