Moving Out, or Not?

My son graduated from high school twelve years ago. I’m not sure when the voices moved into his brain, but when I first discovered them, I did my best to evict them. At some point I realized that they weren’t leaving, and I’ve grown used to them. I am not saying I like them, and my greatest wish is that someday, some cure will come and eradicate them forever, but I know the voices are a reality for my son. I know his brain is a noisy place that makes moment to moment thoughts, actions, feelings, basically everything, challenging. I know medicine doesn’t completely work for him and he is prone to looking for ways to quiet the voices using other means–pot, alcohol, meth, music, sleep, whatever it takes. Staying sober, staying functional, staying alert is more than a full time job for him. But I have to say, he has come to a place where he is managing. He has been doing some part time jobs for about six months now; he has money in his pocket, and he tries to help me. He buys groceries, and takes me to the movies on occasion. I guess our life has settled into a pattern of tentative peace. I say tentative, because for me, the shadow of the voices is always there. I know all the bad things they have brought and I am always on guard. I have no trust that this peace is permanent. So I just plan for today.

Years ago, when I accepted that schizophrenia was going to impact the quality of my son’s life, I tried to help him navigate being as independent as possible. Even though, I can take care of him, it’s in his best interest to learn how to navigate the world on his own, including living alone. We signed up for Section 8 housing. I never thought the day would come, but after three years of waiting, Shayne was approved for a housing voucher in July. I realized right away that independent living was more my desire than his.

I am really good at putting on his shoes. I get it. Things between us have really settled into a livable rhythm; why change it? His experiences of living on his own have been abysmal. When he moved out to California at nineteen, the voices took over. He ended up living on the streets of Hollywood, scared he was being followed, wearing tin foil hats, and losing all his possessions, except for two shirts, an Allen wrench, and a copy of the Grapes of Wrath. At twenty-one, when he tried again, he wrecked his car, tied the bumper back on with neon green shoelaces, and thought he was the Son of Man, ready to save the world. Then there were the times that he wandered off to live in the wilderness for forty days, or the weeks huddled in motel staircases or laundry rooms, pilfering free cookies and coffee. The last time he lived alone was the year in his car. That was MY breaking point because I never knew if he was cold, hungry, dirty, alive or dead. I slowly unraveled during that year, feeling like I was fighting my own war of survival every day.

So getting the voucher seemed like a victory to me. We’ve been to some dark places, but my son is a survivor and he is learning to cope with his voices, and demons, and with help and love, he has a level of functionality that he hasn’t had in more than a decade. But I realized that he is terrified to take the next step. And I can see that the housing voucher may have come at a bad time, but what? I can’t say, “Uh, this is a bad time? Can you ask again in six months?” If he goes back on the waiting list, it could be years before another opportunity comes our way. In fact, the waiting list isn’t even open in our county. Who knows when it will be available again? So, we couldn’t turn the voucher down.

I thought Shayne was warming up to the idea of moving into his own place. We looked at an apartment downtown, but the rent was too high for the voucher. While we could have gotten a waiver for the size, I was hesitant about the location (over a bar) and Shayne really didn’t seem ready. We looked at a tiny house; it seemed perfect. The size was good; it had a little yard; the price was great, but the owner kept saying the unit wasn’t ready. I realized that he seemed to have cold feet about doing a section 8 rental, but it’s illegal to discriminate on the basis of disability and we were being “ghosted.” I told Shayne to call the owner and find out what was going on. He was told something about deciding not to separate the tiny house from the main property. And maybe that was true, but it seemed off. I was kind of sad, because that tiny house seemed perfect. I wish I could build a tiny house myself, or have a property with a mother in law house. It would give Shayne independence, but, still offer him the security he needs. So we were back at square one, with the voucher ready to expire.

I did a quick search for apartments in the price range and came up with a short list. We looked at a shared living situation. I knew that was a no. Shayne is clean, but sharing his space with other people would be difficult. He always has music or TV going because it helps with the voices, and he still talks to himself and laughs at only things he can hear. The pressure of trying to live with people who aren’t used to that would be too much. Then he found an apartment in our neighborhood that was the right price. He made an appointment and went to look at it on his own. He paid the deposit and dealt with the paperwork. I thought he was finally ready.

With all the enthusiasm I possess, I offered to take Shayne on a shopping trip to get things like a new shower curtain, sheets, towels, maybe a new trash can. He seemed less than enthused and said I could get whatever, but then reluctantly agreed to join me because he wanted to look for a movie. He did grab a shower curtain, but said he didn’t need anything else. I took the day off work to help him move, but he didn’t make any effort to pack up anything. We moved the big stuff like his bed, a table that I bought for him at a yard sale, and a couch, but he didn’t want to sleep at his new place. Instead he came home to watch Monday night football and fell asleep on the couch.

It’s been a week now. More of his things have moved over to the apartment. He hung up his James Bond poster in the living room yesterday and took over some movies. He is still sleeping on the couch. I made an analogy to this being like getting your toddler out of your bed to sleep in his big boy bed. And like that, I just have to be patient and keep encouraging him and reassuring him. It will happen.

Sometimes I think the lesson I keep getting in life is building my patience. The world isn’t on my timetable. I think he is ready for this. I think he will be fine. I just need to keep believing in him and wait until he believes in himself.