This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Feb. 25, 2011 - Someone I know is about to get out of prison.
I first met Robert (not his real name) when he was a teenager living in an economically distressed St. Louis neighborhood where I was living and working in the '90s. He did not participate in the programs offered by the community organization for which I worked, but by virtue of living in the neighborhood I knew many youth and families not associated with the organization. Robert was the cousin of another young person who was involved so I would regularly see him.
During the decade I lived in that neighborhood, I got to know Robert pretty well. Eventually he referred to me as his homeboy. I thought of myself as his mentor -- a stabilizing force in his life.
Robert's mother was addicted to drugs and was only able to manage for herself and that mostly included relying on abusive men. His father, though living in St. Louis, was not heard from very often. I picked up over time that his father suffers from mental illness. Robert fended for himself from an early age; he relied on the kindness of relatives, neighbors, community leaders and other adults.
By 16 Robert was no longer attending school. His interest in boxing kept him in the gym for a period, but he spent most of time on the streets.
Over the years I watched him struggle, helping out how I could. Often he would show up at my house around dinnertime. Feeding him was a no-brainer. Sometimes he would need a place to spend the night or to shower and I would launder his clothes. He felt my house was a safe place; he would say as much and was always grateful. But none of that kindness changed the fundamental issues in his life.
Robert always expressed a desire to improve his lot in life. He had big plans -- huge, delusional plans actually. Knowing what I did about his father, I suspected he suffered from his own mental illness.
After I left that community organization, I still lived in the neighborhood and saw Robert regularly. As he trusted me more, he would share more personal information. Eventually I found out that he had, in fact, been diagnosed with a mental disorder and was supposed to be taking medication for it.
By Robert's own account, some of his family members were supportive and encouraged him to take the medication. Others were suspicious of the mental-health establishment and their vocal commentary only compounded his conflicting feelings and efforts to come to terms with his situation.
I am certain he would have benefited from the medications. I say this because on one occasion (and really there is only one occasion that I can recall) I spent time with him while he was medicated.
He was a totally different person.
He was still Robert, but far less erratic in his thinking and behavior. When he talked, he actually made sense. He could reflect on his own existence in a way I had not heard him do before. We had a long talk about his mental illness and how much he could benefit from his medication. It was a very somber discussion because I think he appreciated for himself the difference the medication made.
He did not continue to take his medication and soon the wheels fell off again. He remained essentially homeless through his late teens and early 20s. I bought my house near Tower Grove Park and saw much less of him. Occasionally he would call me and beg for me to come pick up.
When I did spend time with him, I saw the toll his illness was taking. He was usually disheveled and needed a bath. From his stories I would glean that his life was increasingly out of control. He was in unhealthy relationships with young women who seemed no better off than he.
Eventually his behavior caught up with him. He became father to two girls with two young women. Although I only heard his side of the story, I felt that they were trying to get away from him and I would encourage him to focus on his own life. One woman petitioned for a restraining order; when he broke that order of protection he was arrested. The young woman pressed charges and Robert was convicted and jailed.
He has spent the past five years in jail and then in prison. Next weekend he will be released. I find myself with familiar feelings of helplessness.
A licensed social worker friend of mine researched some programs that could potentially help him, but in our phone conversations he has expressed zero interest in seeking their help. He is convinced -- his mental illness has him convinced -- that things will be different and better now. I am not so optimistic. I think this is what people sometimes describe as watching a train wreck in slow motion.
I am not going to give up on Robert. I know some of his family and I plan to reach out and make them aware of the programs my friend shared. I fear, though, that it won't be enough.
Robert has never held an actual job. He has never provided for himself in the way most of us understand. He has certainly been resourceful and he is a survivor. But in less than a week, he will be out of prison, and he is now 30 years old. People will not have the same patience for him, not even his family. Seeing him as a struggling young person is no longer possible. To most people now he is just an ex-convict with mental problems. Or worse yet, people don't recognize the mental issues and just see him as a failure.
Society ran out of patience for him a long time ago and the answer was to put him in prison. Not much has changed in the past five years so I worry that he will soon be tangled in the justice system again.
This isn't really the kind of blog I can neatly wrap with a bow. It's not a blog; it's someone's life -- a person who has become a statistic. It would be easier to write if this were a rant about our general lack of concern for each other, but this is a story about a real person in real time.
If you made it this far in my blog today, let me ask you to please do whatever you do when you wish someone well: say a prayer, send positive energy, meditate on it. It can't hurt and maybe it will help.