Scattered

Scattered. My brain is scattered. My world is scattered. I’m trying to sit and get it all out. I can’t seem to find a place to start. There are so many places, so many things that keep rolling through my brain. The things that keep me awake at night. The things that scare the shit out of me.

I don’t know why I haven’t put anything on paper recently. Maybe because it makes it all too real for me. If I write it, it’sreal. If I don’t, I can pretend. Pretend everything is “normal.” What the hell is normal anyway. Normal, a preconceived idea of what life is supposed to be like, what you want life to be like. If only it were that simple. 

I apologize in advance it there are errors in the following. It is hard enough to write, its even harder to try to go back and proof and re-read.

My girl child. It happened again. February 6-7, 2022. He beat her again. She went to see him on February 6th, messaged me to tell me she was staying over that evening. I was at work (a new job that I have been at for only about a month). My cell phone rings and it’s my girl. I couldn’t answer immediately because I was talking to someone. She called back, I answered. She was crying and close to hysterical. She said they had a fight. I asked if he touched her. She said not as bad as last time. I asked where she was and she said she was in his car, driving to where her car was parked. I asked where he was, and she said she had no idea. They fought and she left. I pleaded with her to be safe, get to her car and lock the keys to his car in the car. I called my husband, told him what was happening and asked him to go to the parking lot where her car was parked and watch for her. He did. She never showed up. I tried contacting her with no luck. She called again, screaming, yelling, hysterical begging me to help her, begging me to save her, she was throwing up and dry heaving while she was talking to me. I got from her she went back to his house, they fought again, she ran outside and was at a convenience store and scared that he would find her. I have her on the cell phone and call 911 from my work phone. I give all the information I have to the dispatcher; he sends police. Her phone goes dead. She calls back from the convenience store phone. Still crying and begging me to help. The dispatcher tells me the officers are on scene. I hear them talking to her. She is beyond rational thought. I can hear the officers now yelling at drippy dick who found where she was. They were telling him to get away from her and stop talking and to listen to them. Drippy yelled at her for calling the cops. She blamed me. The phone went dead. I hear nothing for hours. I finally get a call from her saying she needed to figure some things out and she would be in touch with me, but she didn’t know when she would be home. Deep breaths. Trying to stay in “control,” trying not to freak the fuck out, trying not to let my new employer know what’shappening.  

She calls again on my cell. Upset, but not hysterical. She tells me that drippy dick was driving her back to her car, and he got stopped by police for expired inspection. The car smelled strongly of weed (shocking), and drippy was put through Field Sobriety Tests and then taken for a blood test. She now had to drive his car to the police station and wait for him to be releasedbefore she could come home. I offered to get her an Uber, she refused. 

I go home at the end of the workday. I message my girl a few times and finally hear back that drippy dick is driving her to her car. This would be about a 30-minute drive from where drippy lives to where her car is parked. She messages and says she would like to talk when she gets home. We wait and wait. We go to our bedroom because it’s getting later, and she isn’t home.  Again, my cell phone rings and it’s her. Again, screaming and crying for me to help her. She fears him. She got to her car, they continued to talk, and she drove away. He was now following her, and she did not know what to do. I told her to keep driving home, told her to drive to a police department. Again, she really isn’t hearing me. She stops her car at a gas station and tells me where she is. The phone again goes dead. I call 911, again. I tell the dispatcher the details of what has happened throughout the day and ask him to send officers to help her. My husband also leaves to go to the area where she is. Officers call me back. They can’t find her. I tell them the events of the day and what happened. I call my husband and relay to him that the officers can’t find her. He is in the area and sees the officers, so he stops to talk to them. I get a call from a strange number and answer. It’s her calling from one of drippy’s phones.  Her phone is turned off so we can’t track her. She will not tell me where she is but tells me she is safe and okay, and they are talking. But he is sitting in his car, and she is locked in her car and they are talking via phone.  We have an idea where she parks her car and my husband, and six officers are in that area searching and find nothing. She calls me numerous times from drippy’s phone, and the calls just keep dropping. I have no idea what is happening. Eventually, the officers must respond to other calls and my husband comes home. She eventually gets home sometime after midnight on February 8th. 

I don’t see her until the evening of February 8th because I had to work. 

Sorry, back up a minute. As the things were happening the previous day, I was advising my sons, so they knew what was happening. 

My girl messaged me at some point during the day on the 8th and said she would like to talk when I get home from work. I told her yes, we would definitely be talking. I asked my sons to be there as well. That way everyone hears what I have to say in case she isn’t thinking clearly, and she decides to go to one of them for help. She initially wasn’t happy that everyone was. I told her she needs to be honest and no lies about what happened. 

Drippy dick decided it would be a great idea to get them Xany-bars for Sunday evening (the 6th). She said she had never tried them before. They ate them. Apparently, they ate a lot.  She has little memory from Sunday evening at around 11PM to Monday evening around 6PM or 7PM. She knows they fought almost none stop. She showed us a few bruises on her legs. She was still very……. on edge. She said she could still feel whatever was in the bars was still in her. We asked that she tell us what she does remember. She knew they fought both inside his house and outside his house. She told him she was done and wanted to leave and was getting some of her things out of the back of his car. He was in the driver seat and when she reached in the back seat he started to drive away and drug her with the car, hence the road rash all over her ankle/leg. She remembered him punching her in the back of her head when she was trying to walk away from him. She said she knows at one point she was fighting for her life and had his skin under her nails when she came home. We all talked for about an hour. I could tell she was reaching her limit. She just repeated over and over that she wanted to sleep forever, she was tired of this, tired of making mistakes. She wants to be dead. We encouraged her the best we could. Knowing if we push too hard, she would flee. 

She has been at home since this happened. I know she has been in contact with drippy, but she has not seen him. Will this be her rock bottom? Will she want help this time? Will anything change? I am trying to get her to talk to a Domestic Violence hotline. I am trying to talk to her about maybe trying a wilderness program where she has no contact with anyone. Will any of it help? I don’t know. 

Watching her is hard. Hearing her words is harder. Not knowing how to help is beyond words. Seeing her beat up body is debilitating to me. She took a video of her body. The bruises are unbelievable. Her neck, throat, shoulders, arms, legs, feet, and head all have bruises. But I am sure that her brain is the most damaged. That damage doesn’t fade like a bruise. That damage is deep and permanent.

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.

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?

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.