I
know I have discussed this particular topic several times, but let’s have a
rehash today since it’s #semicolonproject218 day. For those who are unaware of
this day, this is a day where you draw a semicolon on your wrist, for either
yourself, someone you know or in support of those who suffer from mental
illness, self-harm, trauma or suicidal thoughts. In my case, I drew one for
myself and my daughters because we have all self-harmed, attempted suicide and
suffer from mental illness. It’s the “blessing” we have received in our blood
line. Not quite royalty, but we know how to fight for our lives and, so far, we
have survived.
There
are a bevy of mental illness diagnoses to choose from today. I suffer from PTSD
(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm,
anxiety and dissociative disorder. My oldest daughter is Bi-Polar Type I, schizophrenic,
suffers from depression and multiple personality disorder, which is part of the
schizophrenia. My youngest daughter suffers from depression, suicidal thoughts
and self-harm. The three of us alone could keep the big pharma going for the rest
of our natural born lives.
These
are the facts. This is what my husband and the rest of our family has to deal
with. There are days when we lose our minds, but most days we do okay. My
oldest daughter has not resided with us for the last 4 years due to the
severity of the violence during her manic episodes. When child protective
services intervenes on the behalf of the adults in the household, you know you
have crossed into largely unchartered territory. When the judicial system
orders that the child can no longer reside with you due to the imminent threat
of danger to the others in the house, you are in even larger unchartered
territory.
There
are no specialists, therapists or counselors equipped to deal with or help the
adults in those situations. We have no one to call at 3 o’clock in the morning
when we are fighting for our lives against a teenager. No one to call except
for 911. We were judged by the system for years claiming that we were somehow
abusing the child, threatened with jail and removal of the other child, until
the time we thought she had broken my jaw. The next time, it was a knife to my
throat because I shoved my youngest child out of the way to protect her and it
made my oldest daughter “upset” that she couldn’t hurt her sister. The time
after that she attacked my husband because she had punched me in the face and
kicked me in the ribs and he came to my defense. It was only when the police
took pictures and gathered hospital reports and arrested her that the truth
finally came to light. We were the ones living in fear of my daughter, not my
daughter living in fear of us.
And
then the judgment from family members because of how things played out in the
judicial system. Even family members accused us of lying to somehow protect our
image or lifestyle or our career! The unfortunate part is that it took my
daughter attempting to kill her grandmother (my mother) until the family had
their eyes opened to what we dealt with as a couple for 4 years and what I had
dealt with alone for 4 years prior to that time. I thought I had somehow failed
my child. I didn’t love her enough, didn’t get her enough help, didn’t fight
for the right things for her, etc. I was wrong.
It
was because of her disease and her choices. I did the best I could with all the
resources at my disposal. So, now I can look back and know that, but in the
midst of the chaos, I had no clue.
My
youngest daughter had to grow up quickly. She’s 14, going on 50. She knows how
to fight, how to disarm and how to deescalate a situation before it gets out of
control. She doesn’t trust counselors, doctors or therapists, as far as she can
toss a Mac truck. She refuses to take medication for her depression and for a
while she turned to cutting. The cutting led to suicidal thoughts and a bit of
time in a mental facility for teens. She turned to music. Music saved my
daughter and I’m grateful. It’s been a battle to keep her from self-harming,
but I’m more conscious of it now and try to keep a closer eye on her. We talk
more because for a long time, we were so overwhelmed with everything, we just
stopped talking. I take the blame for that.
I
have battled for so long that my doctor has said that my mind stays in a “state
of hyperawareness”. I simply say that I am constantly in “protect mode”. I don’t
know how to turn it off and I’m not sure that I would know how to live if we
did figure out a way to do so. When I was a teenager, I attempted suicide 7
times…7. I was a cutter and I would burn myself. I would do anything just to
make the pain of living with the sexual abuse just go away. Drugs – check.
Alcohol – check. Self-harm – check. You get the picture. Then I married young
and became another statistic for battered women. I cannot even begin to tell
you how many beatings I took or how much I begged to die and then I would take
the beatings silently so that my children wouldn’t be awakened and they could
sleep, somewhat peacefully. I’ve been hit so hard that I’ve seen many pretty colors
and beaten with so many objects that I can’t keep track of, but I do remember
the claw hammer…because I objected to him taking time off from a new job to go
to a funeral of a family member that he didn’t even know.
Finally,
we divorced. I was then a single mom, aged 22, in college full time and with
two children under the age of 5. I was on welfare and worked two part time
jobs, as well. I did that for 3 years and was so tired and worn out that I
couldn’t make myself finish my degree. I looked much older than my 25 years.
At
the ripe old age of 26, I buried my fiancé after a motorcycle accident. The
hits just kept coming. By that time, I knew how to tuck and roll pretty well. I
was also dealing with my oldest daughter and her illness at the same time. I
met my current husband when I was 27…and I was leery to say the least. Turns
out, our children were a year apart in age…all 4 of them and they liked each
other, plus it gave him and I a distraction from the sheer mess that our lives
were. He had just returned from combat and was going through a divorce and I
was just learning how to breathe again after having your heart ripped out of
your chest cavity and everything else on the inside pulled out and just left
with a gaping open wound. Neither of us trusted anyone or anything outside of
work. We work very hard at keeping our relationship safe and secure. Now, we
trust no one outside of each other, with the exception of a few family members
(that includes a couple friends that ARE family).
However;
having that “safe” relationship has not saved me from the depths of hell that
live in my brain. I can honestly say that I have seriously considered suicide
at least 4 different times within the last 18 months. In the last 2 years I battled
alcoholism and, so far, I am winning…but that damn little monster stays just
under the surface waiting to appear. I have battled prescription drug addiction
(we won’t talk about the drugs in my teen years…I’m not counting those) and I
have won. So far. My mind is getting worse though. I know that I only have a
few more years before I don’t even know who my children are and I have had to
make myself learn to accept that. My prayer is that it waits until I am of the
age that it’s expected because I don’t want to be a burden.
And
that fear is what drives most of my anxieties. The fear of being a burden. So I
self-harm just to take away the fear. Because my thinking is that if I can
withstand pain, then I should be able to face my other fears. Yes, it’s
illogical, but that is how I think.
Every
day that I wake up breathing is another day that I get to try all over again. I
get to battle the demons in my head…again.
Because
they never go away.
Ever.
Not
for me.
Not
for my children.
We
fight.
We
battle.
Every.
Single.
Day.
Now…go
hug someone and tell them you love them.
No comments:
Post a Comment