“I’m going to kill myself. I don’t want to be alive any more.”
Of all the words in the English language, none come close to describing the feeling that took root in my heart the day I heard those words fall from my child’s lips. Here he was, only 7-years-old and already exhausted by his existence, overwhelmed by a body beyond his control and destroyed by the certainty that he was less than. Bad. Stupid. Here was my son telling me in the clearest words possible that he felt he had no value, that having Tourette Syndrome meant his future would never be equal to his peers. He was giving up.
“I want to die.”
I couldn’t stop picturing my son being committed, confined behind barriers I couldn’t cross.