Examining Fear

Nov. 4, 2018

Today I dug up an old post from six years ago. Looking back, I still identify with a lot of it, but there are a couple of key differences. First, I claimed that "I am speaking out for all other parents..." yet, at that time, I was still writing blog posts anonymously fearing the stigma. Eventually, I would find the courage to overcome my anonymity. And second, in this post, I am really fearful. I remember, six years ago my son was so unpredictable. He'd already shown that he was potentially dangerous. I lived in a constant state of fear. At the time, he had not yet been arrested, but his erratic behavior was increasing and his arrest was imminent. Of course, I did not know that then.

But looking back, perhaps the fear I expressed here is less about him being dangerous and more about the uncertainty I felt. Not knowing what might happen terrified me. Today, six years later, I cannot say that my son's situation has completely stabilized. But in a way, I think I have. My stability comes from gradually accepting the uncertainty of serious mental illness, not only his illness but mine. That fear came from not knowing. My evolving courage comes from accepting the fact I may never know.

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Sometime in early 2013


If my twenty-year-old son knew I was writing this, I'm not sure what he'd do. Bipolar disorder can be a dangerous thing when it goes untreated. I am a mother who is afraid of her son, but I am speaking out for all the other parents out there who fear their own children.

First, you should know something about me. I have bipolar II. I was diagnosed in 2011, a year after my world crumbled. A year after my older son walked out my door. With a right-for-now cocktail of medications plus a wonderful therapist, I function well day to day. My colleagues would never guess that I have bipolar II. They probably attribute my high spirited antics to being a creative teacher. They don't know there is electricity tingling underneath my skin when I'm hypomanic. And when the melancholy settles in, I rely on my finest acting skills at work and my peers are none the wiser. From the outside, I seem just fine. But on the inside, I struggle.

Thanks to a proper diagnosis and treatment I manage my life better now than I ever did before. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for my older son. Though his diagnosis came over two years ago, he has refused any treatment. Instead, he self-medicates with drugs and alcohol. He dropped out of college. Twice. And he's usually unemployed. He is trapped by his own apathy and sees no way out. And I am powerless to help him.

His story is my story and I want to share it with you. His story, my story is one of heartache and tragedy, broken promises and last chances. But it is also a story of hope. I am still hopeful that he will get help for himself. I am still hopeful that his life will turn around. I am still hopeful that he will become whole again. I am his mother and I will always love him. But because I fear him, for now, I will have to love him from a safe distance.

This post was originally used as a blogger biography on http://ibpf.org/blog/stillhopefulmom.

Two Year Anniversary of the Worst Day of My Life

March 28, 2015

It's been two years. Two years since I finally received that call I'd been expecting I'd get. Two years since my world was turned completely upside down. Two years since the wide open field of my son's future was squeezed into an ever-narrowing shaft of fading darkness.

It has been two years since my son was arrested and incarcerated.

So much has happened since then. Our entire family has endured so much heartache. But my son has definitely suffered the most.

He has been attacked on numerous occasions (the most recent one resulted in a cracked molar that wasn't repaired for 3 days). He has witnessed two deaths, one, a murder by stabbing with a homemade shank, and the other, his cell mate who died in his sleep apparently of natural causes. He has been sent to "the hole" (solitary confinement for defending himself in a fist fight). He has been put on suicide watch, sent to a padded room and left naked for 48 hours (a conscious choice he made due to fear he'd be jumped by his co-defendant who had been placed in my son's pod in error). And he has received sub-par medical care: his bipolar condition has been treated with the cheapest, least effective medication with the most side effects, and his wisdom teeth were all extracted without adequate pain medication. He has gained weight from the poor diet high in refined sugars and low in protein and lack of opportunity to exercise, and his skin has become pasty and gray from such little sun exposure.

And these things I mention because they are the things my son has told me about. He said he won't tell me all the "bad stuff" because he doesn't want me to worry.

But we can finally see the end of this nightmare now. We expect that he'll be released by the end of this calendar year though they haven't told him a specific date yet.

His little brother has been working on lining up a possible job for him when he gets out.

He's making plans to attend college classes as soon as he's released.

And, most importantly, he is finally being realistic about his illness. He has learned more about it, and he has accepted it as a reality. It is part of who he is. It does not define him, but it is something that mustn't be ignored. He knows firsthand what kind of tragedies denial can cause.

And here I am.

I feel like I've aged ten years not just two.

But I am still here.

And I'm hopeful. Still.

An Innocent Bystander

September 22, 2014

About two weeks ago during a busy work day, I discovered three missed calls from my ex-husband. Though he and I have been divorced for 13 years, we remain on good terms and have always tried to stay unified when it came to decisions about our two sons. So when I realized he had tried to reach me three times in quick succession, I thought something must be wrong.

My hunch was right. It turns out that he'd lost his job that day. He was devastated and rightly so. He'd worked there for more than 15 years and had an excellent reputation. While he certainly has had his share of personal issues, he'd always been on top when it came to his job, but not anymore. He was suddenly unemployed.

While this news doesn't exactly have a direct impact on my life because I'm not married to him anymore, it definitely affects our two sons, especially our younger son.

At 17 years old, our younger son is planning his future. He's a senior in high school making big decisions about the man he wants to become. He's got so much on his mind already: school work, his job, college applications, his friends...Then there's the fact that his older brother is in prison. And now this. His father is suddenly unemployed. Obviously, he's worried about his dad now just like he's been worrying about his older brother for the last year and half. My concern is that he's going to get so tangled up in their messes that he will lose sight of his own needs. And while I've referred him to his counselor at school, he isn't the type of kid who expresses his feelings too well. He plays his cards close to the vest.

As his mother, I just want him to escape all of this and be free. I want him to reach his full potential without the distractions of his brother and father holding him back. I fear that they will always be burdens he must bear. He's just an innocent bystander in all of this. Why must he suffer? He's already seen much too much in his 17 years. He has learned firsthand what mental illness looks like and how it rips open a family. And he's seen what happens to a man whose lifelong career vanishes in a heartbeat. He has done nothing to deserve such heartache.

I love both my sons. And I want what's best for both of them. My older son is in the midst of turning his life around, but it can't happen until he's released from prison. My younger son has his whole life ahead of him, and he's got such amazing potential. I just hope that the pain he's suffered watching his brother and father struggle will make him a stronger person. I wish there was more I could do to keep him safe and get him away from all of this sadness.

I suppose I need to remember that I am still hopeful mom. That's just what I have to be.