“It’s a sad affair
When there’s no one there
He calls out in the night
And it’s so unfair
At least it seems that way
When you gave him his life”
– Tears for Fears “Suffer the Children”
Last week when I wrote about dealing with the symptoms of irritability and anger I talked about my son and how I was trying to avoid letting my symptoms affect him. It isn’t easy and it isn’t always effective. I try to shield him from my outbursts, but he will see me when my anger takes over and I yell and curse. I try desperately to avoid him becoming the brunt of my anger. Part of my daily cycle usually includes being more irritable at the end of the day, usually around the time he has to take a bath and go to bed. If his mother is home she will handle this part of the routine, but lately she’s been working late so it’s been my responsibility.
When it comes to certain things, my son does not move quickly. Things like getting dressed for school or to go out at all, getting into the car and putting on his seat belt, and walking through stores, all seem to take forever. Now I know this is not specific to him and a lot of children do this, so I deal with it and I good-naturedly tease him a little, although he did not know what the phrase “slow as molasses in winter” meant. He uses his same time-consuming process in his night time routine, taking forever to get in the bath, getting his pajamas on, brushing his teeth, trying to con me into giving him one last snack or glass of chocolate milk. Again, none of these are unusual, but by this time of day I have no patience. I need him to go to bed so I can have my time to calm down and go to bed. I spend a lot of time muttering under my breath that he should hurry up and move his ass to get into bed. When he asks what I said, I can respond, “Nothing, just talking to myself,” and carry on. I keep telling myself that it’s not his fault. I have to try to keep calm. Deep breathing and occasionally leaving the room for two minutes to collect myself usually works.
At the other end of the mood swings is the depression. This is the most painful part for me. I completely withdraw. I sit on the couch with a hoodie pulled down over my eyes and avoid all communication. He knows Daddy isn’t feeling well. I lie and blame one of more physically tangible illnesses, usually that my stomach is bothering me. This can only work for so long. He knows that something is up. He’s six, not stupid. One day he asked me outright, “Why are you so sad all the time?” I just wanted to break down and sob when he asked. Not only did he figure it out, he had questions that I’m not ready to answer. How do I explain bipolar depression to him at his age?
It isn’t only his observing my symptoms that bothers me, even though I wonder how he processes the behavior he sees. I worry that he may suffer these symptoms himself. Children with a bipolar parent run a 15-25% chance of suffering the same disorder. I hope each and every day that he isn’t part of that number, that he will escape dealing with these uncontrollable emotions and the cycling mood swings. I am horrified by the thought of him suffering through the pain of depression.
I try not to dwell on these thoughts. He is a very happy, funny, and adorable child. I want him to be nothing but happy. Despite my mental illness, he is a source of incredible joy for me and the reason I’m alive. When I was at my lowest and seriously considering suicide, I stopped each time because of what it would do to my son. It would have been a violently selfish act that would devastate him and cause immeasurable pain, the one thing I’ve been trying to avoid. When my irritability slowly creeps up by the end of the day, it is his laughter and happiness that ultimately see me through.