It's been just over a week since J came out to his dad. C is working through his feelings and continuing to be the amazing, supportive father he has always been. A few days after J came out, we had to go out of town, leaving J and his brothers with my parents. We were headed to Florida to visit friends and for my husband to run the inaugural Destin Marathon. I admit to feeling a bit of a relief mingled with guilt as we drove away from the confusion. My parents know nothing of the current situation and I wondered if the pressure of hiding it would be too much for J, if my mother's well-intended but sometimes slightly overbearing grand-parenting style might cause J to blow a gasket or if he would just need us. But days went by with no word from the kids or my folks, so we were happy knowing everything was going smoothly.
A few hours before we were due to drive back home after a wonderful weekend, I received a long series of texts from J:
"Mum, I can't do this anymore. The depression is really getting to me... I don't want to have to think of what other people will do or think or feel before doing what I want to do to make me feel comfortable. I've been doing that for too long. I just want to do what I want now. I just feel like dying. I've been crying in class. I can't do this."
A lump rose in my throat and I called him. He was sobbing on the other end of the phone and I felt completely powerless. I couldn't run to him and scoop him up. I couldn't squeeze him in my arms. All I could do was talk and listen. And make him promise not to hurt himself.
I am extremely grateful for the few friends who know what is going on and for their immense support. Fortunately, at the time J called me, he was with a friend whose family knows of the situation. I was able to talk to the mum and let her know what was happening. She took J back to my parents, only saying he didn't feel great in order to protect his privacy. He continued to cry through the night, but he was safely in his own bedroom where he is comfortable drawing and reading about his future - no need to hide who he is.
I worried all evening about him. As we drove across the Florida panhandle, my husband got a text:
"Hurry home."
What did that mean? Was J going to do something to himself if we didn't make it quickly enough? You read so many stories of teens struggling with depression succumbing to that pressure. I'm not one to jump to worst case scenarios but I was worried - what if J did something drastic? My husband texted back asking J if he was ok. No answer. I called him and, thank god, he answered. I told him we wouldn't be back until the following day and asked if he'd be ok. He assured me that the text was just to say he missed us and was ready for us to be home, not a cry for help. But I'm convinced it was both. Maybe J wasn't standing in his room with a rope at the ready or a bottle of pills emptied in to his hand, but he's struggling. He's tired of hiding. He needs us. He needs to be free of this secret - this giant weight sitting on his chest. We need to be strong for him when he can't be. I got off the phone and my husband looked at me. "Is this how it's going to be from now on?" Is this it? A constant panic that our son will hurt himself, or worse, kill himself? A constant worry that, if we aren't available to pick up the phone or answer the text, he will give in to the demons?
Last night, after we returned from the trip, J and I snuggled up and talked, catching up on his week, talking through his concerns, his excited plans for a new haircut and earrings, his stress about boy scouts (what to do about boy scouts?!), and above all, reminding him how much we love him. At the end of it, he looked at me and said, "Mum, will you take the scissors out of my room?" Yes, my love, I will take the scissors out of your room.