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suicide

Insignificance

“I remember things going dark.

Eventually all I could hear was my heart beat.

Behind my eyes would turn spotted, then red……

And eventually things would go dark.

Sometimes I’d feel as if I started to slip away.

And then they would come running in and find me.”

“How was school today sweetie?  Did it go ok?  How was it seeing everyone again?”

“Ummmmm.  Not great.”

That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.  We have waited a very long time for this day to come.  The first day of school.  The first day back.  The first day going forward.  She’s in a new school now.  We decided the old one wasn’t a place we wanted to go back to, with all the stressful memories.  Although we say that someday we’ll look back, and some of the stories will seem humorous, they are all very deep, and still very raw.  Much more raw than I thought.

I was hoping for a great story.  She was terribly excited.  We have private transportation right now, as the stress of being on a cheese wagon loaded with K-12 kids is overwhelming on any given day.  Our school division has been kind enough to provide secure door to door transportation so there are no worries.  She was dressed beautifully, with a flowery baby-doll top and leggings, softly colored candy floss hair, and her signature dark pink lipstick.  The driver told me she was shaking a little, and talking tremendously fast.  She hesitated a little, and then went in to face the day.  Everything was planned and charted out, with friends texting her directions to her first classes.

The thing is, one whole year has passed, with at least a half year before that one missed.  Time goes by whether you are present or not, and fitting back in isn’t so easy.  Add some disassociation to that and you have a feeling of being very alone.  It’s amazing how you can walk in to an environment of a lot of people, and feel more alone then when you’re actually by yourself.  It doesn’t seem possible, but it’s very true.  Social anxiety is just that – being alone in the midst of the craziness, and not knowing really how to change it.  I would describe it as an out of body experience, inside of your body.  Feeling like you are absolutely unimportant, and nothing.

“I cried today.”

“Why sweetie?  Why did you cry?  Were you alone?”

“No, I was with my teacher.  I just feel insignificant.  And uncomfortable.  And….overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry that this is so hard.  I’m sure it will get better.  You’ll get back in to it.”

“The thing is, I don’t want to get “back in to it”.  I don’t want to fit in and be a part of the way things used to be.  I don’t want things to be the way they used to be.  I’m not that person anymore.  I don’t want the same nick name.  I’m not anorexic anymore.  I don’t want to sit and be part of the drama, talk about who did what to who, and how much of a witch that other girl is.  I want to love people, and talk about wonderful things.  I want to sit with bare feet, eat raw corn and not be made fun of.  I want to stand in the mud and feel the earth in my toes and feel the rain on my face.  I want to talk about life and how amazing things are.  I’m not sick anymore.  As a matter of fact, I’m the least sick person I know.  I just want to show love to people.”

I sat and looked at her for a moment.  I know how she feels.  We have come so far and have changed so much. I don’t want her to be part of that world either.  She isn’t suicidal anymore – and those days may haunt her but they do not define who she is.  She has turned in to this amazingly confident, sensitive, feeling, empath – but suffers with anxiety, stress, OCD, PTSD, unspecified eating disorders and a few other unmentionable things that circle above her head, threatening to land on her shoulder and speak fear quietly into her ear.  She requires support still, in very significant ways, but she has fought very hard, and grown up perhaps a bit too quickly.

Her smile will light up a room.  She sings with unabandon in the shower, in her room, to the radio, and just about anywhere we go.  She plays in the sand, walks barefoot most of the time, plays in the rain and dances as she bounds up and down the stairs.  Her eyes twinkle while she tells corny jokes, and she has taken a strange pleasure in discovering great new lipstick colors.  Her clothes are usually soft and flowy, sprayed with colorful flowers and the odd piece of lace or ruffle.  At the end of the day she flops down on the couch talking about her many plans to travel the world her VW or PT Cruiser – she can’t decide.  She is definitely not the girl she used to be.

“I don’t know what to say doll.  I wish I could tell you it will be easy, just give it time and things will be better.  Instead, how about this.  Just give it some time – things will be different.  You’ll find your way, whatever that is.  Thank you for telling me you cried.  Thank you for having the courage to share with me how you’re really feeling, because one of my fears is thinking it’s all just ok when it’s really not.  You and I have come a very long way.  Let’s make it our goal just to love the people around us, and if they don’t accept that, well, we can always move on.  There’s always someone who needs some love.”

2

Reflections

It was almost a year ago, that I went shopping with my daughter for school clothes.  I will never forget that day.  I had my arms full of pants, jeans, tops and all sorts of fun things, but no matter what we picked, we just couldn’t find a size that fit.  Size 5?  Nope – too big.  Perhaps a 3 would work.  Still too big.  Then I went for the 2, then the 1, then really – a zero?  Yes – we were there – at a 0 and even 00, and when I looked at how the clothes were hanging I was shocked.  In my head I gasped, and realized we had a problem.

Where are things now?  Time for a update.

Today, we went shopping for school clothes.  It’s about a 30 minute drive to the mall we wanted to shop at.  My daughter chatted along the way about how she found her journal from a year ago, and was shocked at how much she’s changed.  She said she found her entries to be dark, grey and very depressing.  She talked about how now things seem bright, and that life is great – for the most part anyways.  We spoke about how far she’s really come, and headed straight for the mall.

We walked around, looking at different things – lipstick, lingerie, tshirts and were in search of the perfect pants.  We ended up going in to the very same store we shopped at last year.  It was a little dejavu, and I must say I had to breathe pretty deeply and focus on now – not then.  We founds lots of wonderful things to try on, and off to the dressing room she went.  This time, not a size 0.  We discussed how hard it was to find clothes, and although she’s probably only a size 1 now  (maybe a 2 if we went for loose), but at least we’re not at 00.  We were able to talk about self image, potential triggers, and what makes her feel beautiful now.  It was refreshing to see her laugh, twirl and primp herself in front of the mirror.  There was one point where I made the mental note that 0 is very close, and I would have to be watching very closely, but her mood was wonderful.  The marks from all the self harm were there, but really – neither of us could really see them anymore.

All the shopping was making me ready for lunch, but she just wanted to keep on.  Next – a stop for the perfect new lipstick.  There is nothing like a new lipstick.  The feel of the cardboard box, the smooth beautiful tube and perfect shape of the color inside.  You twist it up and look for a moment, and then try it – and hopefully it’s magic.  It was hard to decide, but we managed to settle on 2 new colors for her, and 1 for myself.  Lunch?  Not yet.

We hit a few more stores, tried things on – primped and preened, and got her fitted properly for a few new items.  Lunch?  Well, that’s when the conversation began.

“Mom, I’m really struggling.  I know I have to eat, but I just can’t handle the food in my  mouth.”

“Ok, is there anything that appeals to you at all?  Soup?  Smoothie?  Sushi?  Fries? Salad?  Anything?”

“No, not really.  I know I have to eat.  And I will.  At least I’ll try, but I feel noxious when I swallow.”

We settled on a small vegetarian tray of sushi.  The first few pieces were ok, as long as we kept talking and were distracted.  Then I could see her trying not to taste it, as if it hit her tongue she would be sick.  She managed to swallow, but by the time she hit the last piece she was holding her nose and gagging.

“You don’t have to eat it all.  You made a great effort and got enough down.”

“I’m sorry mom.  I’m really trying”

“I know you are.  Maybe smaller amounts as we go?”

“My stomach hurts because I know I’m hungry.  I hate the pain – I know that’s what it’s from.  I just can’t handle the texture of anything.  It all feels thick.”

The good news?  She’s being honest with me.  She’s letting me know upfront that she’s struggling, and even better – letting me try to help.  The bad news?  She’s struggling and choking back a protein bar with her nose plugged in an effort not to loose weight.  She’s in a safe zone now, but danger is a mere 5+ pounds away.  Her program knows, she knows, and I know that it’s a struggle she may have the rest of her life, but we just have to be patient and honest. I’m being told to try and find one food she can enjoy, but even a liquid other than water turns her off.

More good news.  The rigid, straight back, perfect speech, and demure behaviors are all gone.  Now, I have a fun loving, slightly slouched, mostly barefoot dancing girl, that finds joy in brightly colored hair, tie dyed clothing, flowy pants, and singing at the top of her lungs.  She walks barefoot in the mud (I tell her not to), and dances in the rain.  Her favorite slogan is, “An adventure a day keeps the Dr. away!”.

There is still tough stuff, and we still have some big battles coming that legally I can’t talk about.  She has trouble with parts of her family that usually end up in self harm, so visits are kept to a bare minimum.  She is going to have to face a class room with kids, and a teacher, and schoolwork, and even home work – all things she hasn’t had for almost 2 years.  What will happen when boys start paying attention to her, or girls start making comments about how tiny she is, or tall or colorful, or loud or any of the other things kids say?  Her friends either aren’t in her class, or even in her grade. She won’t be able to lay on the floor in class and make toast whenever she wants anymore, and somewhere, I’m going to have to get her a computer and trust her with it.  Our school division requires each student have a laptop – something I’m not excited about.

We have fought very hard this year.  There have been good days, and not quite as good, but at the end of each and everyone of them, I’m glad and very thankful, that I’ve been given the opportunity to fight.

The toughest part now?  Dealing with the demons…………….

0

The Walnut

The bowl of nuts every Christmas sits by the fireplace. The nuts are not the kind you get from a little tin with the metal tab that you peel back.  The nuts in this bowl are carefully hand picked by my dad, making sure they’re all in tact. There’s a wide assortment of Hazelnuts, Brazil Nuts, Cashews, Filberts and Walnuts, all still in the shell needing to be cracked open. Next to the dish, there’s a small metal nutcracker, with a little metal tool used to dig the small bits out of the nooks and crannies of the shell.

I was really never any good at getting the nut out of the shell with those small little crackers.  I didn’t ever get why we couldn’t get the tin, but my dad really enjoyed cracking open those nuts – and he was good at it.  I remember watching and thinking, “He doesn’t even get any pieces anywhere.  They just pop open for him.”

I remember going in to a store one time and seeing a big huge Nutcracker – the kind with the lever on the back of the head.  Seems like a monstrous tool for such a small item, but have you ever tried to crack a nut?  If you’re not careful and don’t do it right, it can make a really huge mess, and even break the nutcracker itself.  It might seem like a very small problem – crack the nut – get the goodies out of the shell but if it’s not done right you have just more of a mess on your hands.  I’m pretty sure at some point my brother tried using a hammer, and I’m sure there’s a story somewhere about a dented table or floor because of it.  The point being – a small nut can seem really hard to crack, and the large tools can seem unnecessary, but really might be needed to do it right.

This last week we took another trip to the hospital, not for my daughter this time, but for another family member.  It seemed so unnecessary.  “Can’t we just talk about this?  Tell us what’s up and we’ll help you fix it”, but mental health doesn’t work that way, and I’ve learned our youth don’t trust us and don’t feel safe sharing.

Why don’t they trust us?  Why can’t they share?  What have our generation, and the ones before us done to loose the trust of youth today?  And even more importantly, why are there so many, many hurting, angry, beaten and broken teens?

I don’t have answers to any of these questions.  I’m as perplexed as the next person, and watch as lives disappear due to a dark moment intensified by intoxication, or being high, taking away the inhibitions that could be that small little piece keeping them from ending it all.  It’s so senseless.

Talk to your children every day, and not from the other room, or while you’re working at something else.  Look them in the eye, ask them how life is.  Talk about issues like drugs, alcohol and sexuality.  Put on your big girl panties and be prepared to calmly answer some tough questions (even when you’re freaking on the inside), and if you don’t have the answers, find a safe place to get them, and then follow up.  Who will your child go to when they’re in trouble?  Do you know?  I’d be willing to guarantee that it won’t be you – at least not at first.  Learn to be ok with that, because it is what it is.  Just make sure, that they have a “go to” adult to use as a support.  A pier is not the right answer.  It needs to be someone that has their life at least a little together, and has some life experience.

“Not my kid”.  Don’t kid yourself.  I said that over and over, and I can’t write about some of the things we’ve been through.  Maybe it seems like a huge sledgehammer for a small walnut, but like those hard shells, our teenagers are no different.  The tools are there – use them – and don’t be ashamed.  At the end of the day, the only thing that matters, is that we have them to hug and hold as long as we possibly can.

As my friends son said to her, “life is a roller coaster mom – lots of twists and turns along the way”.  Eventually we’ll get there.  Stick together and hang on for all you’re worth.

0

Not This Time

It could have happened, many times.  There were plans and notes.  We went through 5 different attempts, and not one succeeded.  There were escalations – but nothing ended in tragedy.  I have watched all 3 of my children suffer with depression, go through bullying, battle with poor self image, and yet somehow we have come through on the other side.

Today, a family in our community didn’t come through the other side.  For some reason, what ever was going on, was just too much, and an intercession didn’t happen soon enough to help.  Why us?  How did I get so fortunate?  I don’t think there’s an answer.

When we were in the days at the hospital, I remember talking to the Dr.’s and nurses, and asking if anyone ever succeeded at an attempt while there.  I was told that twice kids had succeeded.  Last week, there was one more success.  It breaks my heart to think of what that family must be going through.  I hugged my daughter a little tighter all week.

Over the last year, I have seen countless numbers of kids struggling with gender and sexual identity.  I’ve learned words I didn’t even know existed.  Bi Gender, Pan Gender, Trans Gender, Trans Sexual, Pan Sexual, Omni Sexual, Bi Sexual, A Sexual- I don’t even remember talking about that kind of stuff when I was a teen.  I know there were and are many reasons that this topic isn’t talked about, but why the pressure to be defined in one category at such a young age?  I’ve seen countless girls victims of sexual assault or mental and physical abuse, that are now afraid of men, so they feel they must be different.  The word “lesbian” isn’t used because of the stigma, but because of the fear, they struggle with thinking they must be different, and it’s not much different for boys.

I’ve met a young girl, so beautiful, that is almost 17, but has already had a heart attack at age 15 from being so thin, and tonight is fighting to get past a drug over dose.  Her step dad can’t understand her struggles, so her mom kicked her out and sent her to her grandmas.  She’s sad, confused and obviously hurting enough to repeatedly try and take her own life – and there’s so many more like her.  I watched a young girl cry out of control at having to eat one pea on her plate.  One….small……pea.  The terror in her face was unreal, and the pain was so evident, and yet I couldn’t understand where those feelings came from.

We met a boy, gang raped by the foster kids in his house for being gay.  What’s the big deal?  He’s gay, so why shouldn’t he take it?  His parents kicked him out when he was just 12, because they couldn’t take the fact that he didn’t feel like the boy they wanted him to be.  Pushed from home to home, the feelings of self hate had him cutting so deep that he ended up bandaged with stiches all over.  Button pusher?  Yes.  But the cries for attention were just so obvious, and when he asked me to take him home I almost cried.

Speechless yet?  Feeling shocked?  This is the world we live in.  Kids don’t get the film we did in grade 5 about what happens when  you get fuzz in your special spots, and that having a shower is important.  Sex ed for 14 year olds talks about 50 shades of grey, and topics like fisting.  Yup – that’s right – fisting.  Or even more shocking – double fisting.  Don’t know what that is?  Find out – I bet you’ll be horrified.  Maybe not all teachers are talking about it, but I guarantee you our kids are.

There is a bombardment on our kids of negative, provocative, depressing information.  A constant onslaught is hitting them from every direction.  When I was that age, the bullying stopped when I got off the bus after school, and didn’t start again till the next day when I got back on the bus.  I went home, did chores, homework, helped with dinner, went to lessons, complained about practicing, went to church clubs – I was busy.  If someone wanted to bully me, they had to call on the phone, which meant my dad would probably answer, and then the house would probably hear.  It just didn’t happen.  Yes, I was afraid to go back to school sometimes, but one of the worst bullies was a teacher so being around other kids wasn’t even always the problem.

The onslaught of constant information is 24/7.  How do we make it stop?  How do we take the pressure off, and change the environment so our kids have a fighting chance?  How do we inspire our kids to feel that life is worth it?  This is a serious question, and is going to take some serious thought.  There have been anti bullying campaigns for ages and I’m not sure they really even work.  If they did, would these things really happen?  Would kids be taking their lives?  Would there be waiting lists for programs with a lot of kids not having any hope of getting help?

When will this insanity stop?  We can’t just continue on and not say or do anything.  Not this time.

My family is reeling today.  3 tragic deaths in 3 weeks.  The ripples of these tragedies go far.  We need to do something different.  Something has to change.

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