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For a very long time I struggled with severe and crippling anxiety. At one point, around the age of fifteen, I could not leave my home. Literally. Anything outside of my home, my four-walled room, was terrifying. School--impossible. For as much as I tried to emulate my siblings, to smile and laugh, to have friends and go to classes, to come home and talk to my parents-I simply could not.
My heart would race when stepping outside of the door; my legs would wobble, unsteady, unsure (The Silencing of Agoraphobia).
According to The National Center of Addiction and Substance Abuse, up to one half of those with eating disorders — including anorexia, bulimia, and binge eating disorder — abuse alcohol and/or drugs. (see Eating Disorders and Addictions) This is a dangerous combination.
I didn't believe it would happen to me — until it did.
Last year, a small ill kitten showed up at my front steps without a home in the middle of winter. Being allergic to cats I tried to chase him off of my porch, but he persisted to visit. The more often he visited, the more he reminded me of the homelessness that I had experienced years ago as a result of my illness, Schizoaffective Disorder.
Twice in my life I was homeless for extensive periods and in need of help. I am aware of the suffering and humiliation that this can cause, therefore I felt it would not be right to allow him to suffer. Eventually, I took him in and gave him the name “Mr. Giggles”.
Last night, I attended an amazing "Legislative Social" hosted by our local NAMI Fairfield (CT) affiliate. What an evening of possibility, of hope.
Thanks to the efforts of this strong NAMI chapter and its members, about a dozen state legislators and an audience of over 100 were there to hear about Supportive Housing, Young Adult Services, School-based Services, and Mental/Medical Community Health Services.
There were presentations and stories from successful programs such as Bridge House (International Clubhouse Model, in Bridgeport CT), Yale's Integrated Care Partners Project, supported housing programs, YAS (young adult services) and a new initiative for School Based Health Centers in Connecticut.
Much of the information you'll read about teen dating violence awareness this month focuses on girls and young women. If the boys and young men are mentioned, it will probably be on a page designed to help them change. As the mother of two teenaged young men (Marc and Eddie) and a survivor of domestic abuse, I feel compelled to share my perspective.
ADHD runs in families. It is a genetic disorder and a family affair. If you are an adult with ADHD, it is highly likely that another relative of yours will have ADHD. For many adults, this other someone is a grandchild.
There is a persistent myth that having bipolar disorder means you have a “broken identity,” or even, “split personality.” I would imagine the term “manic depression” (an older term for bipolar disorder) conjures up these images for some people. But I’m here to tell you, my identity is just fine as is my personality.
Because I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at a very young age, a whopping twelve years old, I have a hard time remembering a life before the diagnosis—before I was told, “Natalie, you have Bipolar Disorder.” The only thing I understood was that I missed the Halloween dance at school; that I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.
But I remember being a little girl. A little girl who did not take medication. I remember long nights when I could not sleep; even longer days when I was crazed and manic. I recall my mother’s eyes, frightened, and my father's hands hugging me, telling me to calm down. That I would be okay. I can visualize in flashes my siblings; younger than I. Talking to them from the hospital.
But it ends there. Life after the diagnosis has captured the rest of my life. At the age of twenty-six, the word ‘after’ lingers.
In years past, I was a yes person. Whenever I was asked to take on a new project, help contribute to something, be part of an event, I would say yes without thinking. I had no idea there was any issue in this. This seemed in stark contrast to early addiction recovery. When in early sobriety, I was able to take care of me, and make things simple. I knew what I needed to do, whether it was to go to meetings, see my therapist, get enough sleep, not go out on weekends, surround myself by supportive people, etc.
On Friday, my psychiatrist told me that a fellow eating disorders patient recently died.
To say I was stunned would be an understatement.
Thank you for your comment. I'm sorry you're in that situation. I know how hard it is for parents to watch a child with mental illness struggle. Know this: you are not alone. Many parents are in this untenable situation.
Your options are very limited for the reasons you have listed. Your son is an adult and get to make his own decisions -- even when those decisions are heavily influenced by an illness. And while some might disagree, the US tends to fall on the side of personal rights, regardless of illness.
If your son is a risk to himself or others, you can see about getting him treated without his consent. (In some States, this is also possible when a person is at a grave threat of decompensation [getting sicker].) I know this is a hard thing to do, but sometimes the only thing that will help someone is the treatment they refuse.
I recommend you check out the Treatment Advocacy Center. They have a hotline and a lot of information online about serious mental illness and treatment of those illnesses: https://www.treatmentadvocacycenter.org/
I also wrote this piece about the situation when help is refused (not associated with HealthyPlace) and it lists some additional resources: https://natashatracy.com/bipolar-blog/person-mental-illness-accept-illness/?swcfpc=1
Finally, I recommend you reach out to other parents in the same situation. You may be able to find these people through groups like NAMI (just Google them). Knowing others facing the same issues can help.
I hope your son is able to get help.
-- Natasha Tracy