Help Charles Barnett Find Stability and Care

Hello,

I’m the sister of the man in the picture, Charles William Barnett. My story is not unique, but it is mine—and my sisters’—a journey filled with hardship and love.

My little brother has always been different. He struggled as a child with what we now know as autism spectrum disorder, ADHD, and later in life developed schizophrenia. He was bright but faced learning disabilities. He was hyperactive, loved to goof off, and always kept us laughing at home. Growing up, my mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia, so we often played games to make each other laugh. Charles always cracked first, bursting into laughter.

From a young age, we all took turns caring for him because my mom often neglected him due to her own mental illness. There were times when we found him wandering near the highway because she had fallen asleep outdoors. It was the early ’90s in East Texas, and we didn’t know much about how to help kids like Charles—or even how to help my mom. Doctors simply prescribed Ritalin and moved on.

Today, my little brother is 35 years old and homeless, battling severe mental illness. He hears voices and has loud outbursts in public. These symptoms began around age 21, but now he’s in complete denial of his condition. He refuses help from our family and chooses to live on the streets.

We know he can get better because he has before. Years ago, he was committed to a facility and showed improvement. Unfortunately, my parents took him out too early, against the doctor’s advice. He stayed stable for about a year. Around that time, he was speaking with an Army recruiter who told him he’d have to quit his psychiatric medication to join. Charles was so excited about turning his life around that he stopped taking his meds. Despite my concerns, he went through with it. My parents didn’t seem to know how to help, and I was living out of state, starting my own family in North Carolina.

Over the years, I’ve tried everything I could to get him help. He even lived with me at one point, but his condition worsened, and he left, still in denial. Three years ago, my dad told him he could stay with me again. My brother called me, crying, and begged to come. I wanted to help, but I had a young stepdaughter in my home, and it wasn’t a safe or appropriate situation.

I’ve provided my parents with resources and information, but there was only so much they could do. My dad was very ill, and my mom, who also has schizophrenia, could only call the police when my brother became violent. Now, my dad has passed away, and my mom is in a nursing home.

I’m exhausted, but I know there’s a right way to help. This is not the Medieval ages, but sometimes it feels like it. I’ve been driving back and forth every month from Alabama to Tyler, Texas, to visit my mom, do the legwork for my brother, and try to find solutions. It’s draining, both emotionally and financially.

Thankfully, we now have a lawyer willing to work pro bono to help us with my brother’s case! However, we still need to cover court fees.

More than anything, I want my brother’s story to be told. I want to get him into a long-term care facility so he can have a real chance at life. Mental illness has plagued my family for generations—uncle, niece, mother, son. Wouldn’t it be incredible to find a cure?

We desperately need better mental health care and more facilities so that people like my brother don’t end up homeless. The laws today make it even harder to survive on the streets, but where can they go?

I’m not giving up on my brother. I’m learning and trying new approaches every day. Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you feel called to help, your support means everything.