The Next Step

She's home. 

We've cried. We've laughed. We've eaten all of her favorite foods. I've bought her pretty much everything she's asked for and am not ashamed. 

Life looks normal from the outside. 

But it's not. 

Last night she slept on the couch until her sister got home. Then she crawled into bed with me and she's already asked if she could sleep with me tonight. She hasn't crawled into bed with me in over 6 years. 

This morning, I dropped her off at the IOP facility, instead of her high school. 

When she didn't reply to my text messages after school, it was all I could do not to pack my belongings and run out of statistics class. 

I told friends that I wanted to be a leach parent instead of a hovercraft parent. I want to latch on and never let go. But that is not what's best. I must walk this road with her, but I must allow her as much or as little autonomy as she wants/needs. Just like when she was little, climbing anything and everything. I couldn't keep her from climbing, so I just stood beside her and waited for her to hold out her hand and ask for help. 

When people have asked me how she is, I haven't really known how to reply. 'She's fine' is the answer that I think people want to hear, but the truth is, she's not. We have a handful of diagnoses and prescriptions that tell me that she's not fine and that we have a long road ahead of us. 

The IOP facility sent home a paper that resembles the forms sent home with preschoolers. The ones that say 'Your kid did _______ today". It seems appropriate, because recovery requires baby steps. There will be good days and bad. There will be tears and laughter. There will be times that she asks for things that I won't be ready to give. There will be learning. There will be growth. There will be healing. 

Over the last 10 days, a lot of people have reached out and recounted their own struggles with depression. Their stories have broken my heart, because very few had the support of the people around them. While I can't fix the past, I know that all of our stories together can help change the future. Together we can stop the stigma. Together we can change how we address mental illness. 

8 days...

The hospital called yesterday. We have a tentative release date for Wednesday. 

And by release, we mean drive across the parking lot to their intensive outpatient facilities, where she will immediately begin that program. 

While I am overjoyed that she will be home, the joy is tempered with the fact that this battle isn't over yet. This battle will never be over.

As proactive as I am regarding mental illness and stopping the stigma, I've noticed that I often refer to our looming diagnosis as "mental health issues," instead of mental illness. Why? Why not call a spade a spade? Because internally, I'm struggling with this. "Mental Health Issues" softens the blow. It implies that it will go away. Issues are something that can be worked out. Mediated. Issues go away. This will not. Mental illness is forever. 

And let's be honest, mental illness runs deep within our family tree. I have PTSD, panic disorder, depression. Her sister has OCD, anxiety, depression. Her father... well... Anywho... the roots run deep. But, so does the silence. It's deafening. 

I've had several people tell me that they are proud of me for being a voice for mental illness and for not being ashamed by what's 'going on'... again, softening of language. What is implied is that I am not ashamed of my child's struggle with mental illness. Hey, guess what? This stint in the hospital is killing me, but I am definitely not ashamed of my child's mental illness. This is not her fault anymore than her appendix was her fault. 

We will get through this in the same way we got through her 4 day stint in the hospital, last spring. We will ask questions. We will hold her when she cries. We will stand watch over her, to the detriment of my grades and Jasen's sleep schedule. Jasen and I will sacrifice whatever we need to sacrifice to give her the tools she needs to live with this mental illness. Because that's what good parents do. Because that's what good people do. 

[If your aren't a nerd, you  might want to skip the next paragraph.]

In all of my writing on this topic, I've noticed that I use a lot of 'war' references... "Mental illness is a battle" "[her] struggle with mental illness." I talk about mental illness like it's something to be fought against and won. Unfortunately, mental illness seems to be a lot like our country's time in the Middle East... never ending and not really won. Lives lost. Families mourning. Destruction. Ambushes. Failed attempts. Secrets. Silence. 

As a country, we need to make some changes to the stigma behind mental illness. We don't expect cancer patients to remain silent in the fight. In fact, every single time I see a doctor (which is a lot), they ask about our family history of cancer. I answer those questions with confidence, because I know that history. But if people were to ask about the family history of mental illness, I have only the diagnoses that I heard whispered about in the kitchen at my grandma's house (I was a nosy kid... what can I say?). "She was living in her car? OMG." "I tried to get him help, but the hospital turned him away." "Well, you know, her entire biological father's side had a drinking problem." "That woman is batshit crazy, but no one seems to be able to do anything about it." Ok... the last one might have come out of my own mouth a time or two. 

What if we lived in a world where mental illnesses weren't whispered about behind closed doors? What if we weren't afraid to say "_____________ is overwhelming for me and I need help"? What if friends asked how your were doing, without fear you might break with the norm and tell the truth? 

For the sake of my child and for others like her, can we please just stop the stigma? Can we talk about mental illness like we talk about any other illness? Can we be compassionate, instead of telling people to man up? Please? 

One Week...

One week. 

One week of tearful visits, daily phone calls, daily trips to drop off things needed. 

One week of guilt, questions, more questions, and tears. 

One week of praying to God, the gods, the universe. 

One week of fighting my own depression and anxiety in order to be able to function. 

One week since my baby was admitted and I miss her more than I'd ever thought possible. I know she's getting the help she needs and it's just a matter of finding the right combination of medication and therapy to help her dig her way out of the pit of despair. She didn't get there overnight and she's not going to be better overnight. 

There are several observations that I've made during this week, though: 

Friendship. I have her phone and 3 'friends' have texted to ask if she's ok---   she needs new friends. I have a great network of support, though. Friends that I know will be there always. Friends that have texted or messaged daily or semi-daily to ask how she is and how I am. Friends that sent her cards, fuzzy socks and a friend that even collected books for the unit, because she said the other girls were bored. 

Family: I have a large family and maybe it's just that they missed the post or don't want to bother me, but their silence speaks loudly. Her father called the unit once and they told him that they'd call him back, he didn't answer. I haven't heard from him since Wednesday. She's watching and again, silence speaks loudly.

People: I've watched other parents, as we've waited for visitation to start and as a previous medical assistant, but also a self-proclaimed 'expert' in nonverbals, I've learned a lot about people and have bit my tongue til it bled. Here goes... The lady at the desk is simply doing her job and you must follow the same rules that the rest of us have to follow. Yes, coming to visitation is kind of inconvenient, but it's your kid, put your damn cell phone in the locker and attend to your child's needs. Your transgendered child is perfect just the way he is and might be a little less depressed if you'd quit calling him by female pronouns. There is a serious need for family units, where you can check your entire family in and get help, because you sir are an egotistical ass and could use some therapy. There are a lot of parents that are simply overwhelmed by the mental health needs of their child...we should give parents more tools for their parenting toolbox, in this regard. Laughter sometimes helps. Blue eyeshadow has never looked good on anyone.

I could write a book on this topic and she's already talked about us doing that, when she gets out, because writing in therapeutic. This is my motivation to get my ass together and get caught up on my school work today. PhD Jess will have a greater voice than flunked out of school Jess. 

To those that have reached out, thank you. Your words have meant a lot. 

To those of you who are agast that I've put our business out there for the world to see, you are part of the problem. Mental illness is no different than those allergies you keep bitching about in your status posts.