It’s a quarter till four, right now, and once again I’m awaken by the sound of my son who is getting sick in the bathroom next door.

Mind you, I’m hearing this through the sound of the running shower, that has probably been running for possibly as long as an hour, maybe longer.

Water soothes him, or at least sometimes. Obviously today is not one of those days.

And yet, he still gets accused of using his anxiety as a crutch.

My soon to be 18 year old boy, who is in his last semester of high school, is trying to be a man, is trying to suck it up, is trying to handle this on his own.

Anxiety is real. Anxiety can bring you to your knees. It is physical as well as mental and it breaks my heart to lay here, knowing how real, how painful, how paralyzing this disorder is to my son, who is just a boy and is being told, almost commanded by outside sources, to stop letting his anxiety get the best of him.

My son is NOT letting his anxiety do anything. He is held hostage nearly every night, or morning from around two a.m. to four. He is not using his anxiety as anything. He is fighting, everyday, EVERYDAY!

Now I can hear the tunes of his phone playing from the room. I can imagine my son, sitting on the cold floor, with his head between his hands, rocking back and forth quietly trying to get lost in the music, trying to shut the noise off in his mind.

He doesn’t even come to me anymore.

God please! Make this stop. He’s just a boy. He’s my boy.

Protect him. Keep him company. Bring him peace. Meet him there on that bathroom floor. May he feel your calming presence lay over him like a warm blanket.

Lord, give him your strength when he is weary. Give him understanding of who he is, in you.

He shouldn’t have to be this tough and then have others tell him how weak he is. Settle his stomach, as well as his mind.

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