Today is a new day, in a new life, for me and my son. I am not sure which direction this change is going to be, especially after the weekend we had.
Saturday was a rare peaceful day. My son was very mellow, not up or down. He was friendly, respectful, funny and calm. He was himself, and this illness seemed to be gone for that one day. I enjoyed the time I got to spend with him; I enjoyed him. He was my sweet little boy that I have not seen for awhile.
Sunday, he was angry, cruel, distracted, and down. The usual. But, it was so hard after having such a good day the day before. While Saturday was wonderful, it also reminded me of what I have been missing. I have gotten so used to rages and depression, so resigned to bouncing off the walls mania, that it seems so normal. I know it's not, but to us, it has become normal.
The stability we found when he started on his current medications over a year ago has been slowly deteriorating. So slowly that, while I knew we were in crisis, and that things need to change, I had forgotten how good things were for awhile. His therapist tried to point it out to me once, but I guess I needed to see it for myself. I was reviewing the last week with her, saying it was a pretty good week, no major issues, got punched, kicked, bit just a few times, but the situations didn't escalate. She says, that is not "good." No, it wasn't, but when you compare being punched once to being attacked repeatedly for an hour or more, one punch is good! But, when you compare one punch with spending a nice, fun day with a sweet eight year old boy, then it is bad. I guess I just want us to get back to that place where I can afford to see one act of violence as bad. Where I have a lot of good to compare it to, and where weekly trips to the emergency room are a distant memory.
Today is the first day at the new placement. I am conflicted. I can see some good things coming from this in the (hopefully near) future. I can see some bad coming, as well. I am scared for my little boy. I am scared for myself. I am sad, and discouraged. But for his sake, I have to be hopeful, and supportive, and positive. It is so hard to bury all the bad feelings and thoughts while he is around that after I dropped him off this morning, I crashed. Then I had the whole day to worry, and dread, and maybe to hope. Which version of my child will I greet at the bus this afternoon? Will he be happy, sad, angry, manic, depressed, violent...? And then, what about the next day? And the day after that?
I ended up spending most of the day distracting myself from the thought of what was happening at school, as much as possible. My stressing over it would not change the outcome. I was able to think about other things for minutes at a time, occasionally.
This afternoon I picked up a smiling boy from the school bus. I desperately searched his backpack for notes, or some signs of what happened throughout the day. No luck. He says he loved it. He seems happy. He made new friends, and went outside for recess, and ate lunch in the cafeteria (he has spent both inside the classroom since about midway through last year). He survived. He may have thrived.
My only hesitation here, since this all sounds great, is that last Friday he gave a similar report of school: a great day, he loves school now, nothing bad happened, on and on. Then, I got my last email from the former special education teacher, telling me all about what an awful day it was, the destruction he caused and them placing him in the seclusion room. This is a day he thought was great?
So, after struggling through the first day - me, not him - I am still worried about the days to come, but not sure if I need to be. At least parent teacher conferences are next week, so I only have a little while to be in the dark.
For now, I am going to pretend that I can believe that what he says is true. I am going to assume this is going well for him, until I hear otherwise. Well, I am going to try.
