A couple nights ago, I went into his room to check him before bed. He didn't have his pajamas on and took his shirt off and put a towel over his head. When I asked what he was doing he said he didn't know whether he should get up or down. He started standing up, then sitting down, standing up sitting down. I told him to sit down and asked again what he was doing. He was waiting for the white fluff to go away. What white fluff? He pointed to the towel on the floor. I asked where it came from. It came from the missile. What missile. The missile, the missile. Where's the missile? Blank look. It was hard to explain, he said missile by accident. What did you mean to say? "Gun. The white fluff comes when you shoot the gun." "Is there a gun in this room?" "No, I mean, I don't know." "Where's the gun." "In the room with the other skin." What? He repeated: in the room with the other skin. "Where's that room?" It's the room I was trying to get into before this one. I just stared at him. I didn't really know what to do. I figured safety first. "Did you shoot a gun today." "I don't know. No." "When was the last time you shot a gun?" (the right answer is never). "I didn't, I don't know." I gave him water. "Do you want to see therapist." No. "Do you want to go to the hospital? (he liked the hospital last time he was there)?" No. "Do you remember what you were just telling me a few minutes ago?" Yes, about the guns. Are you ok? Yes. I left him to put on his pjs, came back he seemed okay. So I said good night and left him to go to bed. My 17 year old overheard my half of the conversation; 9 year old daughter overheard it all. I called husband who was on a scouting trip with my son, and told him. He was glad I didn't 'over react' and had no criticisms of how I handled it. I had thought he would criticize that I had asked so many questions, 'interrogated' him. Then I said that I thought this might have happened before the last time his brother was visiting, which must have been Feb 2005 (they were to the daytona race together). I mentioned that I had walked into difficult child's room and difficult child was talking oddly and I almost called to his brother, whom I knew was in an adjoining bedroom, to 'come here'. I had wanted another witness to the oddness. But I didn't call out to my brother in law because I had been afraid to startle difficult child by raising my voice and he 'came to' fairly quickly. The point of me telling husband about this was that this was not the first time or the second (a month or two ago I witnessed difficult child mumbling syllables that made no sense, but it was very brief), but might have first occurred back when difficult child was 8. To my surprise husband was upset. "You were going to tell my brother!" "No, no, not now, back then, back in 2005 because he was another adult nearby." husband was still upset, "I can't believe you were going to tell my brother!" I am constantly flabbergasted by husband's responses to things. Supposedly he tells brother in law everything because they are or were best friends. He certainly tells brother in law unpleasant things about our marriage. But no, brother in law shouldn't know about this. And the point of the incident was the difficult child might have had this problem a lot longer than we realized and the therapist/psychiatrist ought to know. Oh wait, I understand: difficult child is one of the two poor creatures husband was put on earth to protect from himself (the other one is his mother)--husband doesn't want him to look bad to his brother (which I guess would make husband look bad), but husband doesn't seem to mind if he makes me look bad to his brother. Of course in that instance, husband ends up looking like a victim, whereas if his family knew difficult child was hallucinating, they might think less of difficult child and probably even husband who isn't parenting well. (actually they'd all want to jump in and tell husband how to parent and what to do and come up with weird and wild theories and pester him to death...it's not a functional family.) Anyway... The next day, while difficult child was washing dishes, daughter asked me: "Does difficult child have a gun in his room?" I said no. Did you hear difficult child's weird talk last night? (difficult child stopped doing dishes and was watching us). She said she had and described the white fluff, missiles (what are those), guns, etc... difficult child burst out: "I didn't say any of that, I was talking about baseball. I was very tired." Then he put his forehead on the counter and began to almost cry. I took him up to his room and then explained to daughter that this was part of his mental illness and that's what his brown pill was for.