I have been reflecting on the last 7 weeks. The last seven weeks of hell. Feels like it's been seven years.
Seven weeks ago my son told me he saw a person.
A person no one else could see.
A person that was awful and horrible and scary.
And he felt crazy.
Then he started hearing voices.
And he felt crazier.
And all of his hopes and dreams crashed.
When everyone else was posting pictures of school and football games,
our family was in a literal fight for his life.
When he should have been on the basketball court,
He was at home, afraid and alone, and not wanting to tell anyone what was going on in his head.
Watching my beautiful son, my amazing, loving, tender hearted child break was awful.
Knowing I couldn't fix it tore me up.
Watching his dreams slip through his fingers, and his hopes and his light drain from his eyes crushed me.
I knew nothing about this diagnosis.
It is a scary, ugly monster.
Thankfully, I am a fighter.
We know how to advocate and we know how to love.
We love him so much.
Thankfully, he is now receiving the help he needs. It will be a very long process and I'm sure there will be ups and downs. When he feels like he has nothing he has us. And he has God. And hopefully, he has all of you.