Becky's traumatic teen years; her institutionalization and her extreme suffering. The family's pain and sense of loss.
THE GOD GAMES : Heaven & Hell...Chapter 23...HELL.
So the police left and I struggled to keep Becky under control, and finally Charles came home. We had no options except to take her to the hospital; an adolescent psychiatric hospital in Chula Vista called Vista Hill. The trip was awful. Charles was struggling with tears and sobs as he drove the thirty miles, all the while Becky was in the back seat, with the belt still around one wrist, screaming profanities and saying all the thngs she was going to destroy and kill-including us. What had happened to our Becky? Our Becky who was so kind and gentle, so quiet.
There is nothing to compare to the pain of having orderlies drag your daughter away from you and put her in shackles. I could hear her screams as they dragged her down the hallway and into the locked unit. It was the first time I had to face the impossible because it was best for my child. She was placed in a locked room without padding; without anything else except a bed and plastic covered mattress and nothing at all else. It felt like I had a deep hole where my heart had been; the pain felt like I was going to die. They forced Charles and me to leave right away so that they could concentrate on handling her. We felt we had died, leaving our precious daughter to strangers, but we had to go home to take care of the other four, and to reassure them that their sister would be all right.
Becky never got all right. She was diagnosed with Schizo-Affective Disorder, Manic Deprssion, and Borderline Personality Disorder. The next yeas were torture for Becky and for our family. Becky could not always tell what was right and what was wrong and she would run away from home and get into trouble on the streets. You understand that she was only 13 when she first was diagnosed and entered the hospital. At first it was just boys that she ran after, then it was drugs, then it was prostitution to take care of both of her drives. The police would pick her up and return her to us but we had no way to physically control her. Charles wanted to handcuff her to the bed-we were desperate-but of course you cannot handcuff a child to her bed. yet what could you do? Hold on to her for hours at a time? She was too strong, and when I tried, she would just punch me and push me off of her. Then she would run out of the house and I could not catch her. Charles couldn't stay home, he was an instructor at Fleet Anti-Submarine Warfare School and had long hours at the base. Becky was stronger than the two of us together. Of course, the only solution was to confine her to an adolescent psychiatric hospital, and we had to do this for six years. She went to school there and graduated from Junior High. In the following years, as she grew older, she lost all sense of modesty and decorum. She was incoherent much of the time, but she had recovered a side to her that was still my sweet, loving daughter. And love her we did. All of us adored her. W prayed for her and wept for her, and did anything and everything that the doctor suggested. Of course we had family therapy for the next ten years and that helped us all to cope. The other children were devastated and embarrassed when Becky would drag herself home after escaping from the hospital-which she frequently did-and be on methamphetamine and/or heroin and stagger around the room and speak a garbled language. Once she came home without shoes on her feet and her feet were bleeding. All of us lived in fear that our Becky would die one day, or more likely be killed by one of the men she assossciated with. One man kept her captive in a hotel room for two weeks, until she got to a phone when he left one day, and asked me to come and rescue her. Seems he was wanted for murder and I feared the worst. I called the police and we met at the hotel and forced the owner to let us search for her. We found her where she said she was, and the man was with her. The police arrested the man, who was wanted, and he was eventually tried and convicted of first degree murder.
Finally in 1983, Becky found a wonderful man to love, who loved her. Big Skeeta was a tall, strong, drug-free black man who came to us from New jersey where he had a wonderful family. Becky was only 17, and he was 25, but he was a man who was able to devote himself to her totally, and keep her under control. He made sure she took her medicine and saw her doctor regularly, and he was very family oriented, so Becky began to make great strides forward in her life. I breathed my first free breath in years.
In the meantime, Charles was about to retire from the service and he wanted to move back to a little town in Iowa, which was not a bad idea, except that there were no facilities to care for Becky and I was not going to leave my daughter in her shape and go across the country away from her. Then there were the real problems that lay between Charles and I.
Tomorrow we look at Charles' terrible child abuse and our divorce after 17 years of marriage.
THE GOD GAMES : Heaven & Hell...Chapter 23...HELL.
So the police left and I struggled to keep Becky under control, and finally Charles came home. We had no options except to take her to the hospital; an adolescent psychiatric hospital in Chula Vista called Vista Hill. The trip was awful. Charles was struggling with tears and sobs as he drove the thirty miles, all the while Becky was in the back seat, with the belt still around one wrist, screaming profanities and saying all the thngs she was going to destroy and kill-including us. What had happened to our Becky? Our Becky who was so kind and gentle, so quiet.
There is nothing to compare to the pain of having orderlies drag your daughter away from you and put her in shackles. I could hear her screams as they dragged her down the hallway and into the locked unit. It was the first time I had to face the impossible because it was best for my child. She was placed in a locked room without padding; without anything else except a bed and plastic covered mattress and nothing at all else. It felt like I had a deep hole where my heart had been; the pain felt like I was going to die. They forced Charles and me to leave right away so that they could concentrate on handling her. We felt we had died, leaving our precious daughter to strangers, but we had to go home to take care of the other four, and to reassure them that their sister would be all right.
Becky never got all right. She was diagnosed with Schizo-Affective Disorder, Manic Deprssion, and Borderline Personality Disorder. The next yeas were torture for Becky and for our family. Becky could not always tell what was right and what was wrong and she would run away from home and get into trouble on the streets. You understand that she was only 13 when she first was diagnosed and entered the hospital. At first it was just boys that she ran after, then it was drugs, then it was prostitution to take care of both of her drives. The police would pick her up and return her to us but we had no way to physically control her. Charles wanted to handcuff her to the bed-we were desperate-but of course you cannot handcuff a child to her bed. yet what could you do? Hold on to her for hours at a time? She was too strong, and when I tried, she would just punch me and push me off of her. Then she would run out of the house and I could not catch her. Charles couldn't stay home, he was an instructor at Fleet Anti-Submarine Warfare School and had long hours at the base. Becky was stronger than the two of us together. Of course, the only solution was to confine her to an adolescent psychiatric hospital, and we had to do this for six years. She went to school there and graduated from Junior High. In the following years, as she grew older, she lost all sense of modesty and decorum. She was incoherent much of the time, but she had recovered a side to her that was still my sweet, loving daughter. And love her we did. All of us adored her. W prayed for her and wept for her, and did anything and everything that the doctor suggested. Of course we had family therapy for the next ten years and that helped us all to cope. The other children were devastated and embarrassed when Becky would drag herself home after escaping from the hospital-which she frequently did-and be on methamphetamine and/or heroin and stagger around the room and speak a garbled language. Once she came home without shoes on her feet and her feet were bleeding. All of us lived in fear that our Becky would die one day, or more likely be killed by one of the men she assossciated with. One man kept her captive in a hotel room for two weeks, until she got to a phone when he left one day, and asked me to come and rescue her. Seems he was wanted for murder and I feared the worst. I called the police and we met at the hotel and forced the owner to let us search for her. We found her where she said she was, and the man was with her. The police arrested the man, who was wanted, and he was eventually tried and convicted of first degree murder.
Finally in 1983, Becky found a wonderful man to love, who loved her. Big Skeeta was a tall, strong, drug-free black man who came to us from New jersey where he had a wonderful family. Becky was only 17, and he was 25, but he was a man who was able to devote himself to her totally, and keep her under control. He made sure she took her medicine and saw her doctor regularly, and he was very family oriented, so Becky began to make great strides forward in her life. I breathed my first free breath in years.
In the meantime, Charles was about to retire from the service and he wanted to move back to a little town in Iowa, which was not a bad idea, except that there were no facilities to care for Becky and I was not going to leave my daughter in her shape and go across the country away from her. Then there were the real problems that lay between Charles and I.
Tomorrow we look at Charles' terrible child abuse and our divorce after 17 years of marriage.
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