Why this is personal

The moment

They were taking me away for punching a cop and backfisting another one. I realized it’d be the second time in handcuffs for the same mental health crisis.

I was in a psychotic episode running around Austin in red underwear. The sirens were on me and they cornered me on a lawn. They yelled “stop” but all I heard was the voices in my head: “I’m Crazy Horse, smoking Black American Spirits.” I tried to run but they pursued me on foot. Tasers landed on my back and legs. I kept running. They went for a tackle but I deflected, rolled onto my back in ground defense. 12 years of training in Tang Soo Do, jiu jitsu, and Muay Thai had paid off. I kicked them away and got back to my feet. That’s when I committed the offense: struck both officers of the law, later giving one of them a black eye. It ended with pepper spray. 4 of them on me, pinning me with cuffs in the fetal position. My face in the dirt. My skin felt like it was peeling off. When I opened my eyes, all I saw was red.

I was admitted to inpatient treatment for seven weeks. In the four days before I arrived, I had slept about four hours total. The doctors helped me sleep, stabilize, and begin to understand what had happened. I was formally diagnosed with bipolar disorder with psychotic features.

On July 4, my doctor approved my release. My father had flown from Ann Arbor and worked closely with my treatment team to make that possible. Once I was out, we continued the plan: appointments with a counselor and psychiatrist, medication, and the slow work of getting steady again.

What broke

Two days later, the police came to my home. They said they were checking on me; I later learned there was a warrant for my arrest. Five officers told me I was facing two second-degree felony charges for assaulting officers during the episode.

I went from a hospital bed to a jail cell. I was processed, held for arraignment, and desperate to return to the care that had just started helping me. My father hired an attorney, who secured a $1 personal-recognizance bond contingent on my continuing treatment. I came home earlier than expected—but with a criminal case now tied to the worst days of my life.

I do not tell this story to excuse what happened. Two people were hurt, and I have to face the consequences of my actions.

But I also cannot separate those actions from the crisis that caused them. I was acutely ill, severely sleep-deprived, and disconnected from reality. By the time I met the legal system, I had already been diagnosed, treated, and connected to care. The most useful next step was recovery—not a jail cell.

What I carried out of it

On the ward, I met many young men whose stories had a familiar shape: serious mental illness, unstable housing, and nowhere reliable to go when things got worse. That is not an individual moral failure. It is what happens when care is difficult to access and a crisis reaches law enforcement before it reaches treatment.

I also lost my job shortly after leaving inpatient care. The stated reason was something I said in a client meeting during the episode. Whatever the exact rationale, losing work and stability at the beginning of recovery made an already frightening situation harder.

I do not think the answer is simply more punishment, or more rules for employers. I think it is earlier, affordable, continuous mental-health care—and practical ways to divert people in crisis toward it before an encounter becomes an arrest.

What I’m asking for

If you work on helping people with serious mental illness avoid unnecessary involvement with the criminal legal system—through counseling, crisis response, diversion, clinical care, advocacy, or the handoff between systems—I would genuinely like to talk.

You can reach me at suibhne@molus.app.

I’ll be sharing what I learn as I go.