Mothers of sons

  It hangs over me like the sword of Damocles, ready to fall at any time. Currently, he is fine, he organises his daily routine, can deal with his illness, does sport and maintains his social contacts. But it can happen again, like 10 years ago for the first time, 8 years ago again and a year ago in a milder form. 

When it happens, he becomes someone else within a few days, is nervous with a piercing gaze, pacing around, talking about things that only he perceives, anxious, suspicious. I have the impression that he sees me but no longer trusts me, as if I might want to harm him too. This scares me a lot, which in turn puts him under pressure because he doesn‘t want me to worry. 

Last time, my advice to see his psychiatrist as soon as possible was dismissed with the comment that this time he will surely manage on his own. He probably realized that he was not quite well, but thought he would manage. His confusion was increasing, as was my fear. He no longer spoke a lot, hardly called at all, and when I called him, he often didn’t pick up the phone until one day he could no longer be reached at all. 

I drove to his apartment, but he didn't open. From the street, I could see that the light was on in his living room, and I sat in the car and watched to see if I can perceive any sign of life. My thoughts were going round in circles: what could have happened, where is he, how is he, and above all, what can I do, how can I get to him to help him, what could I do to get him to let me help him? After a while, I saw movement in his room, thank God, he's there! I called him, no answer, I rang the doorbell again, he doesn't open. Why isn't he responding? I drove home, at least I saw that he was still alive, that calmed me a little.

II would come back the following day, maybe he might open the door then. The next day he opened the door, I was so glad! However, he hardly responded to my questions, probably because there were too many. 

His apartment was in a terrible state, it looked as if he had been searching for something, all the drawers and cupboards were open, his Xbox had been taken apart, and he had even opened the cover of the air exhaust in the bathroom. Unfortunately, he couldn't eat anymore, everything would have been poisoned, even the cigarettes would contain poison. 

So he was even worse off than I had assumed. I casually asked if a doctor's visit might help him, but he said no way, the doctor is also in league with those who poison his food and maybe I'm one of them because I want him to go there. So it was better not to say anything, otherwise I would completely lose contact with him. I felt completely powerless, there was nothing more I could do for him.......

Many things had to happen before my son finally allowed himself to be helped. Stays in various institutions, years of therapy and lots of medication followed, and a lot of work on himself was necessary. At the moment he is doing well again, but for how long? The illness persists, the sword of Damocles continues to hang over us. I try not to think about it, but is that possible?