No one tells you that being a parent will hurt. They say that having a baby will hurt, but it’s a good hurt and the first time you hold your baby, you’ll forget all about the pain and fall madly in love. … Right. At least the last part is true. Unfortunately, kids don’t come with a manual or even a user’s guide. Hell, I’d settle for a freaking pamphlet. Something to let me know where I went wrong. If I went wrong.
Is this the way he was meant to be?
They tell you that parenthood isn’t easy and that there will be struggles and challenges along the way, but they never say that you’ll have to watch your 15 year old son cry and plead to stay home because he just can’t handle the drama of sitting in a classroom anymore. That he knows that people look at him differently talk about him like he’s some kind of sideshow freak.
No one tells you that your unique and wonderfully different child will be picked on, teased, and called names that hurt their feelings and yours, but you somehow have to be brave enough for both of you.
No one tells you that it will hurt you just as much as it does them. Sure, you try to offer encouragement and hope: it’ll all be better tomorrow because, like Scarlett O’Hara said, tomorrow is another day.
No one tells you that despite all of your efforts, trips to therapists, medications to control depression, anxiety, and ADHD, and extra doses of love and attention will only keep the painful wounds open rather than allowing them to heal.
No one tells you that the meds that control the inattentiveness that comes with his type of ADHD and the Prozac used to control his depression will rip away the outer layers of his cocoon and leave all of his nerve endings bare and raw. And all you can do is sit and watch as he suddenly feels emotions that he’s blunted his entire life.
No one tells you that you’ll have to watch your strong, health, and developing young man suddenly lose 20 pounds and be too light to activate the airbag in the front seat of the car. Now, with ribs showing, the six-pack abs that he was once so proud of are only accentuated by the lack of muscle tone anywhere else on his body. With the outlines of his bones showing through his skin, he looks like a wraith.
You try to convince yourself that it hurts because you care so much. Then you start to realize that all of his problems are now your problems, and as a parent, you’re willing to carry their burden when you feel that it’s just too heavy for them. If only they’ll let you.
It’s so much like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole when you have a kid that just isn’t the cookie-cutter version of every other teenager. No pop music here. This one’s different and he’ll break your heart because, try as he may, he just doesn’t fit in. He’s the weird one, the one all dressed in black trying to blend in with the scenery, hoping against hope that no one will notice him as he slips through society.
It reminds you of those goofy after school specials that we used to watch way back when, but this isn’t a television show, this is life. Your life. His life. Another day that he’ll spend in the counselor’s office crying and begging to have someone come pick him up because he just can’t handle it anymore.
You don’t get it because, in your eyes, he’s perfect. There’s nothing wrong with him. Yeah, he’s a bit quirky, but even that side of him is seldom seen anymore. You ask yourself a million questions: Is it the meds? Is it kids at school? Is it something at home? Is it me? What more can I do? You don’t want to treat him differently and force all of his problems to the surface so that they’re right there in his face because it will just drive him further into himself and away from you, the family, and everyone else. The self-imposed alienation only makes it worse, so you try anything and everything to draw him out and get him involved. Find something that holds his interest. He used to draw, in fact, he was a pretty good artist, but now his pictures are darker and more dreary if he’s inclined to draw at all. Once his only purpose for going to school was to play music. Now, even that love doesn’t seem to hold him anymore. You introduce new twists on those familiar favorites. Change the medium from drawing to painting or change the instrument from cello to guitar. Not even that only can hold him for a long.
Then you start to question whether you’re spending so much time with the broken one that you’ve forgotten that there are two others that you need you just as badly, and that you makes you feel even worse. What kind of parent am I? I have three children; and they all need me. Does the good of the one outweigh the good of the many? Or do I have that backward, too? So many questions, so few answers.
Thinking back, you can see his bright smiling face as he played, crawling around under and over the furniture, building castles out of Legos, and just enjoying the happiness of youth. What seemed like yesterday, you realize has been 5 or even 10 years gone by. There are no more Legos or colorful castles, and the smiles are few and far between. The once golden blonde waves of hair are now dyed black and you start to spend your days protecting him, just like you did when he was learning to walk oh so many years ago.
P!nk managed to say what I felt with one song: Perfect.
Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel
Like you’re less than f*in’ perfect.
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you’re nothing,
You’re f*in’ perfect to me
Now, how do I convince him?