Just When You Think It's Getting Better, Reality Smacks You In The Face

Today was a tough day for L. He wasn't feeling well last night; he had a tummy ache which led him to believe he was going to throw up. Since this past winter, when he had a stomach bug twice (and never had one ever before that!) he's terrified of throwing up. So of course, being the vicious circle that it is, he convinces himself he's going to be sick, which actually does lead to him being very nauseous, even if he never was going to be sick in the first place. 

So today he got to stay home from school, since he insisted that his stomach still hurt. I figured he could use the day off to work on a project he has to do. 

But I think he really was fighting something. Not because of his physical symptoms (of which there were few) but because of his emotional ones. He gets very mopey, and anxious, and weepy. He managed to keep hurting himself (minorly, but still, to him it's big) and that continued on through the evening. By the end of the night, he was weeping in his bed. He said he was sick of the day, of hurting himself, and that if he just stayed in bed nothing else bad would happen to him. Neither DH or I could convince him to come downstairs to watch the rest of a movie we had started a few days ago. L kept saying things like, if I go downstairs I'll probably fall down the stairs, and when I suggested he hold my hand and we go slowly he then said what if I fall then and take you down? 

This is classic anxiety disorder. His brain is in flight mode, thinking up every possible bad scenario that could happen. The thing is, even though I knew what was happening, I was powerless to help him. I couldn't snap him out of it. DH tried too, to no avail. 

The night escalated. I tried several times to distract him, and could even get him to a point talking about something else that he was smiling. But as soon as I went to leave the room, it's like it all came back to him and the crying would start again. There were also the usual proclamations of him wanting to kill himself, which are surprisingly getting less shocking. I feel like that's not such a good thing. I fear I'll not take him seriously the day he decides he is serious. 

Nothing I did, nothing I tried or thought of would work tonight. I found myself wishing desperately for a syringe filled with a sedative so I could just put him to sleep. 

It's a tough thing as a parent to hear your child cry, but even harder to try every trick you know that used to work, and every new trick that you can think of but still have nothing you do console him. You feel powerless. You feel helpless. And a little bit like a failure. 

My heart aches for him. As I'm sure any parent watching their kid suffer in pain feels, I'd do absolutely anything to endure it for him. 

He's quiet now, finally, and I'm going to check in on him. My own anxiety has me thinking of all sorts of horrifying scenarios for the reason that he is quiet. I must prove to myself now it's because he's finally sleeping. 

Tomorrow's a new day. And hopefully a happier one.