Lately, whenever someone asks about our new puppy, I like to respond by saying, “We just adopted her for our son. In our family, when you become truant, we buy you a puppy.”
I don’t usually follow up with anything other than an innocent smile, and, not surprisingly, people typically react with a nervous laugh or puzzled look. And why shouldn’t they, it’s an absurd statement, but it is not any more absurd than some of the statements I have heard over the past two months while my son has been home from school with panic disorder.
My favorite absurd statement is that which claims my son is being difficult. Difficult? This amazes me. It’s as if it is unacceptable that a teenager not only have anxiety that is debilitating, but that he actually talks to his parent about it. I suppose if he was going to school every day, struggling to keep up with classes, and eventually finding ways to self-medicate and ease the internal angst, then he would be a ‘normal’ teenager. Or, at least, he wouldn’t be showing up on their radar as a ‘problem’ for missing school. How sad that we would rather our teenagers find dangerous and illicit resources on their own, rather than try to help them in a loving, supportive, nurturing environment.
Of course, after he started down the dreaded path of alcohol and drug use, petty crime, and vagrancy, everyone would say, “We don’t understand; he was always such a bright, respectful boy, so sweet and caring.” They would no doubt tell me he needed help then. I would probably get tons of sympathy and concern, along with a plethora of resources for the troubled teen. He still wouldn’t be their concern, so they would be more than eager to suggest resources.
But instead, I have a child that is struggling on the inside and brave enough to ask for help, and what we have received so far has been nothing short of disturbing. There hasn’t been any support, no resources to speak of, and definitely no sympathy in this scenario. There has been, however, an investigation by child services after I was accused of child abuse for keeping my son out of school and not putting him in a psychiatric hospital.
Both reactions seem kind of extreme to me, for some reason. I mean, call me crazy (which of course, several people have), but I don’t think anxiety disorder warrants a stay at the psychiatric hospital just yet; why don’t we try some educational testing and therapy first. Unfortunately, that kind of rational and calm thinking doesn’t belong in the world of childhood mental health. Apparently, I had two choice: denial or over-reaction.
I guess my write-in of option number three is what got my in trouble. Well, if people want to judge me in a way that let’s their neat little world fit into perfect little squares, then I’m going to act the part of how they perceive me. At least it’ll be more fun than sitting back while narrow minds try to make sense of my son’s situation.
It’s interesting to me that people assume my son is causing me stress while they are convinced that they, themselves, are being quite helpful. One high school principal in particular actually expressed this to my son. I was nearly stunned speechless as I watched the lips moving on the over-grown dummy in the ill-fitting suit that looked as though it was a reject from the wardrobe of the Sopranos. Luckily, I recovered in time to clarify for the over-employed bully that he was the only one causing me stress at the moment. And though I wasn’t sure if his remarks came from ignorance or arrogance, I would appreciate if he kept his reckless and irresponsible remarks to himself.
In truth, however, the complete ignorance and apathy, disbelief and accusations have been helpful. They have helped me to see just how broken our society is. They have exposed the true ugliness of a nation more concerned with how many days a child is in school than whether or not a child is healthy. Although, if there was a physical illness affecting my son, that would be accepted as a legitimate excuse. I guess it is just my son’s bad luck that he inherited a mental illness rather than, say, juvenile diabetes or something.
I tried to explain once that forcing my son to go to school after his panic attack was the equivalent of forcing him to run into a burning building. The look of disbelief and pity I received was enough to set me on fire. I was immediately labelled as enabling my son’s illness, because instead of just telling him to get over it and do what I say, I tried to understand what he was going through so that I could help him.
It seems the topic of mental illness in children is one that everyone wants to ignore until it becomes mental illness of an adult. At that point, everyone can blame the victim, so to speak, and take no responsibility what-so-ever for the outcome of his or her life. I have watched health care providers and school officials jump ship as if my son had a contagious disease that, once spoken aloud, would infect everyone around them.
So, I take issue when someone suggests that my son is being difficult, as if he is pretending to have a debilitating illness in order to turn our lives upside-down. I guess they think he enjoys having an embarrassing illness, being separated from his friends, missing out on all things teenager, and going to countless doctors and counselors nearly every day.
I suppose it’s all part of his diabolical teenage plan to have not one ounce of privacy, to have to explain how he feels over and over to strangers with each new referral, to take medications that sometimes make him sick, to wonder if he is ever going to get better, and to feel an overwhelming sense of guilt for what I am dealing with in the process- all while watching his peers carry on around him without any difficulties of their own.
Yes, I’m sure that is every teenager’s dream–acting out in this way, feeling sad and scared, unable to go to school, missing out on life, and wondering why those who should be most eager to help them, instead, attack their family as if it was a dangerous threat to society.
That is why whenever I hear someone say that my son is being difficult, I usually make a mental note to never have any further interaction with these individuals. By mis-labeling my child this way, they have labelled themselves as individuals who are prejudice, intolerant, and biased- exactly the type of people who have made my son’s journey extremely difficult.
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