The first time I left my son strapped down on a gurney in a psychiatric hospital, I thought I would die, right there. Alex had always been a happy, sociable kid, reasonably independent. He wasn’t perfect, but then whose child is? He was nine when his problems really started. First, it was disciplinary issues at school: he was answering back, not doing what his teacher asked. At home, though, he was fine.

I wasn’t worried. I thought it was a good thing, being able to stand up to authority. I certainly didn’t think he was mentally ill. I didn’t even think he had a behavioural problem, so we didn’t engage in that ridiculous debate – you know, the way middle-class parents excuse their kids’ bad behaviour by dressing it up as something else, such as ADHD. And I certainly had no idea that children could suffer from depression.

That’s why I didn’t think about seeking help. Why would I? I had never been in therapy myself. I thought it was a sign of weakness. Therapy was for Woody Allen.

In the autumn, though, Alex’s problems became more severe. He was hugely defiant at school, angry and easily irritated – classic signs of childhood depression. He misbehaved constantly, and the stress started to carry over into the home. I tried to deal with it by disciplining him: if he’s going to talk back, he’ll stay in tonight and the next night and at the weekend.

It escalated into a battle of wills. He would be grounded for weeks to come, then I would decide that the punishment was too severe and let him off. My inconsistency meant that his boundaries were all over the place. Of course, our parenting was at fault here, but no parent wants to feel they are responsible for their child’s bad behaviour. There are plenty of people who would rather be given a clinical diagnosis than accept that their badly behaved child is psychologically normal.

What finally convinced us that Alex’s problems were more than just misbehaviour was an outburst he had at school: he got so angry with his teacher, he stormed out of the classroom, punched in the glass face of a clock and marched right out of the building. The police had to be called. They took him to the station, for his own safety. He had crossed a very big line. The little guy was obviously suffering, and we had to do something.

We decided to take him to a psychiatrist. We live in New York, where there must be more therapists per head than anywhere else in the world, but there were no child psychiatrists on the list of providers from our medical insurance. The doctor we saw talked to Alex for 15 minutes and told us: “He’s depressed.” How could he possibly diagnose something so subtle in a child in that amount of time?

The doctor prescribed Mellaril, an antidepressant, and within days of starting to take it, Alex became manic. He just went wild. We quickly discovered that antidepressants are a recognised trigger for mania, so we took him off them immediately.

In desperation, we called the school, which suggested we see a child psychiatrist it used as a consultant. As soon as he saw Alex, he diagnosed ADHD and prescribed Ritalin, which is a stimulant – and Alex became manic again. Different diagnosis, same result: the drugs were making him worse.

One morning, he ran out of the house and down to the railway track: he said he was going to jump in front of a train. Was he bluffing? I’m not sure even he knew. But I was terrified. We called the police, who talked him into a car and took him to the station. He had to be hospitalised – we just couldn’t keep him safe.

After that, I worried all the time that he would take his own life. In the house, I hid the kitchen knives, the tools, stuff in the medicine cabinet. But you quickly realise that if somebody is determined to do it, they will. You can’t make your house safe: it’s impossible.

He was in and out of hospital several times, but never stayed for more than a week: that is all the insurance company would allow. And we couldn’t afford to pay: it was $1,000 (£500) a day. He would see a psychiatrist maybe once; the rest of the time, he was just confined. As soon as he was “stabilised” – whatever that means – he was out. And when he came home, it would all start again: up and down, wild and emotional, numerous times in the course of a day. It was hard to know how to react. One minute, he was manically happy, giddy and high; the next, he would be face down on the table in misery, unable to raise his head.

It was so sad – he was such a great kid. It was hard for us to see these changes in him and accept that it was a chemical thing. Physical illness you can understand, but when an illness is mental, and the symptoms are changes in the person you know, in the way they behave and think, it’s hard to grasp that they are not responsible. Misbehaviour and mania can look the same, so you find yourself wondering: “Is he choosing to behave that way or is he really ill?” Somewhere along the way, one of the numerous psychiatrists we saw diagnosed Alex with early onset bipolar disorder (EOBD) – or manic depression – and it all made sense. “Thank God,” I thought. “Finally, we know what it is.”

In 1996, 13 out of every 100,000 children in the United States were diagnosed with EOBD. By 2004, that number had increased to 73. I don’t blame the previous doctors for their misdiagnoses. EOBD has only recently become a recognised condition, although it has always existed. It turned out that Alex’s journey was classic. Many children who “misbehave” are mistakenly thought to have depression or ADHD before the real cause comes to light.

Things didn’t turn around for Alex as soon as he was diagnosed, though. It took a couple more years of struggling until, thankfully, we got an appointment with the head of child psychiatry at Columbia University.

This psychiatrist started afresh. He believed the bipolar diagnosis was correct, and he did what turned out to be the smart thing: he tried Alex on a mix of drugs, including Depakote. He would see him every week and tweak the dosage. Alex responded beautifully.

One evening, a couple of months later, I was home early. Alex came down, and the two of us watched television together. We laughed and kidded around. What happened? Nothing.

We just hung out, and it was a huge breakthrough. He was relaxed enough just to be – to be “normal”. I didn’t realise until then what we had been missing. The worst of it was behind him. And it remains behind him today.

My kids and I are much closer now. We went through this as a family and we really had to bare our souls to one another. But good things do come of these horrors. There is reason to be hopeful, even in the really dark times. And it helps to know you’re not alone.

Where to get help

The Child and Adolescent Bipolar Foundation is an American organisation offering help and advice to parents: www.bpkids.org.

Young Minds provides information on child mental-health issues: 0800 018 2138, www.youngminds.org.uk.

The Royal College of Psychiatrists provides a list of symptoms of common childhood psychiatric disorders: 020 7235 2351, www.rcpsych.ac.uk

Paul Raeburn was interviewed by Mia Aimaro Ogden. Acquainted with the Night by Paul Raeburn (Broadway £6.69)

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