The Loony Bin, Jr.

The Boy is an inpatient. He got in by being "a danger to himself and others," a surefire ticket to a locked ward. The injuries were very minor, but the rage was very real, and so scary and uncontrollable that I drove him to the ER yesterday instead of his social skills group. He really didn't want to go to this group, which set the whole thing off, but he has been volatile, irritable and depressed for the past several weeks.  

I wrote it off to hormones for a while. He's 14, and I know I was pretty tough to live with at that age. But I think he's in the right place now.  

Yesterday was surreal: Driving down the highway as he attempted to strangle himself with the seat belt, dragging him from the parking lot into the ER as he screamed to each passerby "she's not my mother!" (I'll second that, dude). Him telling the triage nurse that I abused him, then later taking him in a wheelchair with a security guard through the locked doors of the psych ward.

I was the picture of otherworldly calm during this whole thing.  

The Boy has been in the hospital before, but for physical, not psychiatric problems. In some ways this one is easier on me -- I don't have to sleep there with him. In other ways, it's harder. For one thing, there's almost no one I can tell. This is not information any middle school kid needs publicized.

We saw him today, and he seems to like it there. Of course, a cute girl in his peer group has a lot to do with this. We asked if he wanted us to visit again, and he said it didn't need to be every day.  We spoke with a social worker and tomorrow will meet with the psychiatrist. Perhaps they will get him on some new meds, since the old ones obviously weren't working.

I don't feel angry, sad, or anything much except for exhausted.