@Darwin—it is the weirdest thing. I think I was lucky because I had decades of experience as a semi-normal person. I knew when things seemed out of whack and un-understandable. I could tell the difference between feelings that made sense, and feelings that seemed unrelated to anything.
Another weird thing is the desperate way I found myself trying to make sense out of feelings that didn’t make sense. I remember feeling this sudden, inexplicable sadness one night. It felt like a weight on my chest. I had been looking forward to joining the Carolers that night (it was a few nights before Christmas), but when that feeling hit, I couldn’t imagine doing it.
Later on I found out that a friend found out he had a few days to live at about the time I experienced that feeling. The friend was all the way across the continent. I thought that maybe it was some kind of psychic phenomena, but I didn’t really believe that. But I needed to make sense out of my feelings so badly, that I even considered that I might be psychic.
Later on, this desire to have things make sense to a much more dangerous turn. When I was in the depths of depression, I couldn’t figure out why I felt so bad, when I had a home, a good job, a loving family and all that. It didn’t make sense to me, and in order to make it make sense, I had to show everyone that I was undeserving of any of it. I tried to alienate my wife, first by telling her I didn’t deserve her and I loved someone else. Later on, when that didn’t work, I started telling her nasty things about herself, in an attempt to get her to want to let me go. If she let me go, I’d move out, lose my home and family, and probably eventually lose my job, and then become homeless when the money ran out, and then I’d have a reason to feel the way I did.
Fortunately my wife had enough loyalty to me that she was willing to stand by me and help me get better even though I was really hurting her badly. She got me to a shrink, and got me to take my meds, and got us to couples counselling, so we could explain ourselves to each other. Gradually she came to understand how I could become such an alien, and how I could return to my old self, and be trustworthy again.
Maybe your son has some of these cognitive dissonances. Feelings one way but reality another. Maybe he, too, is desperate to find a way to make it make sense, and maybe, if his pain is not going away with the meds, he attacks you not because he hates you, but because it is the only way to create a reality that fits with his feelings.
When I was really sick, I engaged in pretty mind-engaging activities that perhaps are like your son’s drawing. I was on Askville all the time, and it seemed to give me support, and it allowed me to kind of get away from the pain at times. Focusing hard on something can do that.
If your son is depressed, then that may be why he feels he doesn’t deserve to be in high school. When I was like that, there was no chance in hell that I could complete any project. None. I could barely do anything except write.
I know it is a struggle with him, and I have no idea how often his meds are tweaked, but from what I understand, every individual is a new experiment. No one knows what drugs will work with which person. Success depends on so many unknowns: how good the shrink is, how compliant the patient is, what meds are helpful, how often the patient is reevaluated, and on and on. I believe you’ve been dealing with this for a long time. I hope that your medical professionals are working with you in a helpful way.