California youth: Trouble in mind
Uncoordinated care: A patchwork of help resulted in suicide attempt
Why did my son attempt suicide? Why would I give him psychotropic medications? Why do medical providers and social workers use words I couldn’t hope to understand?
The professionals who talked to me about my son offered no translation or answers to these questions. I struggled and slowly learned. I was the active, involved parent that everyone says can make the difference.
When he was still very young, I noticed that my happy, outgoing son would move unsteadily, transformed with rage at some unknown thing. My heart ached when he asked me to make “it” stop. I had no idea what “it” was. But “it” got worse.
His kindergarten teacher urged me not to have more children. She said my son would take everything I had. Her words were prophetic.
As my son grew older, his rages got worse. Diagnoses kept changing. I’m not sure there was one medication we didn’t try. God forgive me.
But “it” continued raging within my son. He bounced from school to school. Each offered more intense staffing. And still he was sent home so often — sometimes with a police escort — that I could not work.
Over the years, my son attended 14 schools. Twice he was placed in residential care. There were few explanations and almost no hope.
He grew up feeling he was a “bad kid.” He didn’t understand mental disorders, nor did he want to. He was arrested repeatedly while a juvenile. The mental health department did not initially share information with juvenile justice. The judge was left guessing why my son was acting out. I wrote letters and copied documents so sentencing could be more appropriate. The district attorney told me he was concerned my son would become a “monster.”
There were many hospitalizations, some abusive. There were medications administered without my consent. He lost two teeth, was molested, and tattooed by an older kid. Eventually, he attempted suicide while in juvenile hall. I wondered: Who are these systems are designed for?
I wrote, I advocated, I prayed. And I eventually understood there was no quick fix. No magic bullet to my son’s serious illness. But I also learned that whatever successes my son had only came when everyone that touched him sat down together to decide what he needed. Otherwise, each agency marched to its own drum and supports were neither comprehensive, nor fully informed.
In the 20 years since, I’ve dedicated myself to advocacy on behalf of children and families who need more help than they are getting. I’ve sat on dozens of boards and committees, including my own nonprofit. And I’ve seen progress. Some counties have impactful programs with positive results. Some include effective interagency teams that come together to meet the needs of individual children, and confer on policy. But we have a long way to go. We have to dedicate ourselves to trying new approaches, expanding effective programs, and making sure that elected officials create laws that prioritize social, emotional and behavioral health.
There are thousands of kids like my son out there. Without the help they need, we will only have more suffering.