Living in the wake of mental illness

It has now been 6 days since my girl has been home. I have had limited contact with her. Each day I ask if she is come back to town, I don’t use the word home. Each day she tells me she will be back the next day. That hasn’t happened.

I honestly have no idea when I will see her. I basically know nothing about what she is doing or where she is at. I know a general area she is in, but that is it. My mind is filled with horrible scenarios, all ending in her leaving this world. I can’t understand that she doesn’t care enough to see her 1 year old niece, or the cat that we finally agreed to let her get. The cat was like her emotional support animal.

I know that her Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is in control of her mind. I have read and read and read about BPD and it’s manifestations. I am trying to understand. I am trying to wrap my brain around it. It’s hard.

There is another side to loving, caring and living with someone that has a mental illness. All the people that love and care about my daughter get caught in her wake. There are days where the lake is smooth and crystal clear and it’s a joy to be around her. There are days when the lake is a little rough and you are never sure what might trigger her. And then there are the days that are pure hell.

Another piece of the illness, at least in my daughters case, is how she chooses to keep her surroundings. I really can’t believe I am sharing this, but it’s part of it. I am sharing pictures of my daughter’s bedroom and the bathroom my daughter uses. I can only assume that the chaos she chooses to live in is similar to the chaos in her mind. Both my husband and myself have cleaned her room and bathroom numerous times – always with the promise that this time she will keep it clean. The pictures don’t show the shit that is stuffed behind the bed or under the bed. And I never know what I will find shoved in drawers.

Today, I am numb inside and out. I ugly cried for about an hour on Friday. I needed that. The tears come out of the blue. Sometimes it might be a song I sang in the car with my girl or a memory that comes up on Facebook. I’m sad, I’m pissed off, I’m hurt, I’m so fucking angry, I hate the boy, I hate the disorder. Most of all I hate not being able to save my girl.

Letting her go

I lost. He won.

She isn’t getting therapy, she’s getting a job where he lives and is moving in with his family. He is a basic hood rat. He is a drug dealer. He is a narcissist. He is controlling her. He won’t let her go til she is dead. He will beat her, physically and mentally. He has made me her enemy.

How long until the newness wears off and her disorder takes over? How long until she creates a whirlwind of a mess in her new place? How long until she quits the job because she isn’t ready for it? If she ever comes back home, how much worse will she be? How long until there are more cuts? How long until there are more attempts?

I extended an olive branch to him. He (figuratively) slapped my face and declared the conversation over. I spoke of my girl and what she needs and how we can help her. He spoke of his ego, never of her and her well-being.

So many what if’s, so many fears……………

Emotional Conflict

As a self proclaimed super mom, there are days/weeks/months/years that I feel like a complete and total failure. I am not looking for a pat on the back or a “but you’re doing great” comment. I’m being honest. I can’t imagine anyone that is a parent/guardian/caregiver/whatever hasn’t felt like a failure at some point. And it’s not so much an outward failure where my kid showed up at soccer practice with no cleats, shin guards, water bottle or ball; more of an inner failure. The struggles we feel daily. The times when we question our decisions and the answers we gave to important questions. The times when I say to myself – I have no fucking idea what I am doing.

As horrid and awful as it sounds, I am having a moral and inner fight about suicide. I feel an overwhelming sadness washed over me the last few years. I have a nagging voice in the back of my mind that keeps saying “what if”. What if I am wrong to try to convince my daughter to stay in this world? How can I tell her over and over again that things will get better, but they haven’t? How can I know what she feels? When she tells me she doesn’t feel connected to anything in this world or she finds it impossible to feel any amount of happiness. Who am I to tell her she has to stay and fight? Am I being selfish in keeping her in my world? Am I being selfish to allow her to continue to feel the daily pain of her life? This feels so wrong to put into words, but I question my decisions daily.

I sob when I have dreams that she is gone, that I can never see her smile or smell her hair when I hug her. But what about her? Is she holding on because she feels guilty? Have I made her feel guilty? She finally has an actual diagnosis of what she has been fighting, but I keep telling her the diagnosis doesn’t define her. I am begging her to get the therapy. I am asking her to give her life one more year to see the change the right therapy can make. But she has to want it, she has to accept it, she has to embrace it. Can she? Will she?

Diagnosis

Feels like an eternity since I actually sat down and put my thoughts and feelings into words. That’s not to say that I haven’t had some amazing ideas that I know my followers would love…….however, this is about my baby girl.

At some point over the last few months, seeing my girl continuing to struggle it was decided she should undergo testing to determine what is going on. We were fortunate that she agreed to the testing and fortunate to have a very experienced psychologist administer the tests. The tests were conducted over three days. They were a combination of IQ and cognitive tests, as well as anxiety, depression, ADHD, and personality tests.

On 9/30/19, we met with the doctor to find out what the testing showed. I’m honestly not sure what I expected, but I didn’t expect to be told my girl has Borderline Personality Disorder. As the doctor began to explain what BPD is and what the key factors in this disorder are; it was like she was explaining the lat 10 years of my daughters life. It’s not that only one or two factors sounded “right” – they all sounded “right”. As the doctor continued to explain the disorder, I could feel my girl silently sobbing beside me. I keep trying to imagine what she felt hearing the results.

The doctor recommended a very specific type of therapy called Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT). And explained the reason all the other therapy and medications my girl has tried over the lat 10 years hasn’t worked is because the therapies were not specific to the disorder. The medications did nothing at all. This is a biological disorder.

We left the office with the name of a very well respected psychologist who is skilled in DBT. The psychologist isn’t taking new patients, but gave the name of another psychologist who also does DBT, who also isn’t taking new patients. But from that psychologist we received the name of two other psychologists, neither of which treat BPD. Within a few days I had a list of doctors/groups that I called with no luck. Either new patients were not being accepted or they did not treat BPD patients. I reached out to the psychologist who did the testing. How can we have a 30 minute meeting advising our daughter of this diagnosis and be sent away with nothing to really help her? The testing doctor then provided the name of a group that treats BPD patients. It has to be to good to be true, right? Right. The group is a two hour drive, one way. I still called, explained the situation to the intake person. She took all the information and called me back with an appointment time the following week.

I drove my daughter to the appointment. Yes, she is 19. Yes, she is considered to be an adult. But I really don’t give a shit because the last 10 years has sucked and she will always know that I will be supportive of her. She met with the psychologist alone first and then toward the end of the appointment I was called in so I could hear the recommended treatment. I could tell as soon as I entered the room that my girl was comfortable with this therapist. She was asking questions, talking and seemed more at ease. Th treatment would be two days a week. One day is a two hour session that is basically like a classroom setting to learn new skills and coping mechanisms. The other day is a one hour private therapy session. Included with the treatment is phone check-ins with the therapist. The therapist was concerned because of the distance between our home and the facility. It is also a huge concern of mine. Yes, my daughter can drive. But after a two hour drive to get to the facility, a two hour session, and another two hour drive home – I just don’t feel good about it. She will be mentally exhausted after the therapy and I don’t think driving on highways and expressways would be a smart situation to put her in. I am still exploring a drive service and trying to figure out how that would be paid for……………

I asked the therapist if there were any other facilities closer to our home that have a similar type program for DBT. Nope. They are the only one in the state and actually have patients from nearby states due to the success of their treatment plan.

Seemed like things were finally falling into place. One little hurdle, my daughter has to agree to the treatment. She has to agree to go and commit to a year of intensive treatment. She hasn’t agreed to it. She is in denial. She is tired. She doesn’t know if she has anymore fight left in her. She doesn’t think her life is worth it. She doesn’t want to have to fight her brain every single day to try and live a normal life.

Borderline Personality Disorder is very hard to understand. I have been reading only things recommended by the therapists we have been dealing with. I feel the following is an extremely accurate explanation. I am probably going to be sued for using this – but you can’t get blood from a stone.

“Beneath the clinical nomenclature lies the anguish experienced by borderlines and their families and friends. For the borderline, much of life is a relentless emotional roller coaster with no apparent destination. For those living with, loving, or treating the borderline, the trip can seem just as wild, hopeless, and frustrating. Jennifer and millions of other borderlines are provoked to rage uncontrollably against the people they love most. They feel helpless and empty, with an identity splintered by severe emotional contradictions. Mood changes come swiftly, explosively, carrying the borderline from the heights of joy to the depths of depression. Filled with anger one hour, calm the next, he often has little inkling about why he was driven to such wrath. Afterward, the inability to understand the origins of the episode brings on more self-hate and depression. A borderline suffers a kind of “emotional hemophilia”; she lacks the clotting mechanism needed to moderate her spurts of feeling. Prick the delicate “skin” of a borderline and she will emotionally bleed to death. Sustained periods of contentment are foreign to the borderline. Chronic emptiness depletes him until he is forced to do anything to escape. In the grip of these lows, the borderline is prone to a myriad of impulsive, self-destructive acts—drug and alcohol binges, eating marathons, anorexic fasts, bulimic purges, gambling forays, shopping sprees, sexual promiscuity, and self-mutilation. He may attempt suicide, often not with the intent to die but to feel something, to confirm he is alive. “I hate the way I feel,” confesses one borderline. “When I think about suicide, it seems so tempting, so inviting. Sometimes it’s the only thing I relate to. It is difficult not to want to hurt myself. It’s like, if I hurt myself, the fear and pain will go away.” Central to the borderline syndrome is the lack of a core sense of identity. When describing themselves, borderlines typically paint a confused or contradictory self-portrait, in contrast to other patients who generally have a much clearer sense of who they are. To overcome their indistinct and mostly negative self-image, borderlines, like actors, are constantly searching for “good roles,” complete “characters” they can use to fill their identity void. So they often adapt like chameleons to the environment, situation, or companions of the moment, much like the title character in Woody Allen’s film Zelig, who literally assumes the personality, identity, and appearance of people around him. The lure of ecstatic experiences, whether attained through sex, drugs, or other means, is sometimes overwhelming for the borderline. In ecstasy, he can return to a primal world where the self and the external world merge—a form of second infancy. During periods of intense loneliness and emptiness, the borderline will go on drug binges, bouts with alcohol, or sexual escapades (with one or several partners), sometimes lasting days at a time. It is as if when the struggle to find identity becomes intolerable, the solution is either to lose identity altogether or to achieve a semblance of self through pain or numbness.”

Kreisman MD, Jerold J.. I Hate You–Don’t Leave Me (pp. 11-13). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

A Jumbled Mind

My mind is a jumbled mess. Unfinished sentences, words I can’t quite seem to find, all floating around making a mess. I thought I had reached my lowest point in dealing with my girl child’s issues. I try and pretend everyday that I am fine. I’m sure I am selling the idea that I can handle it all. I’m not falling apart on the inside and I am certainly not falling apart on the outside. Pretty sure none of that is true. There are definitely people in my life who ignore the signs they might see as I spiral downward. It’s much easier to ignore the bad. And I get that. I really do. But please stop telling me that I just have to put “it” out of my mind. I can’t do that and I will not do that. Because that “it” is my little pink baby girl. A life that I promised to protect and love and support.

The past week has been one of my worst. Not because of any one thing that I can point to, but the culmination of the last four years. At least that is my opinion. When I am dealing with the chaos of living among my girl child’s issues, I have to stay strong. I have to be her support, still go to work, still take care of a house, I still have to make dinner every night, still babysit my grandbaby three or four nights a week, still make time for the other people I care about. I HAVE TO! If I don’t, I fail – right?

As of right now things with the girl child are what I would call stable-ish. I think this is why my body is now “releasing” the stress. She had a job for about two weeks and quit. She has lied about chlamydia boy and seeing him. He has broken up with her on three occasions creating some fairly severe breakdowns. She has had a severe bladder/kidney infection (again) which landed her in the ER for dehydration. The antibiotic made her sick, so she couldn’t/wouldn’t eat and drink. (Side note: She was at the family doc in May 2019 and weighed 131, she is currently about 115. But I am positive she is again smoking weed because I have seen a significant increase in what she is consuming throughout a day.) I finally found a place to do a psych evaluation on her. She had the first appointment the end of July. She is scheduled for a total of 7 hours of testing over a three day period. After all results are combined and reviewed, she should have a better understanding of what her mental health issues are. During the evaluation the doc mentioned she wouldn’t be surprised if my girl child has been dealing with a learning disability that school never picked up on. The girl child promises she will do what is recommend to help herself. She has made these promises before…… So yes, this is stable-ish for our family.

On the physical side, I have had some sort of weird throat thing happening for over a week. My voice sounds very hoarse, my throat doesn’t hurt. It’s weird. About two years ago I was diagnosed with fibro. I deal with it cause I have to. Some days are better than others. This week and last week have been hell. For some reason my worst areas are my elbows, shoulders and feet. Picking up a bottle of water hurts, picking up the phone at work hurts. There is also a “brain fog” that goes along with fibro. Not sure if this is the cause of my jumbled mind or it’s a combination of everything.

I also find myself eating, a lot. And this is something that makes me feel so incredibly awful. Almost eight years ago I had weight loss surgery. That’s an entirely different story. And I was successful. I have never been prouder of myself. I now find myself turning to my old friend food. Food was always there for me. Food made me feel loved. Food doesn’t judge.

The jumbled mind has just been awful. At work I don’t think anyone has really noticed. I have the occasionally stumble over finding a word or remembering a name. I think I’m handling work pretty well. Outside of work I feel like a person that might be described as “slow”. I was at Walmart to get specific items, I even had a list. I found myself just wandering aimlessly having no idea what I was getting, not remembering the list I had and just buying random shit. During conversations my mind just wonders off. My brain derails from the train of thought and I don’t get it back. It’s GONE. I was driving one of my dogs to the groomer, drove past not one, but two roads that I needed to turn on to get to the groomer.

And the worst thing lately is my lack of sleeping and the nightmares I have when I do sleep. I had what felt like and seemed like a full length movie type nightmare where I had to plan my girl child’s funeral. Start to finish. Throughout the nightmare the actual reason for her death was never actually said but the feel was it was suicide. I had to pick where to hold the funeral, what she would wear, what pictures I wanted of her displayed, how her hair should be, how her make-up should be, get her nails done the way she liked them. Details that I never want to deal with or think about again. The way I had to console other people through the funeral and was never really allowed to grieve the way I think I needed to. No one would see what I was going through. I felt so selfish the next day.

A few nights ago I had another horrible nightmare. This time I was holding my grandbaby and was putting her to sleep. She was very small and wrapped in what reminded me of a hospital blanket. Almost like she was a newborn (she is actually 10 months). I was rocking her in my arms to sleep. At some point I realize she isn’t breathing. I scream for my husband. I lay her on a table and unwrap the blanket. She isn’t breathing. Her eyes are just slits, but I can see the beautiful blue color of her pupils. I am screaming for someone to call 911, I call 911. I am on the floor sobbing and crying and asking for help. My husband is the only there and he can’t/won’t go close to her. I go to the table and start CPR. I can feel my mouth going over her nose/mouth to give her breaths. Some kind of EMS personnel are now there and telling us its too late. I won’t listen. I’m sobbing and wailing and the feeling of guilt that I killed her. She died in my arms is overwhelming me in the nightmare. I woke up with swollen eyes and a throbbing headache. I have not told anyone about these nightmares. They were too real. They feel too “close” to share. I feel like they are very selfish dreams. I don’t really know how to explain it. Why was I making a nightmare like these about me? Why am I trying to get people realize what I am feeling? UGH

Deep Sigh…..

Today, I am tired.  The kind of tired that you feel in your bones, in your soul.  It makes my body and mind exhausted.  I woke up this morning wishing it was time to go to bed.  I don’t like feeling that way.  

I realize I haven’t posted about my daughter and her struggles. I thought I had finally found a place to send her for treatment. I was in contact with an admission specialist. I asked all the questions I could think of regarding treatment, doctors, medication, social interactions, etc. We discussed cost, including insurance. I was ready to make the jump, take out a second mortgage to finally get my daughter the treatment. But, there was just this feeling I had. I read the emails from the admission specialist again and again. I reviewed my notes from conversations with the admissions specialist. Was this too good to be true? Or was I just being negative because so many things had fallen apart during this journey.

I can’t explain why I never thought of doing a general Google search of the facility to find if places like this were reviewed. WOW – was I in for a wake up call. Five deaths reported at the facility in five years along with horrible stories from patients that had attended programs at the facility. Now, I totally understand that there are people who will bitch and complain about anything and everything. I took these reviews with a grain of salt. No facility is going to please everyone and was the person writing the review open to treatment or did they fight it? But five deaths in five years???? The deaths really made me nervous. I did more digging, more reading, more digging, more reading…Someone posted a recommendation to search the facility name and the civil law suits against the facility. I did that and found the facility is and has been under investigation surrounding these deaths. It has been fined for not following proper protocol when dealing with suicidal patients. It has been fined for a number of violations. None of the fines can bring those people back. Law suits can’t bring those people back. And I will never know the true circumstances of the deaths. But how do I send my daughter there?

The facility admission specialist kept contacting me about the information she had provided (cost, insurance, etc). I sat down and reviewed the numbers again, with the new information I had from the reviews. I am going to copy the email from the facility, but remove names so I don’t end up in a law suit!

The email reads:

I got the insurance checked in regards to XXX. We are out of network and we would be looking to use the out of network benefits. Since we are out of network this means that we do not have a contract with XXX and we can bill them whatever we decide. Facility name has decided to bill insurance $2,700 a day. Now some insurance companies pay very close to this and those polices we can work with and then there are other insurance companies do not pay any of this, those polices we cannot work with at all. Then there are insurance companies that are right in the middle, where they pay maybe half of the $2,700 a day.

With this being said, your insurance falls right in the middle. The pay but not enough. So we are looking to collect $20,000 upon admission. This $20,000 will over the deductible and out of pocket for out of network and it will also help with the poor reimbursement that we have with this XXXX policy.

Let me know if the $20,000 is feasible and if it is not let me know what is!

After reviewing the numbers, I had questions. After reading the reviews, I had questions. My questions included how long the stay was for, would my daughter be in a hospital enviroment (as I had read in reviews) or actually be in a facility like the ones on the facility website? Here is my first response regarding the length of stay.

The response states: The $20,000 will cover however long insurance authorizes – The length of stay will vary depending on XXX’s individual needs and the authorization from the insurance company.  The authorization process requires review for medical necessity every 3-5 days.  We will do everything we can to advocate on XXX’s behalf and maximize her stay with us. That being said, there are no guarantees on length of stay, however Facility Name will guarantee a minimum length of stay of 14 nights regardless of insurance authorization, and will not request any additional funds for any nights authorized by insurance over the minimum guarantee.

So, I pay $20,000 upfront at admission, plus the facility will get about $1,300 for whatever time is deemed necessary and is authorized. Let’s be honest. We all know that the insurance will approve maybe a week. And that $20,000 gets my daughter 14 days of treatment. Seriously? What can be accomplished in 14 days? There is also a highlighted section on a financial document I was sent indicating after signing the document I agree to keep all financial terms and agreements made between Facility Name and myself completely private and confidential.

So, now what? I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I just know I’m tired.

Graduation Season, a time for reflection my ass…

The world is in the midst of graduation season. Kids graduating from pre-school through college. While this is a time for celebration for many families, it creates a world of hurt for me. If you are reading this and we are friends, please do not take offense to what I am saying. I am beyond happy for you and your kids. I love seeing the graduation posts on social media and I appreciate being included as these milestones are celebrated.

Unfortunately, the posts and celebrations makes my heart hurt for what my girl has never experienced and may never experience. My girl graduated from high school last year. I remember asking her how she felt about it, was she excited, etc. She told me she never thought she would be around to graduate and she’s actually surprised. She felt some sense of accomplishment, but even that feeling was clouded with negatives. She could have done better, she should have done better, she could have cared more, she should have cared more…..

This is another one of those times where I can’t help but think if this is what I am feeling, what is she feeling? We all know that social media is not an accurate representation of real life. But that doesn’t mean that seeing post after post of graduation pictures, stories of success and plans for the future isn’t creating another seed of self doubt in kids that are struggling.

Please don’t misunderstand me, I am in no way saying these events should not be celebrated or shared. I’m just saying it makes me sad for what I wish my daughter experienced or may experience. It makes me sad that it seems like every accomplishment is overshadowed by a laundry list of negatives. Negatives that shout far louder and clearer than any positive thought or feeling.

…and the saga continues

It’s hard to believe it has been over a month since my last post about my daughter.  At times it feels like an eternity.  As an update to dealing with health insurance and the healthcare industry; after my daughter was released from in-patient treatment she had an appointment scheduled for her first group therapy session.  I was not thrilled to find out it was the same healthcare facility where she had a very bad experience with a child psychiatrist.  I raised my concerns with her social worker and was assured it was the best option available.  Okay.

The sessions were to be a few times a week and last for about 5 hours.  The first scheduled day happened to fall on a Friday.  She was to be there by 10AM and would leave around 3PM.  This just so happened to be the Friday that my husband and I were heading to the apartment my daughter had while attending photography school.  On the day my daughter came home back in March she brought some things along, but was not mentally ready to clean the place out.  I made arrangements for my mom, her grandmother, to drop her off at the therapy session and I would pick her up.  My daughter agreed to this.  As my husband and I are in the midst of cleaning the apartment, which is about 2 hours away, my phone starts blowing up with messages from my daughter.  She’s not going to therapy, she can’t, she can’t get out of bed, she can’t make herself get dressed, she doesn’t want to do it, she’s not going to do it.  FUCKING AWESOME!  I began with messaging her back telling her she had to, needed to, etc.  Got to the point I called her, she is hysterical crying that she can’t do it.  My dilemma – I’m 2 hours away, no one is home with her, she just got released from in-patient therapy a few days ago, she has a history of self-harming, suicidal thoughts….hmmmm, what do I do???????  With my husband glaring at me, I calmly tell her that she will have to call the therapy place, cancel her appointment and reschedule the appointment as soon as possible and I would talk to her when we get home.

Now, the apartment.  I was a mess thinking about what we were going to find when we unlocked her apartment door.  From the way the rental agency acted the place was trashed, would need to be repainted, etc.  Apparently, they just wanted her out and I can’t blame them for that.  When we opened the door things really were not that bad.  Yes, it wasn’t white glove test clean – but it certainly wasn’t trashed.  I started in the bathroom, my husband started in the kitchenette area and we kinda met in the middle.  Things were going really well, moving quickly and what not.  And then I started cleaning the bathroom sink.  (As a reminder, weed had become a very close friend of my daughter’s while away at school.)  I’m cleaning the vanity and sink and the water is not going down the drain.  I’m playing with the drain plug, doing all I can to get this moving.  No luck.  I call out to my husband that he needs to go to Walmart and get a plunger, a snake thingy or Drain-O.  His response “like hell I’m spending anymore money on this place.”  I had to agree with him.  Since he is a very handy guy, he went to work on the sink drain.  I continue my cleaning of the bedroom/TV area.  At some point my hubby starts screaming for a towel.  I’m thinking great – he broke something, we will have to pay a plumber thousands of dollars….nope, he took the trap out which seemed to the be problem.  Here is a helpful hint to all who use those little cigar wrap thingies when assembling a blunt – DO NOT put the leftover tobacco stuff down the drain because it will clog.  Just a little FYI from me to you.  I may not have gotten the terminology correct – but you know what I mean.  Anyway, we continue on our way and are done in about an hour and half.  I had a sense of satisfaction when I opened the cabinet below the kitchen sink and saw the large brown Ball jar that the chlamydia boy gave my daughter for Christmas – cause I threw the bitch in the trash.  Take that chlamydia boy!  HA HA HA

The drive home from the apartment was long.  I had no idea what to expect when I walked in the house.  I was in communication with my girl throughout the drive, but until you actually see that they are safe- the mind can go to so many wonderful places! She was in her bed, she seemed distant and was defensive.  That is my indication that she smoked weed before we got home.  That just makes talking to her so much more difficult.  The eye rolls, the attitude – AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.  I made her call the therapy place to reschedule, which she did.  She asked if I would take her and drop her off and I agreed to do that.

Now, during this time she was talking the life coach person.  My daughter described her as “life changing”.  Great, awesome, fanfuckingtastic!  She said she felt as if she was learning how to control her anxiety with new ideas and meditation.  Again, I am all in.

The day for the therapy appointment arrives.  I take off work.  It is a very quite 20 minute drive to the place.  I sensed a definite attitude, but more of a she was scared and nervous and couldn’t believe I was making her do this kind of attitude.  We walk in, follow at the signs through a maze of hallways to the out-patient therapy registration.  We walk up to the little reception area and a very pleasant lady asks what we are there for.  I tell her.  She looks at my daughter and asks for her name.  My daughter didn’t hear her through the bulletproof surround the lady was behind.  I answer, which annoys the lovely lady even more.  She clacks away on her computer and tells me she doesn’t have any appointments for my daughter.  I tell her it was made and confirmed.  She gets my daughter’s date of birth and clacks away some more.  Asks a few more questions, who set it up, why was it set up, etc.  I am giving her all the information.  Meanwhile, my daughter is shrinking farther and farther away, tears in the eyes, ready to bolt out the nearest door.  The lady insists there are no appointments scheduled for her, but we can sit in the waiting room for the first come first serve therapy and they might get to her today.  WOW – no, that’s not going to happen.  We leave and drive home.  My girl goes immediately to her room and I sit on the sofa to try and figure out why the fuck this shit keeps happening.  Why are these doors continually slammed in her face?????????

About an hour after we are home my cell phone rings.  I don’t know the number, so I don’t answer.  I get a notification that I have a voicemail.  I listen.  Well, how surprised am I to find it is Emily from the therapy place asking why my daughter missed her appointment.  A very snooty Emily at that.  I am fairly certain my blood pressure rose so quickly I passed out for a few seconds.  I tried calling back and received Emily’s voicemail.  I let a message asking Emily to call me back and the numbers where I would be available.  Emily called me back the following day while I was at work.   Emily starts the conversation asking why my daughter didn’t show up.  I explain to her we did show up and were told there was not an appointment scheduled for my daughter.  She asked where we were, I gave her the address where we were and how we followed the signs to the out-patient therapy registration and were then greeted by a very rude person.  She wanted to know the name of the person, I don’t fucking know Emily. She asked me to describe the room, describe the pictures on the wall, describe the color of the paint on the wall.  WHAT?  I don’t know, I was trying to keep my daughter from breaking down and fleeing!  I actually did say that to her.  To which, Emily said that the program didn’t sound right for my daughter if she was that anxious.  Excuse me?  A social worker set this up for my daughter while she was in-patient.  Unless, Emily, you have a degree to diagnose people, please shut up.  Emily also tried to tell me we were probably at the wrong place but had no response when I asked her if there were multiple locations to register why wouldn’t the lovely person behind the bulletproof walls tell us that?  Couldn’t she use the company phone and maybe call another department to see if we were scheduled somewhere else?  Emily told me she would look into the matter and get back to me by the end of the day.  That didn’t happen, she got back to me two days later.  She left a voicemail on my cell phone ( I don’t get reception on my cell at work, which I told Emily during our last conversation).  She told me she had an appointment for my daughter with a therapist who agreed to “fit her in to his very busy schedule”.  That is actually what she said.  Not the group therapy she was supposed to attend, that she actually liked and got some “stuff” out of, but some random therapist that “fit her in”.  I never called her back.  I know that was wrong and immature, but my gut feeling was my girl was not going to get the help she needed and it would push her away even more.

I stared the process of trying to find a female therapist type person that is credible for my daughter to meet with.  It was proven difficult and I am on wait lists for appointments.  Again, wow.

March turned into April.  My girl stopped talking to her life coach, without my knowledge.  I got a text one day that she didn’t “show up” for their video session or whatever you call it.  I asked her why.  Her answer – I don’t want to.  My answer – you need to, you aren’t in any therapy and you need an outlet.  Her answer – but she (the life coach) told me she doesn’t think I have depression or anxiety.  She thinks I just don’t have the right coping skills and she doesn’t think I need to be on meds.  I can handle it, mom.  So, we had the ongoing argument about her talking to someone.  She is willing to go back to therapy, that is when and if I can get her in somewhere.  Why is this so difficult?  

I was cautiously optimistic that just maybe the stress from school was gone, there was a distance between chlamydia boy, she seemed to be vested in the world around her.  Maybe she was learning to cope better.

NOPE!  I was wrong.  So very wrong.  I thought we beyond the lies and the bullshit she puts me through. 

There is one girl who she still occasionally chats with from high school.  The girl is local, a nice kid.  I know they smoked weed together in high school.  My daughter asked a to hang out with her friend and stay at her house.  I voiced my concern about the weed.  I was told the friend doesn’t do that anymore.  Okay.   She stayed overnight on a Monday into Tuesday.  Just so happened that I contracted some bizarre viral infection that caused a coating of ulcers down my throat and I left work early that Tuesday for a doctor appointment.  I’m at home waiting for my appointment time and I had messaged my girl asking when she was coming home.  This was maybe 11AM.  She said that the two were getting a late breakfast.  Okay.  Sounds legit.  That is until my cell phone rings about an hour later and it’s my daughter.  I answer and she is crying.  She was in an accident.  After finding out that she wasn’t hurt, she told me she lied to me and was actually with chlamydia boy and the crash happened in the area he lives, which is about 45 minutes away.  The crash was not her fault, a lady in a big Mercedes blew through a yield sign and basically t-boned my daughter’s car on the driver’s side.  

Now, this is where I think I shut down.  Maybe because my body was already battling a strange viral infection, maybe because of the last month that was pure hell, maybe because the last eight years have been hell.  I told her she needed to deal with it. I would call dad and let her know where to have the car towed to.  While sitting at home my biggest fear was the cops would get to the scene, smell the aroma of weed from her car, search her car, take her for a blood test to see if she was driving while impaired.  I could feel the bile rising in my throat as each second ticked by.  I have the unfortunate knowledge of how that process works – cause I work in a police department (just as the office manager, not an officer).  My girl continued to keep me updated on what was happening and told me she was driving the car home.  RANT:  the cop that investigated the crash let my 18 year old drive 45 minutes home in a car that’s side air bags deployed, the driver’s door could not open (she had to enter and exit the car from the passenger side) and the roll bars popped.  The car was a convertible and when impact occurred, it was that hard the car was lifted off the ground, which caused the roll bar to pop.  That is not safe, no matter if it was my kid or a 50 year old man!   End rant.  I looked at the positive side that she was at least not arrested and was on her way home.  We had her drop the car off at a dealership and my husband picked her up and brought her home. 

It was a quite day.  I think she was expecting a lot of yelling and screaming.  I asked how many times she lie to us and went to chlamydia boy.  She said one other time.  I will assume that means at least three other times if not more.  Here is the bonus.  Chlamydia boy was with her when the crash happened.  She told me she was driving him to pay off some fines and stuff he had.  I knew he had a record.  I did a check on him – but only what anyone else can find.  It was all public information.  The charges were for harassment and possession of a controlled substance.  Cause, ya know, he is really turning his life around……  As she was calling me and telling the details of what was happening at the crash scene I asked how chlamydia boy was getting home, did she now have to drive him home, etc.  No, the officer was going to take him home.  Okay, that happens all the time.  This is where things get interesting.  For some reason chlamydia boy tells the cop he has a joint in his pocket.  I can only assume the officer offered him the ride but still ran the kid and found he hadn’t paid his fines and costs and he was in violation of his probation by having the joint.  Chlamydia boy was taken to jail, well at least an in-take area of jail.  My girl found this out after she was home and someone messaged her to let her know.  I just couldn’t be sympathetic because I could’t understand why she wants a person like this in her life.  Of course, chlamydia boy was released after paying his fines and costs.  The jails are just to crowded to keep a little shit like that.

April is soon turning to May and she has done little to help herself.  I was promised she would contact the life coach and start talking to her again.  That didn’t happen.  I was told she is applying for jobs.  That hasn’t happened.  I was told she is going to clean her room and do her wash.  That hasn’t happened.  Sigh.  Do I kick the 18 year old out of my house and let her fail even more miserably?  I just don’t have the right answer.  I have pressure from almost every member of my family that knows what has been happening with my girl.  I know very well that I am fucking up in every way possible.  But I also know I don’t want her to be dead.  My mind can’t help but remember all the stories from work.  A few weeks ago a mom called because her daughter left the house and was texting her mom saying goodbye, and how she couldn’t keep going.  It was awful.  The cellphone of the girl was pinged for three hours, until the car the girl was driving was finally seen and the girl was in it.  Last week a local woman hung herself in her house while her husband and kids were there.  The woman was known to have “issues”.  I guess I need a new job.  

Will she get a job, get into therapy, start taking her meds again, get chlamydia boy out of her life, finish her photography program’s final project so she can get her certificate?  I just don’t know.  I do know I am tired.  I do know there are days I feel crazy.  There are days that I want to stay in bed all day, days were I want out, days where I don’t want to keep taking care of everyone.  But that’s what being a mom is about, right?