WT-L4 Discussion Topic

The scariest time of my life had to be when my son starting showing signs of mental illness and, due to "professionals", we had to move quickly back to our hometown
in Alabama.  From there, our lives worsened  till we ended up homeless.

It started when my son was 13 years old. He started being very moody, going from
one extreme to the other, missing days of school, isolating himself and hardly even
speaking.  I tried everything to get him help. As a single parent, I was at my wits end trying to work and keep an eye on him. After meetings with the school board and PINS officer, we finally got to the psychology doctors. This was a very bad idea. The doctors told me that my son was on the verge of harming himself and that I needed to immediately get him back to our home state. Being unsure of what was going on with my son, I did what the doctors advised. This advice was the cause of many problems.

Packing up everything we could put in my car, we headed to Alabama. Driving
straight through, we didn't stop till we got to Tuscaloosa. Needing to eat, we went
to the last place I had worked there. Upon entering, I noticed one of my old co-workers had become a manager. She immediately questioned me about my job status and inquired if I would like to work there again. Taking this as a good omen, I quickly agreed.

My son and I ended up living in a motel, since money was short. Within a week of
working, I soon started having health problems that interfered with my job. This was bad enough to put me out of work. Not having enough money to stay in a motel, we started living in my car. The shelters wouldn't take us because we could not stay there during the day. Social Services denied us as well due to no residence. My life was quickly going downhill fast. Scared and unsure of our future, I call a friend I had met on the internet a couple of years before. To my relief, we were invited to come stay with her and her family.

Our lives went from bad to worse. My friend had total chaos in her home. Her
husband was very abusive to her and to their teenage sons, who were daily beaten with fists and whatever else he could grab. The little girl was allowed to do whatever she wanted, including walking around the house naked. At the age of ten, this was not acceptable. The atmosphere quickly made things worse for my son. So again, we were back to living in our car. My friend once again came to our rescue and found us a place to stay with one of her relatives. Another bad idea. This family was not much better than hers.

This was the breaking point for my son. The relative's oldest boy came to me one morning to tell me my son would not get up for school and that something was wrong with him. I went upstairs to investigate. I immediately became terrified at my son's appearance. He was pale, weak, and unable to talk above a whisper. Upon questioning, he handed me his empty prescription bottle. Beyond terrified, I ran downstairs to tell the matriarch of the family, who showed no concern and refused to call 911. Grabbing the phone myself, I ran back upstairs to be with my son.

Events passed by quickly. I was filled with guilt for being across from his room and not knowing anything about what was happening. My only child nearly died. The child I had sacrificed everything for and was willing to do anything for. My son is well known for his "act before thinking" behavior and clearly this was another case. I asked him why. I asked him what would he think if I had tried to kill myself and he found me when it was too late. His response was tear-filled eyes and a shameful dropping of his head.

Directly upon leaving the hospital, my son was sent to a juvenile mental health hospital for a couple of weeks. I paced the house continiously. My nerves were shot. My son finally was released but the fear was still there. While walking with him one day, we were walking across a bridge. My son stopped and told me he should have jumped off the bridge and that next time he would. This made me even more terrified. Going to social services once again, I begged for their help to find us a place of our own. A few month's later, we had just that. My son's mood changed somewhat. He was no longer contemplating hurting himself anymore. My terror was finally over.