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My Story

It was 4 months and 4 days after “The Event” that I started blogging.  I’m pretty sure I started doing it, because I thought that by sharing, other parents going through the same thing might have a little head start on what they were going to experience.  When I wrote my very first small blurb, I was pretty nervous, but it came out fairly quick and easy as it didn’t really have much meat in it.  It wasn’t until I actually started writing the beginning of the the events that I really started to feel what was happening.

As I started writing that first piece, I started to cry.  At points, I was crying so hard, I was typing by memory because I couldn’t see the screen.  I felt almost feverish as I typed, banging out the words as I relived the terror, grief and fear of the different things I had experienced.  Before I posted, I read the blog through, making sure I had not disclosed names, or anything else I thought might reveal sensitive identities or issues.  I wanted to really make sure I was ok with what would be in print.  I remember one day, reading my words back to myself, curled up in my bed, as the tears poured down my face for 2 straight hours.  I was exhausted, weak, and felt broken, but what happened next was pretty surprising, and quite unexpected.  I wasn’t upset anymore.  I was done.  No feeling, no more tears, no extreme fear – I was done.  By being open with myself, and perhaps others I dealt with the trauma and it was gone.

About a month ago, my daughter and I decided to have a girls night.  We made popcorn, got our favorite beverage ready along with some fresh fruit, and picked a movie to watch on tv.  We usually pick our favorite essential oil to diffuse to add a beautiful atmosphere, and that night was no different.  About 20 minutes in, both of us fell asleep.  One and a half hours later, I woke up, and realizing what had happened, got her to bed and then followed suit quite quickly.  The next morning, she came upstairs and asked how I slept.  “Not well, I had really bad dreams.”  “Me too.  What were your dreams about?”  “I dreamed about one of the escalations that happened at the hospital.”  “No way!!!  No way!!! Really?  I did too, just my dream was my side of it.”  We both dreamed about the same event, through the entire night.  The amazing thing?  Since then, that night is no longer frightening and I have a hard time even thinking about it.  It’s gone.  Done. Over.  It’s no longer part of my life – just part of the story.

Over the last month, as my daughter has been digging deeper in to the issues that hurt and continue to haunt her, my own truths have been rising to the surface.  Perhaps the topics and feelings are too reminiscent of my own, or perhaps its being in so many different counseling sessions, but I’m being forced to think about pieces of my past that I’m not comfortable re-living.  I have learned that through merely writing my words in a blog, I can speak the past, and the pain disappears, but when faced with dealing with my own demons, I become weak, scared, and the anxiety overwhelms me.  I’m a thankful person, and know I’m blessed in many ways, but there are also things I can’t ignore.

I was molested by a neighborhood girl when I was in elementary school.  I was tormented as I grew up about my body by people I should have been able to trust, and I struggle every day with feelings of inadequacy – that my value as a person is based on what my body looks like.  When I see these people as an adult, I’m still paralyzed as I was when I was a child.  I was verbally abused by a teacher at school, and mentally over and over again in a bad relationship until all I could think of was letting go of the steering wheel and having it all be over.  I don’t want to hear about laying it at God’s feet and He’ll just take it away.  I don’t believe that – and I’ve never seen evidence of it.  I don’t want to go to more counselors, because they just want to talk about my daughter.  Talking to sympathetic people means hearing how I should just get over it, and empathetic people want to sit and feel bad together, which I’m not in to either.  I don’t want to feel sorry for myself, and I certainly don’t want others to feel sorry for me either.  How can I feel so strong most days, and still be struggling with the same things?  I would really love, to JUST….BE….OVER IT.  Absolutely….. all of it.

You can walk on splinters and get where you’re going, but you’re feet will still be infected.  I’m strong, and I know I’ll get where I’m going, no matter what,  but the splinters are festering, and the blisters are rising to the surface.  I’m just not quite sure what it will take for me to heal.

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Check-In’s

Part of any program, is a mandatory family meeting held usually every second week, with the counselor, or in this case, counselors involved with your child.  Family can mean anything really, but on this journey, it’s just me and my daughter. Basically we go to a meeting, in a sound proof room.  We strategically set up enough of the many chairs in the room that everyone has a seat in close proximity, but so that no one really has to look at anyone in the eye, except the main counselor or leader.  You know that saying, “Never look a gorilla straight in the eye”?  Well, there’s a reason for that.  We’re given a topic ahead of time, so each person has time to think, and to try and avoid any big surprises – but there’s always a surprise.  Typically I sit, look calm, try to stay comfortable and not look awkward, and keep my expressions neutral so not to reveal what I’m really thinking as I listen to the answers.

“So let’s start by asking the regular questions, are you ready?”

“Yup”.

“So.  How’s your mood?”

“Same.”

“yup, seems pretty good to me.  I’d agree”.

“And sleep.  How’s that going for you.  Are you sleeping ok?”

“Yup.  Pretty much.”

“If she get’s to bed.  Getting to bed is impossible”

“Ok.  Thoughts about suicide?”

“About the same.”

“So…..3 or 4?”

“Nah, probably 4 or 5?”

“Wait, that’s not the same.  Last time it was 3 or 4, not 4 or 5.  Really?”

“Ok, how about your eating?  Are you eating?”

“I’m trying.  If I can get the food to my mouth, and actually in my mouth, I realize I’m kind of hungry, but I can’t handle the thought of food otherwise.  Sometimes I actually feel sick, and then I force myself to eat something.  I eat fruit. And I hold my breath while I eat other stuff.”

“Why do you hold your breath?”

“So I don’t have to think about it being in my mouth.  I don’t want to taste it – it grosses me out.”

” I knew it!  I knew it!  One day after our spot at the eating disorder program expires. I knew it.  I thought I noticed changes again……………i feel fat.”

“How about self harm?  I know your mom knows you self-harmed last night.”

“Yup”

“And when did that happen?”

“During the night”

“And what did you use?”

“An old razor”

“Really?  Where is she getting this stuff?  That’s it – I’m searching the room.  Next time she’s out.  I’m going through every inch.  She’s probably booby trapped everything…”

“Where did you get the razor?  Did you wake up, see it and use it, or did you wake up and decide to self harm, so look for something to use?”

“I woke up and decided. I knew I had it in a junk drawer.”

                           “She doesn’t have a junk drawer.  She re-cleans her room every week.”

“Can you tell your mom where you cut?”

“Always the same.  Always on the legs.”

“NO!  Why does she have to know?”

“She’s covering her chest.  She carved her chest.  She’s covering it while she answers the question.  Dear God, this time it was her chest.”

“Ok. You don’t have to say.  We just thought…..”

“No.”

“It’s hot in here.  I need to take my shoes off.  I wonder if they’d notice.  I’m taking my shoes off.  Be discreet.  They’ll never know.  I need water.”

No matter how many check in’s we have, for some reason, I always expect the answers to be the same as the ones in my head, and I’m always surprised on at least one of the answers when it’s not.  I have gut instincts, but it’s gotten to the point where I’m so tired I don’t even know what is paranoia, and what I really need to step back and listen to.  I’m constantly at war with myself and it’s exhausting.

For now?  Trust the programming, keep communication channels open, stay close to the gorilla and watch carefully, and earn trust just a little at a time.  At some point……well, we will get past this.

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“Miss” – Communication

Last week I was supposed to be on holidays.  I had 12 days I had to use up prior to the end of summer, so I booked a week off to go to the lake.  I knew it might be a little complicated because my daughter has been so busy, but I was really looking forward to some down time, and maybe a little normalicy.  I had arranged with her program that she could miss 2 days, and just said we’re headed out of town.

The first derailer was unavoidable.  We had a family emergency, and my fiance had to head overseas, so I took all the kids.  No problem.  One more kid in the mix?  I’ve done it before, I can do it again.  Then we had the school reunion melt down night.  After that whole incident, I decided that at least 1 day of program would be necessary to try and straighten things out.  The problem came with 2 teens discussing suicide via text.  Then one puts her phone away, the other freaks out, and the police are now involved.  That was not the best moment and was definitely a very stressful start to the week.  We could still potentially have almost 2 days away, and get my daughter back to her job on Friday and Saturday.  The next issue came with more appointments, taking up the other days of the week.  Oh well.  That’s kind of how it works – not going to sweat it.

Thursday came, and my daughter was supposed to be at program.  Fairly early, she came up the stairs and said she didn’t have to go.  She had texted a counselor and said she was tired, and they said she didn’t have to be there.  We were supposed to be on vacation anyways, and I had numerous other appointments, so I was a bit relieved.  There was a little voice inside of me saying check the phone, but I dismissed it and went on with the day.

The week passed, and Monday came with work, appointments, cleaning, laundry and all the other fun that goes with a busy family.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I go to work at 6 am, leave at 915 to get her to her program, head back to work, go back to pick her up at about 4, and then back to work to finish off what I missed and put in my time during the day.  As I drove to the program, I received a text asking me to come in and touch base when I dropped her off.  Sure – I could do that.

“Did you think it was ok for your daughter to miss Thursday?”

“She said the other counselor said it was ok.”

“No, it wasn’t ok and that’s not what he said.”

“I’m sorry – I’ll take responsibility.  I didn’t check her phone and just took her word for it.  I should have checked.”

“Everyone was asking where she was.  It’s not ok to miss as this is part of her therapy.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.  I should have checked.  I did kind of wonder, but we were supposed to be on holidays anyways, and I had a crazy day so I just took her word for it.  It won’t happen again.”

“On Thursday we’d like to have a family counseling session and talk about communication.  There seems to be a lot of problems with that lately.”

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea.  There are things I’d like to discuss around that as well.”

“Ok, Thursday at 4?”

“Sure.  Thursday at 4.”

That conversation bugged me the rest of the day.  I want to trust my daughter, I really do, but this was putting me in the position of a major trust breach and feeling that she lied to get her way.

“How was your day?”

“Good.”

“How was your testing today?”

“Long.  I have a headache.”

“We have a family session on Tuesday.”

“I know – about my “mis-communication.  I’m sure I have the text mom.  I swear they said I could miss.  I don’t understand why I’m in trouble.  I swear they said yes.”

“Can I see the text?”

“I’ll read it to you.”

She proceeded to read a conversation to me between herself and a counselor, who had said he preferred she come to program that day, and it’s part of her treatment, but if she felt she needed to rest he was in approval and “by all means you should stay home and rest prior to work tomorrow.”  That sounds to me like they said it was ok for her to stay home.  We took a screenshot of the conversation, and I sent it to the other therapist.  I wanted her to see it prior to our counseling session.

Part of me is relieved.  Part of me is saying “whewf.  She didn’t lie.”  Part of me is saying, “you should have checked the phone!  You felt it in your gut, why are you still ignoring that?”.  And then a large part of me says, “Here we go again.  I can’t believe this.  A counselor threw her under the bus, and now we get to have a counseling session and discuss a text. Are the counselors telling each other stories? Why can’t we get this right?”

When we came in to the program, they told us the door was always open in an emergency.  An emergency happened, and we were turned away.  Bad communication?  On who’s part?

We were told go ahead and send a text to reach us.  The text was sent, an answer given, and now we’ve been called in.  Bad communication again?  Our fault?

4 tomorrow. Here we go again.

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John Henry

Forms.  Piles and piles of forms.  With every program we’ve been through so far, there have been forms, to agree to sign other forms.  Forms for release of information.  Forms for obtaining information.  Forms for medical tests, and forms for the results.  Forms for classes, forms for communicating, forms for staying, forms for going…really no end of forms.  During an intake to any program, you spend approximately 1 hour at the beginning signing forms, and then usually get presented with many others along the way.

Perhaps it’s my real estate back ground, perhaps it’s having run my own business, or perhaps it’s the fact that I may have trust issues, but when I’m presented with a form, I will read it in full before I put my name on it.  I’m pretty sure many people just accept those forms as is, and never really read through, because they’re always shocked when I read.  I don’t feel pressure, and I don’t rush, I read thoroughly before I go ahead.

One of the forms I’ve signed, and I’m sure many other parents do, is a sex ed form.  Now in every school, there is a sex ed class that they teach that requires approval.  The form is pretty generic, and they say some content such as safe sex, STD’s, and basic topics like that. When I was in grade 4, the school nurse gathered all the girls together, and talked to us about getting our monthly.  The book, “Are you there God, It’s Me , Margaret” had just been released, and everyone was reading it.  We were trying to approach our parents, saying “it” had arrived, and they had no clue what we were talking about. The nurse went in to detail, we were thoroughly grossed out, and very glad when it was all over.  In grade 5, the boys and girls had to sit in the same room and watch “the film”.  It talked about zits, showering, how boys like girls, and girls like boys, and puberty, and all the gross stuff included in the topic.  I remember we were all embarrassed and giggled when the nurse talked about it at the end of the class.  We couldn’t wait to be out of there.

As I said, I read and signed a sex ed form for one of the programs my daughter was recently in.  It didn’t say anything out of the ordinary, and I knew she was one of the youngest there, but I was not prepared for the conversation that followed.

“We talked about all the stuff from 50 shades of grey and that kind of thing.”

“Oh, really?  And how did you feel about that?”

“Well, they described why S&M and all that stuff is dangerous.  That no means no.”

“Ok, well, that’s good.  Anything you have questions about?”

“No.  We had a chance to ask questions, and were all really embarrassed, so, like one of the guys, who’s really good with accents and stuff, read the questions like this….(English accent) teacher, when you fist…)

“When you what?”

“You know, fist. Don’t you know what that is?”

“No?! What is it?”

The description came and I slammed on my brakes. My car came to a screeching halt in the middle of a residential street, and my head thrust forward and almost hit my steering wheel. I couldn’t believe my ears! And double fisting? That’s really possible?  My jaw was literally hanging open, eyes wide, in complete utter shock.

“What?! Are you kidding me? That’s what you’re discussing? That’s what I said yes to? I can’t even believe that’s possible?! What the heck?!!”

Now I might be a little old fashioned, but really? Is that necessary? I’d just like to thank El James for opening up a pile of garbage that we now get to explain to our kids. This is what we get to compare real life to. Our kids don’t come home and ask about “it”. They get to come home and think about being bound and gagged, or beaten, and wonder if that’s normal.

Had I known that those were the topics my child would be exposed to, I would have thought long and hard, and definitely asked more questions, before signing that form. It’s not that I’m opposed to knowledge, but do we really have to know everything?  I really don’t think so.  My life was perfectly fine without ever knowing the terms I’ve learned.

I don’t think everything has to be defined.  I don’t think all knowledge has to be known by all.  I don’t have to experience everything to know my life is great as it is.  I can really take my own experience and standards and filter how far I want to go.  I have a choice – it’s called free will – the ability to choose and say yes or no.  I also have a little life experience that allows me to sit in a room and know when things are going to far, or when the content I’m being exposed to is getting to be too much.  When our kids sit in a classroom and are taught, they are expected to stay, listen and learn.  They become victims of the opinions and potential values of the person at the head of the class.  I am not against learning, but do they have to know everything all at once?

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