A Mother's Cry

 

This is probably one of the hardest things I've written about.  I've started it many times and put it aside because I was never sure if I could even put it into words.

I also didn't want anyone judging the situation.  It is a tough situation to even think about going through but then to actually live it....

Mind you, what I am about to write about happened a few years ago and we are all fine now.  I am writing about it because I am sure other moms have gone through it, are going through it or will go through it.  I just want you to know that you are not alone.

I thought it was odd that she asked me for an extension cord.  She said that she needed it for her curling iron.  I had a long day and didn't really question her.  After several minutes...hell, it could have been an hour but the time doesn't matter, she came out of the bathroom and admitted to the lie and said that the cord was to put into the tub with her.

As a parent, I didn't know what to do.  I knew she struggled and we had tried to get help but help was just almost impossible to find.  School counselors were focused on SATs and college meetings.  I was told that they were too busy to even refer us to someone who could help.  I had called behavioral health and got her in to see an older guy but he really couldn't relate to poor body image and teenage breakups.

I tried to help but she accused me of making it about me.  I only tried to relate to what she was going through but she didn't see me as ever being a teenager.

When she admitted the intent of the extension cord, I calmly said that I was glad that she told me and we talked for a bit.  She went to bed.

I was up all night thinking why the fuck couldn't I help my own child.  I felt like a failure.  I made the decision to seek the ultimate help.

I can't really remember if she went to school the next day but again, the timeline doesn't really matter.

I made the decision to take her to the emergency room and seek for some way to help her.

She had serious body image issues.  She binged and purged.  She was a shell of what she once was.  She worked out constantly.

She had bullies at school who were into cyberbullying her.  Her ass was too big, her arms were too hairy, and whatever else.  

She self harmed.  Her arms were cut with scissors or a knife.

She was angry and depressed.

and I couldn't help her.

My beautiful child was a mess.

She didn't fight me on going to the hospital.  Which surprised me but I think she was just ready to get help too.

In the emergency room they ran blood tests and checked vitals.  Finally a doctor came and talked with us, mainly her.  She explained everything that was going on with her and her thoughts.  I was startled to learn that it was worse that what I was seeing.  My heart broke even more.

I stepped out with the doctor and he asked what I was thinking.  I started to cry and said that I think she needs to be admitted to the pysch ward and if she doesn't agree, I will have her forcibly placed.

As a mother, this had to be one of the hardest decisions I had to make. 

I talked with her a bit about my decision and at first she was scared about how it would all work.  She then opened to the idea and agreed to go.

It was hard leaving her there but I also knew that she was safe.  That first night I slept so good knowing that she was safe.

The first few days were hard for her as she never liked sleeping away from home but as she got involved in the program, I began to see improvement.  She was there for about 5 days.  

We put a plan into place so that she could come home.  We learned to talk about things.  We worked with a counselor.  Her medication was adjusted.

I'm not saying that everything was perfect after that.  There have been some large bumps in the road but we have tools to deal with them.

Despite everything she was a straight A student.  She is bright, funny, and beautiful.

I am proud of my daughter.

Semicolon

 

He saw my tattoo.

A butterfly with a subtle semicolon for a body.

The butterfly symbolizes a beautiful change.  

The semicolon is a symbol that means that an author could have ended a sentence and chose not to.  

The semicolon is now recognized as a symbol of affirmation and solidarity against suicide, depression and other mental health issues.  It inspires strength in the midst of suffering.

He saw my tattoo.  He noticed the semicolon fairly quickly.  I was surprised since many do not see that detail.  Especially a man...

He asked about it.  I am really open about how the tattoo came about.  I talk about how there was that one moment of irrational thought where I was really ready to end it.

The mental pain is hard to deal with and you just want it to stop.

He then shared his story.  We were in a room with so many people but it was like we were the only two people in the room.

He put his hand on my back and I could almost feel his energy, his pain, his suffering.  I could also feel his relief to be talking with someone who understands.  

Throughout the night he would come and stand next to me, touch my arm or my back.  He kept apologizing for it.  I told him that there is no need to apologize.

It is a great comfort to know that you are not alone and what you feel or what you are going through is hard. 

May is Mental Health Awareness Month.

It is important every month but times are really tough lately with the damn virus and the world is all turned upside down.  It is especially hard on teens.  

Please be kind to one another.

You never know what battles someone is fighting.

One Very Irrational Thought

 

I never regret posting about how I deal with my depression.  If it helps just one person, then it not only helps them, it helps me.

I have my quiet days.  They are further and farther apart now that I have moved back home.  

I think because I feel more loved and accepted here.

A lot of my depression stems from my own demons in my head.  They tell me that I am ugly, fat, stupid, unlovable.... pick any type of insult and my demons say it.

I wrote a blog entry on the night that I had a moment of irrational thought and almost committed suicide.

You can read it here ------>  Click on these words.

I still think about that moment and how desperate I was to just end it.  

People ask about my butterfly tattoo on my left forearm.

It is in my favorite color and it has a small semicolon for a body.

A butterfly is a symbol of change for me.  They are beautiful and fragile.  They can be joyful to see.  They are graceful and most have limited life spans.

We all have limited life spans.  Some of us live to be in our 100's.  That is still a limited time.

I'm glad that I didn't limit my own life span.

Depression is some ugly shit.

It can be managed but I seriously don't think that there is really a cure.

I know that I will never be completely done with it.  I am better with fighting it now.

Learn your triggers and avoid them.  

Phone or visit a friend.  You don't have to tell them why if you don't want to but it helps to just hear someone who fills the part of you where depression lays.  

Journal or just write about what you are feeling.  Keep writing until it passes.  It helps you recognize the triggers.

Love yourself.  I know it's hard because of the lies you are hearing.  You just have to find the strength to tell them to shut the fuck up.

An emotional support animal or even a plant helps.  You have to take care of them, if you aren't living, who else will do it?

Take time for yourself.  I drive to the big lake and just dip my toes in.  It doesn't matter if its cold.  It grounds me.

I also walk in cemeteries.  They are very peaceful.  I touch old headstones and try to connect.  This person is someone who was loved very much and I wonder who visits their graves now (other than me).

I paint.  I make a big messy mess and create the hell out of something.  It awakens my energy.  The colors collide and form some amazing stuff.

I also just couch potato.  Doing absolutely nothing allows me to speak to my inner self and watch some cute dudes on tv.  (haha)

To be back where my friends and family helps so much.

To be able to visit my sister and laugh until we are both crying is amazing.  I am so thankful for her.

To spend time with old friends is extremely comforting.  My old self is resurfacing and it feels great.

To make new friends is the best.  

I treasure all my relationships.

I am allowing myself to be loved.  I make no apologies for who I am and I am accepted anyway.

I love myself and this is the very key.  I love myself enough to take care of me.

Suicide is a very permanent solution to a very temporary problem.  

You are not alone.

If you would like to learn more about Project Semicolon, click here.

Project Semicolon

Suicide Hotline

800-273-8255

The Face of Depression

My face is the face of depression.

Tonight it is at an all time maximum.  I don't know how to ask for help.  I do not know how to control it.

It consumes me.

Just when I think I'll be ok, I have sunk even lower before.

I stood in the bathroom for some time trying so hard to compose myself.  I was fighting the urge to cut my wrists.  I caught the pill bottle out of the corner of my eye, held it in my hand for a moment.  I opened the lid and dumped the contents in my hand.  The pills felt like pebbles as I stood there crying.  For one brief moment I considered popping them in my mouth but I dropped them into the toilet and flushed.

I cried harder.

How do I ask for help?  At this hour?  Who do I call?  Where do I turn?

I feel so alone in this.

I came back to bed and decided to write.  Writing seems to help.  I hesitated because I am sure there will be someone out there reading this who will think that this is all for attention.  

If it is you, you can kiss my ass.

My face is a face of depression.  There are many more like mine out there.  

We are not alone.  There are millions of faces just like mine.

We can be good liars.  We will tell you we are ok when we are breaking inside.  We will tell you we are fine when we are certainly not.  We will smile, joke, laugh; hell, some of us are downright funny.  But we are dying inside.

We mostly suffer in silence.

We believe that we are unlovable.  We believe we are overweight, ugly and damned.  We believe that we aren't worthy of being happy.  We believe that we will be rejected by anyone we reach out to.

Why would someone love us, we are just a hideous mess?

Depression isn't something we can just "get over".  We just can't take a walk or soak up some sun.  It doesn't work that way.

It is so difficult to explain how depression feels.  It is way more complicated that just being sad.  It is more than just crying.  It is more than just feeling empty and numb.

Depression is a liar.  I know this and I am sure that others like me know it as well.  Sometimes the lies become our believable truth.

Tonight was a small victory, the pills were flushed.  There are many others out there who lost their battle.  It saddens me that we do suffer alone when there are so many of us.

My face is a face of depression.

Above photo was taken right after I flushed the pills.

Suicide Prevention Hotline

800-273-8255

"Funny" Does Not Translate Into "Happy"

I wasn't going to mention Robin Williams but I guess I just did.

Seems that the whole world is buzzing about it.  It also seems that many are also mentioning suicide and posting links to hotlines and such.

Not to be a negative Nancy, because it is all quite nice and all, but why wait to say something after someone famous dies at their own hands? 

Many of us suffer from depression.  I have written about it numerous times.  I struggle daily with it.  It isn't something that you can just make all better with pills and conversation.

Trust me....

To describe actual depression to someone is almost impossible.  We each feel it differently and yet similarly at the same time.  We try all sorts of methods to keep it in check.  We talk about it, write about it, sing about it.  It is just still there.

Sometimes it becomes too intrusive and we have to go the drastic route to eliminate it.

And that's unfortunate.

I haven't been blogging much.

I have been struggling with my own issues.  Life hasn't been too grand.  It has been downright shitty.

I am amazed at how well I am holding up.  

I did take a time out from Facebook though.  This always helps. People are shitty.  They may not think that they are, but....  Well, you know.

I get sick of hearing about other peoples shitty lives.  I get sick of people passing judgments.  I get sick of all of the negativity.  I get so sick of the narcissism. I get sick of all the happy posts too.

None of this shit is good for those of us who have depression.

There just ain't a big enough pill for that.

I find that taking the time to focus on other things helps.  I start reading more, creating more, getting out more...everything else more and FB less just helps. 

I suppose I could write out all of the shitty shit that I have been dealing with but seriously, no one needs to read it.  I am not looking for sympathy or solutions.  I certainly don't need another anonymous letter showing up.

It's my shit and I'll deal with it.

I just want others to know that depression sucks.  You can say poor Robin, he was battling some serious shit....blah blah blah.  Yep, he was and that shit won.

Those of us who suffer from depression tend to mask it rather well.  We sometimes are silent.  Some of us tend to use humor.  I think some of the funniest people are also the most depressed.  

When reading some posts about Robin and so many people can't understand why someone who was so funny would want to kill themselves.  

I know exactly why.

Funny does not translate into happy.