At 16, my son Garin had well-above-average intelligence, good looks and charisma. He was already on the path to his dream of playing drums professionally. But he also had erratic behavior, which I attributed to his escalating drug use. When my husband found Garin in the bathtub with a butcher knife to his neck, we finally realized that he needed help. I felt guilty that I had not recognized his fast-talking manic behavior, grandiosity, hair-trigger rage and lack of ability to manage his life as symptoms of mental illness.

I felt he could no longer pursue his hopes, wishes, dreams and goals, which were the same I had for him. I was devastated.

The fear and anguish surrounding his diagnosis was only the beginning. For years he had punched holes in the walls of our home. One night he even threw chairs and furniture around and threatened to burn down the house. I didn't dare call the local sheriff, though. With a mother's intuition I knew that if I did, harm would come to my son.