I kept texting my middle son every day. I felt like I was falling apart and found it difficult to carry on.
Friday morning, I texted my middle son, yet again. I spent about 2 hours. I first sent bullet points of all of the symptoms of depression. I researched online so that it was exceedingly thorough.
I then wrote bullet points on traditional and self-help methods to feel less depressed and anxious. I wrote about 500 words.
I was hoping that he would see himself in the symptoms and understand why he was feeling the way that he was. I wanted him to stop kicking himself, see that it was not his fault, and that it takes time to overcome depression.
I also wrote how I stopped going to class in college because I was so sad about my schizophrenic sister. She had been kidnapped by a pimp. She was missing for several weeks. She had just started to live in an apartment. She got on the wrong bus, which took her downtown LA. A strange man told her that she is not allowed on the bus after dark. He must have observed that she was different and naive. She believed him and got off of the bus. He took her to a seedy motel for several weeks and forced her to turn tricks. Between 'Johns', she was locked in a closet. She was 21 and a virgin. Someone reported seeing her go into the hotel. The police finally found her. She still talked of that horrible man and asked if he was "still out there and could get her" until the day she died.
This is why I worry so much about my ill son. People who are schizophrenic are very gullible and are often preyed upon. My ill son, at times, was very child-like. He told me that our dog is a mammal and got excited seeing a firetruck. At other times, his giftedness showed through.
Sorry, I digressed. Back to my middle son. I called him my 'precious son' in my text.
That night I got a text late from him asking if he could spend the night.
He is a broken man. He hardly eats and sleeps a lot. He has had moments that he seemed more like himself. He walked to his friend's house in our tract last night.
He is very polite. He says that he doesn't want to eat and that "he doesn't have much of an appetite these days."
I do not know what his plans are or how long he will stay. I haven't even asked if he had started his antidepressants or if he is still taking them.
I am living in the moment. I have my son back home. He is safe, for now. I still ache for my ill son. I ache, not knowing if I will ever see him again. Every day my heart aches for him.
It is difficult seeing the profound sadness of my middle son. But, he is under my roof. I will do everything under my power to help him. Yes, I know, it is his battle. Hopefully, he will regain a purpose in life and forgive himself. He needs to overcome this depression and shore up his broken self esteem.
I am taking it slowly. I will wait until he wants to talk more. Then, I can suggest counseling or volunteer work helping others. He needs to get better before he can think clearly about things.
Yes, I have a best friend for the last 34 years, since I moved to this town. We both are mothers to 3 sons, the same ages. They went to school together. She lost her youngest at age 10 to Leukemia, after a 4 year battle.
He was my youngest son's best friend. They would play ninja all day long...they were ninja warriors. He would play quiet games and was very mindful when his best friend was weak after chemo or if his heart was racing. I did not have him go to the funeral or the cemetery for his burial. He went to the gathering at the house afterward.
I am into rings. When they were 9 or 10, they ordered matching sets of sterling rings; one emerald, one sapphire, and one ruby. To this day, he still wears the 3 rings around his neck on a chain in his friend's memory every single day. It has been over 15 years. He donates to Cancer research every month automatically.
When his friend passed, my friend told him that he could give her something to put in the casket. He started to carve a fighting stick with his Cub Scout knife. He wanted it to say, "To the best friend a person could ever have". It proved to be too difficult for him. He was only 10. But, he carved, "To my best friend". It is in the casket with him. He told me that he was going to 'fight with him again' when he gets to Heaven.
I tell my best friend what I am going through. At times, I feel very badly. She only had her youngest son for 10 years. He was in treatment and, at times, in pain during the last 4 years of his life.
My ill son lived 20 years before he started to show signs of schizophrenia. He is still alive. But, I probably will never see him again and I have witnessed, first-hand, the sheer torture that he goes through by his delusions and hallucinations.
But, he is alive. His bank account tells me this. With schizophrenia, the greatest concern is suicide. That is my constant concern.
My best friend now has a precious 2 year old granddaughter that was born with liver problems. At birth, she a had 50% cirrhosis of the liver. She will need a transplant in the future. She has had several surgeries. My best friend told me that she never thought that this would happen again. A young child's life being threatened by disease.
I saw her this week, before my son finally texted me. She listened and was caring, like she always is. She is a very supportive friend. After I had talked a lot and was done, she told me that her granddaughter is back in the hospital. She is being tested. She might be bleeding internally.
So, right now, I am keeping my problems to myself, except for you guys. Your texts are always helpful to me. I keep my personal problems to myself at work. But, I am feeling a bit less worried. The battle isn't over yet. I do not know if he will leave. I am taking it at his pace.
Thank you for being there for me...
Coffee would be great.
