Stigma is an Asshole

Oh boy do I have some stories I need to tell. Soon. Hopefully, I will have time soon.

Tonight I want to talk about stigma. Last week was Mental Illness Awareness Week. I didn't know about it though until mid-way through the week. Probably because I've been so busy the last two weeks dealing with my sons mental illness.

Is it considered irony, or just coincidence, that tonight I write about stigma, when two weeks ago I was afraid to post what was happening to us on Facebook because of the stigma?

Last week in the midst of Noah's mania and my worry that I wasn't doing enough to get him help, I knew I needed to blog. I gave it quite a bit of thought however. I decided it was okay to blog about it, but I wouldn't post it on Facebook. That way only my regular readers would see it.

I mean, you aren't really supposed to post things that aren't flowers and rainbows and unicorns or links to idiotic conservative sound bites on Facebook, right? I've received crap from family (extended) a few times about what I have shared about Noah. Because I keep it real and I guess that makes them uncomfortable.

So yes, I wasn't going to talk about his mania on Facebook. Even though that's not how I typically share our life.

I like to keep our life real. I'm not comfortable hiding the truth. Life is a balance of good and bad, so why wouldn't I share both parts?

But last week was more truth than I was sure it was socially acceptable to share.

Sure, if you are taking your kid to the ER for a broken arm or stitches, you can share away, and you'll get all kinds of comments offering prayer and healing thoughts, and concern. I mean you can relate to that right? What parent hasn't had to take their child to the ER at least once.

People don't really know what to say when you say you are calling the mental health crisis line or taking your child to the crazy people ER emergency psychiatrist. Most people can't relate to that. (I'm glad that's the case actually, I wouldn't wish this on any child or adult.)

I think I've discussed this before, and I'm not saying it again out of the same bitterness I once spoke of it (I've worked hard to move past that part of my life.),

When a child has cancer, or is born with life threatening physical defect or illness, friends and family tend to rally round. Offers of help come from all directions. Maybe someone organizes a fund raiser, or sets up a schedule to deliver meals, or help with child care. They do this because it is all too easy to imagine the same horrible thing happening to your own child. It's a visceral reaction. You can't help but put yourself in the shoes of that parent. And you give thanks to who or what you believe in, that it isn't your child.

But when mental illness strikes a family, it's uncomfortable. No one really knows what to say. Or you receive the offers of prayer and kind thoughts initially, but the expectation is that you won't bring it up again. It's too uncomfortable. Too messy. If it isn't happening to your child you can't relate. It scares you because you don't understand it. You don't want your children around it, even though you know it isn't contagious.

If only people could understand that mental illness is a disease of the brain in the same way cancer, diabetes, arthritis, and heart disease are diseases of the body. The only difference is that in many cases those diseases of the body can be cured, the diseases of the brain can be treated, but you don't necessarily cure bipolar disorder, depression, or anxiety. You hope you manage it.

Everything that is going on with Noah is in his brain. Not just the bipolar disorder.

So stigma.

Stigma isolates.
Stigma hides.
Stigma prevents some from getting care.
Stigma is an asshole.

So help remove the asshole.
Remove the stigma!

If your friend has a mental illness, be a shoulder for them. Give them a hug. Acknowledge their illness. Let them talk if they want to, don't belittle their illness. Offer them help in more concrete ways as well, help them catch up with laundry, or pick up their house, take them a meal. When you are fighting to control your own brain it doesn't leave much energy to do the normal day to day activities like house keeping. Take their kids for a couple hours so they can have some quiet time.

If you have a friend with a child with a mental illness do the same thing. But also consider how it is affecting their other children if they have them. Consider how exhausted that parent might be from fighting to get help for their child while parenting their child who very well could be quite difficult to raise. Take them a meal occasionally, or take the child out for a couple hours. (Noah would be thrilled to have someone take him out to shoot hoops or kick the soccer ball around. He holds it together better with other people, because he feels less safe to fall apart with them.) Or offer to babysit so the parents can go out. Too many marriages of parents with children of special needs fail. (Something like 85%. Rich and I aren't immune to the lousy stats either.)

When you have a child with an illness (physical or mental) it's a rough road. I don't need to tell anyone that. What makes it harder though is feeling like you have to hide one but not the other.

Stop the stigma. 

 

What do a stubbed toe, a glass of milk and a raincoat have in common?

Our first fight!

Anissa asked me about the worst fight I've ever had, and the best makeup.

Well, I'm not sure if this is my worst fight (those were probably with my parents when I was a teenager, or in my 30's, or maybe last month) but it was the first fight Rich and I had. And it was pretty memorable. Actually still makes me laugh.

We had our first fight a couple months after we were married. We were living in Rich's two bedroom condo and it was tight. The two of us, four cats and a Bouvier, all the stuff I'd brought with me from my house in Michigan and boxes of wedding presents. And just in case you haven't figured it out already, I'm a complete slob not the neatest person in the world.

So let me set the scene: Me sitting on the couch, probably eating dinner. We didn't have a dining room table (no room, see above) so we ate on the couch. (Now I just eat on the couch because I'm lazy.) And I had a glass of milk.

Rich walks by the couch and stubs his toe. Big time stubs his toe. And he yells.

(BTW, Rich never yells. OK, except for yesterday, but that's another story.)

I don't remember exactly what he said, but I'm sure it had something to do with all my fucking stuff and what a slob I was and on and on along that theme.

And it kind of freaked me out, and pissed me off. And remember that glass of milk? Yeah, I did, I threw it in his face. Then I hightailed it to the bedroom and locked the door.

He slept on the couch that night. I felt like shit in the bedroom.

The next day was a bit tense, but we muddled through. Rich made dinner. He asked me what I wanted to drink. I said milk.

I was once again sitting on the couch and watching TV. Rich handed me the glass of milk. I looked up. And he was wearing his raincoat!

He's pretty funny my man.

Serious post here

I love The Boy. I love him like any mother would. I love him because he is a part of me. I love him because he can be sweet and cute and funny and loving himself. I love him because he needs love, like every child needs love. I love him because he is mine.

That being said, I find myself resenting him at times. I resent what his "problems" and his behavior, have done to our lives. I feel like he is sucking the life out of my marriage and it scares me.

Rarely do AD and I have a chance to let down our guard with TB. Often we feel like we are walking around on eggshells. One wrong move, one wrong word, and more likely than not TB will blow. Zero to sixty in two seconds. Screaming, stomping, throwing, growling. And then, just as quickly, it can be over. But never a guess as to how long it will last.

I understand now why so often you hear of marriages of parents with special needs kids breaking up. It's not that the love is lost, its that there is no time for it. The couples intimacy gets pushed further down on the hierarchy of what is important, what they have time for. It is exhausting and if you do not have a good support system for your family it takes a tremendous toll.

Unfortunately for us we do not have much of a support system. My family is a 12 hour drive away. They visit a couple times a year and in the past have stayed with The Boy for a few days once a year so AD and I can go away. But, their last visit here did not go well with TB and we really felt like they could not get away fast enough. I doubt that they will be willing to take on The Boy and Baby Brother in the future. AD's family is local, but his mom is unable to help and his brother's family never offers. It doesn't help that AD won't tell his family about the issues we are dealing with with The Boy. They know he has "problems" but not to what extent. Granted they never ask, but still, I think that if AD would talk to them they might have more understanding of what we live with every day.

So, our only respite is when we pay for a baby sitter. We are very fortunate that we have a couple great women that sit for us that we trust completely, and TB enjoys being with. But at $15 an hour we can't afford to use them very often. The only break we really get is during the day when TB is at school. I'm lucky that I get two days off during the week and occasionally take BB to daycare one one of those days. That is the only time I'm able to get things done, or just take a break. Even if I keep BB home with me, my day is infinitely more relaxed and enjoyable than the days TB is with us.

I feel like the intimacy in my marriage is lost. So often we are on edge, and it spills over to being on edge with each other. The chaos in our house has my nerves so sensitized that if AD snaps about anything I take it personally. If he complains about how messy the house is I feel like it is a personal attack. AD has never been the kind of person that yells or gets angry easily. That seems to be changing lately. His patience is constantly stretched by TB.

Our house is a mess. It seems to mirror our life in general. I get frustrated that no one is helping me with it, so then I rebel, and stop. Or, both of us are just so tired after dealing with the boys that we never get to it.

We are both constantly exhausted. From being "on" all the time. From getting up during the night with BB to the early morning awakenings (this morning at 5:50am TB was banging on his door to get out). From the constant worry, wondering if we are doing the right things with him, fearing for his future.

The little time we do have together in the evenings is rarely spent together. I spend my evenings on the Internet, which is my stress relief, and AD spends it either on his computer or watching sports on TV. I just want time to myself and so does he.

I've tried to talk to AD about this but he closes up. I even asked him a couple weeks ago if he thought we should go get some couples therapy. His response was a resounding NO. I asked him if he thought everything was OK with us and he said "it could be worse." Right...it could be worse...we could be getting a divorce.

I don't know how to read him any more. He won't open up about his feelings. I never know if he is angry with me or with The Boy, or just tired and withdrawn. I find myself getting angry and resentful with him because he won't open up and I'm left to guess.

I don't doubt our love for each other, but the joy in our marriage seems to have left. It makes me incredibly sad. And scared. And resentful of the impact of TB's behavior on our marriage.

I understand why marriages break up now. I'd be lying if I said I never thought about leaving. Several times in the middle of one of TB's tantrums I've wished I could just take Baby Brother and go somewhere else. That life would be so much easier if it was just us. I WOULD NEVER DO THIS! I need to make that clear, but sometimes the thought is there.

I wonder what people will think as they read this. Especially since this is in part an "infertility blog." I know that many of my readers are dealing with IF, just like I did. I imagine in many ways I sound ungrateful. Do others read this and think that I don't deserve to be a mother? All I know is I'm sitting here writing this trying to be incredibly honest. I know I'm putting myself out there but one of the reasons I moved my blog, to regain my anonymity, was so I could write like this. Hoping that by writing out how I'm feeling I might better understand it.

See why I need therapy?