Monsters

There is a darkness in me. I used to think it was because of events in my life.  

The first time I saw evidence of it in one of my children I was devastated. I thought that I had somehow caused it, that I had tainted the child with my own darkness. 

I now realize that there is darkness in all of us. 

It's like there are monsters living in our heads. I can't remember where I read that, but it rang true to me. 

We all have them, locked down in cages in our psyches. Some people have tight control of their monsters, and if one were to ever escape they would be brought back under control by any means necessary.  Other people's monsters seem to roam freely, causing chaos and destruction where ever the person goes. 

Most of us are somewhere in the middle. Our monsters are occasionally brought out to play, then get put back after they've had some exercise. 

Those monsters - our darkest fears, our deepest hopes, our scars and wounds that never quite heal - they're part of us. They make us who we are, just as much as our public personas do. 

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.

To school, or not to school

The girl is thinking about returning to public school, so we made an appointment to meet with the principal of our local high school. We made a plan for easing her back in. We talked about part-time classes, and moving to full-time. We did the paperwork, and made sure her vaccines were current. We were ready.

And then time came to go. We walked into the school together so she could take the placement test for the classes she was going to take. The halls were full of students.
Then she froze. She got almost to the school office. Then she panicked. She went white as a ghost, eyes wide, hyperventilating. I asked her if she needed a minute and she nodded. Then she started to shake. I was talking to her the whole time, but she didn't register what I was saying. She couldn't move. Tears poured down her face, but she didn't seem aware of them.

In the past, I've forced her through situations like this. They never went well. This time I directed her to a seat. I spoke to the woman in the office, and let her know what was going on. We spent about 45 minutes in the lobby, trying to get her panic under control.

In the end we decided to try again another time. Walking out of the school, she did her best to keep from sobbing, but it wasn't easy. She felt like a failure. She was so disappointed in herself.
I told her I was proud of her. She looked at me like I was crazy, but I explained that even though she wasn't entirely successful, she got further than last time. She snorted at me, and I bought her a hot chocolate.
Another bit of progress - we were actually able to talk about it. Not just eye-rolling and shoulder-shrugging. An honest to goodness conversation. She told me that when she gets into a panic like that she can't really process what people are saying to her. She feels like her brain just shuts down. She finds it mortifying.

So she's still a homeschooler. We'll try again, I'm sure. Maybe next time she can do it.
But if she can't, she can't. We'll deal with it when it comes.

Not alone

I've just started taking the NAMI Beginner Basics class. NAMI  is the National Alliance for Mental Illness, and the class is for parents and caregivers of children with mental illness.

I've discovered that, in the realm of parenting a child with mental illness. I have it pretty easy.

Not that we don't have day-to-day struggles. We certainly do. The stories I've heard from other parents, though, certainly are eye-opening.

I think this class is going to be really good for me.