The Hiking Writer

Alex Saunder's mother was weary. The last three years of her life were an agonizing blur. 

Three years of almost constant interaction with all manner of doctors, from neurologists to psychologists, and sadly, Alex was still terribly troubled and there was no foreseeable end in sight. She was at her wit's end. Alex was currently not taking any medication (much to her relief), but a variety of physicians had prescribed a list of medications during this ordeal that would make a list of Jelly Belly flavors look small by comparison. 

At first, they thought it was schizophrenia, which nearly broke her heart.  

Not Alex! Not her boy!  

The medications Alex took during those first several months essentially put him into an emotionless lethargy that saw him sleep a good portion of every day. And still, his insistence during this time that his shadow could sometimes feel and speak to him persisted. The drugs had no effect on his steadfast belief. And the doctors started making recommendations and referrals for alternative treatments when no progress was seen. 

After much therapy and analysis, anxiety was the next diagnosis, which turned into a roller coaster for poor Alex. Mood elevators, mood stabilizers, anti-anxiety drugs and even antidepressants were prescribed. The manic time during this period saw Alex begin to withdraw from talking to doctors and his mother as well. Depending on the drug prescribed, Alex could be happy, emotionless, chipper, or any number of emotional states that were more or less "not Alex".

Sitting at her kitchen table, stirring a cup of coffee, Alex's mother wondered if he would ever be the same boy again. Now 12, Alex was approaching the age where she would have to start thinking of where he would go to high school. It was not the childhood she'd hoped for Alex, and now, he was almost a teenager. She felt the loss of her husband again and sighed. It seemed like the men in her life were always being taken from her in some way or another. 

In his bedroom down the hall, Alex heard the clink of his mom's spoon against her mug and the occasional exhalation of breath that he recognized. She was sitting at the kitchen table as she had done many nights before, thinking about him and his father.  

Over the last few years, Alex had grown familiar with his mother's sighs. He felt a little guilty about her worry over him, and in the last month, he had started making an effort not to talk about his travels in the dark.