When There Is No Normal
“Just had a visit from the police.” I read those words on my son’s Facebook page. He is a freshman in college, living in a dorm, and you can probably guess the cause. Drugs or alcohol? No, that would be simple. That would be normal. And rarely are things simple or normal when your son has schizophrenia.
The first signs of illness were detected by teachers when Aaron* was a sophomore in high school. His grades went down and teachers noticed odd behaviors. They talked with the school counselor and the pieces started to fall into place. Teachers were shocked to learn that his story about emigrating from Russia was completely false.
It took weeks to find a child psychiatrist to see us, and I remember sitting in the office listening to him tell the doctor in great detail about visiting “the gods.” He had been experiencing visual and auditory hallucinations. His treatment started that afternoon.
I was devastated by the news. Every hope and dream I had for my son evaporated. I scoured the internet and learned everything I could about schizophrenia. Nearly 50% of people with schizophrenia have a substance abuse problem. Less than a third live independently as adults. The risk of suicide is almost 10 times higher than in the general population. Worst case scenarios played out in my head. Who would Aaron live with after I died. Which of his siblings would take on that responsibility?
From there I went to an even darker place. Was I the cause of his illness? Only a few months earlier I had left his mother. Was this the trigger? The guilt was crippling, and I had to constantly remind myself that the symptoms started months before the separation. I quickly realized that I had to keep this guilt under control or I wouldn’t be able to function for myself.
Aaron was in complete denial. It was pretty unrealistic to expect a sixteen year old who was struggling with hallucinations and delusions to fully understand that he was sick. Fortunately the medicine worked very quickly, and soon he felt his ability to concentrate improving. Even so, taking his medicine every day was a struggle. We had the same argument, day in and day out — “I don’t need the medicine.” We would talk, then I would cajole, then I would yell, and eventually the medicine went down. I knew that staying on his meds was crucial and nothing was going to stop me from protecting my son. But I was not his only parent.
On weekends Aaron stayed at his mother’s house, and she, like him, was in denial of his diagnosis. She said he was just creative, and that doctors only prescribed drugs because they got kickbacks from pharmaceutical companies. Every time I left him there, I wondered if he would he take his medicine. It didn’t take long to find out. One day the phone rang and it was the high school Vice Principal. “Come get your son. He can’t come back to school until he has a note from his doctor saying he is not a danger to himself or others.” My son had made some disturbing comments because he believed he was being persecuted. It was a Monday and Aaron had stopped taking his meds at his mom’s house. By Wednesday he was back in school and we had all learned a lesson. Aaron took his medicine from that day on.
Three years have gone by and it feels like we’ve settled into a routine. His mother is still in denial, and she still thinks the medicine is causing the problems, but she doesn’t share this with our son. I have begun to feel like this is something I can manage. My guilt and dread are under control, and I have begun to see a future unfolding for my son. After all, he’s at college living in the dorm.
And then, “Just had a visit from the police.”
I called the police and got a few details about the ‘incident.’ I called Aaron and more details began to roll in. He was taking his meds. He had spoken to the police and everything was fine. This had happened once before, and just like last time he was calm and polite with the officers. I remember thinking, ‘OK, this is just the new normal.’
Thirty minutes go by and the phone rings. “I am being evicted from the dorm.” I got in my car with my sadness, with my hopelessness, with my anger at the world and I drive. It’s about 30 minutes away — more than enough time to put the hopelessness in check. Parenting a child with a mental illness has its challenges. There is no normal, there is no simple. There is only “today I am going to love my son.” I will load clothes and books into the car, and prepare myself for the challenges we will face tomorrow. But today, I am going to love my son.
*not his real name
This piece originally appeared on The Good Men Project. Follow them on Facebook for more.
Norman Gold (pseudonym) is an engineer, currently raising his two teenage sons and five-year-old daughter, alongside his fiancée. They currently reside in Tucson, AZ.
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