My Son Had a Panic Attack

I have a son with Autism and he has bad anxiety and sometimes hallucinates. I have been trying to get him sleeping in his own bedroom (he’s 12) but last night he had a really bad panic attack and was hallucinating. It breaks my heart…

Oh, my son
The tears dripping down your ashen face
Falling from deep within, a place
Where childhood dreams turn sour
Where the careless day becomes the anxious hour
And the hallucinations and nightmares come to devour
Your poor mind.

The sobs become cries become yells become screams
With the nightmares victorious over suffocated dreams
And you shake
And you shake
And your carefree spirit aches
And the bastard anxiety takes
What sanctity I try to make
In your head
Your screwed-up head.

Once a joyous ocean
But now a choked-up lake
And every day you fake
Every day to school your smiles you take
Like a cyanide laden cake
That you eat alone.
And you choke
On your insecurities
Gone are the childhood ways
The sitting on your mother’s knee
While she kisses your sore finger better
And hello
To this inability
To grow
Hello to the nasty fucking paranoia
And the seeds the anxiety sows
And the fear that through this wrecked bundle of autism and emotional delays
Flows

And I cannot see what you are seeing my love
I cannot feel the fear
As faceless faces fly towards your eyes
And your desperate breath escapes
To some nightmare psychosis place
And anxiety invades your only safe space
With your mother.

We have the experts
Three years fucking with assessments and funding
Yet that can’t buy a boy a crystal mind
Put the textbooks down and take a look behind
Your degrees
And your astronomical fees
And set this boy free
For this anomaly
Will not die if he
Always feels alone
If his mother’s omnipotent love he cannot see.
And another brick in the Pink Floyd wall he will grow up
To be.

©2020 Sarah Drury

Enough

WARNING: REFERENCES TO SELF HARM AND SUICIDE

Mental health is a topic very close to my heart, and not only do i have my own issues, but my twelve year old son too. There is simply not enough provision for mental health, especially child and adolescent. This poem was inspired by a documentary that was on a couple of weeks ago. Broke my heart. NB My son is not suicidal, he has anxiety issues, but many kids are.

Enough

When you’re twelve years old and you’ve had enough
Of this sickened, filtered, twisted, rifted
Motive shifted, Kardashian tit-lifted world
When days are knocking on the doors of empty houses
Gazing through windows of opulence
But at night you’re there again, sleeping rough
In this maze of mental health
In this haze of giving up cos life’s too fucking tough.

So a pill’s a pill
So what if you knock back a death sentence?
What if you let your soul bleed and your tears spill?
And the pills slip down, down
Emotions drowned, regrets not making sounds
Years of heartache and sadness driving your pain to the ground
Pain to the pill to the pill to the pain
Who gives a shit if you sit here and cry again?
No one dares to see you, sane or insane
Hurtling along like a broken bowling ball
in the pre-teen child psychiatry lane.

When you’re twelve years old
And suicide is the coat you covet
And you wear the hat of a depressed diplomat
Playing self-harm cricket with a knife and not a bat
And with each hurt comes another scar
And with each hurt comes another scar
And with each hurt comes another scar
And twinkle, twinkle little scar
I see your tears, I see your fears, I feel your pain from afar
So why doesn’t anyone
Fucking help me?

Is it those poison ivy girls again?
Do their tongues clack their tickety-boo nonsense?
Churning words of insults cursed,
Jealousies
Wickedness in unrehearsed dramas
They know how to hurt the hurting
And the hurting know how to hurt.
You are worth so much more
If your strength would rise up and thrust a fist
through the floor
Of their house of sticks
Then maybe the sticks and stones would break THEIR bones.

When you’re twelve years old
And you’ve had enough of the merciless world
But the world hasn’t had enough of you
And you’re trying to lose your feeble grip
But the world keeps clinging on
And you’re exhausted and your soul is void and blue
And you wish everyone would just fuck off
Just fuck right off
And you could do this suicide thing
You could finally see it through.

But the world hasn’t had enough
Of you

©2020 Sarah Drury