September 14, 2016
The sun is shining and I live in a gorgeous place that in no way resembles a war zone. I have enough food to eat, clean water to drink, plumbing that works and a bed to sleep in. I am healthy and active. I have family and friends galore. What do I have to complain about?
But I am hurting. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe. For about two months, I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and cried a lot. At RWA this summer I sobbed on a lot of shoulders and each of these fabulous authors supported me and gave me strength. I’m in a better place now and want to tell you my story to hopefully help you or someone you love.
I have a teenager suffering from adolescent depression and no one, not even his mother, recognized it for far too long. Sure there were signs–moodiness, pulling away from the family and slipping into his phone, being secretive about what he and his friends talked about, defiance, sleeping later than usual. You know, normal teenage stuff. He kept up his grades and pulled off a 4.6 GPA last year as a sophomore. He was in prestigious clubs, competed in state championships, is handsome and had many girls fawning after him. His teachers love him. He has many friends and went to numerous parties. He did everything with the same intensity and determination he normal did…until he imploded.
My kid is one of those somewhat rare depression suffering teens who overachieve so that no one notices that they are dying inside. How did I find out? A warning sign popped out of left field.
He went to a party and drank himself almost to death. If hubby and I hadn’t arrived when we did and and the ambulance hadn’t been half a mile away, I wouldn’t be writing this because my son would be dead.
So, there’s that sign.
He was self-medicating with stuff that makes depression WORSE, not better. Now that we know, he is getting the treatment he needs. We are not over the hill yet, but off in the distance I can see the sun’s rays peaking up over the horizon. I have faith and love that can move that damned hill. Talking about it and getting professional help is doing wonders.
Here are a few articles I found about high-functioning depression:
Hugs to all parents.
This stuff ain’t easy.