Summary

A parent grapples with fear and concern for their adult child who has regressed into a state of psychiatric instability, self-harm, and aggression, despite previous progress and professional help.

Abstract

The author describes a harrowing journey of witnessing their child's descent from a self-sufficient individual to someone who is mentally unstable and dependent. The child, once independent and thriving, now exhibits signs of severe mental distress, including self-harm and outbursts of rage. The parent feels helpless and scared, not recognizing the person their child has become. Despite the presence of professional support, the parent is often the one left to manage the child's emotional crises. The situation has escalated to the point where the parent fears for their own safety and is haunted by the feeling that their child is constantly watching them, filled with anger and pain.

Opinions

The author expresses a deep sense of pride in their child's past achievements and self-reliance.
There is a palpable sense of frustration and impotence in not being able to provide the child with the answers they seek regarding their abandonment by friends.
The author is terrified by the child's current behavior, including self-harm and property destruction.
The parent feels a profound sense of responsibility and obligation, being the only support system for their child.
There is a clear sense of sadness and loss for the relationship they once had with their child, who is now unrecognizable to them.
The author is critical of the limitations of professional help, highlighting the need for constant availability which they, as a parent, have to fulfill.
The fear of potential physical violence from the child is a significant concern for the parent.
Despite the fear and uncertainty, the parent remains committed to supporting their child, indicating a deep, unconditional love.

MY PEOPLE

He. Him. His.

He’s there, outside in the dark, watching me

I know this isn’t true.

I know he’s not there, but still I feel his eyes on me.

Angry eyes. Sad eyes. Eyes filled with his own pain. Pain he needs to work through, but lacks the emotional bandwidth to do so.

Eighteen months ago he was strong. He had structure in his life. A job, tending to his house where by then he had lived for six months, cooking for himself, caring for himself. I was so proud of him. I knew he could do this, even at times when I wondered if he ever would.

Ten months ago, late at night on a regular Wednesday, I had to go to him. An emergency. I found him in a near catatonic state. His eyes were wild, filled with anger and distrust.

His eyes still have that glare.

In only eight months he had gone from the strong young man he was, to a totally unstable psychiatric patient. He trusted only one person, believing them to be the only one who knew what he needed.

Then they pushed him away…

Where before he had broken off contact with me, saying he needed to heal on his own, he now leans heavily on me.

Every.

Day.

Every day we have the same conversation.

How could they have left him? Why do they see him as a bad person? Why are they pushing him out of their friend group?

I can’t answer these questions, and when I tell him the best thing he can do is to concentrate on himself, to heal, to move on, he screams: “I can’t. I need answers. I need to know why.”

Sometimes he can’t find the words to answer me, and then I have to listen to him hitting himself. I know what it looks like. I have witnessed it many times in the past ten months. That, and seen the evidence of him hitting dents in his fridge and walls; holes in doors, and even tearing one door down halfway. All in a raging, blinding anger.

Where before, when he harmed himself, I have tried to stop him, I now just keep quiet. I don’t know what to do in those moments.

I don’t know what to say to him anymore.

My mind is blank. Incapable of forming words.

It’s after those intense conversations — they are stressful, and so draining — that I sit on the couch, looking into the dark outside, and ‘feel’ him watching me.

I know he’s not there, but still I feel him.

Over the past months I have grown frightened of him, and this is not a place I want to be. I don’t recognize him anymore, but I can’t abandon him. I am literally all he has now. I’m the only one he can lean on.

Yes, he has professional help, but they can’t be reached at every minute of every day. This means, when he has meltdowns, I am once again the one talking him down.

And, I am wary of the moments I see him face to face.

Afraid of what he can do. Scared when I see the cut marks on his arms. Nervous that in a moment of rage — when I say the ‘wrong’ thing — he might hit me.

I feel his eyes on me, those wild eyes, filled with hate for the world, judging me. He watches me, even though I know he’s not out there.

I never thought I would ever say this: he scares me.

He is my son.

This was written for the prompt ‘Dislocated tragedy kept in a box’ set by Diana C. in the Creative Corner Edition Nº5

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