SEVERE anxiety

Tonight did not end well. Oh boy, did it not.
I thought we were in the clear. I said goodnight and went downstairs, only to be summoned up again. Here's what he said:

• He didn't like the woman, she gave him "homework" (really,no writing or anything, just some things to try to follow through on)
• He thought she would fix him
• He wants a man therapist
• I'm not trying hard enough to help him
• He's in pain
• He wants a new life
• He HATES his life (screamed at the top of his lungs after I left)
• It's all my fault for giving birth to him

I know he doesn't hate me really, it's just his desire to be fixed and fast. I tried to explain that these things take time. Even medicine for an ear infection doesn't work instantly. I told him he has a mental illness, he's sick, and we will make him well again we just need to find the cure.
I'm sick right now. I came downstairs feeling so overwhelmed that I didn't even want to try to deal with it. Now my muscles are just shaking and my stomach is upset as it gets when I'm extremely stressed. The title of this post isn't just for L. I feel it too. What if we can't find help for him in time? What kind of mother am I to let my son continue to be in such pain each and every day? What if we run out of money long before we can even get close to "curing" him? I'm feeling so desperate right now, but helpless at the same time.
Right now, I get how L is feeling. I so get it. I get the anger, the frustration, the wanting to hide under a blanket, squeeze something hard, hit something or scream at the top of my lungs. Because I want to do that. I want to sob my heart out.
dH just looked at me, saw the tears rolling down my face and said, "Great, what are you reading now?"
I said, "Why do you always say that?" with exasperation and a little bit of pissed-off-ness.
Can you blame me?
He went upstairs to go to bed.
I think I'll just sit here and cry for awhile.