Cutting-A Mom's Perspective
Some of you may have read the post Honey Bunny wrote about her cutting at http://eyesthrougheyes.blogspot.com. If not, go there now. It's her first hand account of her cutting journey. I'll be honest, it isn't pretty. It isn't all rainbows and butterflies. It's honest. It's raw and it's painful to read. Here is my response/tag along/follow up/other point of view to her blog.
Honey Bunny has always struggled. She has always been different. She wasn't a jock. She wasn't a "popular kid." She never had it easy in school. She never had it easy in life. Her biological father abused her. He abandoned her (thank goodness) and both of those things have left open wounds which no one can heal but herself. It's been a long journey parenting a child with special needs which aren't seen to the outside world. No one can see her and say: "Wow. She has challenges. Let's be more gentle." Nope. They just see a girl, this week, with bright red hair, a lip piercing and probably some Sharpie tattoos all over herself. Chances are they judge her because of that. But me? I don't. I know those are signs of her surviving. Those are signs of her fight. Those are signs of her becoming healthy. You see, she is finding herself and her strength. It takes more strength to find yourself and stand out than it does to blend in. It takes more strength to stand up and say I am done with this crappy life and begin a new one. It takes more strength to risk failure than it does to risk nothing at all. And this is our journey together for the past few years....grab a tissue and be ready to cry.
Two years ago was a dark time in our lives. Hubby was unemployed. We lost our home. We lost our money. We lost our security. We were looking at moving into my parent's basement into an 11x15 room, all four of us and our dog. It was a winter of much snow. Of much darkness. Honey Bunny was battling severe depression. Every day was a struggle to just keep her alive. Education was the farthest thing from my mind. I didn't care what she learned from a book or a movie. I just wanted her alive. I prayed. I cried. I yelled. I talked to doctors. Nothing was working.
We moved into my parent's basement. That wasn't fun for anyone. She met up with an old friend who introduced her to someone new, a cutter. We talked about the cutting and I had hoped she wouldn't cut, but I knew in my heart she would start. When Honey Bunny becomes obsessed with something and starts asking questions about it, it means she's going to try it. I just had to sit back and wait.
The waiting is the worst part. Waiting for your child, or any loved one, to spiral so far down that they bottom out is like waiting for the Grim Reaper to finally get to you, after watching him approach slowly and not being able to speed up the process. It's like death just hangs around, waiting, to see what you will do next. It was the most horrible wait. I sat in silence, waiting for her to come to me. I sat in silence watching her sleep for hours, watching the long sleeves cover her arms, watching her isolate, watching her hide, watching her stop take care of herself, watching her not enjoy her art work, watching my child die in front of my eyes.
Understand, trying to interfere with someone who is hell bent on destructing themselves doesn't work. It only causes them to do so in private. It causes alcoholics to hide their liquor, it causes self-harm to go to even deeper depths. When someone you love is hell bent on destruction, they will find a way. I know. I did it. I kept choosing more abusive relationships until I met her father. He took the cake.I know this road and I know only Honey Bunny can bring herself out of those deep, dark woods. All I can do is stand by, always at the ready, to give her my hand and help guide her, if she'll accept it.
In August of last year, she woke me around 11pm. Hubby was in NY visiting his son. She showed me her arms. They were covered with horizontal cuts from wrist to elbow on both arms. I stayed calm. I thanked her for showing me. I held her. We cried. We got some tea. We talked. I held her as she fell asleep. I called the insurance company at 1am. I found out which hospitals were covered since we were on State due to unemployment. I couldn't take her back to the private one she was in the year before for suicidal plans. This time, it was a state funded one. Crap. Those are awful! I cried knowing I had no choice. I couldn't keep her safe from herself. I couldn't watch her 24/7. No one can do that for a prolonged period of time.
We checked her into the hospital the next day. I thought it would only be a 72 hr thing, enough to get some safes in the house, enough to get some sleep and to have her home and in an out patient program after that. They wouldn't let me take her out! I had to leave her in a place where she was in an alarmed room because the girls there threatened to rape her for 10 days! It was the most horrible experience in my life. I sobbed every night when I left that horrible holding pen of evil. I sat in the car, after visitation, and sobbed and sobbed. Usually for about an hour. She'd see me drive out and wave goodbye, on a good night. What she didn't see is I would park farther down and just sob. I was broken. I couldn't save my baby. I couldn't save the one person who saved me.
Fast forward a few months. She had relapses. I would freak out at first. Then, I stopped. It got to the point where every 3-6 weeks she would relapse. I couldn't keep fighting for her. I couldn't keep fighting for her life. I couldn't keep fighting and losing the rest of my family. She was destroying Boo Bear. She was destroying my marriage. She was destroying me.
One morning, a mutual friend 700 miles away Facebooked me telling me she saw pictures of Liz cutting on her Instagram account. I was horrified. She was telling the world, but not me? WTF?! I went upstairs, woke her up and insisted she show me the cuts. They weren't as bad as before, so no need for the hospital, but still, why did she continue to want to destroy herself? To this day, I still don't get it. I accept it. I don't understand it.
At that point, through tears and with much heart break, I told her that if she wanted to kill herself, I had accepted it. I know one day I will wake up and find her gone. I know that she has the power to destroy herself and those around her and I will no longer stop her. My exact words were: "I have to live with the fact that one day I'm going to wake up and you're going to be gone. I have to live with the fear of losing you every day. And in the end, all I can tell myself is that I did my best."
I wasn't giving up on her. I was simply acknowledging that I could no longer be held prisoner by her sickness and her need to destroy herself. It was the hardest thing I have ever said. Did it set me free? Somewhat. It put down a boundary. It said: here is where you stop and I begin. But the truth is, some mornings, when her depression is still pulling her down, I still fear I will go up to wake her and she'll be dead. I fear finding a blue child under the covers because the temptation to cut became too strong and she lost her battle by making a cut too big or too deep or in the wrong direction. I still fear I am going to lose my one precious love who helped me save my life.
But, for now, I try to squelch that fear as she has been clean for 6 months on 10/26/14. I celebrate every day she choses to live and I enjoy every moment we share together. I don't waste my time arguing about mundane crap - hair color, piercings, tattoos, school work - because I have a bigger goal in mind: keeping my daughter alive for as long as possible. I know I can't keep her here on this Earth if she doesn't want to be and I've made as much peace with that as possible. But if the only thing she has is knowing that someone is willing to fight with her, then know I will do that every moment of every day, sword in hand-ready to help her battle whatever dragon or demon or inner turmoil she has to fight..but she has to ask for my help, because if she doesn't ask for it, it won't matter.
Honey Bunny has always struggled. She has always been different. She wasn't a jock. She wasn't a "popular kid." She never had it easy in school. She never had it easy in life. Her biological father abused her. He abandoned her (thank goodness) and both of those things have left open wounds which no one can heal but herself. It's been a long journey parenting a child with special needs which aren't seen to the outside world. No one can see her and say: "Wow. She has challenges. Let's be more gentle." Nope. They just see a girl, this week, with bright red hair, a lip piercing and probably some Sharpie tattoos all over herself. Chances are they judge her because of that. But me? I don't. I know those are signs of her surviving. Those are signs of her fight. Those are signs of her becoming healthy. You see, she is finding herself and her strength. It takes more strength to find yourself and stand out than it does to blend in. It takes more strength to stand up and say I am done with this crappy life and begin a new one. It takes more strength to risk failure than it does to risk nothing at all. And this is our journey together for the past few years....grab a tissue and be ready to cry.
Two years ago was a dark time in our lives. Hubby was unemployed. We lost our home. We lost our money. We lost our security. We were looking at moving into my parent's basement into an 11x15 room, all four of us and our dog. It was a winter of much snow. Of much darkness. Honey Bunny was battling severe depression. Every day was a struggle to just keep her alive. Education was the farthest thing from my mind. I didn't care what she learned from a book or a movie. I just wanted her alive. I prayed. I cried. I yelled. I talked to doctors. Nothing was working.
We moved into my parent's basement. That wasn't fun for anyone. She met up with an old friend who introduced her to someone new, a cutter. We talked about the cutting and I had hoped she wouldn't cut, but I knew in my heart she would start. When Honey Bunny becomes obsessed with something and starts asking questions about it, it means she's going to try it. I just had to sit back and wait.
The waiting is the worst part. Waiting for your child, or any loved one, to spiral so far down that they bottom out is like waiting for the Grim Reaper to finally get to you, after watching him approach slowly and not being able to speed up the process. It's like death just hangs around, waiting, to see what you will do next. It was the most horrible wait. I sat in silence, waiting for her to come to me. I sat in silence watching her sleep for hours, watching the long sleeves cover her arms, watching her isolate, watching her hide, watching her stop take care of herself, watching her not enjoy her art work, watching my child die in front of my eyes.
Understand, trying to interfere with someone who is hell bent on destructing themselves doesn't work. It only causes them to do so in private. It causes alcoholics to hide their liquor, it causes self-harm to go to even deeper depths. When someone you love is hell bent on destruction, they will find a way. I know. I did it. I kept choosing more abusive relationships until I met her father. He took the cake.I know this road and I know only Honey Bunny can bring herself out of those deep, dark woods. All I can do is stand by, always at the ready, to give her my hand and help guide her, if she'll accept it.
In August of last year, she woke me around 11pm. Hubby was in NY visiting his son. She showed me her arms. They were covered with horizontal cuts from wrist to elbow on both arms. I stayed calm. I thanked her for showing me. I held her. We cried. We got some tea. We talked. I held her as she fell asleep. I called the insurance company at 1am. I found out which hospitals were covered since we were on State due to unemployment. I couldn't take her back to the private one she was in the year before for suicidal plans. This time, it was a state funded one. Crap. Those are awful! I cried knowing I had no choice. I couldn't keep her safe from herself. I couldn't watch her 24/7. No one can do that for a prolonged period of time.
We checked her into the hospital the next day. I thought it would only be a 72 hr thing, enough to get some safes in the house, enough to get some sleep and to have her home and in an out patient program after that. They wouldn't let me take her out! I had to leave her in a place where she was in an alarmed room because the girls there threatened to rape her for 10 days! It was the most horrible experience in my life. I sobbed every night when I left that horrible holding pen of evil. I sat in the car, after visitation, and sobbed and sobbed. Usually for about an hour. She'd see me drive out and wave goodbye, on a good night. What she didn't see is I would park farther down and just sob. I was broken. I couldn't save my baby. I couldn't save the one person who saved me.
Fast forward a few months. She had relapses. I would freak out at first. Then, I stopped. It got to the point where every 3-6 weeks she would relapse. I couldn't keep fighting for her. I couldn't keep fighting for her life. I couldn't keep fighting and losing the rest of my family. She was destroying Boo Bear. She was destroying my marriage. She was destroying me.
One morning, a mutual friend 700 miles away Facebooked me telling me she saw pictures of Liz cutting on her Instagram account. I was horrified. She was telling the world, but not me? WTF?! I went upstairs, woke her up and insisted she show me the cuts. They weren't as bad as before, so no need for the hospital, but still, why did she continue to want to destroy herself? To this day, I still don't get it. I accept it. I don't understand it.
At that point, through tears and with much heart break, I told her that if she wanted to kill herself, I had accepted it. I know one day I will wake up and find her gone. I know that she has the power to destroy herself and those around her and I will no longer stop her. My exact words were: "I have to live with the fact that one day I'm going to wake up and you're going to be gone. I have to live with the fear of losing you every day. And in the end, all I can tell myself is that I did my best."
I wasn't giving up on her. I was simply acknowledging that I could no longer be held prisoner by her sickness and her need to destroy herself. It was the hardest thing I have ever said. Did it set me free? Somewhat. It put down a boundary. It said: here is where you stop and I begin. But the truth is, some mornings, when her depression is still pulling her down, I still fear I will go up to wake her and she'll be dead. I fear finding a blue child under the covers because the temptation to cut became too strong and she lost her battle by making a cut too big or too deep or in the wrong direction. I still fear I am going to lose my one precious love who helped me save my life.
But, for now, I try to squelch that fear as she has been clean for 6 months on 10/26/14. I celebrate every day she choses to live and I enjoy every moment we share together. I don't waste my time arguing about mundane crap - hair color, piercings, tattoos, school work - because I have a bigger goal in mind: keeping my daughter alive for as long as possible. I know I can't keep her here on this Earth if she doesn't want to be and I've made as much peace with that as possible. But if the only thing she has is knowing that someone is willing to fight with her, then know I will do that every moment of every day, sword in hand-ready to help her battle whatever dragon or demon or inner turmoil she has to fight..but she has to ask for my help, because if she doesn't ask for it, it won't matter.
Comments
Post a Comment