MOURNING A CHILD THAT IS STILL ALIVE...


"We never thought it will be possible. That our blond curled, bluest blue eyed boy can disappear infront of our eyes... The youngster who played rugby as if his life depended on it. Running cross country races with his asthma pump firmly in hand, always ending under the first 3. The kid who was silent, respectful, always standing up for others, ready at a moments notice to help to give... Always making plans for extra pocket money. I remember in gr 3 he had to have studs on the back and front of his bike, because then he can make R29 giving 2 kids a lift to and from school lol.. The unspeakable pride we felt when he received his international number for cross country, when he got chosen to play for the Impala Rugby league. Little did we know that was the last we would see our normal fun free son.

We hold on to those memories, when we see the darkness settle in his eyes. When we get bombarded with harsh, critical coarse words raw words screaming out of a face full of hate. You try to remember the thin arms around your neck giving you a hug just because he can. You try to forget seeing those arms raised against you and his father in anger. You try forgetting the days that was filled with with hurt, degrading words flung at you with no care about how much emotional damage he causes.

The 1 year break after barely making matric, became just years added one after another. You phoning for interviews begging people to give him a chance. Just to hear how everyone is hating him, how they are trying their best to work him out. But he is a model employee how come are they trying to work him out??? You know his lying to your face yet you let it slide. After the 3rd job you found for him, you realize someone else something else has moved in to your home. Stagnating on the couch where he now lives. Where 1 month flows into 8 years. His mild psoriasis turns into severe psoriasis. And he starts scratching himself so bad it leaves grooves in his skin open raw bleeding scratch marks al over his body. He starts slapping himself knocking teeth loose, the minute we say no he scratches his skin to a bloody pulp or litteraly slap his fillings out of his mouth. You see psychologists docters specialists, his skin get better just to be scratched into ribbons the next day. His dried out skins shedding all over the house cleaning it becomes a hourly task. But you keep on sweeping cleaning up after him. Taking the verbal abuse daily feeling like failures...

And one day it hits you so hard it takes your breath away. This young man living on your couch, demanding attention, taking whatever he can and damn us his parents. Has taken away your life, your marriage, your whole being. You eat, breath, drink, sit, stand and sleep to his say so. Cleaning up after him waiting on him has started to consume your life.. And the heart that once felt pride, aches so so bad the pride once felt has died somewhere between the verbal abuse and shedding skin...

You start to recognize the signs when his spiraling out of control, and you become a ball of anxiety. Verbal attacks start to be physical abuse. Your psychiatric meds get stronger and stronger. And as you sit and write this story your heart breaks into a thousand pieces, because you know about drug related delayed reactions, you know about personality disorders the signs... And as he lays on the couch under a blanket in 35°heat. You moarn for a life that could have been, a life you can't safe because he has to get help for himself his a grown man at 28, you can't do anything. Except moarn for your son that is no more, your life. All the hopes and dreams that's now living under a blanket on what once was your couch. And you hate yourself for still caring still loving this person who once was your son. "



What will become of him??

Toni👄 Chat Shack Help and Support line

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