You are about to meet the hero of today’s column, a grade school boy named Billy. Please, do not peak at the story’s conclusion. Furthermore, as you read, try to answer these questions:
1. How would you explain Billy’s unusual behaviors?
2. If Billy was your child, what would you do?
3. If you are a teacher and Billy was in your class, what would you do?
4. Does Billy have a psychiatric disorder and, if so, what is it called?
5. Does Billy need professional treatment?
Ready? Let’s go.
Meet Billy, a boy whose body is built like a box: broad, muscular shoulders, powerful arms and legs.
School Playground: See Billy run. See Billy jump into the air and flap his arms. Watch as he pushes his piston-pumping legs harder and harder until up, up he goes. “I can fly like an eagle,” he screams.
But then, his out-of-sync brain to muscle link tilts him to far over; down he falls. His open palms absorb the shock, but gravel cuts deep into his hands. Blood oozes out. Stunned, he sits up.
He feels a sensation in his body but can’t name it. Is it sharp or dull? Hot or cold, he asks himself. “Billy,” his teacher shrieks, “you’re bleeding, let’s see the nurse.”
Nurse’s office: Billy’s mind detaches from his body, allowing him to float up and attach to the ceiling. “I’m an itsy, bitsy spider, hanging from a thread,” he thinks, as he observes the events unfolding down below.
He sees the top of a boy’s head and the face of the nurse, as she cleans and dresses his hands. “You’re a brave little boy,” the nurse said. “You didn’t cry or flinch — I’ll call you Billy Braveheart, OK?” Suspended above, Billy thought, “I wish I was called Billy Braveheart, just like that little boy down there.” Holding his hand, the nurse led Billy down the hallway. “Go back to your class now, Billy Braveheart, “the nurse said.
In the Hallway: Billy peers down the hallway, but does not recognize it: “Too long, too narrow, too dark,” he thinks. “Where is my classroom?” Billy is lost.
Suddenly, Billy feels warm hands on his face and hears soft, soothing words. “Billy, open your eyes so I can help you back to our class.” Billy opens his eyes, which pool over with tears.
Back to the Classroom: Billy shuffled to his seat — a corner desk in the back row — and sat down. To his left stands a large globe of the world. As his teacher writes on the board, his mind roamed about until it latched upon the globe.
Using his left hand, Billy spun the globe — faster and faster. His mind crafted a flame thrower, which he uses like a whip, to lash the planet. “Burn Boston, and Brazil, boil Atlantic, Pacific and Indian Ocean.” He stares at his firestorm as it consumes the Earth.
His nostrils flare as he smells the reek of roasting flesh, his ears reverberate with the screams of people on fire, his eyes widen as clouds of Sulphur-laced smoke blackens the sky. When his mind returned to the classroom, Billy felt a familiar but terrifying sensation deep inside his chest. “No! The worm — a big fat, slimy worm twisted and turned inside his body as it ate pieces of his heart. Like an anchor, fear plunged him down into the eerie, under dark of a subterranean city – The habitat of ghouls, phantoms and evil children. “I’m bad Billy, destroyer of planets.”
Art Class: Billy finished his painting as his art teacher bent down and asked, “What’s the name of your beautiful picture?” “Three Mothers,” Billy replied. Billy had drawn three women, each having a different color of hair: blonde, brown, black. In the foreground of his drawing is a red heart, encased in a golden box. “Tell me about this box,” his teacher asked. Billy answered, “As long as this heart keeps beating, no one dies.”
Parent/Teacher Conference: After the holidays, Billy’s grades dropped and he withdrew into his private world. The principal began, “We don’t know how to help your son, so, I think he needs to go to a special school for kids who have severe problems.” The art teacher showed Billy’s parents his painting called, “Three Mothers” and asked, “What is Billy trying to tell me?”
The eyes of Billy’s mother bored into the principal’s face as she took her right hand, carefully placed it over her head and lifted off her blonde wig. “My bald head is from chemo treatment for my cancer — when I first lost my hair, Billy asked if I would get three wigs — blonde, brown and black — I allowed him to choose which wig I’d wear.”
“My son is not a monster, he is an angry little boy, inside an angry body. He throws this anger as a blanket to hide his fear that I will die. He believes that he has the power to keep me alive.”
Holding Billy’s hands, his mother said, “Billy, I’m not going to die.” Rivers of tears flooded Billy’s cheeks as his parents hugged him.
Conclusion: All of Billy’s symptoms — inability to name his feelings, clumsy motor skills, out-of-body experiences — are consistent with known patterns of childhood trauma. What’s his diagnosis? Well, that’s a problem. Currently, there is no name for Billy’s struggles. Why not?
The condition he has — Developmental Trauma Disorder — does not exist in any medical textbooks. Why not? I will address that in another article. Will Billy receive good care? Yes, and his trauma’s will be healed.
The content of this article is for educational purposes only, and should not be used as a substitute for treatment by a professional. The characters in this story are not real. Names and details have been changed to protect confidentiality.
Reference: “The Body Keeps the Score,” Van der Kolk, Penguin Books, 2015.
Dr. Richard Elghammer contributes his column each week to the Journal Review.
