Schadenfreude

A mom in a support group I belong to posted recently asking for help to try and figure out why her son might be experiencing depression and listlessness after a long period of stability.  She was perplexed because, after spending time in a residential program over a year ago, he'd done well in school, graduated, spent time overseas teaching children to read and write in a Third World country, and is currently working on college applications.  Several group members offered ideas and asked questions; but I couldn't, because I was angry.  I was jealous.

I wish those were the problems that Tim had, but there was no way I could say anything because, in the back of my throat waited a, "ha!" - the sort of sound Ally Sheedy's character made in The Breakfast Club when the kids were all talking about the problems they had at home.



And like that character, while I can sympathize with my peers, sometimes, I wish I had their problems. I wish Tim could graduate high school.  Hell - I wish he could make change for bills bigger than a dollar.  I wish he didn't struggle so hard to read books with chapters.  I wish he could go to the grocery store on his own, let alone another country.

On the flip side, Tim knows what he wants to do when he grows up - he wants to work with shelter dogs, the ones people give away as hopeless, too much trouble, or lost causes.  He knows what makes him happy, and what makes him anxious or depressed.  And he knows who he can talk to when he's feeling that way.  And that is a gift.

An Interview With Tim

Why don't you introduce yourself?
Hi, my name's Tim. I'm 17 years old. I have voice issues in my head. Schizoaffective. I can't pronounce that word.

What do you mean, "voice issues?" 
Like, voices in my head.

What do they say to you?
To beat people up. Run away.

Do they ever say anything  nice?
No.

Can you hear them now?
No.

Why not?
They're gone right now.

Why do you think that is?
My meds are working.

What meds do you take? 
I dunno.  Clozapine.

What's not so good about your meds?
They make me tired. Blood draws suck. I have one once a month.

How many voices do you hear?
Two.

How are they different? 
They say different things. I don't want to say what.

How do you like your school? 
Good.  We have basketball courts. I like sports.

Do you have a job? 
Yes. I put stuff together.  I put stuff in boxes and deliver them to different, like, places.

Do you go to school?
Yep. I study math, money, reading, some science. We're studying about Cindy Bentley.

Who's that?
She did a lot of sports a long time ago. She has the same problems I do. But she still played sports professionally. (mom's note: Tim classifies as developmentally disabled due to the IQ he's lost due to psychosis)

What do you want to be when you grow up?
I wanna help pets out. I want to take care of them.  If people don't take care of them, I will help them.

Like a shelter? 
Yeah.

What else? 
I want to have dogs.  I wanna have many pets. Four.

We have four now. :-)
Yeah.

You want four of your own? 
Yeah.

What kind?
I don't know. It doesn't matter.

Do you feel different than other kids? 
Yeah. I have a friend who has a car. I don't drive. He can drive. Another flies planes. He's really lucky.

What else do you want people to know about you? 
I'm good at sports. My voices make me different, but not dangerous. I'll have to take meds forever.  I don't like taking meds, but they help me.

Anything else you want to say?
No. Merry Christmas, everybody. If you have any questions, send them to my mom and I will try and answer them.

Hero

I'm floored, honored and proud!

Tim was selected by ABC News as one of their Eleven Heroes of 2011 for his fundraising work for NAMI.

I am proud of how far he's come and his committment to help other teens with mental illnesses.  And a big thanks to ABC News for helping raise awareness and fight stigma!

Here's a link to all the heroes on ABC News: http://abcnews.go.com/US/slideshow/11-heroes-2011-15151772

Pitiful?

I’ve heard and read a lot of accounts lately from parents and caregivers about other adults either giving unsolicited parenting advice or making crass comments about special needs kids when they are having a difficult time in public. I’ve got to be honest – this is one of the biggest reasons I built a 'moat' around my family when we first started this journey, and it makes me downright angry when I hear a story from another parent having to put up with this on top of trying to stop an active meltdown in the frozen food aisle.
I want to share some of the stories with you. I swear I am not exaggerating:

• A father of a non-verbal, autistic three-year-old, at the grocery store, was told by a stranger to, “shut your brat up and give him the damn crackers already,” when the father was working to get his son to use the sign he knows for crackers, and the child let a near silent tear of frustration roll down his cheek.
• A mother of a toddler with Down syndrome was told loudly to, “keep her brat quiet,” when he was excited at seeing a toy he liked in a grocery store.
• A mother of an elementary school-aged child was admonished by passersby in a department store for “letting her brat get away with murder,” when her child had a meltdown – after she’d managed to get the child into a dressing room to isolate him to let him calm down.

Read the rest at The Balanced Mind Foundation.

Growing In To It

Two years, three months, and 11 days ago, we sent our son away.

We didn’t want to, and we did. It had been 11 years since Tim’s first diagnosis. Over those years there were 12 hospitalizations, 27 different med combinations, seven therapeutic day schools, one suicide attempt, six broken doors, nine different doctors, and a partridge in a pear tree. We couldn’t get Tim stable at home, and the mental health of everyone else in the house was deteriorating. We couldn’t take anymore, but I didn’t know how I’d live without him. The glimpses of Stable Tim were priceless treasures of goofy humor, deep affection, and boundless compassion. But those glimpses had become so few and far between that I feared that if we didn’t take this drastic step, I might never see them again. He had just turned 15 years old.

Read the rest at Support for Special Needs.

Moving In To The Village

In August 1996, then First Lady Hillary Clinton addressed the Democratic National Convention in Chicago. It was the now famous, “It Takes a Village” speech. In it, she details how, while parents are a child’s first and primary teachers and role models, it takes everyone in the community to raise a healthy, happy child. I was a young mother at the time, with a five-year-old about to start kindergarten, and Tim, just turned two (in hindsight, starting to show symptoms, but still a pudgy, curly-headed bundle of whimsy and energy). I saw the speech on television and, after digesting it, I disregarded it. A village? Pfft. We didn’t need a village.


Tom and I were two college educated, capable adults, perfectly equipped to raise our family on our own with occasional input from our parents. I wasn’t the single mother, working two shifts, that Mrs. Clinton referenced. Tom wasn’t a young man raised without a father. We lived in a good neighborhood with good schools. I was convinced Mrs. Clinton was wrong; about us, anyway. We didn’t need a village. Fifteen years later, I have a completely different perspective.


Read the rest at The Balanced Mind Foundation.