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What Would You Do?

Imagine your child comes to you, and asks you a question.  Not just any question.  Keep in mind, the mental health world is very different, so your faced with things you never thought would enter your life.

Imagine your son comes to you and starts a conversation with you, looking for advice.

“Mom, I need help.  I have a decision to make, but I don’t know what to decide.  Can you help me?”

Well, this has started well.  I’m being asked for wisdom, guidance and nurturing from my teenage child, that recognizes my years of experience.  My chest gets a little puffy, and I put my finger on my chin, trying to give the impression of deep contemplation.

“I have this friend.  Actually, I really like her.  She’s super nice, and doing really well since she’s gotten clean.”

– Eyebrows starting to rise.  Trying to force them down.  Don’t blow it. –

“She has this friend that I can’t handle.”

– We’re worried about the friend?  I’m still hooked on the “clean” part. –

“Mom.  Seriously – are you paying attention?  Her friend drives me nuts.  I can’t stand her.  She was one of the people that used to help supply her.  She’s also hates me, and can’t understand why she’d want to be around me.  I feel I have to say it’s me your friend.  Can’t be both?  What do you think?  I don’t know what to do?”

Well,  now I’m in a canundrum.  This rhetorical question (hypothetical too), could be asked of me at any time, just how do you answer when you’re the mom of anyone of the people in the question?  What ever happened to “Can I die my hair purple?”, or “I’m thinking of having a burger – should I have fries too?”  Those would be luxurious questions.  Instead, I could be the parent of any one of these 3 kids.  I am the parent of these kids.

One of my kids, being one of the characters in this scenario, asked me how I would react to this discussion.  Unlike the parent above, I probably wouldn’t hold my eyebrows down.  I probably wouldn’t sit with a puffy chest, feeling all wise and nurturing.  Instead, I’d  sit on my chair, in my jammies, with eyebrows nailed to my hairline.

“First, I’d be asking what the heck you want to have going on with someone who “just got clean”?  Really?  I’m assuming you don’t mean showery clean.  Second, this person is going to put another junkie – in front of  you?  Like that’s really a decision?  I’d say cut both of these people from your life.  Preferably yesterday!”

My child sat there, stunned, just looking at me.  I could hear the words running through their head.  “Really mom, that’s what you think of me? You’d turn someone away and say those bad things?”  I didn’t let those thoughts last long.

“Now, do you want to know what I really think?  I think people make mistakes.  People can be addicted to drugs, alcohol, food, internet, sex – it’s all the same really.  The difference is – where are you in your journey with it?  Will being with that friend take you back to a place you can’t or don’t want to be?  If that person fell back, would they take you with them, or could you stand and say no way?  I don’t think it’s right for anyone to give someone an ultimatum, however they do have to make a choice for themselves, in the moment, to protect their own health.  Abuse hasn’t made you a bad person – but the consequences are that once people know, they will react differently.  It’s just how it is.”

That discussion was a sobering moment for both of us.  Everyone makes mistakes.  Everyone.

How would you react?  Is it right that a stigma sticks with you forever?

How long until your forgiven – or is it right to follow you the rest of your life?

When is a mistake, just a mistake?  Bankruptcy follows you 7 years.  A vehicle accident – 4 years.  A speeding ticket?  2 years.  Mental health?  Dear God, I hope the answer isn’t forever.

As a mom, just a basic simple mom that has kids who have suffered with different mental health issues, here’s what I’d really like to say.

To the girl that is still struggling.  Perhaps now isn’t the right time for you all to be friends, but that doesn’t mean forever.  Get clean.  Get some strentgh.  Know we are your biggest cheerleaders, and kn0w we will not judge you if you stumble a little.  You can do this.

To the girl who got clean.  Stay the course.  Be focused.  DO NOT, and I really mean, do not get stuck in what was and don’t get caught making excuses for those who aren’t as far along as you are.  Be proud and move forward.  Know your limits and make sure you honor them.  You are not what you’ve done.  Mistakes don’t define who you are.

To the boy making the choice.  This is the hardest.  Please don’t judge based on the past.  Better yet – to the parent of the boy – please don’t judge based on the past.  I know you’re scared.  I know you want the best for your son.  I want the same for my kids, and just because they’ve made mistakes you don’t understand, I would ask you’d look at their hearts first.  Then, and only when you’ve found out who they really are, then make your decision.

To all of you out there – if anyone is even reading this – open your mind….just a little bit.  Stop the stigma.

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No Filter

There’s a very special person in my life that is know for catching everyone a little off guard sometimes. You never just quite know what you’re going to get, which can keep you on your toes.  We joke sometimes about his candor, but i can tell you this. You will never find a more genuine, kind, loving, truthful, more protective person. What you see is what you get.  He can’t tell a lie.

He has a thing for baseball hats and pins. You can tell what he’s thinking or feeling each day, by the pin on his lapel, or the hat he is wearing. Its like they’re a silent cherring section for something on his heart.  There is one hat- its blue and white – and is anything but silent, and across the front are written two words. No filter.

I’d be lieing if i didnt say that hat makes me a little nervous – even kind of angry sometimes.  Its one thing to know a person has no filter, but when its advertised across their forhead – well, you’d better make sure you’re feeling solid because youre going to hear the truth.

Truthfully, I feel a little mad.  It upsets me to think i feel on guard when I hear the words “no filter”. 

I’m tired of the rules.

I’m tired of being scared.

I’m so very tired, of holding my tongue, and having to be politically correct all the time.

I’ve had to dance so much around things l wish could have been said, so many times, I should be on Broadway.

Dont you wish you could just say it ?!  Whatever IT is?!

I tell you now – I would never ask him to take off that hat. I wish i had the courage and strength like he does.

Im tired of hiding in fear of stigma or shame. The truth needs to be spoken. Hearts need to be opened. We all need to return to the premise of which we were created.

No filters. Just love.

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Whipits

Just when you think you’ve seen it all, another thing comes along that blows your mind. In this case – literally.

“This is what we confiscated.”
“Really? ”
“9 large cans spray paint. 1 glass elephant. 1 plastic dish. 1 professional whipped cream cannister. 1 charge holder. Flick lighters – 2 in all.”
“Oooooo-kay.  You took that off both girls?”
“Yes, they said they were using the cannister to blow up balloons, but we found no balloons.”
“What would they be used for otherwise?”

What are whip cream cannisters used for?  I’m talking about the professional, make your own siphon kit that uses the little charge cartridges. They usually sell for $150+ in cooking stores, and the cartridges sell for between $1- $4 each.

Are you sitting down?  Load up to 3 cartridges in an empty siphon, put the tip to your mouth, spray and inhale. I’m told the high is intense and immediate, and more addictive to meth.  The danger is unbelievable and results in dead brain cells, permanent brain damage, and potentially – death.  This is what they’re doing.

Don’t fool yourself. I know I have. “Not my kid.” “Thank goodness my kid isn’t in to that!”  “You’d have to be stupid to try that.  My kid knows better.”

Drug addiction is a scary thing. There is really no way to know your kids are doing it until they’re in pretty deep. Google whipped cream, or whipits.  What do you see first?

Another thing to watch for is Dust off. Easier to get, less suspicious, more intense high, and again – horribly addictive. In case you don’t know, dust off is the stuff you spray on your computer to clean it out.

“Haven’t you ever heard of that mom?  Seriously!  Where have you been living?!”

“In a dark closet I guess………”

I used to judge kids, people, anyone who did drugs. I did – and that’s sucks, because now I know how it feels to be on the other side.

I never smoked anything. Didn’t drink anything of any consequence. I didn’t party either. I guess food was my vice, but that’s a different story.

My kids are good kids. They have amazing hearts, huge dreams and ambitions with desires to make a real difference. They weren’t raised on the streets, or abandoned and left on their own. They didn’t have to live in a shelter or a foster home, or a car or anywhere else that wasn’t deemed normal.  They went to the dentist, the doctor, to school, and on holidays like any other kids did. They rode bikes, sang songs, drew pictures and played outside until I made them come in to bed.

For one reason or another (that I’m not prepared to share), something strong enough happened that created a pain I couldn’t fix.

I truly can’t even let my mind wander to what the possibilities could have been. Anorexia. Self harm. Suicide. Depression. Anxiety. Drugs. They all fit together……

Ask questions. Know where and what your kids are doing. Know their friends, and listen when someone tries to tell you something you don’t want to hear.  At least investigate a little. You owe your kids and yourself that.

Do you believe in Angel’s?  If I didn’t before, I sure do now.

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Moral vs. Legal

Your child is complaining of feeling very sick. Their behavior is irrational, they’re sweaty, seem to be in pain, and want to go to the Dr.  “Really?  It’s that bad?  Ok – let’s go”, you say.  Fear of flu, appendicitis, kidney, bladder, or other infections run through your mind. In the car and off you go in search of answers.

You head in to your local health provider – perhaps a walk in or urgent care – and before you know it it’s your turn to be seen.

Then it happens.  The Dr enters the room and asks you to leave. Really?  “Don’t you want some history?  Don’t I need to answer questions? Isn’t there an age that I’m responsible for what’s going on here?”

The lines of what is and what isn’t allowed at different ages is so confusing. 18 is the legal age….but of what?

I’ve done a little research on this subject lately. Maybe it’s because I’m angry, and maybe it’s because I feel guilty, but once and for all I want to get it straight. 

The age of majority is when your are deemed to be an adult. Legal age is when you are able to drink or make legal decisions. Age of consent is where it gets ridiculous.

A 12 or 13 year old can have sex with a 12 or 13 year old, as long as there’s not more than 2 years between. A 14 or 15 can consent to someone under 5 years difference.  A 16 or 17 year old, you can have sex with 18 or older as long as they’re  not dependant on them.

Ok, seriously?  At 12 or 13 years old you can decide to have sex?  And 18 is alcohol?  I just don’t get it.

So your “child” is now speaking privately with a Dr.  No biggie – how bad could it be?  I was just strapping them in to a high chair a short time ago. What could they say?

Then the Dr leaves the room, consults with a different Dr, and go in to another room together  Hands are waving, shoulders shrug, and a book comes out that they’re both looking at. They look at me through the glass, then eachother and the attending Dr comes back out.

“Hmmmmm.  This is odd.  Shouldn’t they be talking to me?”

Apparently not.  They don’t have to tell me anything. I understand the health system wants to encourage kids to get help with put fear, but at what point do patents get to know what’s really going on. One Dr says “I’d want to know.”  The other says “legally we can’t “.

Do you know what’s going on with your kids?  How would you know if they’re sexually active, doing drugs, drinking, or involved in any other dangerous activity?

I have yet to find something that says a Dr can’t tell me what’s going on if my child requests that. Maybe it’s out there, but it seems so unreasonable. As parents we’re on the hook to provide and yet we walk forward blind folded.

I know we don’t want to know every single thing, and I also know I would never tell every single thing. Would things have been different if I’d have been told?

Legal vs Moral. Which one is right?

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Poker Face

If I had a dollar, for every blog and post that ran through my mind every day, I wouldn’t have to ever think about working again. There is so much to say, and so much to share – it just never ends.

How do I explain how I got to where I am today?  I’m not talking about simple driving directions, I’m talking about all the roads, paths and decisions taken along the way that brought me, and my kids, to where I am today.

The room where I’m at right now is very quiet. I’m sitting on a lime green retro type couch, leaning against a bright yellow wall as a back rest. The fluorescent lights are really unforgiving, and reflect off the abstract purple art on the walls. Typing on my phone is a little challenging because I’m squinting from the glare.

All I really hear right now is the constant hum in my ears that never goes away. My body feels fine, but my eyes are incredibly heavy and even burn a little from being dry.

I feel numb right now. It’s the first time in awhile that I can’t even think. I don’t know what to say, and I definitely don’t even really know how I feel. Maybe I’m in shock?  Is this how that would feel?

I was in a session with my daughter, listening to questions on upcoming medical tests that need to be completed. When you’re living a dangerous lifestyle, I guess you know about these things. When I was her age, I didn’t even know what those words meant.

I always pick the chair facing the professional but a little behind the others in these meetings, because although I’ve trained myself not to react, sometimes a surprising expression comes across my face and gives way to what I’m really feeling or thinking. I could hear something and look completely neutral, and yet on the inside I’m shrieking “OMG!”.

I was asked to leave this meeting, once again. It doesn’t even bother me anymore. I get that people need privacy – even I wouldn’t feel comfortable with sharing in front of everyone.

Random thoughts run through my head while I wait. “Forgot my water bottle – I’m thirsty. Dull headache. …sigh…. This is taking longer than I thought. Hey, I can cross my legs – that’s cool. Is my double chin showing? (Inconspicuous chin scratch just to check – yup, still there).  Almost dinner time. Why do we have to cook anyways?  I wish subs didnt have bread and were free. Why is this taking so long?  ”

I’m not sure if there’s a whole lot more we can experience at this point. Is this rock bottom?  I’m being asked how I am, and what I’m doing for myself, and I really don’t have an answer for that.

What’s the point of this post? Perhaps there doesn’t need to be a point. I think sometimes I need to write to remind myself I’m still here. I’m alive. My kids are alive. It’s ok to feel nothing – it won’t always be this way.

We’ll be alright.

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Freaky Friday

“Hi mom?  I need to go to Urgent Care.  I threw up and I’m not feeling well.  I’m just going to get a ride there, ok?”

These are not the words you want to hear in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday.  Why on earth would you need to go to urgent care because you threw up?  That just doesn’t make sense.  Pluse, since when do you just “get a ride” to urgent care, in the middle of a school day, when you’re that young?

“Urgent Care?  Really?  Is it that bad?  I’ll come get you.”

“No mom.  I need to take care of this myself.  I just want to go by myself.”

“By yourself?   You can’t go by yourself?  You’re too young.  Plus you need your health care info and stuff.  I’m on my way to get you.”

“No mom, please.  It’s too stressful when you’re with me.  They said I don’t need the card.”

“You don’t need your health card?  I’m too stressful?  I’m your mom.  I’m on my way.”

“But….”

“I’m on my way!”

Something wasn’t right.  Since when do you need Urgent Health Care when  you throw up? And get a ride?  With who?  Go by yourself?  Yeah – right!  Not after what we’ve been through!  2 years of hospital visits, pain, complaining, excuses, and mystery issues.  I’m not anywhere near being done with this, and I’m not getting cut out of the picture now.

I drove up to the school, my mind racing with what the issue could really be.  Did something happen at school?  Had she been in classes?  Had someone said something or done something to upset her?  Work is only 4 minutes away, and I got there fairly quickly.  The teacher walked her to my car, and a very unhappy girl, pale but with flushed cheeks and teary eyes got into the car.

“I don’t want to talk about it.  I just don’t feel well”

“Okay – no worries.  Let’s go get things checked out”

The short drive was very quiet.  She was pushed in to the corner of her seat, knees to her chest and visibly agitated.  We pulled up to the doors of Urgent Care and the freak out began.

“I can’t go in there!  Get me out of here!  This is way too awful.  I can never go in there again!!! I’ll be fine – why couldn’t I do this by myself.  You coming in just makes terrible memories!  Just take me back to school!  I probably just have the flu.”

“Okay.  Calm down.  We don’t have to go in.  Do you want to just go for a drive?  Maybe go get a drink, or go for a walk somewhere?  Maybe you just got overwhelmed and need to cool down a little?”

“Just take me back to school.”

“I’m not sure if you should be there if you’re throwing up.  Did you make yourself throw up?  Is there anything you’re not telling me that I need to know?”

“No.  I swear I didn’t – I don’t do that anymore.  Just take me back.”

We drove back to the school – perhaps 15 or 20 minutes had passed.  I walked her in to the zen room and the teacher looked at me with wide eyes. “What, Urgent Care is working at record speeds now?”  I explained that she felt it was maybe unnecessary, so we decided to come back.  We continued to talk a little while longer and I expressed my concern.  I felt something was fishy here but wasn’t sure what.  I hadn’t seen this kind of behavior for a very long time, and it wasn’t sitting well with me.  I asked them to just keep an eye on her, and asked her to check in with me in a few hours.

I went to my car, and immediately called her YCUSP counselor.  “Something just isn’t right.  She’s acting erratic, irrational, and very agitated.  I’ve been to every appointment for 2 years, and now I stress her out?   I don’t get it.  She hasn’t been to classes for 2 days.  She seems so lonely and unhappy.  This isn’t a transition – it’s a plunge, and things are starting to unwind.  The stomach pain is back and she’s overwhelmed.  It’s just too much.  We can’t go back there.”

We decided to set some appointments with the school, and reevaluate what things needed to look like.  If things continued on like this, we both agreed it would be a one way ticket back to program, or even hospital, and we couldn’t let that happen.  Then my other line rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’ve just been having a long chat with your daughter, and she’s told me some information that you need to know.  She’s very afraid you’re going to be mad.”

“Mad?  Why would I be mad?  Can I talk to her?”

“Hi mom? I’m really sorry.  I wasn’t feeling well, and this girl at school gave me a pill.  I think it was gravol – I’m almost sure of it, but I don’t know .  Then I started feeling sicker, and I got really scared.  I don’t know what I took for sure, and I don’t know the girl.  I’m scared it might be drugs or something bad.”

“Ok, well why don’t we go get it checked out?”

“Don’t be mad at me!”

“I’m not mad.  Not at all.  Let’s just go and get it checked.”
“I said I’m not perfect!!!  I can’t always do everything perfect.  You don’t have to be mad.”

“Oooookay – I said I’m not mad.  Not at all.  We need to just go and find out.  I’m sure you’re fine, but better safe then sorry.”

“Why are  you yelling at me!!!! I said I screwed up, ok?!!”

Now I’m not sure what conversation she was on, but it definitely wasn’t the conversation we were currently having.  I could only imagine the look on her teachers face as she was yelling at me on the phone.  She was clearly stressed beyond belief, and was having her own conversation in her head, aside of the one we were having on the phone.

“My friend will drive me, ok?  I’m just going to go get checked out.”

“I haven’t even left the parking lot yet – I’m still here.  I’ll take you.  You can take your health care card and go in on your own if it’s that important to you, but I’m not leaving.  I’m taking you myself, and will be there for you.”

She got back in the car, and we drove to Urgent Care once again.  Reluctantly, I gave her her card, and sent her in on her own.  I couldn’t believe, that after all this time, and all we’d been through, that I was being shoved to the side as a stresser, rather than a supporter.  I was hurt.  What were the Dr’s going to think?  What would she tell them?  What kind of parent lets a young teenager go in to emerg on their own?

A few hours passed by, and I just got more annoyed.  The odd text would come through. “They’re not worried.  Just taking precautions.”  “They’ve done a drug screen and are testing me for mono again because I don’t feel well”.  “They’re not concerned.”  “I’m sorry mom.”  I told her this was the last time this would ever happen.  She needed to understand that I’m her supporter, nothing else.  Then came the in.  It’s amazing how we’re no good as parents until our kids need food, shelter, or money.  “I’m hungry.  Can you get me food?”

Lol.  Hungry.  Of course you’re hungry.  You haven’t eaten all day, and now the stress is going down and you’re starving. “Yes, I can bring you food.  I’ll be right back.”  I ran to her favorite stop, and brought back some protein and veggies for her to have.  “You don’t have to come in, I’ll only be 10 more minutes.”

Ok, that’s it.  “Excuse me ma’am.  Can you tell me where my daughter is?  I went to get some food for her while she waits.” “Well of course.  Just give me a moment……..she’s in room 3.  Right that way.”  I’d had it.  I wasn’t going to be cut out for one more second.  It’s bad enough when the Dr’s ask you to leave, but when your own kids shuts you out?

I walked through the curtain and she was surprised to see me.  Not quite as surprised as I was.  She had an IV going in to her arm, with fluids for dehydration, Toradol for pain, and an antacid for her stomach.  “Here’s your food.  Excuse me, nurse?  Can you please tell me what all of this is for?  I’m surprised you don’t need consent from a parent for all of this.  At what age do you need consent?  I’m not upset – I just want to know.”  The nurse stood there looking at me, stunned.  “Uuuum, well, actually – I don’t really know.  She came in by herself, so we juuuust…..are you ok with this?”  “Well, I guess, but it doesn’t really matter at this point.  I just want an explanation of what’s happening please.”   She explained there were complaints of stomach and head pain.  They said she seemed a little dehydrated, and there was evidence of some acid reflux bothering her throat, so they were giving her something for that.  They didn’t want to bother her stomach, so IV was the way to go.  And, we were still waiting for the results of a drug screen and had taken pictures of her stomach.

Great.  Perfect.  IV pain killers – here we go again.  Drug screening?  Perfect.  Dehydrated. Lovely.  I looked at my daughter and sat down next to her.

“We are not going to be here for 10 more minutes.  This is going to take some time.”

“Really?  I’m sorry.  I hate this place.  I’m not a sick kid.  I’m not a sick kid.  I hate this place.”

“This place was made to help people who feel sick.  It doesn’t mean you are sick.  The past is the past – we don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

“YCUSP offered me to come stay the night.”

“Do you feel you need that?”

“Pffff!  No!  I’m not going there to stay the night.  I’m safe.  I’m not going to hurt myself.  I don’t do that anymore.  I just got scared.  I thought it was a gravol and then started feeling sicker and realized I didn’t even know the girl and I could have taken anything and I didn’t know what to do so I just wanted to come here and take care of anything and…”

“You need to realize I’m here for you.  I’m not perfect, but I will do what I can to stay calm and help you.  Let’s make a plan.  How about no taking anything from anyone.”

“Except you.”

“Except me.  With the amount of things going on, and your other medications, let’s just keep it simple.  Use your oils.  Use your head and call me if things are out of control. Don’t take drugs of any kind from anyone, and certainly don’t drink alcohol.  We don’t know how any of that would interact with everything else.  I know  you want your independence, but you’re only 14.  You have plenty of years to be on your own when you’ll have to make decisions by yourself.  You’re young enough that I still need to be involved.  It’s ok to be a kid.  You don’t ever have to do any of this alone.”

“Ok.  When can we go?”

The Dr. came in and gave the all clear.  2 more hours had passed, (10 minutes – yeah right!), and we finally go the the IV removed and went home.  7 hours in total.

“Can I go hang out with a friend?”

(Chuckle)”I don’t think so.  We’ve had enough excitement for today.  I think we’ll just lay low for the rest of the evening.”

“Yeah.  Ok.  Probably a good idea.  I’m going to clean my room.”

“Whatever makes you happy doll.  Whatever makes you happy.”

We were lucky.  She could have taken anything.  I’m pretty sure that’s why she threw up.  A momentary impulse could have been much, much worse.  You would think with all the advertising, the warnings, school education, pamphlets and extra classes – plus exposure to kids who really have taken something bad, that our kids would know better.  Talk to your kids, and make a plan.  Do they really know?  Pause before you proceed.

The hardest part of parenting isn’t just protecting our kids, it’s protecting our kids from themselves.

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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

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.

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