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miss communication

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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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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