do they make a concealer for that?

You’d think I’d be over this one now. Psychosis. The specialists we’ve seen have always kind of talked around it, a possibility. The word is written in E-Niner’s neuropsych report, mentioned something like this: E-Niner has “irrational (psychotic) thinking.” I’ve written about it on here like it’s no big deal.

I see it. I get the gist, but nobody’s ever flat-out, definitively, told me to my face. Until today.

Today the psychiatrist told me that E-Niner probably isn’t intensely pretending to be WALL-E or Thomas or that I’m Percy or that T783 is Nemo. The psychiatrist said it’s psychotic, psychosis. He uses the characters’ scripts to create some kind of structure within his internal world that is all sorts of haywire.

He said it, out loud, no question, no dance-around, finally. It was like a weight of wondering was lifted for me, but at the same time, who wants to hear that their child suffers from nearly round-the-clock psychosis?

I took it pretty well in the psychiatrist’s office. I wasn’t surprised. If you’ve read this blog long enough, I’m sure you’re not surprised either. What happened today was that I reached a deeper level of understanding. The pretending — the psychosis — is not going to be something he one day grows out of. This is something we’re going to have to battle — that he’s going to have to battle — for a long, long time. Possibly his entire life.

Luckily, I had a meeting with my own analyst today. I wasn’t nearly so “no big deal” in that office. When I told him the definitive news, I was a mess. I thanked the heavens that I had the two appointments only a few hours apart.

In between, I shopped.

I was in that Surreal place I’ve talked about before. Looking at the cutest summer sandals all the while thinking, “My son is psychotic, my son is psychotic.”

And then I headed to the make-up counter. I’m not a huge make-up person, and haven’t had anyone do my make-up since my wedding. It was as though I was tethered to the department, and it was somehow calling me home.

Someone caught my attention, and in a moment I was sitting with the lady at Laura Mercier in the high stool getting a nice, refreshing toner splashed all over my face. She started with toner and went to town. I was done and looked like a different, fresh face. It was strange as I looked at myself transform in her mirror. If I didn’t feel good on the inside, at least I looked good on the outside.

But I wondered, as I gazed at myself, can make-up really hide my pain?