The Journey Home Begins

Blake was fast asleep when I arrived at his apartment. A roommate answered the door and went to wake him. Blake, now awake, led me to his bedroom where a quick glance revealed that the young man he shared a room with was also fast asleep. Almost two in the afternoon. Seemed about right for college students…

What took me by surprise (though it probably shouldn’t have) was that Blake hadn’t packed up his room at all, except for his clothes, which were all in his duffel bag. I’d asked him to pack up everything he could before I’d arrived and he’d done very little. I was frustrated, but kept that to myself. I recognized that getting upset would most likely only delay completing the task at hand. Instead, I suggested we get to work. Blake suggested he take a shower. Sigh.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go make some work phone calls in the car. Come get me when you’re ready to pack.”

Twenty minutes later, Blake was knocking on the car window. He didn’t seem to know where to start. I’m not sure if it was depression, being nineteen, or just plain old lack of experience that paralyzed him. Whatever it was, I began directing.

We folded bedding; we packed kitchen supplies; we sorted through his remaining food. Hygiene items had to be sorted – those worthy of the journey home and those to be relegated to the trash. I directed Blake to suitcases, to giant trash bags I’d brought with me, and to grocery bags. At some point his roommate had gotten out of bed and we had the room to ourselves. I directed swiftly staying focused on the task.

There was a quarter dollar coin on the carpet. Blake walked carelessly back and forth over it.

“Who does this belong to?” I asked.

“It’s been there a long time,” Blake answered, “ probably most of the semester.”

We loaded all his belongings into the car, two floors below. Up and down the stairs, over and over again. Finally, we’d finished and it was time to say goodbye.

“Hey, Josh,” Blake called to his roommate, who was now at the dining table, “Do you know whose quarter is on our floor?”

“Oh yeah. That’s mine. I dropped it a while back.”

Blake handed the quarter to him and then they shook hands.

“I wish you all the best, man,” Blake said as they parted.

“Yeah, you too.”

We climbed into the car.

“Ready to go?” I asked. Blake nodded. As we pulled out of the apartment complex, I saw Blake wipe a tear from his face. Then another. And another. They were flowing freely now.

“You gonna miss it here?”

“It just feels like another failure – another failed opportunity in my life,” he said.

“Hey,” I said, “there were successes here, too. A lot of them. You’re allowed to feel what you feel and I won’t take away from that. You certainly have more growing and learning to do. At the same time, please remember that there were some things you dealt with very well.”

“Thanks, Mom.” My cue to be quiet. And we drove out of the complex I silence. Onward toward the future.

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“I Just Don’t Trust Myself!”

I wrote this post four and a half years ago. It is my most read post by far and continues to be. It tells a tale of how OCD can take a rational and reasonable young man and cause him to question what seem to be the simplest things in life:

OCD In The Family

IMG_2101[1]Many of us who live with a loved one who has OCD have heard this familiar refrain.  It doesn’t really matter what it is about; it could be one not trusting their own eyes that their homework is in their backpack, or whether the knob on the stove is really in the “Off” position.  OCD has a nasty way of making its victims regularly doubt themselves.

“I just don’t trust myself!”  Blake uttered in defeat one morning this week.  This had followed an excruciating morning of trying to choose a simple something – anything – to eat for breakfast.  He just couldn’t do it.  He stared deeply into the refrigerator.  His angst was palpable.  I could see the wheels churning furiously in his brain.  What can I possibly eat that will be acceptable?

Blake has lots of food rules and restrictions, yet he usually finds something to eat in a relatively…

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The Semester Winds Down

One of the successes: A lasagna Blake made for himself. He likes to photograph his meals.

Blake has been at college for an entire semester – or one week shy of it anyway. It began unceremoniously, with Blake declaring that this would be the shortest college experience of anyone in our family and dreading the start of classes. I flew back home fearful of the unknown and how my youngest might fare.

It’s been a semester of ups and downs. The downs include Blake not making it to class many days, him sleeping way into the evening on days when depression made bed the only option that felt viable, MANY assignments never turned in or even attempted. It included many phone calls from Blake saying he just couldn’t do this, that he needed to drop out. And there were the tears Blake cried over not feeling adequate, losing hope, and no longer knowing what his passion is.

The ups included Blake cooking for himself, grocery shopping, keeping up on haircuts – and being the only one in the apartment to actually clean the bathroom (though that may have been prompted by OCD fears – I digress). They include Blake joining clubs on campus and even attending murder mystery special events (something he rarely did while at home, and then only with much prompting). In short, my 19-year-old moved to a new city, lived in an apartment with three others, shared a room, and took care of the basic things he needed to in order to survive. I’d venture to say that joining clubs is a step beyond the basics.

Still, college itself definitely did not go well. I don’t know how well Blake performed in any class; I don’t know if he even knows. He has decided that this is just not the right time for school for him and he is coming home. He’s not happy about that. In fact, he feels like a failure and fears he’ll only continue to fail and to suffer emotionally. He hates the idea of being an adult in his parents’ home (and cannot seem to recognize that he is certainly not alone in that status).

Late next week, I will fly to meet him. We will pack up his apartment and come home. But we won’t be flying. The hubby and I felt that being back home in a matter of hours was too abrupt a shift from what we think was a growing experience for our boy. So Blake and I will take a road trip home. We have no planned route, no place we must stop – only an ending destination of home in a time span of three days. There will be a lot of open road and empty expanses on our way. My plan is to remind my boy of the successes he had and hope that he can find a way to hold onto those, even for a brief moment.

Monday Morning

It’s 8:32 in the morning and I send a text message to both of my boys about the Thanksgiving holiday, which is over a month away. I have to make airplane reservations and I want to check on their schedules. I expect I’ll hear from Michael; it’s three hours later where he is and he already had a class this morning. Blake I don’t expect to hear from until at least late afternoon or evening with his sleep issues. He has a 10 am class, but he’s missed attending nearly every week.

To my surprise, it’s Blake I hear back from first at 8:39 am. He confirms his schedule for me. 

Me: Whatcha doing?

Blake: Waking up.

Me: You heading out to class?

Blake: Yeah 

Me: Out of bed yet?

Blake: Showered.

Me: Wow. Just wow.

Blake: I appreciate your amazement at my basic levels of human functioning. 😛

Me: It’s a mom thing.

Blake: Are turnovers a breakfast pastry or dessert?

Me: They are whatever you like them to be. Love you.

Blake: Love you too!

It’s a brief moment in time, but it’s a victory nonetheless. Blake is awake. He got himself showered at a time that allows him to participate in the day. Whether he will leave his apartment and head to school or head back to bed is uncertain. It is just this – a moment.

Another Bump in the Road

Friday Evening…

8:35 pm:

Text message from Blake: Hey Mom. I slept through another disability meeting. Even with only two classes, I’m completely unable to function. As much as we’ve tried with everything and even switching programs, I feel like we might need to call it quits on college. At least for this year…

Me: Hi baby. I’m right in the middle of something. Can I call you when I’m done?

Blake: Yeah

I call Blake as I drive home for the evening. He’s down on himself for missing yet another scheduled meeting with the disability office at school. He’s unhappy with life, doesn’t know what he wants, can’t find a reason to even exist. 

I try to be a good listener, but I get caught in my old trap. I sink down into the well of despair with Blake and I try to fix the situation. I point out how much better he does with more structure. Perhaps he needs a job, I suggest. At one point I even ask if he needs to be in a hospital. He hates when I do this and I hate it even as I say it. He wants to get off the phone with me and I ask him to call me tomorrow after he wakes up to check in. He agrees.

Saturday Evening

8:25 pm:

Text from me to Blake: Hello

Blake: Hi

Me: How you doin’?

Blake: Rough

Me: Can you talk for a min?

Blake: Yeah

“I want to apologize to you,” I say. “Last night when we talked I just wanted to be a good listener – and I wasn’t. When you’re in a really bad place I sometimes get caught up in wanting to help. And that’s not what you needed last night.”

“Thanks, Mom. I kind of do need help because I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe the first thing to do is to know that this feeling will pass and when you feel clearer that’ll be the time to decide what you’re going to do.”

Then I remind him of all the ways that he IS functioning. 

“You’ve got successes, honey. You made it to your English class both days this week. You’re grocery shopping; you’re eating; you’re going to chess club; you’re taking your medication…”

“About that, Mom,” he begins, “I’m not doing so well with the medication. I’ve been waking up too late to take it so I’ve been missing it.”

My worry starts to set in. Blake is on an SRI – a serotonin reuptake inhibitor. He’s on the highest dose a doctor might recommend and has been for quite some time. I know it’s not good to miss taking it.

“Honey, how often are you missing taking it?” I ask.

“Probably 75% of the time,” is the answer.

“Blake,” I say, “you cannot not take your medication. Even if you wake up late, it should still be taken. Maybe you should switch to taking it at night since you are awake then.When is the last time you took it?”

“Maybe…Thursday?” It’s more a question than an answer. He’s really not sure when he took it last.

Abrupt cessation of SRI’s can lead to a withdrawal or discontinuation syndrome. Two of my patients in just the past week ran out of their SRI medication and missed a day or two. The effects were swift – one had a quick return of strong intrusive thoughts of harming others; the other experienced a significant uptick in her depression symptoms and found herself unable to do even the smallest exposure practice for therapy. 

I know how Blake has reacted in the past when he’s even been a few hours late to take his medication. He starts to feel like he’s having electrical shocks in his head. He starts to feel dizzy. He claims he hasn’t felt any of that, but the problem is he hasn’t been awake. He’s been sleeping very late. He slept til almost 8 pm tonight. He’s feeling very down and depressed and not sure of his path. I give him a quick rundown of SRI withdrawal and have him take his medication right away. 

When I explain to the Hubby what I’ve learned, he is concerned. Could it be that our 19-year-old son is not able to take care of himself on his own? How could he not have realized that it was not okay to miss his medication? Why didn’t he say anything until now if it’s been going on for a while? I tell him that we need to wait and see if he makes the correction and if it sinks in.

In the meantime, Blake has now taken his medication two days in a row and I’ve been checking in with him regularly to make sure there haven’t been issues with that. Since he didn’t wake up until nearly 8 pm last night, he’s been up for over twenty-four hours. It’s a familiar cycle for him – one I’ve lectured him on many times before, but resist doing now. He’s still down today, but he’s been in better spirits, texting me funny photos and fun facts about goofy things. Another episode in this journey…

A New Definition of Success

Blake is in his fifth week of college classes. It’s been a trying time for everyone, not the least for me. I’ve realized over the last month that I’ve spent a great amount of time over the past fourteen years involved in Blake’s well-being – in helping him to be successful. Whether it was running him to neurologists to answer to his teachers’ concerns that he was having seizures (he wasn’t; he was experiencing intrusive thoughts), meeting with occupational therapists to ensure he could find his way around the school, or teaching school personnel how to manage anxiety, OCD, and depression, much of my time was running interference so that Blake could do his job of being a student.

Listening to my son’s feelings of overwhelm these past several weeks and hearing about the days he has missed school entirely and succumbed to depression has sparked that old impulse in me to jump in, to make it better, to pave the path for success. Yet, at the same time, I am learning a new way to interact with Blake and his schooling. And I am learning to define success in a different way.

In the past, helping Blake to be successful meant teaching others to understand the way he learned, and to recognize when mental health issues were interfering or needed to be attended to. It also meant pushing Blake forward when he didn’t believe in himself and helping him to find the tools he did not know he had. It sometimes meant forcing him to get out of bed and to follow a schedule for the day – or even for the hour.

But Blake is not six-years-old anymore. He’s not even seventeen. He is a young adult man – one who has had help and labels poured on him for most of his life. And those things probably continued to come even when he did not want them. In some ways, sometimes, they likely made him feel like a failure, because he struggled, at times, to even do the basic things people do to get along in this world.

My beautiful nineteen-year-old son is living in an apartment nearly 1,000 miles away with three other young men. He is struggling to get along in school, having chosen a major that, as his adviser has pointed out, plays more to his weaknesses than to his strengths. He struggles to get out of bed some days or to find what motivates him. He has dropped all but two of his classes and is teetering on dropping out of school altogether.

BUT…

He is feeding himself every day and getting to the grocery store weekly. He visits his adviser at school and is working on a plan with the disability office. He figured out how to transfer his prescription from our pharmacy at home to one near his apartment in the new state. He gets out of bed MOST days. He got his hair cut (he doesn’t know I know this) which means he figured out where there was a salon, got a ride over and back, and paid for it all himself. 

My husband and I were worry warts in college. We were scheduled; we were efficient with our time. We were not our sons. They have their own way, and Blake’s way is to pave his own path. It is not the path I would have taken or that his dad or his brother would take, but that does not make it any less valid a path. My son is brave and I believe in him. His road is his own. I am here to assist and support if he needs me, but right now what he needs is for his dad and I to believe in him. 

Blake, Dad and I believe in you and whatever your path may be. Thank you for teaching us that success comes in many different hues. When those big feelings you have seem too overwhelming to manage, we will be here to remind you that feelings pass, and that you have what it takes to hang on through them and then to forge onward.

Off to College

It’s been a month and a half since I last posted. It’s been a busy seven weeks.  There was the annual OCD conference in Washington, DC, and a family vacation – and then there was getting Blake ready for college and moving him in. Yes, you read that right, Blake has gone off to college.

In my last post, I shared how Blake had begun to take steps on his own initiative to leave the house and do activities: a trip to the game store, an outing for coffee. It was surprising to us, and he continued to do it. The hubby, Michael, and I were all proud of him, though we tried not to make a big deal out of it. Making a big deal of things with Blake tends to backfire.

Last week, the hubby and I flew with Blake to the Pacific Northwest and helped him settle into an off campus apartment with three other young men. It was an emotional experience for us all – each for different reasons. For the hubby, it was about watching his youngest leave home; for me, it was a mixture of sadness at seeing Blake leave home, happiness that he loved his newfound independence, and fear that I will receive endless texts about how unhappy my son is or, worse, no texts because he just doesn’t get out of bed and is only awake in the wee hours. Blake felt a calm satisfaction at having his own space and making his own hours with no one looking over his shoulder, yet the specter of school weighed heavy on him as he hung his head sadly and declared, “I’ve never ever liked school. This is going to be the shortest college career in family history.”

The apartment before the young men arrive

Returning home was a strange affair. Our house feels incredibly empty. Blake was ever present on the family room couch. The hubby and I have new routines to establish, as well as the process of getting to know one another again with no offspring in the home.

How things will go for Blake is a big question mark. He’s texted once since we left him three days ago (well, actually twice – the first time being to tell us he got out of bed and went to orientation). He wanted to say “Hi” and tell us that all was well. I’m trying to give him a little space to make his own way. His therapist advised him to be aware that OCD symptoms can creep up on one when going through a new transition; depression symptoms can, as well. Blake prefers not to think about that. My guess is that this has to be exciting and scary at once for him. Let’s see what happens. I’ll keep you posted.