My son has been living with chronic pain. He’s been battling a horrendous beast.
When he was in 2nd grade, the doctor told us that, at some point, medication WILL be necessary.
The last 8 years, I’ve let him deal with this pain in his own way, allowing him to slap away my helping hand. There is, after all, only so much a mother can do.
These last 8 years, I’ve watched him struggle with this pain, this beast. There have been days where he has been able to force it away briefly but, lately and more often than not, the beast, so strong, is winning.
That beast, the one I’ve had to let my son struggle with…is depression.
Yesterday, it came to a head. He was so miserable and sad. I ached for him. I wanted to hug him and transfer this horrible beast onto me. Let ME deal with it. I’M the MOM. Leave him alone!
This time though, he came to me. My son lead his beast to me and asked me to help him so that he’d be able to lock it in a cage.
He told me that he doesn’t remember a time where he ever felt any true emotion other than sadness. The other ones, he learned to fake. He knows how to pretend to be happy but his incredibly beautiful smile never really reaches his eyes. Any positive emotion that many of us take for granted, he doesn’t. Because they rarely touch him.
It was something the rest of us already knew. We were just waiting for him to come to us, hoping that it wouldn’t be already too late.
I’m so thankful that my son was brave enough and strong enough to admit, through his intense stubborn side, that he is depressed and needs me to help him. So many children never come forward and where they end up is somewhere I don’t want to think about. Especially when it comes to children.
I don’t know what chemical depression feels like. But I know what it looks like. I’ve watched it grow for 15 years. I’ve opened its bedroom door in the middle of the night, held my breath, and made sure it was still breathing. I’ve monitored how long it goes into the bathroom, or how long its shower is only to feel relief when he reemerges in one piece.
For so many years he has refused any help. Constantly swatting away ANY hand that wants to help. Trying to find blame in other people instead of really looking to the real root of the problem.
Until last night.
The depression was too much for him. He told me that he kept waiting for it to pass, to subside, to release its grip. It was too tight and it hurt.
His pain was all over him. I saw it. I watched it.
I promised him that he was done dealing with this himself. I wouldn’t allow it anymore.
He is finally allowing me to take on that beast. Mommy style.
I called the doctor this morning.
My son WILL be going on meds, just as was predicted by our psychologist 8 years ago.
Beast be warned, my son will be armed and dangerous. A war has just been waged.
And I’ll make damn sure that my son comes out the victor.