I’m a hot mess and so is my family. How’s that for a start? Since June 13th, I have been living in a nightmare of sorts. Actually, it’s been going on for longer, but that’s when the summer from Hell officially kicked off. This is going to come as a shock to some, if not most, but I think, in the end, there is a lesson for us all. Let me back up and share my son’s story with you (with his permission, of course). My son has been struggling with depression, anxiety, and OCD for a few months now (sound familar?). He started on an SSRI (same one as me, higher dose) to help with all 3 after the therapist visits alone weren’t doing the trick in November. <Insert serious feelings of blame/shame here> When school got out, his psychiatrist felt that he really should try Zoloft, as that has been proven to work better with the OCD, while still helping with the anxiety and depressive feelings. Since it was summer and she’s the professional, we decided to give it a try. BIGGEST MISTAKE EVER!!! Literally, within two weeks time, my son was a shell of his former self, rarely leaving bed, shuffling like a 90 year old when he did, and feeling exhausted from trying to fight off the suicidal thoughts. Let me just pause here to add my two cents. I GET IT. I get why Kate Spade, who had seemingly everything- including a family, killed herself. Same with Anthony Bourdain and the countless others who have decided that life was just too difficult to keep going. I GET IT. Do you know why? Because it is exhausting. It is exhausting getting out of bed every day to face another day of pretending you are fine when you totally are not. It is exhausting to face another day of wondering if people see through the facade and think you are totally nuts. It is exhausting replaying conversations and interactions to check, recheck, and recheck again for the nuances you might have missed. It is exhausting to know that you will have to get your sh*t together so that you don’t take your family down into the rabbit hole with you because your moods affect others. It is exhausting to push all your anxious, depressed, self-defeating thoughts aside so that you can do your job every day to the best of your abilities. It is exhausting to always be trying to shake “this” and get back to your “normal” self. It is just EXHAUSTING. So, I get it. They weren’t thinking it was selfish to do what they did; they probably thought they were doing others a favor, as well as themselves. In the end, of course, it WAS selfish. They are now at peace, but they’ve left behind families that are shattered. That, to me, is selfish- and I feel like I can say that because I GET IT. So…back to my son. His therapist met with him on June 27th for his regularly scheduled meeting. I shared my concerns with her first that he definitely had gotten worse; he didn’t want to leave his bed. She met with him and told me that he needed to see his psychiatrist ASAP and get off the Zoloft. I called the psychiatrist, but couldn’t get in until the following day. I was sent home on suicide watch- seriously, that is what they called it. That was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. Neither my husband nor I slept; we listened, watched, and prayed for the appointment to get here without incident. The next day, we met with the psychiatrist and were directed to the ER, where our 14 year old son was admitted to the behavioral health ward, AKA the psych ward.
That was the worst day of my life, hands down- and I’ve had some pretty horrible times. Shell-shocked doesn’t even begin to describe it. My husband and I didn’t even talk on the ride home from the hospital (7 hours later). We didn’t know what to say. The question that kept popping into my head was, “How did we get here?” We have two older kids. One had issues with cutting in high school, but we thought that was because she came out as gay and was dealing with all that comes with that (not that this was a healthy way of dealing, but we got the why). She also didn’t necessarily transition well, but is getting better. She is now a very successful, very stable, very happy person. The other has anxiety, but she also has Tourette’s Syndrome, and those go hand in hand. She, too, is now very successful, stable, and happy. So where did we go wrong? As you know, when I am sucker punched with something like this, I start reading- a lot. I read blogs. I read articles online. I read books. I enter into a hole and read all I can about what is bothering me until I think I have answers. My husband knows not to bother me; he also knows I will keep him up to date with my findings, should he want to hear them…and sometimes even if he doesn’t want to. I read a lot about how genetics plays a HUGE role in mental illness. OK. I’ve learned, over time, that my family tree has more than a few nuts in the branches (me included- I don’t really think we’re nuts-or even crazy, but I am trying to keep a heavy topic light, so nuts it is!). My husband’s family is the same way. In fact, I am sure there are many of you out there with family members who struggle in some way (diagnosed or not). Think of the family member who drives you crazy with some of their tendencies or fears (OCD or anxiety, anyone?)- or their moodiness. Do you have family who struggle with substance abuse? They are likely self-medicating. Anyway…so my kids are genetically screwed in some regards- not all, just some. OK. I can’t control the genetics, so that part is totally not my doing. Sometimes, when you go through a hormonal change (hello puberty and menopause), chemicals in your brain can get out of whack. For most people, those imbalances are manageable, though not entirely pleasant (I’m on my third teenager…I KNOW THINGS); for others, for some reason, they go entirely off kilter and need professional help to get everything back in balance. OK…I was feeling better about things down in my rabbit hole of research. Things were looking more and more like a bad hand, if you will- not something my husband or I did. Then our son told us, on one visit to see him in the looney bin (his words, not ours- he tends to have the same type of self-deprecating sense of humor that I do), that we were always making decisions for him and running his life- and he needed us to back off a little. Well…when your child is in the psych ward is when Mama Bear is on the prowl and advocating left and right, so this wasn’t a great time to tell me that, but he had a point. Then, a doctor/therapist/social worker/psychiatrist (I lost track in the days he was in the hospital, as we were constantly talking to someone in the hopes of better helping our son) asked us if we thought we were helicopter parents. I said that I was, for sure. I even might have said it somewhat proudly (after all, my kids are my babies and I only want what is best for them, so I am constantly trying to point them in the right directions, especially if I see them about to make a choice that they’ll regret). The professional told me that kids with helicopter parents tend to have a sense of worthlessness because they have never been allowed to make their own mistakes and suffer the consequences; they don’t trust themselves. I listened, then went home and researched. Sure enough, I screwed up my kid! He is the baby, so I babied him. He went to school at the school where I taught, so I went to bat for him over everything. I was busy raising three kids, so I didn’t take the time to teach him to do the same chores I taught the girls; it was easier and faster to do it myself. He got bullied; Mama Bear roared loud and proud. If someone was kidnapped 5 states over- even it if was 15 years ago, my kids weren’t allowed out by themselves. You get it, I was the poster child for helicopter parents. I’ve always been a perfectionist, so I perfected that…to the detriment of my kids. I know, I know…my family and friends have told me it is not my fault; it runs in the family, he has raging hormones, blah…blah…blah. I cannot control some things, that is true. I could control this, had I known. I was a helicopter parent because I wanted my kids to be happy, well-adjusted, and safe- and not on the side of some milk carton (showing my age here). Instead, my kid ended up in the psych ward. Learn from this, people!!
So, once I established how he got there, I needed to do two things. First, I needed to figure out how I could start turning the ship around and start giving my son more freedom and more independence while leading him (with the help of more professionals than I have close friends…I kid you not) back from the abyss. Second, I needed to figure out how to not keep kicking myself for landing him there in the first place. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right? Riiigghhhttt…..
1. We are getting there. After a few days, our son was discharged from the hospital, completely off the Zoloft. As it turns out, my father-in-law didn’t tolerate that, either- and for many of the same reasons; when I shared this with the hospital, he was weened off and that made a HUGE difference. I am researching ways to help him, carting him to appts, and educating myself about the medications that might be helpful. I am checking in, but not hovering or even directing. I am reading, reading, reading about teen depression (sad fact…1 in 8 teens suffers from depression in some form or another). We are monitoring his diet and making the necessary changes. We felt helpless when he was admitted to the hospital, but we feel empowered now- and so does he (I think…I hope).
2. This has been a little harder. I know that my parenting style is not only to blame for where we are. Genetics, teen hormones, prior bullying (5 years in elementary school, one in high school adds up according to the many specialists we’ve talked to), and the transition to high school all played a part. Did parenting? Yup. Is there anything we can do about the first 14 years? Nope. I could keep beating myself up (it was mostly me, not my husband), but even I know that won’t change a damn thing. Do I have my moments? Yup. My husband can vouch for that. But that isn’t going to help anyone, so I pull up my big girl panties and strut into the next appointment, knowing that I am doing all that I can for my kid, just as I always have- though with my helicopter wings clipped.
So, our son is doing better! I still have nights where I cannot sleep. Some of that is just plain worry. Other times, I will lay in bed with my mind going a million miles a minute. That is the anxiety. I almost laughed at myself last night, somewhere around 2am, because it’s like my anxiety has ADHD; I bounce from thought to thought to thought and can’t even be anxious about one freaking thing long enough to come up with possible solutions. For example, I cannot, for the life of me, grow in my relationship to God. I can’t. I pray, I read the bible, I go to church, I follow biblical websites. I even attended a 13 week small group. Still, there is radio silence. I don’t hear Him, I don’t feel Him, nada. So, then I circle back to what the Hell is wrong with me?!? Then my brain skips ahead to one of my kids and what I can do to help (if they ask…and only if I think they really need the help…I have clipped those wings- I promise). Then it skips ahead to true friendships and why I have very few. Then it skips ahead to money. Insurance, while very helpful, is still leaving us with lots of medical bills. Also, there are things our son needs that aren’t covered, so we are going to foot the bill. Money will be tight. Then our AC decided this would be a fine time to spring a leak and get some new, very expensive bling. If my poor husband doesn’t have a coronary within the next year, I’ll be shocked. Then I go back to how I can’t seem to shake the blues (no idea why- ha), but I think it is more than just all the stuff we are currently rolling through; I just can’t seem to find joy in things anymore- except for reading, and I am beginning to think that that might be an escape for me, something I’m using to ignore the world. Another thought that pings around in my brain at 2am is that I wish I could see myself as others do… or maybe I shouldn’t wish that. I really don’t know; that could be a scary thing. But then I would know. I value honestly above all else; I just want to know where I stand. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe how I view myself in the social arena is how others do- in which case, yeah….maybe you shouldn’t tell me! LOL! Those are the thoughts. They are what they are. Clearly, we have a lot on our plate and, clearly, I am still dealing with some stuff not related to all that we are currently going through, but I see growth! I see growth because I really am trying to find solutions, if things would just slow down long enough for me to grasp them.
One more thing that pings around in there (apparently, I have lots of room up there) is Why? Why me? Why my son? Why us? I know, there are a lot of people going through things- some things that are absolutely devastating. I read about a family that recently lost two young children in a house fire, with their third child burned over 70% of their body. I have a friend whose child is fighting a horrible battle with brain cancer. Here’s the thing, though. Mental illness can also be both devastating and deadly. My husband and I honestly thought we might lose our son. He had a plan and a weapon and was just waiting for a time. There are people who function perfectly well with it. I would say that I do, for the most part. I am good at my job and can departmentalize things. Do I wish I were happier? Yes. Do I think I will deal with this forever? Yes. Will it get better? I don’t know. This might be as good as it gets for me, and I can live with that. Will it get worse? Probably at times. Will my son get better? I sure hope so. Will he deal with this forever? Likely, in some form or other. Could this alphabet soup of mental illness be terminal? Sadly, Kate Spade showed us that it could. So, I do sometimes have my pity party, but then life, thankfully, goes on. I don’t know why God lets bad things happen to good people. I have to trust He has a plan and it is all part of the plan. Because I am a problem solver, I have to ask how my issues and my son’s issues could possibly be part of the plan. How is suffering a good part of the plan? Jesus suffered. God suffered when he sacrificed Jesus. He never promised no suffering; he promised comfort through the suffering. My comfort is this: He has a plan. This is part of the plan. Maybe He wants to me to share my/our story to take away the stigma of mental health. It is an illness, just like diabetes or cancer or the flu. That’s why I am sharing all this. I don’t necessarily want you all up in my business, but if I can help others through this, it is worth it. By sharing my son’s story, maybe I can shake some parents awake to what might be going on under their noses- and save a life. I will tell you, looking back, my husband and I see lots of red flags that we missed- and I SUFFER FROM THE SAME ILLNESSES, YET I MISSED THEM IN MY KID!!!!! Maybe that is not why we are going through all this. Maybe He wants to bring me closer to Him or He wants to show me something else. Guess what else I have learned this summer? Sometimes, parents are really just doing the best that they can given their circumstances. More times than I care to admit, I have vented to my husband about this parent or that parent and how if they would just look over their kids’ homework or read with them for five minutes or get them to school on time or whatever, the child would blah, blah, blah. You know what, they are likely doing the best they can. Those parents trying to come here from other countries are probably doing what they think is best for their kids. Everyone is dealing with things that we don’t know about- EVERYONE. This summer has caused me to reflect and see things in a different light. Maybe that is why He has brought us to our knees ( and we are on our knees right now, trust me). I don’t know. It’s ok, though. We will be persevere. We will trust the One who put us here. We will have bumps in the road. We will face things that test us in every way. We will have successes and failures. We will laugh and we will cry. When I want to ask why, I will try to think why not?
When I started this post, I said that my family and I were a hot mess. After writing (and clearing my head), I see that we are not. We are human, and we are doing the best we can to live this life we have been given as gracefully, humbly, and productively as possible. It is, for sure, a blessing- even if we are currently dancing in amongst the storm clouds. This too, shall pass.