why

The last month has been challenging, to say the least. If I remember correctly, somewhere in my last post I mentioned a shoulder injury and that my girl had been diagnosed with bi-polar as well as BPD. I am going to do my best to to stick to a timeline of recent events, but I make no promises.

Late July, I had an appointment with a surgeon to review an MRI on my shoulder. I was told I had two different rotator cuff injuries and would need surgery as soon as possible. Surgery was scheduled for Monday, August 3rd, which gave me about five days to get my shit together before my dominant arm would be in a sling for six or more weeks. There was lots of cooking and freezing, cleaning, washing – all the stuff I felt had to be taken care of.

The Friday before surgery my girl was at work. She was supposed to be working 12PM-8PM. I remember she sent me lots of messages that day complaining about the job and how much she hated it, etc. I had honestly encouraged her to quit numerous times. My reasons being: 1) she was working at this job because drippy dick thought this is where she should work and I want her as far away from his control as possible 2) her mental status was not stable and the added pressure of the job was creating issues that she didn’t need. Anyway, she ended up coming home early. As soon as she came in the house I could tell she was upset. We actually sat and talked for probably close to an hour. She was upset about her relationship with drippy. She told me that she is scared of him. He has made threats towards her and our family if she left him. She admitted he controls her life and decisions. She also said he works at the same store she works at. This was NEVER mentioned before. He isn’t there every time she works because he is a “manager” and goes to various places. He does not support her efforts to try and better herself through therapy and medication. He even told her if she leaves him she owes him money for the food, gas, gifts and things he did for her during the relationship. Oh, and she also would owe him money for his legal costs, since his arrest for Terroristic Threats was all her fault. I did my best to gently explain that fear isn’t love, control isn’t love. I used as many examples as I could and felt like I had finally crossed the finish line. She knew she had to end it, she knew she would be supported by her family and if need be she could get a Protection From Abuse Order to keep him away. I told her I would be home for at least a month with her and it would be okay. She could do this. She can live without him. Her life would be better without him.

Monday, August 3rd, I had my surgery. It wasn’t/isn’t fun. Right arm is in a sling 24/7, except when I shower. I have to sleep in a recliner because it hurts to lay in a bed. I have one more week of the immobilizer sling (a sling that has a waist band to prevent the arm from being lifted away from your body), then two weeks of a regular sling and after that I can start therapy. I returned to work on Monday, August 31st. It was too soon. I am lucky to have disability insurance where I work, but it pays less than half of my actual salary. Let’s be honest. In this crazy world where prices of groceries, gas, basically all necessities are sky high – half my usual salary started to take it’s toll on the back account. So, I’m back to work in an office with one arm and it hurts.

Let’s now fast-forward, one week after surgery. At some point during this week I noticed a very fresh hickey on my girls neck. This meant she lied to us, again, about being with a friends and was with drippy. Drippy just loves to put his mark on her. It’s like a big fuck you to anyone who truly cares about my girl. It disgusts me. I asked my girl about it and got the silent treatment. I started noticing more and more irritability in my girl, more unstable behavior and actions. I talked to her about it. She was put on new meds when the bi-polar diagnosis was made and she felt the meds were making her worse and she felt extremely suicidal. She was very proactive in calling her psychiatrist and talking to him about it. She even made an appointment to go see him. He actually increased the frequency of the meds and asked her to give it another few weeks to work.

Two weeks after surgery – I’m going stir crazy being in the house, confined in a sling. I make plans with a couple to hang at their house on Friday night. Me & hubby are there, my girl is working a 12PM-8PM shift and will be stopping at their house after work. Around 6PM I get a call from my girl. She is crying. She said she is done, she can’t work there anymore and drippy just broke up with her. I try to convince her to stay there and we will get her, she said she needs to get away from him and she will drive to our friends house. She gets there and we talk and talk and talk. I am fortunate to have this friend. She has, unfortunately, been through a similar situation in a past relationship. She talked to my girl about the PFA, made a list of the good and bad parts of the relationship with drippy and just made sure my girl knew she wasn’t alone and it wasn’t her fault and she could get through this. We talk about the possibility of getting an emergency PFA. Because of my employment, I am all to familiar with the process and start making calls to put things in motion. After my girl is calmed down as much as possible, we leave our friends and go home. It’s decided we will talk about the PFA and other issues the next day.

The next day, Saturday. My girl decides she doesn’t want to do the emergency PFA and we will wait until Monday morning and file for a PFA at the courthouse. No one will be shocked to know when Monday comes she decides she doesn’t want to do it. She tells me she hasn’t heard from drippy at all and she has him blocked in every way possible.

The following week or last week. My girl was sad, but seemed to be kinda okay. She was supposedly with friends almost every evening. And then on Friday afternoon I saw the hickey. And of course when I called her out about it, it’s turned around on me. I don’t understand, I don’t get it, she has a mental illness, she is fucked up. The past week has been very hard for me and I try not to make it about me, I swear I don’t. I started back to work on Monday, and I hate being at work. I have been the recipient of my girls anger and hatred and resentment and everything for the past month. I have been lied to and deceived. I have been hurt.

Last night. Got home from work and could immediately tell my girl was in a downward spiral. We went to a local restaurant for a quick bite. We being me, my husband, my girl and a very dear friend who has seen the bad side of my girls illness. We order, my girl doesn’t order any food. My girl typically always drives herself when we go somewhere so she can leave if she feels overwhelmed. While we are sitting at the restaurant I can just feel my girl falling into her black hole. I try to get her to talk and she just gets teary eyed. She leaves, promising me that she will get food for herself at some point. Oh, I should have probably mentioned this earlier, but over the last month my girl rarely eats. She may eat every two days. I have to watch her and what she eats. She tries to eat and her mind/body fight her. She will get a few bites in and the nauseous feeling hits. Anyway, after we are finished we head home. My girl is sitting outside and we sit with her. Conversation starts and it’s not a good conversation. I lost count how many times she told us she doesn’t want to be alive, she doesn’t want to wake up anymore. She is tired of fighting and of everything. At one point my girl and I go inside and we continue to talk, like real feeling talk. I am trying desperately to get her to agree to finding more help, going in-patient somewhere. I felt raw and exhausted as we were talking. And then my husband comes inside and asks my girl why drippy is on a motorcycle in front of our house. My reaction was stunned silence. I had no reaction except to walk away from everyone. I went upstairs to my bedroom, but I couldn’t believe what I had heard and had to see it for myself. I walked out the front door and there he was on his new motorcycle. He stared me down. So many words were waiting to pour out of me. But I didn’t do it. I didn’t say anything. I turned around and went back inside leaving my husband and dear friend to watch over my girl. At some point my girl and drippy decided to go for a walk around our development. I went back to my room and crawled into bed and cried. After a short time my husband came into the room. I heard him rustling around and knew what he was doing. He was getting his gun. Drippy has a few guns, illegally of course, and has threatened our family. No, my husband didn’t go outside waving it around or threatening anyone. It was a precaution. But I couldn’t stand it. I went back outside and told my husband I couldn’t lose him because of something stupid drippy did. It was enough that I was going to lose my girl, I couldn’t lose them both. We decided enough was enough. We closed/locked up the house while my girl and drippy were on their walk. My girl knows how to get in the house if she decided to and she did come in about an hour later.

I don’t know when the last time I cried myself to sleep was, but I did last night. I am beyond drained and exhausted. I have nothing in me to give anymore. I can’t save my girl. I can’t make her want to live. I can’t keep taking on the weight of her illness, as well as all the other family drama. Some of the family have seen the ugly side of my girls illness, some haven’t. Until you see it and experience it first hand, you can’t understand it. It’s ugly and cruel. I need help in a way I have never felt I needed help before. Help deciding what to do from this point forward. Today is therapy day for my girl. I have no clue if she will go. She skipped her group therapy two weeks in a row, but did individual therapy. It’s just not enough. If I commit her based on her comments, she will play the system and be out within 3 days. How do I figure out how much guilt I can live with? If I kick her out and she kills herself, will I really be able to not blame myself? If I kick her out and she gets beat again, will I be okay with that?

I have nothing left. When I am home and my girl is home I don’t want to be there and I hate that. When my girl isn’t home, I feel I need to stay home because I don’t know what might happen. I am lost in a never ending cycle.

Where do I turn, what do I do? Is my girl alive right now? What will I find when I go home from work? Did she decide she can’t do it anymore? Every fucking minute of every fucking day these are the questions that loop in my brain. It never stops.

Let’s play a game…

Everyone likes games, right? Play the what if game with me. It’s a game my mind likes to play at 2AM when I need sleep. A game that I play as I cry in the shower. A game that makes my heart race and my blood pressure rise. A game that I play everyday, whether I want to or not.

What if – my girl tells me she’s going to point A (a friends) but really goes to point D (drippy dick)? And I have no idea where she is or how to help her if she gets in trouble.

What if – I tell my girl that I feel very little joy in my life, and her disorder is to blame?

What if – I tell my girl I can’t stand being in the house with her?

What if – I tell my girl I feel I am walking on eggshells all the time?

What if – I tell my girl I want my life back?

What if – I tell my girl I’m allowed to feel happy, sometimes?

What if – I tell my girl that my world has to stop revolving around her?

What if – I tell my girl I am becoming sad and depressed, too?

What if – I tell my girl I am not looking forward to a week vacation with her along?

What if – my girl keeps lying?

What if – my girl never knows happiness in her life?

What if – the drug of choice gets stronger and scarier?

What if – I tell my girl she has to decide if she is living here or with drippy?

What if – my girl decides to live with drippy and gets beat, again?

What if – my girl doesn’t go to therapy tomorrow (for the third time in a row)?

What if – my girl continues to cut her arms and now her thighs?

What if – one of those cuts hits just the right spot?

What if – things never change?

What if – I finally unload all this on my girl and all my feelings and thoughts come pouring out of my mouth and I can’t stop them?

What if – my honesty pushes my girl over the edge?

What if – my girl can’t handle my truth?

What if – those are the last words I ever get to say to my girl?

What if, what if, what if, what if?

What if is a fucked up game to play.

Reality

This is my daily reality. My beautiful girl child has Borderline Personality Disorder. This is what it looks like.

Self harm and this was a mild one

It’s 2020. People dealing with mental health issues are not getting the proper help. I can’t help my own child. It is devastating. It is sad. It is scary.

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?

 

Another Journey Begins…

February 26, 2019, a day I will forever remember. It started as any other day. Mid-morning while at work I received an e-mail from my husband telling me to call my daughter ASAP.  Thanks to AT&T, I have no cell phone service in my building.  I called her and found her to be in hysterics. The mental breakdown that I was always hoping would never happen, happened. She was crying, talking, yelling. It was horrible. She told me she didn’t want to do life anymore. She was over everything. She knew she wasn’t doing her best work at school, she had no creativity, had lost her passion and the boyfriend was also mentioned. 

We agreed she would drive home from her school apartment and we would deal with whatever was happening when she got home. I’m sure someone will give me grief for letting her drive. However, I do know my child and knew her waiting for me to get to her (about a 1 1/2 hours drive) would have been far worse than her driving to me. Trust me on this one.

I left work, got home and started making calls. About one month prior I had started researching inpatient facilities for depression and anxiety. I knew with what we had experienced over Christmas, my daughter needed more than just a monthly therapy appointment. I contacted an organization that was helping me with this search and since this was a situation that demanded immediate action, I was directed to a local behavioral health center. I called and made an appointment for my daughter to be seen when she got home. My husband got home before my daughter and when she walked in the door, we basically walked right back out and into the car. My girl had voiced the fact she knew she needed help.

Once at the facility, we were taken in to an in-take room. My daughter’s vitals were taken and some general questions were asked. This entire time my girl was sobbing. It was then time to sit down with an in-take specialist. Only two people were allowed. Of course my girl chose me and poor dad had to wait in the waiting area. There was about an hour of questions, which she answered very honestly. This was the first time she really told the truth about her self-harming to anyone in the therapy field. It was like a stab to my heart when she told him she now used scissors to make the cuts. There was a time when it was razor blades. He asked to see her arm and this was the first time I saw the “new” cuts. I’m not sure how I didn’t throw up. Yes, I have seen far worse self-harm pictures on-line. But seeing it on my girl was beyond words. There was one that was about four inches long and about .5 inches deep.  She was also very open and honest with her thoughts of “not wanting to be here”.  She no longer wanted to be alive as the person she currently was.  She wants to live as the person she hopes to be.

After all the questions were answered, the in-take specialist took the answers to the psychiatrist to see what is recommended.  I knew what the answer was going to be, but I don’t think my girl did.  He came back in the room with papers to sign.  The first being a 201 commitment paper.  He was very clear with what it was and what she was signing.  Since she was 18, she is now in control.  She willingly signed the paper.  As the in-take specialist was explaining more about other papers that needed to be signed, the realization that she would not be coming home with me hit her hard.  We talked for probably 30 minutes about why this needed to happen and that at this point it was going to happen.  She was begging me to get her out and not make her stay.  At one point I asked if I could go get my husband.  I left the room and went into the waiting area with the in-take guy.  I knew when I walked out I would not be going back in.  We talked about what to do at this point and I told the guy there was no way I could go back in or it would just get worse.  We then left.  We left our girl at that place.  She was alone, scared, confused, hurt and now I left her.  The first phone call came about 35 minutes later.  She couldn’t understand why we would just leave, how could we do that, she can’t stay there, she needs to get out, I need to get her out.  I think she ended up hanging up on me.  That was the first of six calls that night.  Each one was the same.  The guilt was insane at this point.  Wow.  Not knowing what she was doing was the absolute worst for me, and the fact I was sure she would hate me and never talk to me again.   

To make that evening even better, I got a Facebook message from “the boy” telling me he has been trying to call Hannah and can’t get her and she told him she was coming home to get help.  After about an hour I replied “she is safe”.  Then I got another message asking  me to give him the facility information so he can arrange to visit her.  My response “no visitors”.  His response “is that the facility rule or your rule”.  Seriously, dickhead?  You are going to throw attitude to me?  What the fuck?  I replied “facility”.  The next day the boy messaged asking for a number to call her.  I never responded to that one.  I can only assume that I hurt his feelings because I later received this message “I really appreciate your consideration you aren’t the only person who has an emotional attachment to her and is pained by what she is going through but I know my place now don’t worry sorry to bother”  and yes it was just like that, no punctuation.  Did I want to respond?  Oh, I wanted to respond.  I wanted to ask the concerned boy about the violent fights my daughters neighbors reported to the rental agency.  I wanted an explanation for the odd bruises on her body.  I wanted to know how many other diseases he was sharing with my daughter.  I wanted to know why if he was so concerned did he not tell me about the cuts on her?  I wanted to know why my girl suddenly was 30 pounds lighter if he was so fucking concerned about her.  I wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of her life.  However, I knew that would only make matters worse.  So I said nothing.

On day 2 of my daughter’s commitment she called me every few hours.  The morning calls were much of the same.  She wanted to leave, didn’t want to be there, etc. By the afternoon she had perhaps adjusted to being there and asked if we were going to visit her.  Visiting is allowed every day from 5:30 PM to 6:30 PM.  Yes, I lied to the boy.  I told her I would love to visit her.  My husband (her dad!), her youngest brother, his fiance and me all went for a visit.  It was awkward at first.  We talked about her day, what the schedule was like, what the food was like, etc.  She did admit that she did like the group therapy and realized there were other people who had feelings like hers and there were people that were much worse. At the end of the visit she asked that we not visit her the following day.  She said it was too hard to imagine what we were doing when we left without her.  We followed her wishes and did not visit on day 3.  However, we talked quite a bit on the phone throughout the day.  I also talked to the social worker assigned to her.  It was helpful to be able to give the social worker some input from my point of view. She felt very confident that my girl would be released on day 4 and set up a family meeting for 1:30 PM on day 4.

As my husband and I were pulling into the facility parking lot for the meeting, my phone starts exploding.  The boy has now messaged my two sons (her brothers) and their respective girlfriend/fiance.  The message was something about how concerned he was and he isn’t getting any help or response from “her mother”.  The girls were the ones texting me at this point and I told them both to ignore him and that anything they said would be twisted and he would just throw it in Hannah’s face the minute she had her cell phone in her hand.  

We had the  meeting and were thrilled with what the social worker told us.  The behavioral group felt Hannah would be much better suited for intensive out-patient therapy and that was set up for her.  And out the door we went (yes there was other stuff regarding medication, etc).  The minute we got in the car she wanted her phone.  Before I handed it to her I showed her the exchange between me and the boy, just so she knew exactly what I said.  She calls him from the back seat, my blood is boiling.  Of course we can only hear her side of the conversation.  I’m not sure how many times she apologized to him.  Again, I am seeing red.  She eventually hangs up and my only comment (right or wrong) was “you just got out of in-patient treatment and he is making you feel guilty and you have to apologize to him?”  And that is all I said.  Now, unbeknownst to me throughout the afternoon the boy and the brothers are messaging and it got UGLY.  Very ugly.  The boy threatened to kill my oldest and make sure his daughter grows up without a dad, just like him.  This is the caliber of person we are dealing with.  OMG – that night was just horrid.  Even though she knew what was said in the messages, she still begged the boy to stay with her.  All the alarms are going off in my head and the last thing I can do is scream at her that he is manipulating her, using her and abusing her.  At this time I was also very disappointed in my sons.  I know they love their sister.  I know they were doing what they felt was best for her and protecting her and I appreciate that.  I did not appreciate them then turning their backs on her because they felt she was choosing the boy over them.  She is messed up in the head, just got out of the psych ward and is so confused about life she can’t see straight.  She needed their support.  Stop and think about it before you judge…………

It’s now been almost two weeks since she was in the hospital.  We are learing to live with a new normal.  She has been given a leave of absence from school.  She will have five months to complete her final portfolio and have it judged.  That is a huge stressor to cross off the list.  Today, she returned the boys property (the usual t-shirts, sweatshirts).  I can’t say they are officially over, but we are moving in the correct direction.  I will occasionally send my girl links regarding domestic abuse, how it starts, what it looks like and I think she is finally admitting to herself that she was in a bad relationship. This boy treated her how she feels she should have been treated.  She isn’t worthy of a nice guy because she is a piece of shit – her words, not mine.  Therapy starts in two weeks (yes, the mental health system is amazingly fast), but in the meantime she is speaking with a life coach twice a week.  I never thought much of the life coach crap – my opinion has now changed.  My girl is learning to deal with and control her anxiety.  She is relating to her life coach and enjoys every session.  I think my girl reached her rock bottom.  Now we do all we can to build her back up, support and love her the way she deserves.

A Heavy Heart

My heart is heavy today. Isn’t it odd that some days can be relatively “normal” and others make you feel beat down and just plain sad?

I wonder, on days like this, if I dealt with the thoughts and feelings that my daughter deals with every minute of everyday – would all my days feel this bad?

I can tell by talking to my girl that she is very depressed. She promises me she is taking her meds. She promises me she will reach out if she needs help. She promises me there are people at school and around her she can rely on. She promises me.

Some days I am able to put everything into a demented type of perspective. Today, I am not. My every thought swirls around my girl in some way. Today, I wonder if I will need to plan her funeral.

My heart is heavy.