*Disclaimer: Before anyone gets their panties in a bunch, I asked Al permission before writing this post. There is no way I would damage our relationship by writing about my perspective on his struggle without his approval.
Teenage and adolescent mental illness is bullshit. I don't mean that it doesn't exist, just that I really wish it didn't. In 2014 in the United States suicide was the SECOND leading cause of death in people age 12-18. (Source: 2014 CDC WISQARS)
There are some traits I'm so pleased to have passed down to Al. My blue eyes and great complexion. My love of music and good books. My inappropriate sense of humor. What I didn't expect or want to pass down was my shitty brain chemistry.
I struggled with depression (which was actually misdiagnosed bipolar ll) throughout my adolescence. I spent some time medicated for it. It didn't really make me feel better, just numb. So, you'd think with that background I would have picked up on the signs with my own kid. Nope. Add it to the list of things I've messed up as a parent which includes feeding Dot cheesecake for breakfast then abandoning her with Travis, leaving Cass alone with a sharpie, and telling Emie to shut up once.
After going through some rough, but fairly normal, teenage relationship struggles and acknowledging he was fighting a bigger internal battle we had been unaware of before then, it became clear that Al needed to see a professional. He filled out some questionnaires, we spoke with his primary care doctor together about our concerns, and he started medication with the understanding that therapy would happen too.
Now that he's properly medicated for what seems at this point to be clinical depression and is seeing a therapist Al is back to being the funny and bright kid I always knew was there.
From the time I got a diagnosis and started medication I have been extremely candid with my older kids about my broken brain. I told them what the diagnosis meant and what kind of medications I was going to be taking and their possible side effects. I warned them when I was altering dosage or adding a new medication in case I started acting differently so they could tell me I was being crazier than usual.
Perhaps my openness about my own struggles made it easier for Al to come to me when he realized he wasn't capable of dealing with things on his own anymore.
Some parents might disagree with that decision, but they aren't me. If I want honesty from my kids I need to show them what honesty looks like. I need them to know that sometimes honesty shows the less than perfect side of you and that it's okay.
Other members of my extended family struggle with being nuts. Those aren't my stories to tell, but the fact that it's not a secret from me or anyone else in our family is one of the things that taught me that to acknowledge your burden is to have people there to help lift some of it's weight when things get rough.
I hope I'm teaching my kids that honesty is a gift both to the person receiving it and the person giving it. I hope I'm teaching them that I'm a safe space. I hope I'm teaching them that being crazy may make things harder, but that it also makes you stronger. That you can live with it. That sometimes you can even laugh at it.
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