I wish I were a modem. You could unplug me, plug me back in, and I would work just fine. Provided you managed to pay my outrageous internet access bill. But that’s an entirely different ball of wax.
So I haven’t been on here blogging in months. I was afraid potential employers would see this and automatically deem me unstable. But trust me, I’m well medicated for my conditions. My child, on the other hand, has had a difficult time with some med adjustments this week, and my heart goes out to him. You see, when you are diagnosed with bipolar disorder the week before your fourteenth birthday, you have many questions.
Why do I have to be on medication? That’s one question. Why can’t I focus? There’s another one. It could be racing thoughts, it could be the ADHD you were diagnosed with two years ago. Will I ever be normal? Trust me, sweetheart, there is no such thing as normal.
You may have questions about my pronoun usage. You see, my child prefers he/him. I love him with all my heart. Wouldn’t have him any other way than the way he sees himself. I understand that you may have moral or religious objections to his state of being. And as much as I love you, I don’t care. Not supporting his journey would only make things awful for all involved. And I choose to support him, no matter what, for the rest of my life.
Have I been worried for the past year? Absolutely. Being a transgender kid in a very red state has its drawbacks. I was already worried about the risk of bullying and suicide, and now we have at least two diagnoses to contend with on top of those potential issues. I also see, from my observation, generalized anxiety disorder and social anxiety. We have a mental health assessment on the 16th of this month to see what other official diagnoses we have been blessed with.
I keep trying to explain to V that you can see your mental illnesses as a blessing or a curse. There are plenty of historical figures and contemporary artists diagnosed with bipolar who thrive creatively. Hugo Wolf, for example, was arguably the greatest composer of German lieder in his time. Halsey’s latest album is entitled Manic, and let’s not get started on the genius that is Passion Pit’s Michael Angelakos. He’s utterly brilliant.
And my child is brilliant artistically and intelligent beyond measure. We just have some head/mood wonkiness to contend with. And med adjustments have been multiple and extraordinarily rough. And the diagnoses are constantly evolving. And I’ve had to take unexpected time off from work in order to help. I love working for my company, but I love my son more. I need him here with me. And I will do whatever it takes to see him through this.
So since November, there’s been a lot going on. I’m in the process of narrating our Christmas crisis, but it’s turning into a little book. Trying to get this poor child help was a nightmare, in a nutshell. Boise’s infrastructure has not kept up with the need for mental health services. And because we are just above a certain income level, we did not qualify for any services offered through Medicaid.
That may change soon, however. I am a temp agent and my job status is up in the air right now, adding to the stress. I just realized I started grinding my teeth a few sentences ago. I am looking for something part-time and flexible, but more immediately, I’m trying to focus on what’s best for my child. I could get up on my soapbox about the evils of capitalism and how there’s no adequate social safety net for folks like me and my son. But that would take a while, and I need my OTC drug of choice (namely, coffee) so I can get through the rest of my day.
My child, however, is a sleepyhead. Dreaming dreams only those on medication can dream. I leave you with a song.