My big boy. Today you’re 12 years old. When I was told about your diagnosis, I thought that as the years went by, it would get easier and easier. Unfortunately, your episodes are still just as intense, but on top of that, you’ve grown up and you’re stronger.
If only you knew how much your words hurt us. They twist our hearts, they tear us apart from the inside. There’s nothing you don’t say during a seizure. When you say that I hate you and that I’d like to see you dead, it hurts me so much. When you say you don’t care that your brothers and sister are afraid of you, it completely turns me inside out.
If only you knew how violent you are. How intense your urges to break things, throw things, and hit people are. How afraid your family is of you during these moments of crisis. Even I, your mother, am afraid. I’m afraid my 12-year-old son will get hurt, or hurt his brothers or sister, or hurt me. I’m afraid I won’t grab your arm in time, before you throw the bench you’re holding. I’m afraid your sister will get in your way at the wrong moment and I won’t have time to intervene.
If only you knew how much I’d love to help you. I’ve worked so hard with you, your dad, and a whole team of professionals to help you. We’ve tried new approaches, followed new protocols, and adjusted your medications. But I wish so much I could do more.
If only you knew how much I wish you’d understand. That you’d realize it doesn’t make any sense. That you’d see how destructive your behavior is.
If only you knew how much I love you. I love you deeply. I’ll always be there for you. To get through all these challenges with you.
If only you knew how much you can trust yourself. Because I know that one day, you’ll talk about these episodes in the past tense. I’m convinced that you’re stronger than your diagnoses. You’re a wonderful person; you have a big heart; you’re generous and sensitive, imaginative and brilliant. You just need to make more room for the rational side of you, and I’ll help you get there.