Last week Ainsley was my drama queen, this week Ian has taken the Oscar. His teacher and special ed coordinator both told me he has been doing very well in school. I have seen the evidence in the graded work he has brought home. All scores in the 90s.
With me he complains that he doesn't need to do his homework because he already knows everything. I insist that he must do the assignments anyway before he can have any screen time. This has sent us into horrific arguments with tears shed from everyone in the house (including Ainsley who gets very upset when Ian throws a fit). Several times Ian has threatened to kill himself.
The first time he said it, I ignored it. When he repeated it, I asked why he felt that way.
"You are ruining my life!" he screamed. "My Nintendo and my computer are my life, and you won't let me have them! I might as well be dead! I have nothing to live for!"How does a kids his age come to this conclusion? My concern mounted when the threats continued for several days. Last night he lashed out violently against Steve, Ainsley, and me just as we were putting the kids to bed. It scared all of us.
As he cried in his bed, I snuggled up next to him and wrapped my arms tightly around him. He squeezed back and then relaxed his body. The crying stopped. We talked. He fell asleep.
After these violent frenzies occur, he rarely remembers them or at least is unable to recall why they happened. He was tired, frustrated, angry ... multiple factors wreak havoc on his overworked nervous system.
Today I spoke with Ian's psychiatrist a couple of times. We concluded that perhaps there is some validity to the idea that Ian is bi-polar. In fact, I am pretty sure of it now. We are slowly increasing his dose of Zyprexa until we see his moods level off and his compliance at home improve. And I think I'll have him tested for the gifted program. It can't hurt to provide more challenge for him in areas where he excels.
Today was better. After school he spent more than enough time playing on the computer and was in a wonderful mood. We decided to ride our bikes to his favorite pizza place for dinner. He rode behind me on the tug-a-bug and shouted, "Let's go turbo, Mom!" So we blasted our way through rush-hour traffic to our destination.
That kid sprouted an appetite like Michael Phelps. He ate an entire twelve-inch cheese pizza, a chocolate cannoli, and washed it all down with a Sprite. I had a salad. Ian the Vegetarian does not eat vegetables any more. Don't ask.
We took the long way home through a couple of neighborhoods and to put in some extra time for exercise. He did fantastic, except for all the trick riding he was trying to do behind me. Every few feet the bike would wobble as he extended a leg or tried to ride holding on with only one hand. It's a good thing I couldn't see what he was doing, or I probably would have said something stupid and motherly like, "Don't make me come back there!"
When we got home, we selected a new book to read and went upstairs for his bath. As the tub filled, he sat cross-legged in the water, eyes closed, hands clasped gently as if in a deep meditative state. After a few moments, I whispered,
"Are you ready to hear the story?"I have to remember this. The Force within him IS good, and he is capable of using it to strengthen his spirit and to find the calm within. A little extra Zyprexa probably helps too, but I sure do like watching him take control and make it happen on his own. This kid inspires me.
"Not yet," he replied quietly, turning his head slightly toward me in acknowledgment.
About twenty seconds later I asked, "What are you doing?"
"Feeling," he replied.
"What are you feeling?" I queried.
"The Force," he whispered.
"What does The Force feel like?" I wondered aloud.
"It feels like everything is great," he explained.
I reached my hand toward his. "You are awesome."
He reached with a wet hand, shook mine, and said, "And you're great too."
"Are you ready now?"
"Not yet," he answered. We paused, he continued to contemplate The Force, and I watched him breathe slowly as his body relaxed. "Now I am ready. The Force is good."
3 comments:
I spent years of my (pre-internet) youth in the fictional worlds of books. Like Ian seems to, I preferred the fictional worlds over real life. It was almost physically painful (and I could feel it in my chest) to put down a book that I was reading.
I never got angry when an adult told me to stop reading (I would not have dared to contradict an adult), but I also couldn't usually stop reading right away; I'd have to delay them somehow until I got to a point in the story where I could disconnect myself - I would sink too deep in a story to remove myself at someone else's whim. I was like a diver having to rise slowly from deep water to avoid the bends.
And unless something in the real world was very pleasant - like food or friends or entertainment - I constantly longed to return to the book.
I wonder if Ian feels that the world that exists in the computer is a place of comfort and safety, and thus a place that he longs to re-enter after the stress of school.
~ all hail from phila
phila friend,
You make a very good point. It certainly makes sense. I feel, however, that I would be remiss if I fail to help him find ways to be comfortable in the world that involves interacting with other people. I need to become more patient by giving him a few minutes notice when he needs to put away a book or a video game. That isn't always possible, but I need to remember that it is usually much harder for him to change gears than it is for me to wait a couple of minutes while he gets comfortable with the idea of social interaction.
i fear the bipolar diagnosis and medication for someone that young. don't let doctors apply adult diagnoses to children who couldn't possibly have those conditions yet. don't let the meds create it.
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