...And So the World Keeps Turning

“So, it turns out I am the first person to ever discover the two sides of the coin that explains human psychology,” he said as he chewed his pork chop. Up to that point, the dinner sounds had been limited to silverware clinking and scraping against his mother’s Corelle.

His dad pushed his plate away.

“What the hell are you talking about, boy?”

He could read the disappointment in his dad’s eyes and considered not elaborating, but felt it was his mission to share this news with everyone.

“There are things we know to be true and things we feel,” he continued.  “Those are the two sides. They are very different, and they define each of us. People talk about going down rabbit holes, but what they don’t know is that their fear makes the hole bottomless so they can’t get access to the coin that shows the two sides. I am the only one to find the bottom and discover this coin and now I can unlock secrets.”

Eyebrows raised. His mom, dad and sister exchanged glances of confusion and terror.

“That’s nice, honey,” his mom said as she started loading the dishwasher. 

“It is up to me to reach everyone with this message,” he went on. “I am going to write a book about it and start a blog and maybe go on the news.  I have been chosen to teach people about their potential and how to differentiate the powers of their feelings and thoughts.”

A long silence followed. 

“You OK?” his sister asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

“I am more than OK, Katie, I am on top of the world!”

She stretched out her response, “Ooooh Kaaay.”

He noted her sarcasm but was eager to share more of his newfound wisdom.

“I can tell you are making fun of me and that’s OK,” he went on. “Everyone is valid, but not everyone is enlightened yet and that is why I was given this message to share.”

His dad rolled his eyes and left the room. His mom wiped down the table, scrubbing a stubborn spot for longer than was needed.

No further discussions were had about his odd revelation that evening. His mom, however, recognized something in his behavior and spent hours poring through websites while her family slept. What she didn’t know was that her son was also awake in the next room, obsessively organizing his room, reading his horoscopes on several websites, listening to podcasts on psychology and rubbing his thigh hard till it burned his hand.

The next morning, his mom’s phone was filled with concerned texts about posts her son had made the night before. He apparently felt compelled to share his coin theory in detail and elaborated about how dangerous feelings were and how much courage it took to face them and share them in spite of what others thought. He posted about conspiracies and the importance of validation and then would switch mid-sentence and rant about how empathy is dangerous.

His mom’s concerns transitioned to outright fear and she began to cry and wring her hands as she continued reading through symptoms she had seen in her own brother.

She considered telling her husband about her brother’s bipolar disorder and his downward spiral. She considered sharing her history with her son or venting to her daughter, but ultimately, she decided to keep it to herself. She felt a wave of shame, like she was to blame. Acid welled up in her chest as she remembered her brother’s struggle to find medication that would give the family a glimpse of his former self. 

As bad as the rants of the mania were, she knew her son would soon suffer from crippling depression and self-loathing. Neither option was something she would wish on her worst enemy, so how could she watch her son go through this pain? How could she walk on eggshells until his grandiosity was calm enough to listen, to seek help? How could she talk to her daughter about her family history of mental health issues without inviting more shame, more questions?

Silently, she grieved the son she felt she was losing. She scrolled through pictures of him growing up, his hair wispy on the trampoline then gelled for prom and grown long over the summer at the beach. She could practically smell his skin as she looked at baby pictures, complete with gentle kisses from his sister. Her mind immediately went to worse-case scenarios: suicide, psychiatric hospitals, schizophrenia, drugs, him never getting married or having children. She tried to feel what it would be like to not be a part of his life, to not connect with him and hear his laughter again.

“Mom, you’re not going to believe this, but I have a gift for choosing who will win football games,” he said as he plopped down for breakfast.

“Really?” she said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t ‘think’ it, I know it. You don’t have to believe it for it to be true for me,” he said defensively.

She realized that the role she had played in his life was shifting quickly and uncomfortably. He was both acknowledging some new truths and setting boundaries that excluded her. In his mind, as she perceived it, there was no room for her input. It seemed clear he was following the same path as her brother. Her parents were frozen in fear when he began showing bipolar symptoms and they chose to pretend it wasn’t happening. Twenty years ago, there was so much shame about mental health issues and silence was often the preferred solution. Ultimately, her brother’s life ended suddenly and without a connection to reality. His symptoms Her brother’s feelings were dismissed, and his experience invalidated. She was going to make sure her son had a very different story.

Tasting the word ‘bipolar’ in her mouth made her nauseous. Her saliva swirled with bitterness and grief and shame as she took a deep breath and released it, unable to navigate which direction the conversation would go.

“When your uncle was twenty, he began to tell us that he was the first person to ever understand how the universe really worked,” she began. “He was very excited and stayed up for days elaborating on his theories. We all thought it was just a phase at first, but his intensity didn’t die down and his perceptions were concerning to our whole family.”

He paced, gnawing on his cuticles. 

“What are you saying, mom?”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

His mother started to cry slow, silent tears.  She had once heard that if you cry out of one eye, it represents anger and crying out of both eyes is the physical manifestation of utter sadness. Her tears were coming from both eyes, increasing in intensity and speed.

“I think you are my son and I want only the best for you, but I am scared,” she said.

“I’m not crazy, mom! I really do have special powers and can help teams win and can understand psychology at a level never before known,” he yelled. His eyes shifted as he heard his own words, He left the room quietly.

As the sun set, he came back out of his room and sat on the steps on the front porch. His mom joined him and reached out to rub his back, but he flinched. 

“I haven’t slept in three days,” he said. “Maybe I need to go to the doctor.”

She started the car and silence hung heavy as they drove, unsure of what they would discover at the Emergency Room. It was the same one her brother had gone to after his first attempt. The same one that stitched her daughter’s knee up after the skateboard accident. This time, however, she could look at her son and see he was different. Like a tectonic shift, he had changed, and she never got to hug the old version of him goodbye.

He was examined and prescribed medicine and referred to a psychologist, but he was not happy about it. She wondered if she should have just let him be happy in his delusions and played along with it like her parents had done. She wondered how the medicine would cause further changes and if he would ever be what she considered ‘normal’ again. Would he lose friends? Would others fear him or pity him, or would it be possible that his special powers he’d discovered were really just a transparent version of who he always was.

Ultimately, it wasn’t her choice to make. Or his. 

The illness had made a home within him and acceptance, treatment and optimism were the tools they each had at their disposal.

As with any illness, the quality-of-life toggles between hope and despair. As with any family, the story others see is not complete. As with many mothers and sons, the connection that began in the womb cannot be severed by fear.