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.

Nightmares

In my dreams I'm searching for my kids. I can hear their voices. I step in puddles of their blood. I find body parts lying on the ground.
Sometimes I'm not searching. Sometimes I'm trying to stop the flow of blood as my teen's life drains down her arm and drips off her fingertips.

I dread sleeping some nights.

In reality, the girl is healing well. And the closer she gets to being healed, the more "normal" teen attitude she has. I realize it's the age. 14 sucks, I remember.
I know that soon she'll be yet another person, and another year closer to the woman she'll become.
Parenting is so bittersweet. I wouldn't give it up for anything.

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.

My Daughter Is Beautiful.

My daughter is beautiful.
Not the delicate, fragile beauty that is so popular in our society.
She is tall and strong, with laughing green eyes and wavy blonde hair that she is prone to straightening. She has pink cheeks with dimples.
She has the most infectious laugh.
She is kind, loving, loyal, and compassionate. She's generous, intelligent, and very gifted when it comes to dealing with animals.
Her talent for drawing is substantial, and her singing voice is amazing.

Her scars do not detract from her beauty. They show that she is vulnerable, but she's a fighter. She's not afraid to do something just because it's hard. And if she is afraid, that's okay.