A few days ago, I lost my mind. I thought it was over my son’s situation. My son has autism. He is 26 years old. For the past 6 months, he has screamed his head off at least once a day.
It looks like pain to me. He has never wasted a tear on anything frivolous. He’s usually very happy. He loves to dance, watch videos, be chased around the driveway, and play board games.
His pain is so intense that he self-injures now. There are so many scars on his arms, legs, and forehead. I don’t know what to do.
He has been to the emergency room twice, a gastroenterologist twice, and his new primary care doctor five times over the past 6 months. We are no better than when it started.
I’m frustrated. The hardest thing to experience is watching your child suffer. I feel helpless.
The only things that lasted longer than their prescriptions were the natural supplements that I tried. I still feel like we are all throwing stuff against the wall to see what sticks.
In the moment, it gets so intense that the only thing I can say is, “Stop!” I need him to stop screaming so that I can think clearly. At the same time, he is doing what he is supposed to do. I’m Mommy. He’s supposed to cry out to me. I’m supposed to be able to help.
A few days ago, I got into my car with my son. I drove down a street that is tree-lined. There are no other cars to see. I let it rip.
Luckily, my son listened to me years ago. I told him that if Mommy is yelling, I am just blowing off steam. He usually laughs at me. This day was different.
He screamed, too. I screamed and cried from my soul. I kept yelling phrases like, “Why is this happening?” And “I don’t know what to do!”
The sky opened up and rained so hard that it was difficult to see. It opened the next street for me to continue to purge my frustrations. So, I screamed and cried some more.
I’ve never had the freedom to release like that. I finally pulled over into an empty section of a parking lot. I cried a bit longer. Then it was over.
I wondered if I had a nervous breakdown or what was happening. I had no control over the intensity of it. I couldn’t stop it or stuff it down again.
My breathing returned, and I began to calm down. As soon as that happened, the clouds moved out and the sun began to shine again. I felt myself appear.
I looked at my son, who had also calmed and was watching a video on my cell phone. He was totally ignoring me. Whichever medication I had given him finally worked, I guess.
For me, it was a feeling of freedom. I realized that this wasn’t just the frustration over my son’s pain. It was over fifty years of stuffed-down feelings that had been begging for release.
I set it free. I have been told for years to take care of myself because if I don’t, I can’t take care of anyone else. My son is my world. He is my priority always.
Lately, he had not been. The truth is that everyone has relied on me. My son had become another mountain to tackle. After my tirade, I can now think more clearly. I’ve been able to notice more quickly than before when the pain starts, and identify the differences in his actions.
I don’t know for sure, but I am getting a slow handle on things for him. I also now have a plan for the providers he needs to see instead of what we have been doing. His scars on his arms, legs, and forehead are starting to heal.
I’m even more settled. My chest no longer hurts, and I don’t have any more palpitations. The windshield may not be so lucky. I really let loose on it this time. If inanimate objects have feelings, I hope it can forgive me. Maybe it’s glad it could somehow be of help.
I’m not saying that screaming is the best form of therapy. It certainly helped me. Find some way to release the frustration that is healthy and actually helps. For me, it was my windshield. My windshield was my supportive presence.
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