These are the questions I am faced with daily.
But How do I escape this, when the situation seems so overwhelming and hopeless.
But how can i get him help when he wont accept help.
But how do I live with myself if I do call and then again how do I not?
This life is no picnic it’s not the one i would have chosen or planned, yet the bible leads me to believe that it is in Gods will for me to go through this.
We are called to suffer. Look at Job. But in our suffering he shows us mercy and compassion. He holds us and comforts us in the excruciating pain we feel.
I am a war torn solder of this life with my son. His illness seeps deep into my soul and being and inflicts huge pain on my mind and emotions. And I’m sure my physical health as well.
The clock ticks slowly as the years pass. We made it to 25, will we make it to 26?
They say 34 is the average life expectancy of a FASD person. Will he make 34? Today I seriously don’t know.
If I had to describe my son to you I would use terms like Angry, Homicidal, Psychotic.
Once upon a time my description would have been very different. It would have been something like this…. Kind hearted, loving , helpful,
But how could he have changed so drastically? How do you become a monster?.
Apparently by many many unfortunate circumstances in the course of 25 years. All the injustices and the times he felt screwed over. He has enough rage for a man twice his age.
I sit in the side lines and watch this beautiful boy disintegrate into a horrible disfigured monster. Not unlike Beauty and the Beast really.
Unfortunately I dont know if he is still in there under all that awful horrific-ness.
I would love to believe somewhere deep inside there is still the young man i knew once.
His eyes that once sparkled are now cold and empty, His clean shaven face has morphed into a scraggly beard that is never kept. He dresses in holy clothes and bathes seldom. So if you didnt know him you would think he was a homeless man. And yet in one breath he says he cant understand why people think that or are afraid of him. And the next he will say that he doesn’t care what they think they can suck his ****.
He is so complex and yet also simple. And thats what makes it so incredibly difficult to deal with him.
I will sometimes confide in others about my life with my son and I am told either i am a very strong woman or I am stupid. I suppose i can see both sides of those statements. It is not easy to be the mother of a Mentally ill child. And i would venture to say its not better when they are adults but that its actually worse,
As adults you lose any rights you once had to try to help them. You are forced to stand on that sideline and watch the horror unfold helpless to stop it or even repair the damage after the fact.
So I am left with my beginning lines
But how? When………..