A line from a melancholy 17th-century poem has been visiting me since last night. I can't shake it.
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
("But where are the snows of yesteryear?")
I know the poem is by Francois Villon, the "highwayman poet," and I know it is kind of sad. But I can't remember anything else about it, and I can't let that one line go. My own little obsession.
It might be sadness, or regret, that summoned Villon. Because the darkness and dysregulation of autumn are upon us, and I am not ready. Not strong enough for the challenges that await. Not yet, anyway. That sort of strength has to accumulate.
So, Benjy is not doing well. I can read in his face, his posture, the way he walks, and in his complete withdrawal from family life, that he is going down.
Last night he did not sleep at all.
And he is OBSESSED with that damn computer. He will not participate in eating with other people. He will not read, or bathe, or engage much in conversation that isn't driven by whatever digital realm he inhabits at the moment, unless I exert tremendous pressure on him. Half the time I don't have the energy for that. Because it's only early autumn and I am not yet strong again.
We see the psychiatrist on Friday. He's going to do some new (and expensive) test involving a cheek swab to see which of the few medications we haven't tried Benjy will be able to tolerate. Whichever is the winner we will try. Because what he's on is clearly no longer working.
I have this dreadful feeling that a third hospitalization is pending. Maybe every year when the days are short he will need a tune-up. I just hope, if it happens, they'll let him be in the children's unit as opposed to the adolescent one. Those teenagers are world-wise, hard-edged, drug-involved (some of them). There is a toughness to them. I know this; I've observed them before. I am so damn afraid that, if he goes to the hospital, they'll put him in unit 2 this time, because he's on the cusp of adolescence. Even though he is just a kid.
Oh well. He's asleep now, at last. My poor boy. I have hidden his laptop; we'll see how that goes over. I have got to get him unhooked from that beast. And I have to find the strength, the patience, and the ingenuity, to keep him from falling apart without it.
Wish me luck today, Readers. God knows I need it.