routerecalculation

Every evening, usually between 10 and 11, I get my jammies on, get a glass of some kind of liquid, and sit myself down in my chair in the living room. It’s usually the time of night when it’s quiet, and I’m not really ready for bed. I usually fall asleep, and wake up a short time later to stumble off to my bed. Not a great routine, buts it’s how it works for me.

“BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG,BANG.”
“What the heck was that? What’s going on? Where is my son? Help. I need help. Who’s there? What’s going on? Who is banging on my door? At this hour? What’s going on?”

I tell you right now. That is one of the worst ways in the world to finish a hard day. As I peeked through the window, trying to keep my knees from buckling, I saw two RCMP outside my front door. Quick thoughts ran through my head. “Did I park wrong? Why are there cops at my door. Those boys! Now what have they done?!” None of the thoughts made any sense, but it’s funny to recall what goes through your mind in a stressful situation.

I opened the door, and stood there now very awake in my nightgown in front of two extremely tall officers.

“Hi, hello?”
“Is this the ____ residence? Are you ____?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Is your daughter here?”

OMG! Now what. What can this possibly be about!

“Yes, she’s sleeping.”
“Can we speak to her please?”
“Um mm, no. She’s sleeping.”
“We need to speak to her now.”
“Ok, but she’s in bed sleeping. I’d have to wake her up.”
“You don’t understand. There’s been a text sent that she’s taken sleeping pills. When was the last time she had her phone?”

I’m not quite sure what happened next, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never run a set of stairs that fast before. We have a routine that electronics get turned off and turned in before bed. Things seemed to be going well, and the time had gotten later throughout the week, but I also knew the phone had been turned in for the night. I ran in to my daughters room and say her there, face down in her pillow.

“Wake up, wake up. You’ve got to wake up.”
“Huh, what? I’m sleeping. Don’t bug me.”
“Did you take more sleeping pills?”
“I always take sleeping pills. It’s not my fault. I didn’t do it.”

She was half asleep, talking sense and gibberish all at the same time. I could wake her, kind of. That must be a good thing. She hasn’t been suicidal in awhile. Why now?

“Wake up. I need you to listen to me.”
“Leave me alone. What are you doing ?”
“Did you send a text to anyone saying you’d taken lots of sleepy pills?”

I don’t think I really waited for the answer. I ran upstairs and grabbed the phone, turned it on and ran back down to her room.

“You changed your password. Unlock the phone.”
“No, leave me alone! Fine. Here. ”

I ran back up to the police and gave them the phone. I also told them I had woken her. They weren’t satisfied with that.

“We’d like to see her if possible. Do you mind? Can we go in her room? We need to see her face.”
“Yes, sure. Whatever you need.”

We proceeded to the basement. My son was now awake, asking what was going on. One officer stayed with him asking questions, and the other came with me. In the back ground I could hear, but also had to pay attention to what was happening hwith my daughter. By this time she was starting to wake up. She opened her eyes and saw an RCMP officer standing in her room. He was searching through her phone, looking for messages that would shed light on the situation. She pulled the blanket over her head. What could be worse for a teenage girl then to have a stranger standing over your bed, and you have messy hair, no makeup and pajamas on?!

“We need to see your face. Did you take extra sleeping pills?”
“Fine. See. I only took 1 extra. That’s still less then I’ve been prescribed before.”
“Why?”
“I just wanted to sleep. I don’t sleep well. It’s been a crappy day. I just wanted to sleep.”

“Is this true? How much does she usually take?”
“She usually takes 50mg. One extra would near 75 mg. She’s been prescribed 100 before, we’ve been dropping it down”.
“Who gives her the meds? Do you have them locked away? Is there alcohol on the premises?”
“We both do it. They’re locked away now. There’s one beer in the fridge – it belongs to my son. We aren’t allowed alcohol in the house during this time. It was for the game and is still there.”
“We’ve done some research. There’s a history of mental health? You’re her mom right? Are you divorced? Where is her dad? Will you be watching her? How long will you watch her for? Why was today so bad? Will you tell her Dr’s about this? ”

The questions went on for a bit. After all were answered, and they felt satisfied that she was under good care and was ok. I shut the door behind them, still shaking from the adrenaline pumping through my veins, and went to her room.

“I saw the messages. I know you didn’t mean anything by what you said, but do you understand why you can’t send messages like that? To text another patient that you’re taking “lots of sleepy pills, goodnight”, and then not be able to answer her concerns is going to cause alarm. She did the right thing by calling the police. We’re going to call her now so she can see everything is ok.“

We made the call, and there was a very shaken girl on the other end. We assured her everything was ok, and then I told them they both needed to go to bed and get some rest.

None of us slept well the rest of the night. I continued checking in every 15 minutes till 230 and then not as often. My son and I talked for a bit to try and come down from the fright of it all. My daughter tossed and turned which brought me relief. At least she was alive. I had to believe she hadn’t taken more then she said. I looked at her and debated calling an ambulance, but I knew deep down this wasn’t a suicide attempt. I had to trust this time.

“Hello, I know you’re not open now, but I need to speak to the Dr first thing in the morning. Here is my work and personal number. We’ve had an incident tonight that we need to discuss. Please call me first thing in the morning.”

“Hello, Kerry?” Are you somewhere you can talk?“
“Just give me a moment……Ok, I’m ready.”

Ready. I don’t know if a person is ever really ready for what they will hear from a mental health Dr. Ready to hear things are worse than you thought? Dr’s don’t call for appointments. They only call when things are getting more serious. Deep breath in……I’m ready as I’ll ever be.

“I just finished a 3 hour therapy session with your daughter.”
“3 hours. That’s a long time”
“I feel we’re finally starting to deal with things that have been hidden all this time. I want you to know we’ve got this. That said, I also want you to know things could get a lot worse before they get better.”
“Ok. Can I ask a few questions?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“You’ve told me to trust what I see. Lately I’ve noticed she’s not eating much and seems to rapidly be getting thinner. Im noticing bruising again. Am I right? I don’t need to know the number. I just need to know if I’m right.”
“Yes actually, we’re trying to find her some food right now. She hasn’t been eating except the meal when she’s with you. She has lost weight, and although it’s not dangerous yet, it can happen very quickly. I’m asking you to have healthy nutritious food available for her to eat. Financial issues have been noted but she needs good choices. ”
“Ok. I’ve noticed the long sleeves and long loose clothes again. I know she’s cutting, and it’s becoming more frequent. She’s finally at the point of telling.me, but I can t see it. How do I know if it’s being taken care of properly if I’m not allowed to look? How do I trust her that she knows if it’s too bad or needs to be looked at by a Dr or nurse?”
“We’ve given her the supplies and taught her how to take care and clean the wounds. I know this is hard for you but you have to trust her. She won’t tell you at all if you make a fuss. Like I said, you’ll need to prepare yourself. Thangs will get worse as we get deeper in to the therapy.”

Prepare myself. Things will get worse. Worse than what exactly? Worse than seeing the head to toe bruises of a starving, malnourished teenager? Worse than seeing her in the corner in the fetal position, shaking and sobbing? Worse than wondering if she’s going to jump from the car while you rush to the hospital, trying to avoid lights so the car doesn’t slow down? Worse than the.midnight escalation calls? Worse than standing at the side of the river, shaking your fist at God? How much worse are we talking?

“Are we going to be in the hospital again?”
“Not yet, but we’re almost there. We’re watching closely. We don’t feel she’s at risk for suicide, but that’s not the only reason she could be unsafe. Things can change so quickly.”
“Ok.”

“How are you? Are you ok? Is there anything we can do for you? I know this is really hard.”

……………silence…………

“Um, no. I mean yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking. I don’t really know what to say. I’ll be fine. It’s all good. One day at a time, right?”
“Well you’ve certainly been through a lot. Let us know if there’s anything else we can do.”

That’s the hardest part of this all. And as harsh as it sounds, there is really nothing anyone can actually do. Maybe because most the time I don’t know what I’m dealing with. The odd person has brought a meal, which was wonderful. I’ve had various blessings along the way to keep me afloat, but we’re still on the raft.

This has been like bagging your own groceries, but the clerk won’t slow down or turn off the conveyor belt. You’re taking care to protect the precious items that you just spent time picking and paying for. At first it’s easy because the bags are empty, but as the items keep coming, space starts running out and the bags are getting full. You hit the stop button but it doesn’t work. “EEEK, I need more bags! I need more time!” “That’s 4 cents a bag ma’am. How many do you need?” “I don’t know. Here’s a nickel. One will do.” Then that stupid roast you bought comes towards you and takes up the entire bag you just bought. Worse, you have no more nickels, and when you look up everyone is staring at you. The clerk is holding more bags and lifting her eyebrows. The lady behind you is rolling her eyes like you’re a grocery novice. People walk past and shake their heads. “I need to reorganize. It wasnt supposed to be like this. Forget it. This is ridiculous.” You quickly sweep everything up and just put it all in your cart, smiling at everyone like this is all normal. Nothing to see here, move along. You walk to your car slowly, being thankful that today youre not pushing the cart through slush.

No bags left. No room. Hopefully nothing spills out

I don’t even know where to start, or what to say. Just when Ithink I’ve reached my limit, another heaping spoonful gets dumped on my plate.

I started blogging to share what I’ve gone through in hopes of helping other families learn what is available, and perhaps to let others know they’re not alone. I have received feedback of all kinds, and am always surprised to find out anyone even reads these posts. I have had the very people I thought would be beside me abandon me and disappear, and I’ve had unexpected blessings from near and total strangers. Quite quickly blogging turned in to a sort of self therapy, freeing my mind and spirit of experiences and helping me move on. At times the results have been very heavy, affecting those closest to me to a point of where I felt I had to stop before relationships crumbled and were lost. And today, all I can do is throw my hands up in the air and say “ Dear God, what next??!!”

I am exhausted. Completely spent. My mind is so full of things to share and yet it’s coming at me so fast I’m drowning. I don’t know what I’d do without my wonderful fiance. I would have left me a long time ago, but he’s so calm and patient. His wisdom and ability to stay calm mean so very much to me . I’d be lost without him. He is my voice of reason in the darkness.

What amazes me so much is the gross disconnect in the system. I just don’t understand how all of these services are so hidden, and why even the “mental health specialists” at schools know nothing about what to do in a crisis. I mean nothing. I spoke with my daughter’s principle today and he said they had no idea of programs and help available. If it’s such an epidemic, how does that even happen? Is no one trained?

I’m so tired of hearing the current question of the day. “What are you doing for yourself? For self care?” “We’re worried about you”. Are you kidding me? I’m dealing with 4 kids right now all struggling. I have a business to run that I need to be at to try and pay some of my bills. I come home and throw a pathetic dinner together and fall asleep on my couch late at night. My dishwasher has been broken for a year, so imy peaceful time is standing at the sink washing dishes. I just did laundry for the first time in 2 weeks. Thank goodness my kids do their own. On the opposite side I just don’t sleep, then show up at work like a zombie, trying to care for the 24 employees I have that count on me to be an example for them, and listen to them, and guide them through a very difficult high needs job. I run constantly to Dr. appointments, family counseling appointments, taxing kids from one place to the next.

My fiance and I spent a weekend together November 2013. We have seen eachother for only a few hours, maybe once a week in the last 9 months. We haven’t even talked about wedding plans. You’d have to actually be able to grow a relationship to make that happen. All I have wanted to do for the last year is go to Banff or Seattle and just spend some time together, talk a little, but there is no chance of that in sight. How do you leave constant crisis?

I have wanted my daughter to confide in me for months. I heard the words tonight, and I had no clue how to respond, because there is no correct way. If I say nothing, I lose. If I say too much, I lose even more. I get to be a parent bystander, just watching this crazy life unfold. Today I actually put my head in my hands, and thought, “what horrible thing did I do in my past to cause all of this? Is it my fault? Was it my divorce? Lack of finances?” During a recent counseling session they asked me, “Are finances an issue? ” I looked stunned, and my daughter laughed. “They’ve always been an issue”, she said. “Hmmm. I see” , the counselor said. “WHAT THE HECK?! Are you kidding me? What about single mom with no support don’t you understand? How do I bleed a stone? I didn’t luck out and hit the mother payload with an X floating in cash. Quite the opposite” All of those words run through my mind, and I instead calmly say, “ yes. Money is as challenge”. “Has it always been that way?” “Good grief!”.

Where do I go from here? How do I get out of the middle of this quick sand? I have no clue, but I know I will. I always somehow manage to work my way out, and I know although I’m up past my neck, I will squirm my way out. Some how. Some way. I will do this. We will survive.

People should know. They just have to. It just shouldn’t be this hard.

“I’m so glad I don’t have a cell phone!”

That was the story 3 months ago. When you’re in the hospital, all electronic devices are restricted, and even on visits I didn’t allow any electronic communication. I remember my daughter watching other kids and being amazed by the distraction. “Not me. I’m never going to be like that again.”

Our children have become walking zombies. Glazed eyes, staring at screens, walking straight in to walls and having lost all sense of time and direction because they’re memorized by the screen. I’ve seen parents with babies as little as 1 giving them screens to start learning on. God forbid we should have to take a car ride and talk to each other. Instantly the ear buds go in because no one can agree to the music in my car and have a conversation? No way.

On the weekend we had a family gathering for my sister in laws birthday. There were 14 of us, and who was the worst electronic offender? My daughter. We have a no technology after 9pm policy, but due to my lack of policing, the rules haven’t been as strictly followed. The longer we’ve been away from hospital, the easier it’s been to fall in to the old route – something I have to fight from happening. I was so angry. To see her face stuck to her phone, texting with conversations outside of that room had me seeing red. She did put it down when asked, but I realized we may have a problem starting again.

Last night was no different. I called down the stairs stating it’s time for bedtime routine. “ Ok mom, just setting out things for tomorrow.” More time went by and I called again. “Yup, just finishing up.” Still moving too slowly, I went down to her room to see what the hold up was, and spontaneously asked for the phone, saying it could charge upstairs, out of the room. She gave it over to me with no quarrel, but when I touched it the phone was warm and battery almost dead. When I remarked, she said “mom, I’m really worried about my friend.” Here she hadn’t been getting ready at all. She had been working with another girl on the phone, texting another co patient to not commit suicide. As soon as I found out, I said “We must call the police before it’s too late.” Knowing the girls mother from my self care group I knew the situation was grim, and in these situations time is of the essence.

Proper precautions were taken, and to the best of my knowledge the police arrived and “talked the girl off the ledge,” so to speak. I took the phone upstairs to charge for the night, and hardly slept a wink. I wanted to check the phone so badly for other things, but didn’t know the password – another mistake I had let happen again. I wanted to make sure the girl was ok. It’s against the rules to communicate outside of program, and it’s even against the rules for parents to talk outside of the groups until your child graduates. What would have hapoened if the girls hadn’t been talking? We were all so scared. The wholé thing was very real.

This morning rules were reset again. Passwords are reset and I know them this time. Communication will be limited again and the phone turned off at 9pm, onve again. Graduation for us is only 5 weeks away, and I’m terrified.

Have a conversation with your kids. Turn off the phones, and that means the adult ones too. If it’s so hard to talk, start with watching a movie or play a game. You’d be amazed at how nice people really are when you get to know them.

I believe this generations emergency is learning how to communicate with people, and our generations responsibility to remember how.

Set the example – they’re always watching.

I’ve been to a lot of counseling and therapy classes over the last year, but I think my favorite was my last care givers support group where we got to have 2 art therapy sessions. I’m not an artist by any means – stick men are my specialty. In high school I was mildly interested in art class, but was told I was meant for music, not drawing, so I didn’t even bother trying.

For some reason, the idea of doing something with art seemed an exciting challenge to me, and for some reason we all thought we’d be doing a family tree project. That wasn’t the case at all. We were put in a large room. With very large pieces of paper. We could use felts, crayons, pastels, chalk or paint. We all sat at our own tables and they turned on soothing music. Then we were given the assignment:

1. Draw a tree to represent you
2. The trunk represents our life, and the top of the tree describes how developed our life is
3. Marks, knots, or holes in the trunk represent trauma or difficult times
4. The roots represent our family history, traditions, and grounding
5. The landscape describes the mood or atmosphere we are planted in
6. Pests and bugs represent problems
7. Animals represent fears
8. Birds or butterflies represent hopes and dreams
9. Branches represent events, triumphs, tragedies, things we are proud of
10. Weather, sky represent current atmosphere or mood
We were given the rest of the night to start the project, and one more night to finish and present our tree to the group, answering any questions.

I’m not sure what came over me, but I found the project tremendously exciting. I sat down at the table, laid out my paper and pastels and began to draw. It was like being suddenly transported to a different world. I was thrilled. The next 40 minutes went so fast and I was really disappointed when the class ended.

For the next two weeks I thought about my tree. I couldn’t wait to finish it, and to my surprise, the other parents were excited too. We all sat down again, and spent another half hour drawing. No one could see what the other was doing, and even the counselors participated. When we were done, we reassembled in the counseling room to present our trees. Some parents got very descriptive and drew trees with words. Some put down colors and didn’t really draw anything that even resembled a tree. Others drew graphs and charts to explain parts of their tree. I took the drawing very literally.

I can’t tell you how therapeutic this was. I would challenge you to get in to a quiet place and try this exercise, uninterrupted. I actually learned so much about myself and the things that have happened to me in my life. As I presented my tree, realizations came to mind that I didn’t even understand while I was drawing. What I really realized is that I have junk I need to deal with that still hurts and could very likely be holding me back in things I want to accomplish.

My tree contained twisted deep roots, knots and broken branches, grass, dirt and ants, squirrels, butterflies and birds held in long, high swaying branches. My sky had daylight and a sunset, and the fruit on my tree was bright and colorful. When all was done, I rolled up my picture and brought it home. Others would look at it and perhaps laugh and not understand, but when I see it, I can feel all the emotion behind the trials and triumphs that have happened all through out my life. To me, it’s a work of art, and what better way to represent life than with art.

I think part of helping others is self discovery, which can be a painful thing, but when you’re ready, it’s beautiful. That’s life.

Every one of us has an escape, a vice we use or some kind of relief for whatever pain it is we’re going through. Some people use drugs or alcohol, some pain killers. Others may use food or exercise, and some use self harm. I think most people would agree that we’ve all been caught in a moment, whether we can explain it or not, that an anxious or maybe just negative moment has caused us to use that vice for escape. “ I could use a drink”. “My body hurts”. “Life sucks. Where’s the ice cream?”. “I’m just going to run till I don’t feel lousy anymore”. Do any of these sound familiar ?

My vice is food. I want to make good choices, I want to do well., however, due to reasons I have recently discovered from my own child hood all the way to my first marriage, I have attached my self worth to what I see in the mirror, not what’s in my soul. Sad, isn’t it? At some point I decided others were right. My pain has caused me to eat, and the result has been hard on my body, and my wallet.

Yesterday my daughter and I had a girls night. We decided supper, a movie, and some fresh fruit and popcorn for a treat. Because she will be turning g working age soon, one of the topics of discussion was finding a part time job. I have a lot of connections in town, so I decided to stop by a local shop to have a chat with the owner and see if they are hiring. We both went in and had a nice discussion with the owner. While he and I caught up on business talk, she got to sit and watch a little to get a feel of the place. Our chat was fairly short,but just long enough to get a feel of the fit. When we got back in the car, we decided this would be a good fit, and then the question. “Do you think I’d have to wear a short sleeved shirt?” “Yes, I believe so. That’s the dress code”. We both looked at eachother, with eyebrows raised. I knew what she was thinking. A short sleeve shirt will show the scars, and people will ask questions. “Well,” I said, “ you have a few choices. You can ask if you can wear a long sleeve shirt underneath, or you can just go with it and let the chips fall where they may. You can’t hide forever.” “You’re right”, she said. “It’s not a big deal.”

We can’t hide forever. Try as we might, there are consequences to our choices. What’s even harder, is we can be ruthless towards things we don’t understand. Although in my head I know why, I can’t begin to understand how someone could carve themselves up with a razor. I don’t understand how someone could shoot a needle in to their vein, or drink till they pass out, but I do understand pain, and I also understand that the only way past it is unconditional love and acceptance. I don’t imagine someone who over exercises, or takes pain killers understands why I over eat.

We are the master of our own decisions, and yet at some point in time, we all make bad ones. In an instant life can change. Consequences can be harsh. The good news is there is always help. Wounds can heal, and we can forgive ourselves, and others if necessary. I’m not saying it’s not hard, I’m just saying it is possible.

Perhaps we could all start by saying sorry – first to ourselves, and maybe to others? How about just being a little more loving and accepting to one another? We could all use a little more love, – couldn’t you?

It’s a very quiet house this morning. Everyone is still asleep. As I lay here in bed, pondering the day, I try to find peace in all the different sounds. I hear the bunnies rustling in their cages after just being fed, and one of the birds is having their breakfast. The furnace clicks in briefly to warm the chilly air. I can hear light traffic on the highway, outside my bedroom window. I hear a siren, and say a quick prayer for wherever it is going. The furnace cycles off, and the house is very quiet once again, but the noise in my head is very loud.

I have a decision to make. The plan for the day was small – perhaps a visit with a friend, and maybe a movie if there’s anything good playing. Now I must chose whether or not to change a light hearted day by having a heavy conversation, and deal with the potential consequences.

Part of the difficulty with having conversations with people is not knowing the outcome. I can play the scenario through my head a hundred different ways, but not knowing the potential outcome can be paralyzing for me.

When I was selling real estate, I would have great closing success because of the dialogs I had running through my head. I would spend the entire preparation time running scenarios, practicing conversations, answering questions, and dealing with obstacles, all silently in my head. It was like practicing a play. By the time I got to the appointment, I was comfortable, confident, and knew pretty much exactly what would happen just by small indicators because I had already seen the whole show – in my head.

I’m a thinker. My mind runs non stop, all the time. “What would happen if…? What if I…? I should….? Should I…….? If I say this, than what would happen? And if I do that, then something else may happen. I could make a business out of that! Hmmmm, what if I …..?” This is how I work, and it can be very noisy, and very exhausting. If channeled properly, it can be very productive and exhilirating, but if not, it can be very destructive, holding me back from making any decision at all. Like I said before. I have a decision to make. On a regular day, in a regular situation, I could ask, ” How’s it going? Everything ok?” I’d get back an answer something like, “Yeah sure. Why?” “No reason – just checking.” Most kids would probably look up and say, “You’re wierd”, and let it go at that. Now, pose that question to a kid that suffers from suicidal thoughts, self harm, severe anxiety and half the time is suffering in an existential crisis. “How’s it going? Everything ok?” “Yeah mom. Everything is ok. Why?” “No reason, just checking in……….” “No really. Why are you asking me that?” Imagine that’s your scenario. How do you answer? ” Because your counselor broke confidence and told me stuff”, or, “I know you’ve been cutting again. Can you tell me why?” Or how about, ” because every day you tell me how great you’re doing with your words, and yet every day I get more scared that you’re a ticking time bomb with no display of how many seconds we have left till everything explodes.” The later one – definitely not appropriate, at least not if I want to stay out of hospital this weekend. The middle one, maybe. Strong but uncomfortable. The first? Probably not the best idea if I ever want her to say anything to anyone again. What do I ask, and how do I answer? That’s not even really the biggest part. The biggest question really, is can I believe her answer?

Every once in awhile, life just seems to be humming along, and things seem to be pretty good.  I find myself humming a tune, perhaps noticing how pretty the sky is, even wanting to bake something.  Then all of a sudden something happens.  Perhaps its a conversation that seems a little forced, a few words said differently than normal, a laugh that’s just a little too loud….something just not quite right.  I’ll stop for a moment, and then this little flag inside of me starts to wave, and I get this strange sensation.  I call it my spidey sense, and I know that when I start to feel it, something in the world is just not quite right.

I remember when I was a teenager, and I had certain chores I had to do.  I always seemed to get things done, however, when it came to my room being cleaned, I always procrastinated.  I’d go ages without doing anything, and then all of a sudden, I got this strange feeling inside, and I knew something was going down.  Before I knew it, I’d hear my mom stomping up the stairs, saying she’d had enough,  she’d swing the door open to my room, but she wouldn’t see what she expected.  Instead of the disaster it normally was, she’d see a clean, organized space and she wouldn’t be able to do anything.  I’m sure it drove her crazy, but somehow I knew that things weren’t right and the time to put things in order would be limited, so I’d better move on it.  That feeling saved my butt many times.

For about a week or so now, that little flag inside of me has been waving.  First slowly, then a little more, and then enough so that it has turned more in to a flapping banner rather than a gentle wave.  Something in my world just doesn’t seem quite right, so I decided today I needed to find out.

“Hello, can I speak to the counselor?”

“Hi there, I was meaning to talk to you today?”

“Really?  I was actually calling you about something I’m concerned about.”

“Oh, ok.  What are you concerned about?”

“Well, that’s just it.  I’m not exactly sure, but things don’t feel right.  I’m concerned I’m being lulled in to a false sense of security,thinking things are really good, like I have nothing to worry about, and yet, I’m feeling worried.”

“Hmmm.  Ok, well perhaps we should talk.  There’s actually something we wanted to call you about.”

That’s all it takes.  Right then and there, the little flag turns in to a huge waving full sized banner, flapping hard in the wind.  I knew it!  I was right!  Something is definitely not in sync.

We proceed to have a conversation and my suspicions are confirmed.

“ We were having a conversation today, and I think the self harming has happened again.  My understanding is that if anything happens and you know, that I’d be notified, but I haven’t heard anything at all, so either she’s lying to me, or the program isn’t calling”

“Oh, I thought you knew?”

“You thought I knew?  How would I know?  Obviously she’s not going to tell me, now matter how much I want her to.  I’m not so upset about that.  I’m more upset that I’m thinking life is just hunkey dorey, when really it’s not.  I’m busy trust building, leaving her alone, letting her see friends and be somewhat normal, when things could be unwinding right under my nose.”

“I guess we didn’t think it was a big deal.  We see this so much, I guess we get desensitized.  We forget how alarming it can be to parents.  The nurse took care of it all and gave her some stuff to take care of things at home.  We thought you knew.”

“No.  You’re not hearing me.  I’m not alarmed at self harm anymore.  I know it’s going to happen.  I’m upset because I think things are fine – and they’re not.  I was caught off guard last time.  I can’t let that happen again.  I just can’t go there again.  The deal was you call me if you find anything like this.  How am I supposed to parent, when I’m not in the loop.”

“We don’t want to break confidentiality if we don’t have to.  It keeps the kids from telling us stuff”.

“Confidentiality?  Really?  My daughter is barely a teen – what confidentiality?”

“We would encourage you not to keep this conversation a secret.  Tell her we talked, and then we can deal with the fallout”.

…………..stunned…………………..

We continued to discuss my concerns until I asked for them to be documented, but that wasn’t it.  We hadn’t even gotten to the part that they were going to talk to me about.  We continued the conversation, and my small little flag, became a huge reality check.  We exchanged emergency plans, potential crisis options, worst and best case scenarios for the weekend and then I hung up.

I think to myself, “Really?  This is where we’re at?”.  Deep breath.  “The Dr. said believe what I see.  I don’t know what to believe anymore.  She looks happy on the outside”.   Wipe away the tears.  Another deep breath.  Quick text home – “things ok?” “yup!  great!  love u mum!”  Put my apron on.  Stand up and tidy myself. Fresh lipstick on.  Go back to work and put on a happy face. “God, I hope things are ok.”

Perhaps when my customers look at me, they’ll believe what they see.

How long will this go on?  How long will I be afraid to leave the phone, take a shower with the door closed, stay in a different room, or run to the corner store?  Will I ever be able to go away for a weekend?  Will I ever not be afraid or break in to a cold sweat when the phone rings?  Will there ever be a conversation that it isn’t mentioned or asked?

What happens when ADTP is over?  Will she be able to adjust to a normal school?  How will the transition straight to high school work?  I’m sure skipping the rest of this year in the last grade is the right decision, right?  What happens when there isn’t a nurse or doctor to run to?  How do we find the right counselor to transition to?

What happens if there’s another escalation?  Do we really have to go back?  Again?  Will the help lines be enough?  Have I learned enough?  Has she?  How can I afford more of this?  Is the medication working?  How will I know?

What about my own mental health?  Will people keep judging me?  Will I always be afraid?  Will my boss judge my capabilities based on what is going on?  Am I missing out on promotions and opportunities based on my personal life?  Is it really fair for other people to decide what I can handle based on what they think, without really asking?  What if someone finds out?

Am I making the right decision changing second jobs?  Will this decision work?  Is being scared ridiculous? Will I be able to make it?  What if I don’t?  What if I can’t pay my bills?  What happens if I don’t do well?  How will I ever be able to replace my dishwasher?  My hot water heater?  My bathroom fan?  My car?

Will I ever be able to go on a holiday?  Will my wedding ever happen?  Will we ever be able to join families?  What if they can’t move here?  What if they won’t move here?  Has this changed everything?

Is it normal to feel sick all the time?  Is it normal to be afraid?  Is it normal not to feel normal?

Can I believe what I see?

What would I do without her?