shhh
He is sleeping.
Arm curled around his dog.
Cat cuddled up on the other side.
Gentle slumber, and for once, a night without bad dreams. How do I know? when he sleeps, I am awake. I know when he has a bad dream. It is as much a part of him as air. If he has no bad dreams by this time of the night, he won’t have bad dreams at all. Not sure why it is.
Rest easy my son, tomorrow will be a good day.
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One of the things that I struggle with, indeed I struggle daily, is keeping up with my own health while caring for my family. Mostly caring for David, because much as it pains me, the other kids pretty much have things covered unless they need something. No longer am I the dad who gets things done. Now, I am the dad that takes care of David.
There it is in its simplest form.
I am the Dad who takes care of David.
I am also the Dad who readily admits when he is struggling with a health issue. See, I have Systemic Lupus among other things. I have to watch out for my health, if I don’t I won’t be here to look out for and take care of David. So then the question becomes, what happens after David leaves home? Can I get my health back?
Some days, I don’t know if I am coming or going. I don’t know how to handle what is happening with my health. So I muddle through. Over the last 16 years, I have often felt like I lost something of my children’s lives. In that, I never got to take them fishing, in fact, I am often wiped out by the smallest events of the day. Heading to the city really saps my energy, and I feel like a shithead because I resent all of those meetings that I attend because of David. I hate feeling like that, because for the most part, it isn’t his fault.
So I am trying to figure it out as I go along. How do I juggle the two? How do I juggle caring for David and caring for me? And then I feel bad for even wondering these things, because ultimately, I know the answer. He is my son, and his needs supersede mine. As a dad, that is the way I am wired. The needs of each of my children come before mine.
I get frustrated because we have to cover the same ground over and over again with him. I think that is what is most draining. To repeat the same things every day expecting a different result. Praying for a different result. Because, I do indeed pray.
I pray that the turmoil David lives with mentally that affects his behavior, eases. I pray that the brothers and sisters will see through the turmoil and understand that as difficult as his behaviors are for the family, he is still a part of our family. I pray that each of the people I have met through this adventure of caring for David feel a small bit of relief in their day. Because truly, we all deserve just a brief respite from the turmoil that comes from caring for a mentally ill person, whether that person is 2 or 40.
For each of us that cares for a person with mental illness or chronic behavioral problems, I pray. We all deserve it. Hugs. Peace and well, you know. You are important in the life of another and ultimately isn’t that its own reward? And you know what? If prayer isn’t for you, I sure do have some positive vibes I can send your way. Nothing wrong with that.
I can’t speak to what other caregivers are going through, I can only speak to my experiences, however, I imagine that for them it is much the same. Please take care of yourselves.
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I have received flack about my writing. From many sources.
Why?
Because I am causing my son a lifetime of pain and misery by writing about his situation.
Really?
Do you think that I have not struggled with what I put out here? I mean seriously. If the worst thing I wrote about was the fact that he had two bowls of cereal at breakfast without permission, you would think that I had a pretty great kid. Wouldn’t you? Heck , I wouldn’t feel the need to write about that, because I would have a pretty great kid.
In seriousness, There are days when I don’t write anything. Believe me when I say it isn’t because nothing happened that day. If I wrote about 25 percent of the things that he did in a given week, I would not be able to do anything else, because all of my time would be spent writing.
Writing is a form of therapy for me to deal with my son and the various things we deal with as a family. It helps me get through the last hour of nagging guilt ridden audible abuse that no one can ignore. The verbal abuse and name calling. I am supposed to ignore the things he does that bother me. Do you have any idea just how hard it is to ignore a little boy who doesn’t want to be ignored?
“Lock yourself in your bedroom.” I am told. (more than one person has said this to me.)
All this does is give him free reign to destroy the other people in our home.
You don’t have to read what I write. You don’t have to write about your own children as is your choice.
How often do you see me reference my son by his last name? How often do you see me reference the community in which we live?
Sure, with a little research you can track down just who we are, but whether I publicize our lives or not, how many people are gong to go to the effort?
I speak as a way to raise awareness, as well as to deal with my own frustrations at the system of care in the United States of America. A country where if someone does something wrong he/she is automatically determined to have a mental defect.
If everyone in this country who does something wrong has a mental defect, then why is mental health care and treatment not a higher priority?
If you don’t like reading about my son, don’t read this post. I make no profit off of his situation or that of the rest of the family. I don’t have subscriber fees. I don’t sell stuff, I stopped doing product reviews. It is simple really. Don’t like it? Don’t read it.
I wish that we could have a reality show centered around people with reactive attachment disorder or mentally ill people in their lives. Not to point fun at these people, but to show how much they struggle to make it to the end of each day, only to find that the next day is exactly the same. They do this 365 days a year with intermittent breaks provided by staff and support or school.
You know what? Even when he is with staff, or at school, I don’t turn off my brain and stop thinking about what he is doing. It would be disingenuous of me to say that I do.
Okay. I will step down off my soap box. thank you for reading. Now, who moved my cheese?
Regardless of what his diagnoses are, what he does, David is my son. There are times when the his Greatness lights up our world like a lighthouse lamp shining through the darkest clouds to help ships find the shore. Then there are days when I think that I will go mad if I have to listen to another derogatory beat box from his lips that trashes his family. Either way, he is my son. I love him, and tell him that everyday. No matter where he goes in this life he will always be family.
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