For months on end I cried every single day. I fell asleep with tears on my face as I prayed and prayed for my son.
I dreaded waking up.
Our family was living a nightmare.
One of our children was living in a nightmare.
He was not sleeping, unable to go to school, even unable to play basketball.
He was paralyzed.
By fear. Anxiety. Depression. Voices. Only he could hear them. But they were horrible.
You're not good enough. You don't deserve anything. Quit. Die. Just STOP.
He withdrew from life.
He wasn't the same.
We didn't know how to get him back.
We did the only thing we knew how to do.
We loved him every day, even when he pushed us away.
We fought for him, even when he gave up on himself.
And we found a team. A group of people in various positions, a high school coach, a school psychologist, a teacher, a therapist in a county program, and we all loved him.
No one gave up.
Even when he pushed us all away.
It took a full school year to find my boy.
He has some serious work left to do.
He has some deep scars from the battle.
But he also knows that he has people on his side; people he can trust.
People that care.
We smile more now.
We watch him play basketball again.
We see him find success at school.
We give our thanks to a Father in Heaven who heard our cries, and I'm sure He wept when we wept.
And then he helped put these amazing people in place to help him.
To guide him.
To find my boy in the broken shell he had become.
I think back at the last year and I wonder how we survived.
I remember not too long ago I was so weary I just wanted to lay down to sleep and not do it anymore.
But we kept pressing on. I know now that God was lifting us up, pushing us forward, putting angels on earth in place, so that our boy would make it.
He still has many many things to work on. But he will be ok. As the coach says, it's a marathon. A long, tough, steep marathon. But a marathon worth running. We see the light at the end of the tunnel. And it's oh so very bright.