The day the boy became a man

Today my baby boy turns eighteen

.
When I look back at all the years I can actually remember saying ...
"I cannot wait until he sits up on his own"
"I cannot wait until he can hold his own bottle"
"I cannot wait until he can dress himself"
"I cannot wait until he goes to school"
"I cannot wait ....."
Now .... I CAN wait.  Time needs to just WAIT.
Before I knew it he was tall, his voice was changing, he got his permit to drive, he is off with friends ... making stupid teenage decisions.
But this is how life goes.
But with this noodle ... it is different.
Not only is he my first but he has Autism.  He does not really understand how the world works.  How cruel people can be.  He is still really a boy in a six foot+ body of a man.  I would rate his maturity about 12-13 years old.  He still cries (I don't mean cry like cause something is really sad) but cries and cries about things.  Of course boys can cry but by the time you are eighteen you usually have some control over WHEN you need to cry over somethings.
He thinks everyone is his friend.  He thinks he has to do stupid things to get people to be his friends.  We try to make him understand that he is an adult now and people will "SEE" him as an adult and not an adult with special needs.  But he DOES have special needs.
My mother thinks I shelter him too much and I think she gives him TOO much freedom.
It's painful to see that line.
My heart aches for him and celebrates for him at the same time.  I miss snuggling that baby (whether he liked it or not WHICH he did NOT like to snuggle)
I wish all the best for him.  I want him to be happy.  I want the world to see how awesome he is.  I want the world to see how much he can offer.
Oh heck ... I just want him to be happy.  Have friends, a girlfriend ... that's all he desperately wants.
And I want that for him.
Its a happy and sad day.  I feel like there is so much I missed out on.  So much I could have taught him that I just didn't.  We get so wrapped up in our daily lives with what we THINK is important.
These kids are important.
I hope if nothing else we have taught him love.  And I think we have.
Hmmmm .... I wonder if he would snuggle with me right now on his birthday?
I am going to go try!

It's hardly heroic

Depression is like the rabbit that the magician suddenly whips out of his hat:  where was it hiding before?  It just appears, out of nowhere, and you're all amazed. 

I sometimes think I'm making it all up.  

Given that I've suffered with depression all my life it may seem strange that I would ever doubt its existence.  It's as much a part of my identity as my eye color and hair color.  I never question the fact that I have dark brown hair.  I never wake up in the morning and expect to be blonde.  Why then do I wonder if I have a mental illness? Why do I tell myself, today is a brand new day and I'm just as normal as anyone else?

Lately I've been plagued by other people's doubts.  In a perfect world, those who are closest to you would believe what you tell them.  "I have an illness," you'd expect them to understand and empathize.  Certainly if you were to say, "I have cancer," you'd expect an immediate heartfelt response:  what can I do for you?  How can I help?  It's extremely unlikely that anyone would react to that statement by questioning you.

Why then when you say, "I have a mental illness," is the reaction not the same?  Why do people try to talk you out of it, when you know damn well that this is your truth.  

So I suppose it isn't all that surprising that I doubt my own reality from time to time.  It doesn't help that depression AND anxiety is such a shape-shifting trickster by nature ... forever changing how it looks and feels.  It's extremely hard to pin down.  

I can't believe how palpable the pain really is.  It isn't just in my head; it's in my bones.  My whole body aches with despair.

The fact that it's so physical is actually something of a relief.  I know that contrary to what society may think, I'm not just a wimp who can't cope with the stresses of everyday life.  I'm not a slacker or a princess who doesn't want to work.  I feel sicker than if I had the flu or even pneumonia—it's agony simply to blink or breathe.  Something is very, very wrong, and it's not all in my imagination.  And I'm not pretending.  Who would ever choose to play this role?  

It's hardly heroic.

It's been a long, long time since I have had a bout of depression like this.  It is hard to shake this time and the usual coping mechanisms are not helping.  The usual things I do ... Are not helping.  It is hard to get up everyday.  But I am telling you all this not for pity, or anyone to feel they need to do anything but just to show that it IS real and even those who you think would/could not possibly be a real victim of its grasp are suffering.   It has been held at bay through all these years with teeny bouts here and there but this by far is the worst it has been in about fifteen years.  It never goes away.  It just lays dormant.  

But I will be okay. I DO have people who are there for me. I am blessed and have lots of reasons to hang around here on this rock.  

Just remember the struggle is real.  

The Forever Fight

She thought if she clawed hard enough

Wished hard enough

Closed her eyes long enough 

That the surface would come into sight

That if she tried hard enough

Walked long enough

Traveled with a forgiving heart

That the end of the tunnel would show

It's light

If she listened to her head

And kept a distance

Heard her heart and shielded it 

From the usual precursors 

That it would be different

But the muddy hole was too soggy

To claw through

There were not enough stars to wish upon

Her eyes were forced open by deception

The surface never was reached

Her trying was not good enough

Her feet became bloodied by the road traveled 

Her heart became hard with time 

The tunnel never ended in its unforgiving darkness

Her head was too tired

Her heart was too worn

The signs were all there and she ignored them

Once again

So she walks alone

A shell of a thing she once was

A shadow of what she could have been

And a whisper of a soul that will never be heard

~tjw

artwork by Tami J Ward 8//10/15