Despair

I guess it's not really surprising that Mom of a Cutter would be a self-harmer, too. 

I know these things can run in families, like diabetes and high blood pressure. 

I wish you could pick which things your kids get, and which they could be exempt from. This post isn't about cutting, though. 

This mom is dealing with some health issues I wouldn't wish on anyone. For more than a week now, I have been in the worst pain of my life. It feels like hot shards of glass are inside my hips and back. This is desperate, crawling-out-of-my-skin, do-anything-to-stop-the-pain awful. If this doesn't get fixed soon, I don't even know what to do. 

What if this becomes my new normal? I don't know how anyone can live like this, long term. I just don't know ...

I Remember (trigger warning)

I had a nightmare recently, one I haven't had in quite some time. It had me thinking about this all day, and I had to get rid of it. It still affects me, after all these years. My hope is that if it's out here, it will stay out of my head.

Do you remember when we met? I was 12, and you were 22. You were getting ready to go into the army.
Do you remember the furtive groping, and the secret kisses? I was 13, and convinced I was in love with you.
Do you remember all the letters we sent? I carried them around with me. I put them in my backpack and took them to school. I was 15, and so jealous when you talked about the 16 year old girl you were friends with.
Do you remember telling me about the woman who was caught molesting a boy during that march? You were upset, because people got involved in their relationship. I was really weirded out by your reaction - but I didn't know why.
Do you remember asking me to marry you? I couldn't believe that you asked me after all those years of thinking I was in love.
Do you remember after we got married, when I was almost 19 and you were 29? I worked while you went to school.
Do you remember getting mad when I wore make up? I was getting ready for work, and you asked me who I expected to meet that I needed to wear make up for.
Do you remember holding me down and fucking me? Even if I said I was too tired? When I talked to you about it after, you would tell me it was my fault because I led you on by changing in front of you in our bedroom.
Do you remember all the times you clenched your fists and your teeth and told me how much you wanted to punch me in the face?
Do you remember giving me a hard time when I wanted to go out with my friends without you? And how you would grill me about what we did when I got home?
Do you remember being invited to go out with your friends, and refusing to go if I didn't go with you?
Do you remember buying me flowers for the first time after I told you I wanted a divorce?
Do you remember showing up at my apartment in the middle of the night to tell me you were worried about my soul?
Do you remember showing up at my apartment early in the morning to tell me my life was in danger, but you couldn't tell me why?

I remember.
I remember it all.
I remember the look of confusion on your face when I tried to explain it to you.
I remember you telling me that I would change my mind if I turned to Jesus.
I remember crying myself to sleep almost every night.
I remember staying much longer than I should have because I didn't want to admit I had made a mistake by marrying you.
I remember turning down invites from my friends, because I would have to bring you with me.
I remember being out all night with your friends - even though I was tired and had to work the next day - because it was the only way you would go.
I remember going home to my family because I was terrified of what you might do next.
I remember being underneath you and faking an orgasm because I knew you wouldn't stop until I did - and it had to coincide with yours, or you would be upset.
I remember punching a boyfriend in the face because I woke up with his hands on me. I wasn't even fully awake, I just knew I hadn't given consent and I would never let that happen to me again.
I remember.
I remember it all.

Two years

Yesterday was 2 years since the girl's suicide attempt. So much has happened since then.
When I brought the girl back home with me after the nightmare of those first 6 weeks, I didn't have any idea what was going to happen. I was so afraid - afraid she would try again, afraid she would never completely be herself again, afraid I would never see her happy again. I was just so afraid.

And when her therapist told me she was going to discharge her because she wasn't making any progress, I was angry. "Her treatment isn't effective, so we're not going to treat her at all any more." What? No one would say that to a cancer patient! This has just as much potential to be fatal!
And when therapist after therapist failed to grasp Social Anxiety Disorder, I felt like there was no place to turn.

Family members railed against homeschooling her, convinced she just had to learn to deal with things. (That really hurt. Not any more - now I stay away from those people as much as I can.)

After taking a class from the wonderful people at NAMI, I finally began to understand mental illness better, hers and mine. I learned new ways to fight for her, and how to accept things that scared me.

I saw my first glimmer of hope 2 months after she returned. A dog came into her life. That dog helped the girl finally start clawing her way back from the darkness. When that dog got sick and died, I was afraid the girl would, too. She didn't.

The girl is strong. She's a fighter. Recently, she tried to go back to public school. She wants to go to prom. It didn't work, but we're not giving up. Our new GP is running a bunch of tests. She said that certain medical issues can exacerbate mental illness, so she's checking for those things. We're looking for yet another new therapist.

Does the girl still cut? Yes. Cutting is an addiction. It's hard to stop. Does it scare me? Absolutely. But she's not suicidal. She has plans for the future, and we need to get this all figured out so she can achieve her goals. We're still working hard at getting the issues under control.
At least we know what the issues are. At least she's working with me. This will be a lifelong struggle, but she's equal to the task.

It's been 2 years. Last night, after I tucked her little sister into bed, the girl came in and grinned sheepishly at me. She felt silly, but she asked me to tuck her in, too. We snuggled and giggled for several minutes, and she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her lips.

Personal value

I received a comment today that struck a cord. The commenter said that she wishes she grew up with a "woman as beautiful and bountiful member of the world" point of view, and thanked me for helping her feel that about herself now.

As a young girl, I remember feeling betrayed by my body over and over again. It began with growing breasts at the age of 9. Then came hips. As a girl completely obsessed with the world of classical ballet, it didn't get worse than that. Until it did. Suddenly I was taller than the other girls. There went my dreams of dancing professionally. With every change toward maturity, I hated my "womanly" body more and more.

In my early 20's I made friends with my curves. They attracted attention, and made me desirable. I still mourned my lost dream, but I felt that I could live with this body.

Then I had a baby. And gained 100 pounds. And cried daily for two years about my lost body. My marriage crumbled for a variety of reasons. I hid.

Then something weird happened. I started feeling beautiful. Not sexy, something more visceral than that. Interesting, intelligent, funny. 

And I liked this new woman. Until I didn't. 

A series of bizarre, disfunctional relationships paralyzed this version of me. I lost confidence. I hated the person I saw in the mirror. I hated the woman raising my daughter.

So I changed her. Not her appearance. The way she looked at the world. The way she modeled being a woman. I started working to become, not just a woman I wanted around my child, but the type of person I hoped she would grow to be. Strong, self-confident, independent, with a positive outlook.  

Everyday I have the opportunity to choose - will I be the woman who hates herself, or the woman with a sense of self-worth? 

Most days I choose the second option. Because I want my daughters to choose that option. I want my friends and family to choose it. I want you to choose it.

You are valuable. You are a beautiful and bountiful member of the world. 

I hope you feel that, every day.

Update on the girl

The girl is doing really well. She's thinking about doing her last couple of years of high school in one year, so she has the option of starting college in the fall of next year.
We haven't had any incidents of cutting in many months, and now that she's back on her meds the depression has been a lot better too.
She back to writing songs, and wants to start taking guitar lessons again.
She's actually joined a snake club, and she's going to play hockey this year.
She's covered the walls of her room with positive, inspirational quotes.
I'm really happy with the progress she's made.

Outburst

Yesterday was an emotional day.
The girl has been shirking her chores, and I called her on it. It ended up with her shrieking in my face. When I asked her later what that had been about, her answer was "I have no idea".
Thankfully, we see the therapist today.

I hate feeling like I have to walk on eggshells around my child. I hate not being able to leave a teenager alone because I'm afraid she'll hurt herself.
And I really hate that I let myself get pulled into an altercation with a 14 year old.

I need to talk to the therapist to learn tools for dealing with this.

I was terrified every time she left the room for the rest of the day, wondering if she was cutting herself, how bad it would be, and if she would go too far.

Today, everything is back to normal.

Progress

It's been a couple of weeks since the last incident. She seems to be doing ok.
She's been in fairly good spirits, and laughing and playing with the family.

We're easing into the homeschool lifestyle. And really, that's what it is. This has changed the dynamics of our household significantly; mostly for the better, I think.

We communicate more. We share our thoughts more. We set goals together.
The girl and I are making the decorations for our tree this year. We spend evenings working on them and talking after the little has gone to sleep.
So I suppose some good is coming out of all this misery. My big girl and my little girl are closer than ever. My girl and I have been able to reconnect. We're home, with my husband as a buffer between us and the world. (He's been wonderful about his anti-social family.)
Things are definitely on the upswing. I expect there will be more setbacks.
That's just life. And it hasn't been all that long.
But the future is looking promising, and we have a mellow kind of contentment instead of the constant despair that seemed to loom over us.

Fear

A relapse tonight.
Just one cut, but a bad one. Emergency room bad.
As soon as she did it, she came to me. She kept telling me "I didn't mean to do it", and calling herself stupid. She handed over the blades to me without a hesitation.
I think she scared herself.
She went right through the skin and exposed the adipose tissue.
She scared me.
I tried to get her to allow the stitches, and she agreed, but then she had a panic attack when the doctor tried to put the stitches in, and we ended up having the nurse put steri-strips on instead.
She said she saw the blade, and was thinking about the situation she just got out of, and just did it on impulse.

As I'm sitting in the ER with her the guilt kicked in. I couldn't help but wonder if I somehow made her like this. If I broke her when she was little with my own pain.
I just don't know.

Healing

No new bouts of cutting since I pulled the girl from public school.
She's been using some alternate ways of coping with stress - snapping an elastic band on her wrist, drawing, writing, squeezing ice, and walking.
Tomorrow I take her home and we start a new adventure.
We are now a homeschooling family. Hopefully, not having to deal with the traditional school environment will help alleviate some of the anxiety that she deals with.
I expect some challenges, but I'm looking forward to this.

I'm Sorry

Tears rolled down her face as she shook her head. “I can't do it”.
“Get out of the car. Now.”
She started to shake. “Please. Please. I can't.”
“I'm going to be late. Move.”
“Momma, please.”
“This is ridiculous. I'm really starting to get pissed. Get. Out. Of. The. Car. Now.”
She inched the door open, but didn't move to get out.

So went the first few weeks of 8th grade. I knew she was having a hard time. Every morning was the same. But I didn't know what else to do. I was a full-time student myself, with a toddler and a job to boot. I didn't have the patience for what I thought was a melodramatic teenager.

I owe my girl an apology. I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't know.
I'm so sorry I wasn't very sympathetic to how you were feeling. I'm sorry it took me so long to get it.
I will do my best to listen to your concerns and fears without my own stuff getting in the way.

Revelation

The more I think about this the more I understand it.

I still have a few scars myself.

And I realized something else, too. I didn't really stop when I thought I did.
The cutting, carving and biting turned into something else.

I stopped doing the physical harm myself, and looked for men to do it for me. From the one who held me down, to the one who left bite marks all over me, to the one who was excessively "endowed" who I couldn't stay away from - no matter how much it hurt. There was the one who always made me bleed, and the one who could keep going so long that I couldn't walk the next day. There was the one who knew just what to say to cause the most pain, and the one who told me "you're so beautiful when you cry".

I did this to myself until I was 34 years old. I'm so worried that my girl will follow this path. I have to figure out how to keep her from it.
I spent so many years hating myself for it, consumed with self-loathing because I kept making these stupid choices that were guaranteed to keep me miserable.
I don't want that for her. How do I keep her from it?

Re-directing

So I talked to my girl about my epiphany.
She seemed open to the ideas I had.
Here they are: for pain - pinching herself or snapping a rubber band on her wrist are some alternatives that won't cause actual damage. Not a solution, but a step in the right direction for her safety. At least she won't accidentally pinch herself to death.
For the "looks cool" - I'm getting her some tattoo pens. She can draw on her skin all she wants. When she gets a little older, she can get all the tattoos and piercings her little heart desires, but at 14 this seems to be a reasonable temporary alternative.

After seeing the severity of the most recent bout of cutting, I'm open to any and all suggestions to help her through this. Group therapy doesn't seem to be doing her much good because of her severe social anxiety. Most days she doesn't even make it into the room. I've already started working with her at home because school was too much for her to handle, especially so soon after getting out of the hospital.

I need her to be okay. Safe.

Scars

The first time I saw the scars on her arm I was scared. Terrified.
She was sitting in a chair in a psychiatric hospital. She'd been staying with her father for several months, and he sent me a text saying she had brought a suicide note to school. They took her to the ER, and then she was transferred to the hospital.
I was on a plane the next day.

She stopped cutting for a little while. Then last week, for reasons unknown to me, she started again. Not just her arm. Her ribs and abdomen were covered. Her hips and her thighs, too. Someone mentioned she had been scratching at her leg and so I asked her if she had been cutting. She admitted it easily. When I asked her to show me, she did. I felt like I had been punched in the face. I told her I would help her find a safer way to deal with things, and asked her to please try not to cut herself.

In my research on this behavior, I've discovered some interesting things.
Self-harming isn't just cutting. It can take many forms, including but not limited to : banging your head, carving things into your skin, pulling out your hair, and biting.

Wait, I've done all of those myself! So now I'm left wondering - is this hereditary? Or contagious? Did I somehow pass this on to her without knowing? And is it sick that the turmoil I'm feeling makes me want to return to those destructive patterns myself?

But I did have an epiphany. She told her friend that she likes the way it feels, and she likes the way it looks. "It hurts, and it looks cool".
Isn't that why some people get addicted to tattoos and piercings?
I haven't figured out how, but I feel like this information can somehow help her.