I am not happy.  I miss Tim more than usual.  And even though our last phone conversation (by the way, follow up on my last post, he’s doing ok, just “busy mom, gosh…”) went fine, I can’t help feeling that I need to be near him.  I wonder if, for the first time since we’ve lived in the Midwest, I’m suffering a twinge of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  But then again, I am an armchair therapist, ready to diagnose any behavior that might possibly be construed as unusual or out of the norm.  Right around 11 am, I had to fight the overwhelming urge to leave work, get in my car and drive the 80 miles up to ODTC to see him.  I ache to have him sit on my lap and snuggle with me like he did when he was little.  My little Snuggle Bunny I called him.  He loved that pet name.  Two weeks ago when he was here visiting, he said he didn’t remember I’d called him that.  

Tim is seeming to forget more and more of his early childhood.  I don’t know if it’s the act of an embarrassed teenager or actual voids in his memory, but I’m terrified it’s the latter, caused by years of psychotic breaks and medication that, let’s face it, is so caustic I’d think twice about using it as a drain cleaner if I really gave myself time to sit and ponder it.   I know it can cause cognitive difficulties.  But I feel like he forgets the things that I loved about him being small, and the fun that we had then, even though he was already showing signs of mental illness.  I want to sit under a blanket with him and watch the home movies from 12 or 14 years ago when he was so small, and so cuddly.

**I started this post on Friday, and here it is Sunday morning.  I will not see Tim this weekend.  His request.  Not good.  His caseworker has said that he’s layering up – literally wearing four shirts and two pairs of pants at a time, a hoodie over that, hood up.  We’re adding Buspar this week.  Batten down the hatches.

I still miss him.