My oldest friend's very troubled 21-year-old son has been admitted into a mental health facility outside Los Angeles. I don't have the details of this specific incident, but I do know that he is a depressed, chain-smoking, pot-smoking asthmatic who has given up eating to such an extent that he has done damage to his heart muscle. He can literally sleep for days at a time and is given to rages that leave tables as kindling and put holes in walls and doors. I just hope that this time he didn't use his fists on his mother or sister.
He was in and out of two hospitals in 2008, but he managed to convince his mother that somehow everything would be all right. I hope this time she can be convinced to leave him in the hospital where he is. If he had cancer, she wouldn't believe him if he told her he could treat himself. Mental illness is just that -- an illness.
These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I hope he gets the help he so desperately needs. That's some serious stuff.
ReplyDelete