Recently, my oldest son, Keeyan, was having bouts of really bad anxiety and horrible mood swings, that people could describe as bipolar. No one thought anything was wrong with him because of his demeaner. He seemed to most always be in a good mood. Regardless, he thought he needed help because he went to see a psychiatrist and was prescribed anti-depressants and some Klonopin for the anxiety. I felt that he was on a really good path because he said he was feeling better. He had a few bouts with alcohol, but I talked with him and he swore that he'd get off liquor and go easy on the beer. He complied to his restraints. Every once and a while, he'd come into my room and tell me that he was feeling off or down. It never even occurred to me that the medication might be a factor. Thinking back, I'm positive he was bipolar and he was being treated for the wrong thing. This is deadly on occasion due to suicidal ideation. Being on the medication alone could've caused suicidal ideation. Keeyan came into my room often to talk, cut up and get stuff off his chest. The night of his death, he woke me and draped his body over mine, saying gibberish in my ear. He wreaked of alcohol and was about to wake his father, so I ushered him out of my room. He left and that was the last time I saw him. He apparently went out driving and started doing donuts in an empty lot. A cop found him and another cop joined, where they made fun of how wasted Keeyan was. They asked him a few questions, and he said he was angry at me. I assume this was because I didn't speak to him earlier when he came into my room. I blame myself for his death because I turned him away when he needed to talk. I also blame the cops that let him go home after doing the donuts. If he'd been in the drunk tank I would've been able to talk to him and I would've brought up his meds and told him to go back to the doctor due to his behavior. The cops didn't care if he couldn't drive normally. They put others in jeopardy, as a drunk was on the road. 

 

XXX Triggering

 

Some mess had happened in the house that Keeyan was responsible for, so me and my husband got into a bit of a fight over it. Next, my husband demanded that Keeyan come out of his room. I blew it off but my husband was adamant. Keeyan's door was locked so my husband started knocking. It wasn't uncommon that Keeyan didn't hear knocking because of his noise-cancelling headphones. So, my husband knocked harder. I started getting flustered and a bad feeling flowed through my body. I went and got something to pick the lock. I got it opened and within 2 seconds of opening the door, I was falling backward, moving as far away from the bedroom as possible, screeching like a feral animal the entire time. I'd seen my baby boy laying on his pillow with his eyes open, one protruding from the bullet's impact. His body was a yellowish green and his gun was wrapped in an arm. I still can't shake the image, the fact that he's gone or that I'll never see him again. It's so traumatizing. I can't believe I am handling it as well as I am due to my bipolar, but I am surviving. 

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Keeyan was a loving, sweet young man, handsome as hell. He helped everyone he could, and he was smart as a whip. His passion was animals and he worked as a trainer for a few years. Just a couple weeks ago, he was certified as an EMT and got his IV approval. He was supposed to change the world. He sure changed mine. I miss him and always will.

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I love you Keeyan.

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