Risperdal, Demons, and More Changes

Logan has been on Risperdal for 11 days. It's an anti-psychotic medication that is supposed to help with his irritability and aggression. It amazes me that I ever reached this place. No one wants to medicate their child, especially with something that is given regularly to schizophrenics. Is my son crazy? It's a stigma no one wants attached to their lovie... until they start punching teachers in the face and stomach and spitting venom in strangers' faces. At that point, all bets are off. He seems to be tolerating the dosage well, though it made him very sleepy at first. He told me his eyes were stars and I felt horrible. I keep thinking, I'm drugging my kid because I can't handle it.... he's miserable, and I'm the one who can't take it.

I have a crazy drunken Russian neighbor (I adore her) who suggested I take him to a priest. I caught myself googling "autism & demons", "autism exorcism". I wasn't surprised to find an article about a set of parents who did just that--and stood by praying while their son was suffocated to death by the minister. I shake my head, but the thing is... I get it. I get wanting to try everything and anything to find your little child inside that monster. I, too, scream out to God to just do something. Please. Just for a moment, make him a happy, normal, well adjusted six-year-old. And trust me, I've been tempted to call my father up here to lay hands on my son until something slithers out of him. The truth is, that would be too easy. Autism isn't some fire breathing serpent embedded in my son. If only this disorder were that simple. It's not an extra limb, and I can't put him on an organ transplant list to fix it and make him all better. Our jet crashed here and can't be repaired. Holland.

Tomorrow Logan starts a new school. Again. It's a charter school designed especially for autistic kiddos. The student/teacher ratio is awesome, and I feel as if good things may happen there. Perhaps Logan will once again be comfortable being himself. Maybe he won't worry that people are talking about him all the time, or making fun of him when they laugh. Hopefully he doesn't hide under the slide when someone tries to play with him. Please. Lord. Let him smile and be truly happy to wiggle in his own skin again.

I really miss my Honey Boy, and as exhausted and sick as I am, I won't stop tearing through life until I find him. Until then, let's hope he doesn't clock anyone in the jaw tomorrow. Little steps. Ya' know?