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10 Mistakes I Made with my Bi-Polar Son
My son has struggled with mood swings since he was 8 years old, and he was
diagnosed as bi-polar at 16. I wish I could say that I was the poster-mom for
bi-polar care giving, but I'd be lying through my teeth. I did manage to learn a
few things, from trial and error mostly, and I'd like to share them with you.
- Denial. Maybe you know this routine:
"It's not bi-polar, it's just ADHD."
"It's not bi-polar; it's the drugs and alcohol."
"It's not bi-polar; we've just been too permissive."
"It's not bi-polar; it's those pot-smoking loser friends he hangs out
with."
- I didn't listen to people who knew better. Who were they? His therapist,
his doctors, his brother, a few of his teachers and one or two rehab
counselors who didn't just write him off as "not having hit bottom
yet."
Oh, I heard what they said; I even agreed that yes, there was a definite
problem here. In the back of my mind, though, I clung to a stubborn hope
that it wasn't bi-polar disorder - it wasn't something I couldn't make go
away.
- Guilt. There were times when I was consumed with guilt. I could not
seem to let go of it. Here's the ticket to the guilt trip: "If only
I'd …" Once you use that ticket, believe me, you're in for a
long, bumpy ride with very ugly scenery. It's a trip to yesterday, and it
takes you farther and farther from the reality of today and the possibility
of tomorrow.
For me it was another form of denial: So many times, I wanted to be anywhere
other than the present; revisiting the past brought back the Mike I once
knew - but the cost of the ticket was beating myself up on a dead-end guilt
trip.
- I gave in to depression. I don't mean to imply that being depressed
during some incredibly stressful years is unnatural or even preventable.
When I say "gave in" I mean that slowly, I let the sadness creep
over me like a warm blanket until I was too tired to lift it off my body.
This led to:
- Isolating, because it was just too much trouble to go out. There was so
much to do just to maintain the household from crisis to crisis; when there
was a chance to rest I retreated into a book or TV, very much alone. I
stopped reaching out to friends and people who could help.
- Lack of exercise. If I couldn't get myself to go out, you can
imagine how enthusiastic I was about walking, riding my bike, hiking or
lifting weights - all of which I used to really enjoy!
- Not eating right. I'd pick up fast food because I was too exhausted
to cook or clean up after I'd cooked. Of course, this meant that the whole
family was not eating right, and that made me feel guilty, which made me
more depressed … get the picture?
- Acting out my anger. No apologies offered for the feeling -
my mistake was in stamping it down until it blew like a bottle rocket. I
tried so hard to shield Mike from my anger that I often spewed it over
innocent bystanders. Since I wasn't admitting what was really making me
angry -- MY SON IS DISAPPEARING BEFORE MY EYES AND I CAN'T HELP HIM! MY SON
IS DYING! -- these outbursts rarely made me feel better.
- Ambivalence. It's hard for me to commit to a plan of action unless
I know all the facts and feel that I understand them. Unfortunately, it took
me a long time to understand my son's condition and accept the importance of
hospitalization, medication and therapy. Too often, when Mike would take a
turn for the better, I'd waver from my plan, such as it was, and allow him
more latitude treatment than I now believe was good for him.
- Too much love; not enough tough. I can see now that I failed to set
enough limits for my son. I think he would have felt safer had I not excused
some of the really wild stuff. The fact is, I was so afraid I was going to
lose him - really lose him - that every small sign that he was cooperating
in his recovery made me take two steps back in my consistency.
All that said, it's not where I live today. My son, who will be 21 in a few
months, sees a doctor and a therapist; he works a 12-step program; he has a job
and is making plans to attend nursing school. He lives with his dad, but we see
each other 2 or 3 times a week and talk every day.
I believe that Mike is the bravest person I know, and I tell him that a lot.
I also believe that he's been given some amazing gifts that unfortunately came
with a price tag of unbelievable trials.
The progress he's made is due to his own hard work. I'm grateful that I've
managed to help at all, but that's mainly because he never gave up on himself. I
thought I taught that to him, but really it's the other way around - my son has
taught me that if you never give up, things get better.
10 Things I Did Right
- I admitted that I was powerless over my son's bi-polar disorder.
I'm talking here about a 12-step-program powerlessness. For me, it meant no
more denial. I accepted that Mike had bi-polar disorder and I had no power
to change that fact. Trying to make it go away was a waste of time and
energy.
Once I admitted that lack of power, however, I discovered many things I
could do to help him get healthy.
- I did everything I could to help Mike get his high school diploma.
In first grade, my son tried to drown himself in the sink after an episode
involving a girlfriend, a rival and a poorly aimed block. So, over the
years, I've developed a working knowledge of the rights of children with
disabilities. I listened to the teachers and counselors who wanted to help
and argued with the administrators who didn't. I'm certain that I am
classified by the State Board of Education as a major pain in the neck.
In the end, though, I simply refused to let the school administration sweep
him under the rug. When he was classified as learning disabled and put in
remedial classes, I found I could use that classification to get him more
testing and more help. When it was discovered that his IQ was in the 99.9
percentile, his classification still qualified him for extra help and
protection. When school administrators said they would no longer allow him
to attend school, I insisted on his rights as a disabled student, and
finally, they found him a tutor.
During his senior year, although he continued to self-medicate with alcohol
and pot and his rapid-cycling mood swings were unbelievably intense;
although he was in and out of rehabs and hospitals more times than I can
remember, he managed to meet with that tutor enough times to graduate from
high school.
- I faced my own fears, finally, and shared them with supportive friends.
My worst fear was that Mike would take his own life, and of course that fear
was the most difficult to share. It wasn't unfounded - he'd tried.
In response to my voicing this fear, someone in a 12-step program shared
with me one of AA's unofficial slogans: "Don't quit before the miracle
happens." It's comforted me from the day I heard it, and brought me
strength when it seemed as if only a miracle would save my son.
Here are some other things I learned because I spoke honestly to my friends:
It's okay to be afraid. It's okay to be angry. It's okay to be sad. The only
way to get over those feelings is to feel them.
You have to take care of you.
Yeah, sometimes people really don't understand.
- I found a therapist. This was essential for me, because I had so
much guilt and sadness to talk out and I was so confused by it. So much was
going on in my son's life, in mine and in my whole family's that didn't make
any sense to me. My therapist helped me out of the black hole of depression
and showed me how strong I could be.
- I cried when I needed to let out the pain; I meditated when I needed to
quiet my mind; and I laughed when horrible things struck me as funny.
And I still do.
- When I became overwhelmed by my son's needs, I asked for help from his
father. This was hard, because I was still angry that he'd left us.
However, I was also raising Mike's younger brother. Mike's schizophrenic
episodes and attempts to hurt himself were taking a terrible toll on Jack.
Because I now had to work full time out of my home, I couldn't always be
around to help when situations got hairy.
Much to my surprise, my ex agreed to have Mike come and live with him for
awhile. Even more surprising to me was that Mike began to get much better in
his new surroundings. His father, with a few years of lower stress levels
under his belt, had more energy to pour into unraveling the insurance
red-tape, arranging doctor's visits, helping him get to group therapy
sessions and monitoring his meds.
- I read everything I could about bi-polar disorder. Much to my
surprise, there's a lot out there. In fact, there's so much information that
it can get confusing to sort it all out. I read about medications, because
Mike's doctors were trying quite a few, and I wanted to know more than they
always had time to discuss in detail. I read what other people with bi-polar
said about their condition and what other caregivers said about their
experiences. It's empowering to find out as much as you can.
I realize, however, that all the reading in the world will not make me an
expert, and I don't pretend to be. I've learned some coping strategies; I
can discuss Mike's problems with him a lot more cogently; I can talk with a
doctor without turning into a ball of clay, and I can encourage Mike to
cooperate with a course of medication when I understand some of the
side-effects he describes.
- I listened to my son. There were times when Mike's manic delusions
took him places I really didn't want to go, but when he spoke about them I
tried to hear what he was saying and tell him what I thought.
Listening to Mike in a manic state was very much like viewing an
incomprehensible piece of modern art. The longer I studied it, though, the
more I could see that while the artist was interpreting life through a
different perspective than my own, inside the work there was a kernel of
reality that we could share.
- I tried to be honest and positive with my son. I can't tell you how
many times my gut reaction to my son's ideas about life could be summed up
in one sentence: "That's crazy!" Well, yeah, it was. Hello. And
yet, the hardest thing to hear was Mike telling me, "I'm crazy. I know
it; I'm crazy." Then, all I wanted to say was, "No you're
not!"
So it wasn't always appropriate to offer gut-wrenching honesty. However, I
believe that my son needs to take medication to even out his mood swings,
that he needs to share his thoughts with a therapist he trusts, and that
it's very important for him to stay away from pot, drugs and alcohol. These
were things I could always share from my heart. These were things that would
help him to get better.
- I always kept in my heart, and still do keep, a vision of my son as
healthy. I keep many pictures of Mike by my bed, the adorable child
snuggling up to his brother; the gangly pre-adolescent hanging out with
basketball buddies; the moody teenager; the handsome man.
During the bad times, I could look at one of these snapshots and remember
that as hateful and difficult as his disorder was, there was still that
loving gentle soul in the eye of the storm. During times of peace, these
captured moments remind me of how very much I've been blessed to have Mike
as a son.
About the Author
Sarah McLeod is a contributing writer for BipolarCentral.com.
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1-800-273-TALK (8255) |
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