“Your son is highly intelligent,” The doctor said with a smile, “His IQ test came back showing an above average intelligence for a 10 year-old, but there is a problem.”
‘I know this. The problem is why we’re here’ I thought to myself. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong with my son.” I requested.
“Your son has an emotional disorder called Bipolar disorder. It’s a mental disorder that causes severe mood swings, depression, and violent outbursts in some cases. To control these outbursts and mood changes, he’ll have to be on medication for the rest of his life, otherwise, he could be a danger to himself or others.” he replied.
Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I listened to my child’s fate. They say that being a mother is the toughest job there is. When I signed up for motherhood, I didn’t expect it to be the toughest job I’d ever faced.
Only about 7% of the children seen at psychiatric facilities fit the bipolar diagnosis according to research standards (The Child & Adolescent Bipolar Foundation); so for me to have a child with this disorder seemed incredible. How could my child—my beautiful, sunny, energetic boy have this awful “disease”? Genetics often plays a role in a bipolar diagnosis, but just as often, it just happens, there is no explanation. In our family, the genetics connection was easily explained—my grandmother had schizophrenia (and we think my mother does as well). The second reason, was harder to accept—no explanation? No reason? How could that be?
Learning that my son had bipolar disorder made the shock drain the color from my face and hope seemed the furthest attainable emotion. I’ve since learned that hope is possible, and that in dealing with Bipolar disorder, you have to know when it’s time to let others help you deal with it, and sometimes, even let go completely.
Michael started showing signs of his disorder at the age of six. I am told that children cannot be diagnosed that young but I knew something wasn’t right, even back then. When he was kicked out of pre-school for biting one of his classmates, I knew. When he was asked not to come back to pre-kindergarten because he ‘scared the teacher’, I knew. When he was suspended from kindergarten for yelling at and being disgracefully disrespectful to his teacher, I knew. My ex-husband and I divorced because he believed that Michael was just a rambunctious normal little boy, but I knew. I knew because mothers always know when something is wrong with their children. When he turned eight, I finally had enough, something was wrong and I wanted help.
I took Michael to the doctor first. A kindly, older man who gently suggested that I was reading too much into Michael’s behavior, told me he probably had Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. AD/HD caused my son to get into fights, caused bouts of depression, made him lock a cat in the refrigerator and bring home things he claimed were “gifts” we would later find out he’d stolen from classmates? That was interesting to learn. He suggested Ritalin to control the AD/HD and suggested that it would curb these impulses help control Michael’s emotions, and supposedly improve his schoolwork as well. We’d see.
The medicine seemed to help do all these things, for about a month. Then Michael’s behavior returned to the way it was before meds and Michael started coming home from school with black eyes and unexplained “gifts” (stolen). We received phone calls from school about fights and suspensions, he pulled multiple stints in alternative school, he faced shoplifting charges, and we found weapons while searching his room. I dragged Michael back to the doctor and tolerated him telling me Michael was “a growing boy; going through a stage. Give the medicine a chance to work.” For the next two years I gave the medicine a chance to work. At ten years of age, I decided the medication definitely wasn’t working, and took Michael to a psychiatrist.
Tests were run: I.Q. tests, Rorschach tests, a 200-question survey, blood tests, and a session with the psychiatrist, which seemed endless. Finally, we had our diagnosis, “Bipolar disorder type II with rule out schizophrenia”. To our family, it meant heartache, tears, and innocence lost. For two more years, we lived with weekly psychiatrist and psychologist visits, medication changes and adjustments—it’s hard to get the correct medication at the correct dosage the first time—and family therapy sessions. Michael, my daughter Elizabeth and I, along with my new husband Nick, endured all of these things trying to get some sense of normality back to our family.
Normality escaped our grasp. For those two years, we lived through hell. The fights, threats, mood swings, violence, depression all increased even while on medication. The last straw was when my son set fire to his bedroom carpet with a lamp and watched it burn, not making any move to put the fire out. Knowing how much trouble she’d get in if she didn’t let us know what was going on, my daughter, Elizabeth started to tell us, but Michael, my charming loving, wonderful son, held a knife to her throat and threatened to kill her. I never actually thought he would hurt one of us, but now I knew I needed to find some place to shelter my child so that he could be safe, and so that the rest of us could be safe as well.
Making the phone call to the Mental Health people at the insurance company, riding to the hospital, checking in, the doctors there telling me that they were going to put my son into psychiatric observation for 72-hours, having to leave a twelve and a half-year-old boy in tears, wailing for his mommy, all these things are a blur. Thinking back now, it’s amazing that I got through it all without my heart or mind shattering into a million pieces.
We took Michael to a residential treatment facility outside Austin, Texas on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Even as anxious as I felt, I knew that I was taking a positive step in getting my son the help he needed to get his life back on track. Though he stared sullenly out the window without speaking to any of us for the entire five-hour trip, I like to think that he knew it too.
While at the treatment facility, Michael would have his medication monitored closely to see if it was working, be receiving regular therapy sessions, going to school every day, seeing a psychiatrist, be able to interact with other children with diagnoses similar to his, and be able to see how they handle their issues. Unfortunately, after nine months in this facility, Michael was asked to leave for his violent outbursts towards other students and staff. It was time to try other options.
Waco Center for Youth was next. Also a residential treatment facility, located in Waco, TX, WCY is a state run facility that “bases its treatment philosophy on the belief that both behavior change and an understanding of self and others (http://www.dshs.state.tx.u
My parents were willing to allow Michael to live with them on a temporary basis. We filled out all the necessary paperwork, allowing my parents to retain temporary custody of Michael for one year; he was 14.
He put my parents through physical and mental anguish. He started sneaking out of the house, smoking cigarettes, marijuana, having sex, getting in brawls with the kids at school, and shoplifting from malls and grocery stores. He was disrespectful to adults, no matter who they were, he would yell and scream at my mother (who would yell and scream back making matters worse) and at one point, my mother and Michael actually got into a physical altercation. All of these things happened even though my parents gave made Michael take his medication daily and issued discipline in the same manner their parents issued it to them. This was too much for my sixty-something year old parents to handle. We started considering alternatives.
Conducting research on the Internet, I found lifelinesoptions.com, a website devoted to helping parents find boarding schools for troubled teens. This service allows parents to find safe places for their children and matches schools to the particular problems that parents and teens are facing. They helped us locate Red River Academy in Lecompte, Louisiana just 12 miles outside of Alexandria. On September 9, 2007, my son became a student at Red River.
For the first few months, it seemed like a dream come true. RRA is a wonderful facility, which not only helps children but parents as well. Parents must attend the same types of seminars that their children do in order to better understand the processes their students go through. I attended these seminars and learned more about myself than I thought I would and in the process, learned more about my son.
In addition to seminars, you receive weekly support from other parents whose children are in schools (RRA or others) and phone calls from your child’s “Family Representative” (the person who interacts with your child on a daily basis and is in charge of group sessions) as well as updates on their school, mental and physical progress. All in all, it’s a great program and I would recommend it to others who are seeking help for their troubled teens. For my son, however, it wasn’t meant to be. His patterns of behavior continued and he was once again asked to leave.
Making the phone call to the Mental Health people at the insurance company, riding to the hospital, checking in, the doctors there telling me that they were going to put my son into psychiatric observation for 72-hours, having to leave a twelve and a half-year-old boy in tears, wailing for his mommy, all these things are a blur. Thinking back now, it’s amazing that I got through it all without my heart or mind shattering into a million pieces.
We took Michael to a residential treatment facility outside Austin, Texas on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Even as anxious as I felt, I knew that I was taking a positive step in getting my son the help he needed to get his life back on track. Though he stared sullenly out the window without speaking to any of us for the entire five-hour trip, I like to think that he knew it too.
While at the treatment facility, Michael would have his medication monitored closely to see if it was working, be receiving regular therapy sessions, going to school every day, seeing a psychiatrist, be able to interact with other children with diagnoses similar to his, and be able to see how they handle their issues. Unfortunately, after nine months in this facility, Michael was asked to leave for his violent outbursts towards other students and staff. It was time to try other options.
Waco Center for Youth was next. Also a residential treatment facility, located in Waco, TX, WCY is a state run facility that “bases its treatment philosophy on the belief that both behavior change and an understanding of self and others (http://www.dshs.state.tx.u
My parents were willing to allow Michael to live with them on a temporary basis. We filled out all the necessary paperwork, allowing my parents to retain temporary custody of Michael for one year; he was 14.
He put my parents through physical and mental anguish. He started sneaking out of the house, smoking cigarettes, marijuana, having sex, getting in brawls with the kids at school, and shoplifting from malls and grocery stores. He was disrespectful to adults, no matter who they were, he would yell and scream at my mother (who would yell and scream back making matters worse) and at one point, my mother and Michael actually got into a physical altercation. All of these things happened even though my parents gave made Michael take his medication daily and issued discipline in the same manner their parents issued it to them. This was too much for my sixty-something year old parents to handle. We started considering alternatives.
Conducting research on the Internet, I found lifelinesoptions.com, a website devoted to helping parents find boarding schools for troubled teens. This service allows parents to find safe places for their children and matches schools to the particular problems that parents and teens are facing. They helped us locate Red River Academy in Lecompte, Louisiana just 12 miles outside of Alexandria. On September 9, 2007, my son became a student at Red River.
For the first few months, it seemed like a dream come true. RRA is a wonderful facility, which not only helps children but parents as well. Parents must attend the same types of seminars that their children do in order to better understand the processes their students go through. I attended these seminars and learned more about myself than I thought I would and in the process, learned more about my son.
In addition to seminars, you receive weekly support from other parents whose children are in schools (RRA or others) and phone calls from your child’s “Family Representative” (the person who interacts with your child on a daily basis and is in charge of group sessions) as well as updates on their school, mental and physical progress. All in all, it’s a great program and I would recommend it to others who are seeking help for their troubled teens. For my son, however, it wasn’t meant to be. His patterns of behavior continued and he was once again asked to leave.
There was only one last option, his father, who hadn’t seen Michael since he was 9 years old. Fortunately, in the course of the year that Michael was in RRA, his father and I had built a relationship that was more cordial and almost friendly than it had ever been when we were married. Labor Day weekend of 2008, I drove to Louisiana, picked Michael up from RRA, three days later he was on a plane to Oregon.
Within two months, he was in jail for much the same type of behavior he exhibited at my parents only this time; he’d attempted assault on his own father with a hunting knife he had stolen from one of his friends. His father didn’t want to press charges, but the police in Oregon do not allow violent acts to go unpunished, and because it wasn’t his first offense he was facing serious charges. Attempts to contact his public defender did no good because my calls were unreturned. The law didn’t care that my son had a mental disorder; all they cared about was putting my little boy behind bars. Now he’ll be in jail until he’s at least 23 years old.
Though my husband, my ex-husband, parents and I all tried our best, using all the tricks, techniques, and discipline we knew, Michael has not grown up to be a successful, happy, healthy human being. Elizabeth, my 16 year old daughter, is a wonderful young woman who is a member of her high school yearbook staff, earns a 3.0 average in school, works part-time in her step-dad’s office and doesn’t commit those usually teenage crimes that others do, just the opposite of my son. Now 17 years old, Michael is a resident of the Oregon Youth Authority due to some bad decisions he has made as a result of his disorder. Many success stories have been told about living with bipolar disorder; but there are just as many stories of heartache and pain like mine, where therapy, medication and treatment are unsuccessful and the victims are left floundering.
So how did I get through this experience? Some days I’m not sure. Thinking back now, it’s amazing that I got through it without my heart or mind shattering into a million pieces. I think the most important thing I had to remember was I didn’t have to go through it alone. So here’s some advice to other parents who may be wondering, how can I get through this?
• Stop being ashamed and ask for help—you did nothing wrong!
The worst thing you can do is to not seek help when you need it. This disorder is not your fault; it’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that you have no control over, and there’s no shame in admitting that. Find support services, short-term treatment centers, or long-term facilities if necessary. If you need the help, ask for it.
• Take advantage of services that are offered through your school, community or church.
At the boarding school my son went to, seminars were mandatory for parents to attend. This was the best thing that I’ve ever done. I learned about myself, and my child and through my self-discovery, I became stronger as a human being. Take advantage of whatever services you can. Seek out support groups specifically for bipolar disorder. You’ll be amazed at the amount of resources there are. The Internet is also a great resource for support groups or help in finding treatment centers.
• Seek professional help.
There is nothing wrong with going to a therapist nowadays. Finding a good therapist is the first step; the second, trusting them with your deepest darkest family secrets. A therapist offers you an unbiased opinion and helps you gain insight and a new perspective.
• Ask for the support of your friends and family.
Family and friends are the best way to keep your sanity. Helping you by giving you an outlet to vent your successes and frustrations, they make a great sounding board. After all that’s what they’re there for. If you can’t turn to your family and friends, whom can you turn to?
At the end of the day, you have to let your child know that you love them, you’re there for them, but you won’t condone or enable their behavior any longer. Learning when it’s time to let go is the toughest thing for any parent, but sometimes you have to just do it.
Within two months, he was in jail for much the same type of behavior he exhibited at my parents only this time; he’d attempted assault on his own father with a hunting knife he had stolen from one of his friends. His father didn’t want to press charges, but the police in Oregon do not allow violent acts to go unpunished, and because it wasn’t his first offense he was facing serious charges. Attempts to contact his public defender did no good because my calls were unreturned. The law didn’t care that my son had a mental disorder; all they cared about was putting my little boy behind bars. Now he’ll be in jail until he’s at least 23 years old.
Though my husband, my ex-husband, parents and I all tried our best, using all the tricks, techniques, and discipline we knew, Michael has not grown up to be a successful, happy, healthy human being. Elizabeth, my 16 year old daughter, is a wonderful young woman who is a member of her high school yearbook staff, earns a 3.0 average in school, works part-time in her step-dad’s office and doesn’t commit those usually teenage crimes that others do, just the opposite of my son. Now 17 years old, Michael is a resident of the Oregon Youth Authority due to some bad decisions he has made as a result of his disorder. Many success stories have been told about living with bipolar disorder; but there are just as many stories of heartache and pain like mine, where therapy, medication and treatment are unsuccessful and the victims are left floundering.
So how did I get through this experience? Some days I’m not sure. Thinking back now, it’s amazing that I got through it without my heart or mind shattering into a million pieces. I think the most important thing I had to remember was I didn’t have to go through it alone. So here’s some advice to other parents who may be wondering, how can I get through this?
• Stop being ashamed and ask for help—you did nothing wrong!
The worst thing you can do is to not seek help when you need it. This disorder is not your fault; it’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that you have no control over, and there’s no shame in admitting that. Find support services, short-term treatment centers, or long-term facilities if necessary. If you need the help, ask for it.
• Take advantage of services that are offered through your school, community or church.
At the boarding school my son went to, seminars were mandatory for parents to attend. This was the best thing that I’ve ever done. I learned about myself, and my child and through my self-discovery, I became stronger as a human being. Take advantage of whatever services you can. Seek out support groups specifically for bipolar disorder. You’ll be amazed at the amount of resources there are. The Internet is also a great resource for support groups or help in finding treatment centers.
• Seek professional help.
There is nothing wrong with going to a therapist nowadays. Finding a good therapist is the first step; the second, trusting them with your deepest darkest family secrets. A therapist offers you an unbiased opinion and helps you gain insight and a new perspective.
• Ask for the support of your friends and family.
Family and friends are the best way to keep your sanity. Helping you by giving you an outlet to vent your successes and frustrations, they make a great sounding board. After all that’s what they’re there for. If you can’t turn to your family and friends, whom can you turn to?
At the end of the day, you have to let your child know that you love them, you’re there for them, but you won’t condone or enable their behavior any longer. Learning when it’s time to let go is the toughest thing for any parent, but sometimes you have to just do it.
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