Mental illness is not a joke!!
With mere hours to go, I am anxiously awaiting to see if I’ve finally found the right doctor for my son. Not one who wants to put him on medication, turning him into a zombie, but one who will teach him how to cope with anxiety. I’ve been down that road of being a lab rat to doctor’s and will not allow the same to happen to him. My son suffers from severe anxiety and depression. God help the first doctor to recommend any heavy duty meds, as I’ve already made it quite clear. If we change his surroundings, encourage his positive behaviors and boost his self esteem, I believe he’ll be just fine. I just hope that this is the one. He came highly recommended and squeezed us in last minute. He’ll meet with me and Bill tonight and Ryan next week. I’m not looking for a diagnosis, but rather someone Ryan feels comfortable talking to. His current social worker seems to be doing the job, however, she isn’t a doctor. This man is a child psychiatrist, specializing in spectrum disorders. Does my son fall into the spectrum category? I guess we’ll have to wait and see. I won’t love him any less. And if he turns out to be the one, he’s quite a hike from our weekly mental health visits. But, if you haven’t noticed, there are no lengths I won’t go to for my son. Looking back over the last year, I see a significant improvement in him. His self confidence is much higher than it once was, and he has little to no problem talking about how he feels or why he feels the way he does. It’s like a little flower opening up. He’s opening up and I see that as a huge step forward. Now Bill is on his way home, where we will together, go visit this doctor and pray that he’s the one. The one who can help us help my son. Bill knows I’m a wreck and he has quite a bond with Ryan. I might be biased because I’m the mom, where Bill can tell the doctor like he sees it. See? You do good and good things happen. Oh Bill… I love you so much, and hate to think of our lives without you in it. When Ryan found out Bill was getting out early to go with me, he hugged me and cried. That speaks volumes.
Mental illness is not a joking matter. I hope all of you sending me the hate mail are all proud of yourselves. For every name you have called me, you have called Ryan. It’s okay. We’ve got broad shoulders; we can handle it, and rest assured, we’ll pray for you all tonight.
~Kate…one hopeful, optimistic, Kate.