My son was recently found Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity (NGBRI) and was court-ordered to treatment for one year. What should have been the beginning of recovery became another tragedy — one born from the deep cracks in my state’s Mental Health Procedures Act (MHPA).
It took two and a half years for his case to be resolved. Two and a half years of languishing in prison without treatment — a young man with a serious mental illness left to deteriorate in isolation. But instead of focusing on that lost time, I want to tell you about what happened after his release, because it shows exactly why our laws must change.
“Court-Ordered Treatment” That Doesn’t Exist
When the judge ordered treatment, there were no beds available — no place willing or able to provide the care the court required. The only “solution” offered was a group home with outpatient programming during the day.
It would take a month to get him an appointment with a psychiatrist. The group home was closed daily between 9 a.m. and 3:30 p.m., during which my son was expected to walk — through drug-ridden neighborhoods — to attend programming at various locations. During intake, I listened as the program director told him, again and again, that the program was voluntary, that no one could force him to attend. Did she care that the only alternative was homelessness?
It didn’t take long before the temptation of the streets pulled him back in. He stopped attending the program. He was cited for public intoxication. The program began threatening discharge for reasons that ranged from drug use to simply having a soda in his room.
A Promise No Mother Should Have to Make
Before his arrest, my son was homeless for a month — the darkest time of his life. During that time, he began using street drugs. One night, I found him overdosed on fentanyl in my own backyard.
I’m a nurse of 15 years, and that night was the first time I ever gave mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. That night, I promised myself that no matter what, I would never allow my son to be homeless again.
So when the program failed him, I let him move into the small apartment I had built on my property — a safe place I had prepared for this very reason.
No Accountability, No Consequences
When I called the pharmacy to get his medications, I was told he’d been discharged from the program — without warning, without a plan, without care. When I confronted the program director, she refused to take any responsibility. To her, my son hadn’t been failed; he had simply “chosen to leave.”
His lawyer confirmed what I had feared: the court order had no teeth. There would be no consequences for non-adherence, no oversight, no safety net.
My son did well with me for a few weeks, but his medication stopped working — a result of years of starting and stopping treatment. I began keeping a diary of his symptoms, knowing an involuntary commitment might soon be necessary. I was fortunate to find a bed at a local behavioral health hospital, and my son agreed to go.
Hope, Then Heartbreak
The next morning, I got a call: there had been an “incident.” When asked to remove his clothing for an intake gown, he panicked and punched a security officer — a Class 1 Felony. He would be taken back to jail.
For a moment, I was still hopeful — he was still being treated. The doctor planned to start him on Clozapine, a medication that offered new hope for stability. The plan was for him to remain inpatient for 1–2 weeks during the induction phase.
But two days later — not two weeks — I was told that he had become agitated again, and because of his “history of aggression,” the facility “administratively decided to release him to the police.”
That was it. Two and a half years of waiting for treatment, two months of fragile hope, and then back to the same revolving door of jail and failure.
This Is Why We Need Assisted Outpatient Treatment (AOT)
This never should have happened. If my county had implemented and funded Assisted Outpatient Treatment (AOT) — a program proven to prevent relapse, homelessness, and incarceration for individuals with serious mental illness — my son would have had a chance. Instead, he was given a court order without support, a sentence without safety, and a “treatment plan” that never truly existed.
Families like mine are left to pick up the pieces — again and again — because our laws stop short of protecting those who cannot protect themselves.
Please, for the sake of every parent, every son, and every community — fix this broken system.
Fund and implement AOT in every county.
Give court orders meaning.
Give families hope.
Because what happened to my son should never happen to anyone else.
Each story is shared by someone impacted by untreated SMI,
lightly edited for clarity, never for meaning.
Do you have an ask? If you were sitting down with your legislator, how would you ask them to help you?
Please fund AOT in every county of every State. No one should be denied care. No one.
