The worst part is the isolation. And the loss. Both by stigma and by choice. My son’s battle with mental illness breaks me. Every day. Like an endless roller coaster, the kind with twists and blind turns, unexpected and unpleasant.
Our lives are jolted and thrown from one turn to the next. Ever since he was a little boy, my son has struggled not only with anxiety, depression, hallucinations, headaches, episodes of tremendous highs and tremendous lows, but he has also been lulled by the relief of medication, suffered the hollowness of withdrawal and been on the constant search for balance, for relief, for normalcy, a state so elusive for any of us, but made worse for those who see the world through kaleidoscope lenses.
We know the “good days” are short-lived
Even on the good days, as we bask in the glow of…