Miraculous Manatees!

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Smooch. Thanks to our guide for this photo.

We are home from our family vacation. Michael is back at college and Blake, the hubby, and I returned home a little over a week ago. I noted in my previous post that Blake was actually enjoying things we did on vacation. In fact, the rest of us had been tired and had been ready to call off a trip to observe and swim with manatees. Blake told us how it had been a dream of his to participate in this activity. Blake, for whom depression is ever-present, rarely shares that he has any dreams, so we absolutely had to rally and make the adventure happen.

I am happy to follow up and share that the adventure was unbelievable. If you ever have the opportunity to float in the water with these gentle giants, I highly recommend it. We went out in the bay with a well-informed guide and captain. They taught us about manatees and what we could and could not do. After learning that we were not to touch, pursue, or dive after the manatees, we got quietly into the water where several were in the area, and we did a “dead man’s float.”

After a bit of time, a manatee surfaced under my feet and began to swim the length of my body. It was exhilarating, and it took everything in me not to erupt into a fit of giggles. Our little group was very patient and several manatees took interest in us, nuzzling their faces into ours and basically hanging out with us for over an hour. Our captain told us that our experience was not the norm – we had been given a gift.

When the day ended, and we changed back into our clothing, Michael, the hubby, and I thanked Blake for asserting himself. The manatees were a highlight of our time together. Blake agreed. For him, the boy with OCD who used to stay out of the water because it was contaminated, it was a dream come true. In the fog that mental illness has enveloped him in over these last few years, it was one more clear day.

 

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A manatee comes to check out Blake
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Glimmers of Hope on Vacation

The OCD in the Family family is on vacation. We are currently in Florida, in a small town on the Atlantic Ocean. The hubby, Michael, and Blake are in their rooms sleeping off the frenzied pace of the last five days. I walk the coast alone in what is unseasonably cold weather, but my heart is warmed by what I’ve experienced in my younger son on this journey.

Michael, our older son, has always enjoyed travel and is up for new adventures constantly. Blake, however, is a different story. He is usually extremely uncomfortable out of his usual environment. For as long as I can remember, he’s felt overwhelmed by new places, sounds, foods, smells, people, and, well – you name it. Compound this with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and, in the last two plus years, major depression, and you have a recipe for a very challenging family vacation experience.  We’ve gone on many a vacation where Blake stayed behind in the hotel room or the car, or only went out with us after substantial begging (usually pleading to go back to the car to wait as soon as we’d allow it).

This Time, It’s Different

This vacation, however, has been different. Blake wasn’t particularly interested in going on this vacation. As usual, he came along because we were going. Then something started to happen that none of us could have predicted; he started to enjoy himself.

I first noticed it when we were at Epcot. If you’ve never been to this Walt Disney World park (as we never had before), it consists of a Future World (East and West) and a World Showcase, which features different countries around the world in street scenes, attractions, and food offerings. After a long, cold day in the park, I began to walk more quickly through some sections of countries in the World Showcase. Blake slowed me down, though.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever make it to all these countries,” Blake said. “I want to see everything I can while we are here.” Then he proceeded to walk down every corridor and alleyway he could find.

The next thing I noticed was that Blake picked out a meal for himself at the Kennedy Space Center. Blake, whose OCD often centers around food choices (or, should I say, problems with the food choices around him), at first said he would forgo eating anything at the Center’s cafeterias. He would wait and eat food he was comfortable with back in the car. The next thing I knew, he had a tray filled with food, and even a dessert of astronaut ice cream. He joined us at the cafeteria table and ate, something he hasn’t done in years.

Last night, he had a long discussion with the hubby about all the places in the world he would like to see. What? Blake wants to see the world? He named off basically every country in the world – the more different from our country, the more he seemed interested.

“What about traveling for leisure?” the hubby asked him.

“The thing is, I’m so uncomfortable traveling, I couldn’t relax.” Blake answered, “I may as well go somewhere I can see things and learn about different cultures.”

Manatees in the Morning

This morning, as Michael, the hubby, and I ate breakfast (Blake was sleeping in), we decided to call off our manatee excursion for the next day. It was too far away, we’d have to leave too early, and it was just too cold for swimming in rivers. Plus, we’d been moving at breakneck speed for several days. It would be nice to have one more leisurely day.

We took it as a given that Blake wouldn’t mind the cancellation. So the hubby went off to call the tour company and I took a breakfast tray in to Blake.

“Dad’s cancelling the manatee tour and swim for tomorrow,” I told Blake. “That way we can take it a little easier.”

Blake’s face contorted into a pained grimace.

“Are you reacting to the manatees?” I asked.

“Yes!”

“Did you really want to swim with them?”

“More than anything,” he said, “but I can wait…if that’s what everyone else wants.”

“Let me see what I can do,” I said, as I bolted out of the room. It just rarely happens that Blake wants to do anything, and I wanted to reward his speaking up. I caught the hubby on the phone talking to the tour operator. I waved wildly for his attention, then told him what had occurred.

“Well, it looks like we’ll be coming after all,” he told the tour operator.

I went to tell Blake that the manatee adventure was on and the glee in his expression told me I’d done the right thing.

I Don’t Know What’s Going On, But I’ll Take It

Blake, wearing a hat that belonged to his grandfather, contemplates the space shuttle rocket.

I told the hubby how excited Blake was about the manatee tour. He and I marveled over the exciting things happening with our son on this vacation. The young man who normally doesn’t want to leave home, who only wants to read about the world instead of live in it, and who regularly says he dislikes himself and much of the world has had a few positive days where he seems to actually want to be here and to experience life.

Afterward, Blake and I perused the library at our lodging. He marveled over the books and wished he had more days here to sit and read. He supposed one thousand hours might do. As we passed through the hubby’s and my room, Blake shared his sentiments with his dad.

“You know, Dad, I’ve changed my mind about leisure vacations. Sometimes it would just be nice to sit and read a good book on vacation for hours on end.”

I Matter, Too

Image courtesy of digidreamgrafix at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

“More importantly, how are you doing?”

This question from Blake’s therapist takes me by surprise and throws me off balance for a moment. Blake has just walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Nature calling. I’m just finishing paying for the session, thinking I’m about to walk out the door, too. The therapist isn’t quite done yet.

“What do you think?” he asks, and then he points out, “He’s talking about serious stuff now.”

He’s correct. Blake only started coming to therapy when he wanted to take some control of the interventions his therapist, his dad, and I were implementing. He was angry. He came to bargain. In recent sessions, he’s talked about depression, his dislike for himself – just the mere concept of “Blake,” about his disconnection from the world. Today was no exception and, as has begun to be our routine, I sat like a fly on the wall watching the interaction between Blake and The Doc, wondering what I was doing in there. Although the therapist in me is fascinated by observing what’s going on.

It’s Not About Me, Right?

We’ve been seeing this therapist in hopes that our 18-year-old can overcome his OCD and severe depression and ready himself to live in the world.  So I just didn’t expect it when the therapist asked about me.

“I have good days and not so good days,” I answer.

“Well that’s a pretty non-specific answer,” the therapist says with a smile.

“I worry about him,” I say, “but I’m learning patience.”

The truth is, I’m kind of disconnected about how I am. I’ve been so mesmerized by the therapy session, I lost myself a bit. It’s only later in the day, as I ponder the question, “More importantly, how are you doing?” that I think over my frustration at watching my son climb back into bed multiple times each morning. It’s later that I recall the heartbreak at hearing my son talk about how life isn’t worth the good moments when he considers how awful the bad moments are. It’s later that I remember part of me sinking inside as I watch my son wash his hands immediately after handling money or tiptoeing around areas that the dogs might have contaminated.

At the same time, I’m touched by The Doc’s inquiry. As much as my son is suffering, family members are, themselves, affected when their loved one has OCD, depression, or other mental illnesses. If we aren’t directly involved in rituals, or trying to get them out of bed, we are worrying about them. So I’m appreciative of this simple act of kindness and caring. It resonates in me. It reminds me that we family members have to remember to care for ourselves in the face of our loved ones’ struggles. We have to be mindful of our own well-being. If we aren’t, we can become impatient, bitter, angry – basically of little use in this war called mental illness.

So, thank you, kind therapist, for reminding me that I matter, too. It opened something up inside of me and I feel just a little more alive and grounded. I feel less stuck in the mess with my son, and more like myself. And this morning, when I allowed myself to take a long hike in the nearby mountains, I was just a little more open to taking in the scenery and appreciating it, instead of having the specter of depression and OCD hanging over me. Yes, I matter, too.

Update on Waiting for the Storm

Just an update on a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago.  Hurricane Irma brought a lot of wet and windy weather to Michael’s university, but everyone seems to have fared pretty well. The students spent a few days indoors before the administration gave the all clear sign. No electricity was lost. Apparently, the students in Michael’s housing did a good amount of eating and baking. Michael caught up on a whole lot of sleep, too. The experience was a bit scary, yet a good learning experience for life for our young adult.

Waiting for the Storm

I woke up this morning still trying to absorb my realization from this past week’s therapy session that Blake’s recovery will likely take longer than I originally had hoped. Blake continues to see treatment as something he is being “forced” to do, and he just has not recognized that our therapist is there to help him take the steps he will need to take to be ready for college in a year. So, in my mind, I’ve been working to readjust my expectations, and to hunker down for the potential long hall.

Creek below Michael’s university housing. I took this a month ago when I dropped him off at school.

Meanwhile, just as I woke up, I received the news that our oldest, Michael, will be doing some hunkering down of his own. His university reported that it will close on Monday due to severe weather. Students are preparing to “shelter in place” should the need arrive. Michael, a Resident Advisor (RA), took his residents to shop for supplies today, as he experienced his first ever tropical storm warning due to Hurricane Irma. As their wireless internet is already beginning to fail, he and his fellow classmates are anticipating losing their power, as many already have in this hurricane.

In a phone call this evening, I told my boy how proud I am of him and how much I love him. The hubby gave fatherly advice that included staying away from the creek that runs just below their living quarters. Now all we can do is wait.

Wishing my best to all who are affected by this hurricane, whether it be because you are directly experiencing its effects, or because you love someone who is.

– Angie

** Update on this post here.

Lifting the Fog

My Own Depression

In my last post, a little over a month ago, I shared that I was dealing with my own major depressive episode. The reason I haven’t posted is that, frankly, I haven’t felt able to write until today. Depression is one weird state of being. I’ve been here, but haven’t felt here. I’ve been going through the motions, doing the things I’m supposed to do (well, most of them) when one is depressed. I’ve been keeping my engagements, eating as well as I can, getting out for walks, trying to get enough sleep.

The thing is, no matter where I’ve been, or who I’ve been with, I haven’t felt present. I’ve laughed, but I didn’t feel the humor; I went to dinner with friends and talked, but I slowly disappeared from the conversation as I found it more and more difficult to interact. I slept, but I constantly felt as though I could fall right back to sleep.

Therapy. I went to therapy, too. Twice. The therapist was nice enough, but I don’t think that she understood the depths of my despair. My office mate, a seasoned child psychologist, says that she believes we psychologists make difficult patients. We know how to avoid, we are critical in the consulting room of what we are experiencing, and we are thinking ahead of the therapist we are seeing. Maybe that’s all true. So I’m looking for someone who can really call me on my stuff – someone who is more experienced as a therapist and parent than I am.

A Little Light

At the same time, just yesterday I experienced a little lifting of my mood. Even the hubby noticed it. The reason, I’m pretty certain, is that I found something that’s given me just the tiniest bit of hope, and the belief that there is something we can do to begin to make changes with what’s been going on with Blake. I feel just a little bit empowered.

A few weeks ago, while I was at a professional conference on anxiety, I met a very experience therapist at dinner one night. As we got to know one another and shared about our respective children, I shared a bit about what we are experiencing with Blake – days where he doesn’t get out of bed, his despair about life, his frequent missing events that would have been important to him.

“I’m not letting you go through this alone,” she said, reaching out to me, as she shared a bit of her own personal story. “This isn’t going to continue. We are going to get him help and I’m going to stay with you through the process.”

That evening, we plotted and planned. We agreed on who I should call. And I promised to stay in touch and follow through. Within a week, the hubby and I had an appointment with Blake with a longtime expert on kids and young adults who, like Blake, have a mixture of depression on top of OCD. What’s more, he’s had lots of experience with treatment refusers. We went with hope that, this time, Blake would agree to getting help.

Blake Rejects Treatment

Blake rejected treatment – no surprise there. On the way out the door he claimed to understand how “desperate” his dad and I are. He promised he would change things, but offered no concrete example of how he would do so. And then he fell asleep at 7 pm that very evening, missing dinner and sleeping until 3 pm the next day, forgetting he had a lunch date with his grandparents who were in town. And then he did the same thing the next day, missing his beloved grandparents once again.

Meanwhile, the hubby and I haven’t given up. Yesterday, we saw that expert on our own. He is prepping us to gradually work to increase the likelihood that Blake will enter treatment willingly and ready to work. We don’t know if it will actually work, only that we have several assignments to do ourselves over this next week. We also know that this will be itty bitty steps. Yet, I left the office yesterday feeling just the tiniest bit better. I have something to do, a direction to go in.

I noted to the therapist yesterday that the saddest part of the last two years is that we’ve been repeatedly told that there is nothing to do if Blake doesn’t want treatment. He shared with us his belief that the population of depressed/anxious young adults (and teens) whose lives are spiraling rapidly downward has long been neglected. For now, the hubby and I will be the catalysts for possible change. I understand that it is going to be a difficult road – but I’d rather be moving toward something than sinking deeper into the the muck that I’ve been in.

What’d You Do With That Cereal?

Where's that cereal been?
Where’s that cereal been?

It’s late in the evening and Blake is in the kitchen pantry. He pulls out a box of cereal and pours himself a big bowl. He comes over to show us. It’s remarkable only because Blake frequently avoids eating from already-open packages of food. Why? Because, well, who knows how that food might have been contaminated?

“It’s the after dinner snack of champions!” remarks my hubby, as he continues to watch the college basketball game on the screen in front of him.

Blake comes over and shows us how very full his bowl is. The hubby and I both admire it. Then he pours the milk in…and hesitates. His head peers over the side of the sofa.

“You guys don’t ever pour yourself a bowl of cereal and then pour it back into the box, do you?” he asks us.

“Of course not,” my hubby replies, glancing at Blake and then back at the screen.

I perform a little inner eye roll and realize how innocuous this little exchange would look to most, except to those with OCD in their family. Blake has just asked for reassurance. He is asking whether the food is contaminated or not. Hubby has just accommodated with his reply.

Reassurance is one of those things that can be so unobtrusive and simple, like the question Blake just asked and my hubby so quickly answered. Or it can be extremely frustrating and seemingly never-ending, such as when a child asks a parent over and over, “Are you sure you washed your hands? You’re sure, right? There’s nothing wrong with it, right? You’re sure?” However it happens, reassurance-seeking can be a compulsion for those with OCD. They feel uncomfortable and then need to seek out someone who can remove that discomfort. It’s one of those things a parent learns, in treatment, that they ought not to do.

So hubby has just reassured Blake that the cereal is fit for his consumption. I, however, am feeling playful. I want to upset this apple cart just a bit.

“Blake, I don’t ever pour out a bowl and pour it back, but I do sometimes take a taste and spit it back in the box when I don’t like it.”

“Oh, Mom,” he laughs…and he eats the entire bowl.