I’m a 28-year-old woman living with my 30-year-old sister. We’ve recently taken in my younger brother, who is about two years younger than me and suffers from a severe mental illness that first appeared in his early twenties. Unfortunately, he hasn’t received consistent treatment over the years. He was living with our mother, but due to a lack of structure and follow-through, his care has always been inconsistent and unstable.

To be completely honest, my mom is not a reliable resource when it comes to managing his care. She doesn’t approach things in a reasonable or structured way, and she struggles with making and following through on a clear plan. Over the years, I’ve found myself doing damage control more than partnering with her. Even when she does try to help, she often gets in the way by pushing what she thinks is right rather than listening or deferring to actual medical advice or what’s been working. It would take multiple exhausting back-and-forth conversations just to finally get her to agree — only for her to say, “Oh, you were right,” after the fact. Her arrogance and unwillingness to acknowledge when she’s wrong have made it extremely hard to work with her, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve had to step in and take on so much of the responsibility myself.

Last winter, my brother had a violent episode while staying at my mom’s apartment. As a result, he was trespassed from the complex and couldn’t return. After being Baker Acted and released from the hospital, he moved in with me and my sister. Since then, I’ve essentially become his full-time caregiver — managing his prescriptions, digging through medical records, coordinating appointments, and making sure he logs into virtual therapy and doctor visits. It’s been overwhelming, especially with the lack of communication between hospitals and providers. I’ve had to fill in every gap myself.

Even when things seem stable, he often relapses — going missing for a while, then returning on different medications or with signs of substance use. A few months ago, he was hospitalized after being overmedicated and having high THC levels in his system. I was the one speaking to the hospital daily, advocating for him, providing all his medical history, and waiting in the ER to ensure he got admitted properly.

After being released, he returned home and within days was showing the same symptoms — barely functioning. When we asked him what was going on, he admitted to using THC again, even though we’d warned him repeatedly about its danger. Shortly after, he left the house and ended up back in the hospital. This time, we found out the weed he smoked had been laced with fentanyl. That was the tipping point for me. I was overwhelmed, exhausted, and emotionally drained. I had done everything I could to support him, and still, he was back in the same dangerous place.

While I care deeply for him, I also feel uneasy having him in the apartment. He hasn’t hurt me, but his behavior, his stare, and the unpredictability of his condition make me feel unsafe. He experiences hallucinations and intense tics, and while I know he can’t control those symptoms, I often find myself locking my bedroom door at night out of fear. The truth is, I want him to leave. Not because I don’t love him, but because I’m at my breaking point — and I know that this setup isn’t working anymore. Still, I carry guilt, because my mom expects me to handle it, even though she hasn’t shown she’s capable of doing so herself.

My sister, who lives with us, adds another layer to the challenge. She’s highly sensitive and reactive, which makes communication difficult. She often says I shut her out or don’t give her opportunities to help — but the truth is, she rarely takes initiative. When I try to bring her in with details or ask for help, she takes it as nitpicking and shuts down. That’s her pattern. She helps with food and shares a bathroom with my brother, but I take on the bulk of his care — and the emotional and mental weight of that is something I carry largely alone.

Today we had a blowup because I found that he had weed again in the house. And I told him he can’t have it. His response was that it’s his property and he’s an adult. I told him that he should respect the fact that he lives with us and his response as well then I should move out then. I told him I wasn’t trying to nitpick. I just wanted him to not carry on with that stuff anymore. When I got home later on, I was annoyed because the house smelled like garbage because the dishes piled up very high and he didn’t bother to even clean it because he just lays in bed all day unless he’s eating or smoking or recreationally drinking. I snapped and said earlier you said you were an adult so please start doing some adult things by cleaning up after yourself. He got upset, packed his back and left. To be honest, I just locked the door behind him and felt no remorse. He will probably just go and get himself bigger acted, and the cycle will start all over again.

Right now, I feel like I’m drowning in a situation that no longer feels safe or sustainable, and something has to change.