My Son's Depression

Mental illness runs deep in my family for many generations.  And these are only the diagnosed cases.  I saw psychological issues my entire life, though initially I didn't have a name for the craziness.  I saw families torn a part, insane behavior and people left to be a shell of themselves.  I was scared it would happen to me and even more fearful it would happen to my children.

I tell people my aunt died at 51 of mental illness.  It's an easy explanation and rarely does anyone question me further.  We don't really know how she died; there was alcohol, pills and also the possibility she was killed (crazy side story).  But making a blanket mental illness statement is easiest.  She was an artist and used her art as therapy a lot to process what had happened to her.  Horrifying paintings depicting self hatred and abuse. She had a lifetime of pain and it's hard not to believe that maybe her death was the best thing that could have happened to her tortured heart.

When I got pregnant I wanted a boy.  I hoped, prayed, begged and rubbed my belly every day saying, "Boy Boy Boy" as if I could will the Y chromosome in me.  I was terrified of having a girl.  In my head all the women in the family had mental illness so if I could just have a boy then he'd be safe.  I later learned of the male suicides and had male family members get taken down by it.  I also felt that a girl would be destroyed by my father and having a boy he'd have a chance.  Once my son was born I had my tubes tied so there would be no chance of a baby girl coming from me.

My son's depression seemed to come on after a break up with a horribly abusive ex-girlfriend, though I expect it was happening before then and this is actually what enabled her to keep him.  I tried talking to him, got him a therapist (who he thankfully loves and is still with to this day), made some medication attempts that ended horribly.  A lot of ups and downs but then it felt like it all got very dark for him. If I didn't hear from him at a certain time my first fear was that he'd killed himself.  I'd go into a panic texting, calling, texting my ex-husband, Facebook messages, Twitter messages, Instagram messages and once even charging into the house screaming his name until I found him sleeping in bed.

I don't know how to help my son anymore.  I encourage, check in, offer guidance, pay for therapy but it never feels like enough.  And I do understand this; I know all of these things never got me out of my deepest depression...I wanted it and did it myself.  (Side note: this in no way takes away from therapy, medication and self care.  Hard stop.)  I wanted so much better for him.  I'm mad at it all but nowhere to direct it; mad at my genes, at life, at the universe and at the unknown.