Please Check your Religion at the Door

 I guess I am officially "out of the closet." No, I am not gay, I am something that is infinitely worse in today's society. I am an Atheist.

 I am probably more of an Agnostic Atheist, but that's splitting hairs. The bottom line is I don't believe in the God of Christianity. I don't discount the possibility of a spiritual afterlife completely because that can be neither proven or dis proven (there's the Agnostic point of view). One thing is absolute for me. God, as he is described in the Bible, does not exist.
  I won't teach my children that God exists or that he loves them or that he created anything on this planet. This is a little hard to swallow for a lot of people and I understand that. We live in the South, where there is a church (sometimes two) on every block and they are always full on Sunday morning. My disbelief seems radical and out of place here.

 But, I have a right to disbelieve just like Christians have a right to believe. I deserve the same respect.

    I will teach my children to be tolerant of all people and religions, I will teach them to be respectful and not condescending or argumentative. I have told Cole and Chloe that religion is very precious to some people and it is hurtful to criticize or tell people that they are silly or wrong. I find it very hard, however, to get them to understand this when Christians are constantly telling them (and me) that we are wrong. My mother saw fit to tell my son all about God. She also saw fit to tell him I was wrong. Her excuse is it is her belief that she dictates she must "spread the word."

 You spread the word to me and you open up the door for me to pick "the word" apart. I will never, ever, go out looking for an argument about religion but if you bring one to my doorstep I will say what I think and it may be offensive to you.

   This is the same for my children. If they are confronted by a child who says that they are wrong for not believing in God, then that child is going to hear the reasons why they don't believe. It's only fair. I get most irritated when people tell my mentally-ill and Autistic son that there is some horrible creature called "the devil" that will get him if he doesn't believe in God.
  What if I walked up to your 9 year old and told them that a horrible beast was going to come out of their closest and snatch them up and torture them for eternity if they didn't believe the way I do? You would be incredibly angry, you would feel I had overstepped my bounds and walked all over your right to teach your own child your beliefs, and I scared the poor kid to death in the process.

 Why is it ok to do that to me and my kids?

   I have friends that I love and respect who are Christians. I am trying very hard to contain my anger because I would never want to say anything that would be offensive to them. I have had a number of experiences this week that have made it hard for me to remain ambiguous about my beliefs. My close friends know me, they know what I think and they are respectful of that. My own family seems to want to step on my toes.

  For Cole, religion is harmful. Period. It's a bad thing for him. It teaches thoughts are the same as actions and you are as responsible for bad thoughts as you are bad actions. Cole has OCD and this condition is largely defined by intrusive and unwanted bad thoughts that he can't control. We now know there is an organ in our body that controls thought processes and it can be damaged or genetic factors can contribute to a malfunction. It's no one's fault. 
  
   Psychologists call it thought-action fusion. It's the FALSE belief that thoughts are the same as actions.  Realizing this is a key step in recovering from OCD. We also frown upon magical thinking. It's not really conducive to conquering OCD. We focus on logic, rationality, and accepting the limits of our own knowledge and control. Religion is the exact opposite of most of these concepts. It throws him backwards.

 I walked into his room the other day to find him feverishly sorting things and extremely anxious. We finally got down to the root of his anxiety. A conversation with my mom about God.

"Mom. why did God give me OCD if he loves me?" he asked me. I gave him the best answer I knew how. I told him no God that really exists would watch such a sweet child suffer so needlessly without intervening if he had the power. I believe that.

 I am telling friends and family. Religion isn't helpful for us, it isn't constructive and in some cases it interferes with the beneficial therapeutic process. Please, check your religion at the door and I'll leave my Atheist views right there beside it and we can focus on the things we do have in common. 

Reflecting & Hoping

 It has been one hell of a year.

I realized I haven't taken a single moment in all this time to really reflect on what I've been through. I just dealt with it.
   We had a meeting with a new school, we talked about putting Cole and Chloe back in public school. Aiden will start next year too. I left hopeful, that the kids could return to school, Cole could be in a regular classroom (with supports, of course) and Aiden could start his kindergarten year with his friends.

We might actually be able to return to some semblance of "normal."

  For some reason that realization just opened the flood gates. I felt overjoyed, drained, and emotional. I came home from that meeting exhausted. A giant weight had been lifted, but the fatigue of carrying it for so long hit me hard. I laid down and slept. I slept for fourteen hours.

  Almost a year ago Cole was inpatient at a psychiatric facility for children. He spent fifteen days being evaluated by doctors, therapists, and social workers. I was told he was acutely psychotic and likely Schizophrenic. They don't typically diagnose children with Schizophrenia so we got an even more ambiguous label: Psychosis-NOS (not otherwise specified). The psychiatrist overseeing Cole's case said he was unusual, complex, and  unlike any patient he'd seen. He wasn't solid on anything, there didn't seem to be a name for what was attacking my son's mind.

 I worried about Aiden and Chloe. Could Cole be dangerous? I worried about my unborn baby, I didn't know what kind of home life she would be brought into. Chloe and Aiden still needed me, I wanted to be there for them and so I couldn't spend every moment at the hospital. I felt torn. Part of me felt glad that Chloe and Aiden would get a taste of "normal family life." The other part of me felt terrible for feeling that way.

  We got reports everyday that he was paranoid, agitated, and experiencing auditory hallucinations. Every time we gave the go ahead to increase the powerful anti-psychotics they were giving him. I felt like I was killing him. I felt like it was a choice between poisoning his body or letting him lose his mind. I am not unfamiliar with the devastation Schizophrenia can cause. To leave it unchecked would be a death sentence.

 Then he developed EPS as a side effect of the medications they were giving him.  They told me when I came to visit him that I could not see him because of the state he was in. There was no way in hell my child was going to go through that without his mother. I demanded to see him and they nurse eventually led me to his room.
  There I saw him, his head and face pulled to one side and his body seemed rigid. He was crying, in the dark, alone. The nurse informed me that they had given him sedatives but he was "fighting them" and "wouldn't calm down." I sat with him and stroked his hair and sang to him. When he drifted off into a fitful sleep, I cried. The pain of seeing him like that, knowing that this could be what he was facing for the rest of his life was too much. I felt hopeless.

 When he was released he didn't seem to have improved very much. The medication had taken the "edge off" but even the day of his release he was described as being "extremely anxious." Insurance was done paying so they were done treating. We took him home.

 Two weeks later he had a follow-up with a new psychiatrist. I had really become jaded when it came to the mental health profession, so I wasn't expecting much. The doctor seemed very straight forward if not a bit detached. He asked a lot of questions and typed vigorously on his computer as we answered. I was annoyed, I felt like he wasn't really paying attention. As we were wrapping up he said in his very even, matter of fact, tone "Mrs. Patterson, I do not believe your son is psychotic. I know I have only met him once so I am reserving my judgement for now, but I believe your son has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder."

"Yeah, right." was all I could think. I have OCD and I felt like I would recognize it in my own child. I am not one to ever dismiss anything and so I started to research OCD in children. Some of it fit, he was extreme, but it did fit. There might be hope after all.

 Now, let me get this straight, no parent wishes any illness on their child but if you were told your child had a progressive tumor in their brain you would be devastated, you would hope it was treatable. Being told your child has Schizophrenia is like being told your child has an inoperable tumor, the prognosis is guarded and there isn't much doctors can do but medicate. Being told Cole had OCD was like being told this tumor is operable, it's treatable and there's hope for recovery.

 He ended up being hospitalized again, for another fifteen days before finally receiving a definitive diagnosis of OCD. That hospitalization was the worst for me emotionally. The hospital was a state hospital two hours away and it embodied everything people fear and associate with a 1950's asylum. I wanted him out and taken to another hospital in Charlotte. They refused and a battle ensued. I got a lawyer, filed complaints about the inappropriate conduct of the staff and the terrible conditions at the hospital (the A/C was broken in the middle of June). I was terrified I had somehow lost my son to the system. It was like a horror movie. I was stripped of my right to make medical decisions for my own child. Cole was kept past the 24 hour observation period allowed by the state and they have yet to produce the required affidavits to show the need to keep him longer. They saw two types of insurance and payment in-full for every day they kept my son. They saw dollar signs. It's a battle I am still fighting. To make sure his continued stay wouldn't benefit them monetarily, I retracted the documents I signed granting them permission to bill insurance. Without the ability to bill my insurance, the bill was left for me to pay. I told them I would never pay it. They'd have to transfer him or provide the services for free. They chose the latter. I spent every single day of those fifteen days wrought with anxiety. I still had two children to care for, so I shoved it aside. Stealing quiet moments when the kids were at school to fall apart.

The only good thing that came out of the debacle was a much less devastating diagnosis of OCD and no more terrifyingly strong medications. I had a place to start, something I could do. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. Intensively.

The months that followed were trying. There were frequent meltdowns, Cole couldn't function well at school and the principal didn't feel they could provide enough support for him at her school. He was transferred to a school and put in a class where he was threatened and assaulted. Meanwhile, Chloe's teacher couldn't wrap her head around the concept of ADD (repeatedly sending "concerned emails" about Chloe being distracted) and even had the audacity to ask "Is something going on at home?" I just had to shake my head. It was like they expected me to somehow prevent this upheaval going on at home from affecting Chloe's school performance. They stopped short of actually providing HER with extra supports or free school based therapy, though.

Then it culminated in the decision to homeschool. Literally days after giving birth I was faced with having to find a curriculum and teach third grade. It was that or risk my son's safety while I battled the school district. I was so tired of fighting.

 So I homeschooled and worked on doing exposures and CBT therapy every day. Cole went through several therapists before he got the one he is with now. She is truly a god send. With her help he slowly started to progress. Chloe started to progress too, she focused on learning the skills to deal with her ADD. I felt like a round the clock therapist. Everyday felt like climbing a mountain, and I longed for the "normal" mom duties, like baking cookies or attending PTO meetings. I felt awful sending Aiden to school while I poured so much effort into Cole and Chloe. I tried to bounce back and forth between teaching and caring for Autumn. I felt bitter about not having the first few weeks to spend just cuddling my newborn. It just wasn't supposed to be this way.

 It was a lot of pressure. It was like spending a year in a pressure cooker.

 Today Cole still has OCD and it creeps up sometimes, but he handles it. He is the strongest kid I know. Even at the hospital the staff told me they loved Cole. His therapist says she wants to try so hard for him because he really gives it his all. He wants to fight, improve, and live a happy life. Despite the extraordinary difficulty he has been through he is not the least bit bitter. He takes it all in stride. He has incredible insight and intelligence.

 What means the most to me though, is that I see him smile and joke a lot more now. I see him planning on swimming this summer (something he wouldn't do last summer because his OCD left him terrified he might make others sick by getting in the water with them.) I see him getting stronger than the illness. I see that he is ready to make steps towards a future that a year ago I was told he didn't have.

Starting back to school is a step in this direction.

Chloe and Aiden get to make a step too, they get a chance to live outside the shadow of their brother's struggles. I have a lot of work to do to make up for the time they were cheated out of because of OCD.
 Autumn might get the chance to sit on my knee and wave "bye, bye" as her brother's and sisters board the bus for school and then be mommy's baby for a little while. It seems so simple, but it would be so wonderful.

 I am cautiously optimistic that things are going to be ok. That we won't be held hostage by severe mental illness any longer. Maybe, just maybe, we have won.

Thoughts on Mental Illness

 This is on my facebook notes, today I ran across a situation and it reminded me that I had written this and wanted to share it on here:


We like to think we are in control of ourselves. We like to think that we control the thoughts in our minds and our perceptions of the world around us. It gives us comfort to assume we can “talk ourselves” out of bad feelings or that “positive thinking” can turn our lives around. It all comes back around to the idea that our minds belong to us and we decide what to do with them.  The thought that our mind is a series of electrical impulses and carefully balanced chemical reactions, which could be thrown off by something as simple as a bump on the head, is just too scary to fathom. We don’t like the notion that we could “lose our minds”, as if they were ever really ours to begin with. Perhaps this is why we shun those who are unfortunate enough to suffer with diseases that rob them of the illusion of control we value so much.
                A successful artist, with such a love for others that he volunteers as an art teacher for troubled youth and patiently teaches them to love and embrace the good things in life, gets into a automobile accident. During the accident he receives a blow to his head damaging his frontal cortex. As he recovers he is no longer able to create works of art, he has a hard time forming a concept for a painting, much less putting it on canvas. He frequently destroys his art supplies in fits of rage and frustration and he was asked to step down from his volunteer position because he made lewd comments to the female youth and was often incoherent and confusing when trying to give instruction. He is shunned by his friends who now think he is impulsive and rude and no longer has a way to make a living. His life and personality were changed by one fateful blow to the brain.
       Imagine now that it wasn’t a car accident that damaged this artist’s brain, imagine it was a slow insidious change in personality. This is the way many mental illnesses attack the brain. Instead of a jarring blow there are neurotransmitters and chemicals thrown out of whack. It is hard to try to imagine how it would feel, but in order to understand the disease we must try. At first, your senses may begin to change, you notice things becoming brighter, and perhaps they even begin to glow. You feel euphoric and enlightened and with every sensation around seemingly so amplified you feel this must be something divine. You feel an intense need to share this message of love and divinity with everyone you see.  God is sending you a message, what else could it be? Other people don’t seem to believe you and you hear an audible voice tell you that they are demonic and there to prevent you from spreading your message. You mistake their confused and concerned stares for menacing ones and begin to suspect they are planning something. You hear the hushed whispers about finding you help and assume it is a plot to poison you. That is what the now ever present voice in your head screams at you every day. You stop eating and take your family’s insistence that you eat something as more evidence that they are trying to hurt you. Eventually the voices began to tell you that there are cameras everywhere. You see them too, the once harmless blinking light on your radio, how could you have not noticed that it was obviously a camera watching you? You feel duped and betrayed. You vow to trust no one. You go through the house and smash all the electronic devices. This will teach them that they can’t outsmart you! When your family finally calls the police to have you taken to get help your every suspicion is confirmed. They were plotting against you and now they have gotten you. You are terrified; the voices are telling you that if you don’t get away they will hurt you so you fight with all your might.
     There are millions of people who go through ordeals like this every day. They are of all ages, socioeconomic statuses, and levels of intelligence.  The sad and scary fact is that in a lot of mental illnesses; reasoning ability and insight is the first executive function to go, leaving you vunerable to the illogical whims of a diseased mind. We squirm at the thought that we could one day wake up and truly believe we are the Messiah. It is a function of your brain that allows you to logically process the evidence that you are not.  We are all potentially a few imbalanced chemicals away from a psychotic state. It is for this reason that I argue for understanding and empathy for those suffering with mental illness.  No one would make the conscious choice to feel that way, to believe bizarre things, or behave in embarrassing ways, or to be thought of as lazy because there is no energy or drive there to get them out of bed. If there was a way to “think differently” and make it all go away those of us with mental illness would gladly think of puppies and beaches all day long and snap out of it. It doesn’t work that way. I want to quote a close family member of mine who suffers with a schizo affective disorder. He describes a time of deep depression where his friend suggested he try to get out of the house and do something he liked doing to make himself “feel better” He said “I don’t think she understands that that is precisely what is broken. My ability to feel anything but empty has been taken away, and a walk in the park won’t bring it back. It’s in my head, it’s like if you lost both your legs and someone said ‘you used to love to run, maybe running will make you happy’ you can’t when your legs are gone. I can’t when that part of my brain is messed up. There’s nothing anyone can do but take meds and pray it works.”
    I hope someday people will try to understand mental illness. I hope we can jump into this century and rid of ourselves of the archaic notion that these diseases are the product of bad parenting or demonic forces. I hope we can view mental illness the same as we do any other biological ailment and stop placing blame. I hope those of us who suffer from these diseases can seek help in the light of day instead of trying to hide in the shadows, afraid of the stigma it carries and the jobs and friends we might lose. If enough people stand up and shed the shame and allow the world to see that the stereotypes are false, maybe change will happen in my lifetime.

Relationships

 I am going to have to admit that relationships remain  a bit confusing to me. I am a deeply emotional person, but I am not particularly emotive. I don't like talking about feelings. Not because it's hard to talk about them, but because it seems absolutely useless to me. Rather than simply talking about how a problem makes you feel, why not put your mind to finding a solution? Negative feelings don't need to be discussed, negative feelings arise from situations or circumstances that need to be addressed and once that is done the feelings will improve. That is how I operate.
  I am learning that most people think you are a cold person if you take that approach. People are supposed to talk about how they feel with each other for no other reason than to "let it out." Apparently, this allows another person to connect to you. No, I am not dumb and I understand that this seems like a fairly simple thing to grasp but it really has eluded me for a long time. I think I understood it on an intellectual level. I don't think I understood the purpose behind it or how someone makes an "emotional connection."
   I have always been fascinated by psychology and the human mind and I read any book I could get my hands on about psychology. I gauge a social exchange based on what I have learned about human behavior. I am not kidding. There are instructions going through my mind ( make eye contact, now look away, make a joke now, laugh now, move your hands, no you are moving your hands too much you seem nervous, and etc.)
  I think this is a maneuver that gives me a feeling of control. I am calculating this exchange and I am not really, truly, invested in it. I do this because I lack any real social skills and I have been told as much. Many times.
   As a teenager it was amusing, tact and social ability didn't seem that important.It wasn't until I had children that I wanted to learn how to connect with people so my kids could have friends. I bombed repeatedly at developing friendships. I couldn't get past the superficial point in a relationship.
  You see, I have observed that there is a certain unspoken point in any relationship where you take the proverbial "mask" off and be yourself. It took me awhile to learn that you had to put the mask on (and you do have to, no one want you to literally "be yourself" upon first meeting you, trust me.) This seems to be a natural part of any friendship or romance. There comes a point at which you don't say "I'm fine" when they ask how you are doing if it's not really fine. There comes a point where you can do, as Oprah calls it, the "ugly cry" on that person's shoulder and you don't seem like a nut. ( I have had people I just met break down into tears and it's quite uncomfortable, so I know there is a line there.)
   I don't have the ability to sense when that's ok. I just stay on that safe superficial level with people. Most people don't think to tell you, "It's ok, we are friends now," because it's this thing that is supposedly just understood. I fail to pick up on it or I am over-analyzing it entirely.
   I feel for Aspies, I can't imagine the frustration. I want people to feel as if I am a caring person, but I have trouble exhibiting the characteristics people associate with "caring people".
  I really, really, suck at  being "warm and friendly" and I wish I didn't. Lucky for me I do have friends now.  I think it's ok to call  them friends and they don't seem to mind my quirks or my occasional tactless remark.
 With Valentine's Day around the corner I think I should try to work on expressing how much I care about the people in my life that mean the most to me. Josh and I have been together for 10 years and though he has accepted me as someone who isn't very romantic and cuddly, I think it's kind of unfair not to try to be more that way. People need to "feel" loved.