July had been a month of confusion. I could not understand why he was getting into so many arguments with me. He seemed happy, energetic and full of ideas but he insisted something was wrong with me and I should have counseling. I spoke to some of my friends about it. One said that he could remember himself being quite difficult with his parents in his twenties. Another said that he’s just acting up and surely he would settle down soon.
One year ago today we had a diagnosis. Hypomania.
I was at work when I received a phone call from my ex-husband to say that our son was damaging things around the house. We weighed up the pros and cons of calling the police vs taking him to the Emergency Department. We decided in favour of the latter.
The young psychiatry registrar who saw him in the Emergency department spoke with us after having spent an hour with him. His body language did not match the words that came out of his mouth. I thought that the way he shrugged his shoulders implied that we had somehow brought this nightmare upon ourselves.
He was sent home with Olanzepine and put under the care of the Community Mental health team.
Today I have relived that day in every last detail.
He had only 10 weeks left.
The countdown begins.