While eating dinner, I looked at my first born daughter. My beautiful Karleah "barley". I don't remember the words we spoke, but I had such a strong feeling, like deja vu, but not like I'd ever experienced before.
I recalled "watching" that moment before. When I was at a low point during the divorce. When I was losing faith in His plan for me. I remembered the moment I felt the presence of TJ next to me, without seeing or knowing him. Without even knowing if the baby I sensed was a boy or a girl. I recalled looking at a teenage daughter, a tween son, Carson, Vanessa, and Faith were older but I know my babies.
I remember peace washing over me as I knew this was my future. Part of His plan for me. The present - day me remembered knowing my husband was picking up my step children. I knew that this was my beautiful, happy, future life.
I recall knowing that I wouldn't remember what I was witnessing. Knowing that it was just a glimpse given to me when I needed hope.
As I relived this moment for the first time, I was reminded what a beautiful life I've been blessed with. Blending a family is hard. I get frustrated, discouraged, angry, depressed, and I often fall short of being the person I know I should be.
In that moment, I was given just as much peace and comfort as I had been given years before. My faith in His plan was again strengthened, and I am so grateful for the reminder.
Thursday, August 3, 2017
Monday, May 29, 2017
A Persecution Complex
Do you ever feel like everyone is out to get you? One of "those days" when it seems like nobody really cares about you or your feelings/struggles? Ever feel completely alone, and worthless? I think we all struggle with this to some extent. With depression/Bipolar it's almost a constant feeling. A never-ending battle. My good friend, who also has bipolar disorder, said "I just wish people could see how hard I'm trying. If only people knew what it takes!" I told Jason the other day "if some people had to deal with the racing, obsessive, negative thoughts that I have constantly, they'd probably go crazy. But at least they would understand."
I've described it as the TV shows where a character is faced with a decision. On one shoulder there is an angel, and on the other shoulder sits a devil. The character has to decide which to listen to, and looks back and forth from angel to devil. This is my life, when I am in the darkness. It is a constant, daily struggle to decipher the angel's voice from the devil's. Thoughts about worthlessness, being ugly, fat, stupid, and lazy are always there. Even though I know that they're not true, or at least I hope they aren't, it is a battle to keep those thoughts away. If you hear something often enough, it must be true, right? Well, I have the negative thoughts almost every waking moment. Can you imagine? And people wonder why sometimes a person with bipolar/depression/anxiety can't get out of bed.
I have (in another blog) mentioned how I have struggled with depression, suicidal ideation, and low self-esteem since early childhood. I can remember in preschool, when I would sit in the gutter and play with the dirt because I felt I didn't deserve better. I imagined all across the world, children were taught to love everyone as Jesus did, except for me. I once had someone tell me that it was very selfish, to think that people across the globe knew me, even if they were taught to hate me..... I used to think that every time there was a prayer said, I was the only person actually closing my eyes and everyone else was staring at me in disgust. I drove my mom crazy with the constant fear of speaking to others. I whispered everything to her, and her alone. Throughout my life, when a teacher or peer would talk about how they loved "everyone" in a group, I just knew that meant everyone besides me.
At one point, I was probably about 9, my mom told me that I had a persecution complex. I had no idea what that meant, and she said that I thought everyone was out to get me. I thought to myself "I don't think that, I know that." and I wondered why my mom didn't know that.
In the summer of 1997, I started counseling and was placed on anti-depressants. I almost forgot about the constant, nagging thoughts of worthlessness. I found a new sense of self. I felt like I was worthwhile, and I could be happy.
Twice since then, the darkness has come back in full force, and both times the persecution complex was there. I didn't even recognize that until a few days ago. Few knew the depth of my depression because I was still functioning. I showered, got dressed, went to work/church, and did my best to keep up with the house and kids. Like my friend said; if only people knew how hard I was trying, maybe the comments on my failures would have been less frequent. Judgements about my parenting, comments about laziness at home or work, and my failures as a wife. Perhaps the people that turned their backs on me would have realized how harsh they were. I would say they damaged me, or hurt me, but I found strength and I moved past that. I did learn some valuable lessons about the power of words. I learned that you can not assume anything about a person, just because they seem to have everything together.
No amount of words seem to counteract the negativity. Logically, I know that I am not as bad as the obsessive thoughts lead me to believe. Spiritually, I know that God loves me and I am worthwhile. But I still have to fight that devil on my shoulder, and that is harder than most people could ever understand.
I've described it as the TV shows where a character is faced with a decision. On one shoulder there is an angel, and on the other shoulder sits a devil. The character has to decide which to listen to, and looks back and forth from angel to devil. This is my life, when I am in the darkness. It is a constant, daily struggle to decipher the angel's voice from the devil's. Thoughts about worthlessness, being ugly, fat, stupid, and lazy are always there. Even though I know that they're not true, or at least I hope they aren't, it is a battle to keep those thoughts away. If you hear something often enough, it must be true, right? Well, I have the negative thoughts almost every waking moment. Can you imagine? And people wonder why sometimes a person with bipolar/depression/anxiety can't get out of bed.
I have (in another blog) mentioned how I have struggled with depression, suicidal ideation, and low self-esteem since early childhood. I can remember in preschool, when I would sit in the gutter and play with the dirt because I felt I didn't deserve better. I imagined all across the world, children were taught to love everyone as Jesus did, except for me. I once had someone tell me that it was very selfish, to think that people across the globe knew me, even if they were taught to hate me..... I used to think that every time there was a prayer said, I was the only person actually closing my eyes and everyone else was staring at me in disgust. I drove my mom crazy with the constant fear of speaking to others. I whispered everything to her, and her alone. Throughout my life, when a teacher or peer would talk about how they loved "everyone" in a group, I just knew that meant everyone besides me.
At one point, I was probably about 9, my mom told me that I had a persecution complex. I had no idea what that meant, and she said that I thought everyone was out to get me. I thought to myself "I don't think that, I know that." and I wondered why my mom didn't know that.
In the summer of 1997, I started counseling and was placed on anti-depressants. I almost forgot about the constant, nagging thoughts of worthlessness. I found a new sense of self. I felt like I was worthwhile, and I could be happy.
Twice since then, the darkness has come back in full force, and both times the persecution complex was there. I didn't even recognize that until a few days ago. Few knew the depth of my depression because I was still functioning. I showered, got dressed, went to work/church, and did my best to keep up with the house and kids. Like my friend said; if only people knew how hard I was trying, maybe the comments on my failures would have been less frequent. Judgements about my parenting, comments about laziness at home or work, and my failures as a wife. Perhaps the people that turned their backs on me would have realized how harsh they were. I would say they damaged me, or hurt me, but I found strength and I moved past that. I did learn some valuable lessons about the power of words. I learned that you can not assume anything about a person, just because they seem to have everything together.
No amount of words seem to counteract the negativity. Logically, I know that I am not as bad as the obsessive thoughts lead me to believe. Spiritually, I know that God loves me and I am worthwhile. But I still have to fight that devil on my shoulder, and that is harder than most people could ever understand.
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Still a Stigma
I guess I assumed that because I have blogged about it, shared articles, done presentations, and openly talked about my struggles, everyone around me, everyone close to me, had a basic understanding of depression. I was so wrong. It's still everywhere. My heart is so heavy right now. I have spent the better part of the last 4 days crying whenever I am alone (or alone with TJ). I don't know where to begin. I don't know the middle or the end, either. I just know I have to blog. It will be nonsense, I'm sure.....
I have been struggling with depression again since before TJ was born. That's about a year. Those around me had no idea. In fact, when I finally got a new doctor, changed my dosage and began to feel better, those closest to me were surprised to hear that I had been depressed. I guess I'm better at hiding it than I thought!
Then, I watched the STUPID show on Netflix called "13 Reasons Why" and I relived my high school days. I didn't have the same struggles as Hannah Baker (fictional main character). But I was suicidal. I thought about dying and fantasized about being hospitalized or taken away in an ambulance. But the stupid show never addresses mental illness. It blames other people, and situations like bullying or sexual abuse. Which is rarely the reason people complete suicide. (I say complete instead of "commit" because "commit" makes it sound like a crime. and it is not a crime to be mentally ill!!.)
Yesterday at work, a coworker started talking about a story in the news. About a young girl that hung herself, and how one of her friends video taped the whole thing. As he talked, he expressed harsh feelings for the girl and the devastation she caused to her family and friends. The focus was on her act, nothing of the things that led up to it.
I don't tell many people about my "attempts" at suicide. I have too often been ridiculed and told "you didn't really want to kill yourself" or "it wasn't a REAL attempt" and, my favorite line "you just wanted attention"..... This is a BIG pet peeve. Of COURSE it's seeking attention. It's a cry for help. It doesn't matter if the person REALLY wanted to die. It doesn't matter if they were serious about the suicide. IT IS A CRY FOR HELP. Why is that so hard for people to understand? It doesn't matter the level of sincerity or the seriousness of the mental illness. It doesn't change the fact that whomever is thinking about death/suicide is seeking help. In whatever way they can think of.
When I struggled with anorexia/bulimia tendencies, the few people I opened up to doubted that I was really struggling. It wasn't "that serious" to skip a few meals, and I was accused of just seeking attention when I started purging. YES! I WAS seeking attention. Why is that so bad? I was going through some serious hell at the time, and that is how I coped. Is that healthy? NO. Is it dangerous? YES. Did I get ignored? Absolutely!
I know of at least 3 people that have been admitted into a psychiatric care facility. It angers me that there has to be shame about it. If I broke a bone, or had a heart attack, or found out I had diabetes, nobody would bat an eye if it was posted on social media. People would reach out to me, offer to bring meals, or other offers for help with whatever I might need. But a suicide attempt? Serious depression? OH! THE SHAME!. Why is there still shame in someone needing help with a mental breakdown? Why do we judge that so harshly? Or, like I mentioned before, why do people question whether or not it was "sincere" or "necessary"? The real question should be "why did that person fear asking for help for so long?"
We have come so far, but we still have so far to go.While I am not currently struggling with 'suicidal ideation', I am struggling with self worth. I am fighting the constant battle against negative thoughts. I am trying to convince myself that I deserve food, or sleep, or any form of happiness and comfort. I don't know how to ask for help. Even after 30 years of this battle, I still don't know how to reach out. I've been disregarded too many times. That is the saddest part of all.
I have been struggling with depression again since before TJ was born. That's about a year. Those around me had no idea. In fact, when I finally got a new doctor, changed my dosage and began to feel better, those closest to me were surprised to hear that I had been depressed. I guess I'm better at hiding it than I thought!
Then, I watched the STUPID show on Netflix called "13 Reasons Why" and I relived my high school days. I didn't have the same struggles as Hannah Baker (fictional main character). But I was suicidal. I thought about dying and fantasized about being hospitalized or taken away in an ambulance. But the stupid show never addresses mental illness. It blames other people, and situations like bullying or sexual abuse. Which is rarely the reason people complete suicide. (I say complete instead of "commit" because "commit" makes it sound like a crime. and it is not a crime to be mentally ill!!.)
Yesterday at work, a coworker started talking about a story in the news. About a young girl that hung herself, and how one of her friends video taped the whole thing. As he talked, he expressed harsh feelings for the girl and the devastation she caused to her family and friends. The focus was on her act, nothing of the things that led up to it.
I don't tell many people about my "attempts" at suicide. I have too often been ridiculed and told "you didn't really want to kill yourself" or "it wasn't a REAL attempt" and, my favorite line "you just wanted attention"..... This is a BIG pet peeve. Of COURSE it's seeking attention. It's a cry for help. It doesn't matter if the person REALLY wanted to die. It doesn't matter if they were serious about the suicide. IT IS A CRY FOR HELP. Why is that so hard for people to understand? It doesn't matter the level of sincerity or the seriousness of the mental illness. It doesn't change the fact that whomever is thinking about death/suicide is seeking help. In whatever way they can think of.
When I struggled with anorexia/bulimia tendencies, the few people I opened up to doubted that I was really struggling. It wasn't "that serious" to skip a few meals, and I was accused of just seeking attention when I started purging. YES! I WAS seeking attention. Why is that so bad? I was going through some serious hell at the time, and that is how I coped. Is that healthy? NO. Is it dangerous? YES. Did I get ignored? Absolutely!
I know of at least 3 people that have been admitted into a psychiatric care facility. It angers me that there has to be shame about it. If I broke a bone, or had a heart attack, or found out I had diabetes, nobody would bat an eye if it was posted on social media. People would reach out to me, offer to bring meals, or other offers for help with whatever I might need. But a suicide attempt? Serious depression? OH! THE SHAME!. Why is there still shame in someone needing help with a mental breakdown? Why do we judge that so harshly? Or, like I mentioned before, why do people question whether or not it was "sincere" or "necessary"? The real question should be "why did that person fear asking for help for so long?"
We have come so far, but we still have so far to go.While I am not currently struggling with 'suicidal ideation', I am struggling with self worth. I am fighting the constant battle against negative thoughts. I am trying to convince myself that I deserve food, or sleep, or any form of happiness and comfort. I don't know how to ask for help. Even after 30 years of this battle, I still don't know how to reach out. I've been disregarded too many times. That is the saddest part of all.
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
Cheesy Love Post
This has been on my mind for a while. So I had to blog it to help me process it. And to help me always remember.
As I tried to choose a song, I read through all our text messages, listened to the radio, browsed sheet music, and prayed. There were a lot I thought were fitting. Some I couldn’t hit the notes on, some I didn’t like the entire song so I couldn’t use them. I sat down at my parents’ piano, put some music in front of me, and started to play. As I played, I glanced at their digital picture frame, and just as our engagement picture flashed, I was singing “All along, I believed I would find you” and suddenly I knew I had found the song I should sing to my love. Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years”: (lyrics are bold/italicized. My thoughts are regular font)
Beauty in all she is
I will be brave (although I don’t feel brave, I can be brave with him)
I will not let anything, take away
What's standing in front of me (and Satan has certainly tried to break us)
Every breath, every hour has come to this (all of our experiences are what brought us together. Without the hurt, we couldn’t appreciate the joy)
One step closer
I have died every day, waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
And all along I believed, I would find you (after a priesthood blessing I was given, I knew that I would one day find a man that would “leave [me] in awe of the way [I] can be treated”.)
Time has brought your heart to me, (TIME. Timing made a big difference. If we hadn’t met at the time we did, things never would have worked out. The more I think about this, the more I realize the truth in that)
I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
One step closer
One step closer
I have died every day, waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years (despite his efforts to hide it, Jason fights fears, too. Divorce hurts, no matter the circumstances. Sometimes I forget that, but I try to be strong for him, as he is for me.)
I'll love you for a thousand more
And all along I believed, I would find you (all along… even when I cried myself to sleep. Even when I questioned why Heavenly Father would not stop the hurt. I knew, deep down, that one day I would find the right man for me.)
Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more (and more than that)……….
It's been really hard at times. Blending a family is not for the weak, and I know the worst isn't over yet. But at least we love each other, so we will figure it out with the help of a loving Heavenly Father, who brought us together.
When we started
dating, I struggled to let myself fall in love with Jason. Even when I admitted
I was in love, often doubts would rush over me, and I found myself drowning in
fear. When we would go to the temple, I always knew he was “the one” for me. But we were moving so fast, and I had
been hurt so much by the divorce, and then the guy I dated for ten months. I
had envisioned myself marrying him, and he broke my heart. There were no “fireworks”
or “weak-in-the-knees” moments for us. It just…. was… it just fit.
Even now, after
two years of marriage, I find myself fighting to keep old wounds closed. My
heart is still hurt. Jason is helping me, but years of hurt will take time to
get past. I know we were brought together by a loving Heavenly Father, and
because of Jesus Christ we can be together forever.
When we became
engaged, exactly 2 months after we met, I still faced many fears. I knew that I
wanted to sing a song to Jason at the reception. I had always been afraid to
sing in front of people, but somehow I found myself longing to sing to him.
Those who’ve known me the longest were shocked when I mentioned wanting to sing
in public for him. They teased “he must
be good for you if you’re going to sing!”
As I tried to choose a song, I read through all our text messages, listened to the radio, browsed sheet music, and prayed. There were a lot I thought were fitting. Some I couldn’t hit the notes on, some I didn’t like the entire song so I couldn’t use them. I sat down at my parents’ piano, put some music in front of me, and started to play. As I played, I glanced at their digital picture frame, and just as our engagement picture flashed, I was singing “All along, I believed I would find you” and suddenly I knew I had found the song I should sing to my love. Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years”: (lyrics are bold/italicized. My thoughts are regular font)
Heart beats fast
Colors and promises
How to be brave (the last word I’d use to describe myself was “brave”, so how could I be?)
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall (so afraid that if my heart broke again I’d never recover)
But watching you stand alone (I will never forget the first time I saw Jason, standing alone in the IHOP entrance, waiting for me to show. There was some confusion about our first date, so we almost didn’t meet. But when he said “I’ll just get a table for one” I turned my car around. I couldn’t bear the thought of him sitting alone. Later, he laughed about that because he wouldn’t have minded eating alone.)
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow (when I look in his eyes, I find peace. I’ve said this from day one.)
One step closerColors and promises
How to be brave (the last word I’d use to describe myself was “brave”, so how could I be?)
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall (so afraid that if my heart broke again I’d never recover)
But watching you stand alone (I will never forget the first time I saw Jason, standing alone in the IHOP entrance, waiting for me to show. There was some confusion about our first date, so we almost didn’t meet. But when he said “I’ll just get a table for one” I turned my car around. I couldn’t bear the thought of him sitting alone. Later, he laughed about that because he wouldn’t have minded eating alone.)
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow (when I look in his eyes, I find peace. I’ve said this from day one.)
I have died every
day, waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
Time stands still
(When Jason proposed, it was like the world stopped for a
few minutes as we considered eternity together)Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
Beauty in all she is
I will be brave (although I don’t feel brave, I can be brave with him)
I will not let anything, take away
What's standing in front of me (and Satan has certainly tried to break us)
Every breath, every hour has come to this (all of our experiences are what brought us together. Without the hurt, we couldn’t appreciate the joy)
One step closer
I have died every day, waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
And all along I believed, I would find you (after a priesthood blessing I was given, I knew that I would one day find a man that would “leave [me] in awe of the way [I] can be treated”.)
Time has brought your heart to me, (TIME. Timing made a big difference. If we hadn’t met at the time we did, things never would have worked out. The more I think about this, the more I realize the truth in that)
I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
One step closer
One step closer
I have died every day, waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years (despite his efforts to hide it, Jason fights fears, too. Divorce hurts, no matter the circumstances. Sometimes I forget that, but I try to be strong for him, as he is for me.)
I'll love you for a thousand more
And all along I believed, I would find you (all along… even when I cried myself to sleep. Even when I questioned why Heavenly Father would not stop the hurt. I knew, deep down, that one day I would find the right man for me.)
Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more (and more than that)……….
It's been really hard at times. Blending a family is not for the weak, and I know the worst isn't over yet. But at least we love each other, so we will figure it out with the help of a loving Heavenly Father, who brought us together.
Friday, December 9, 2016
When Your Child is Hurting
My heart is breaking. I don't know where to begin. Every parent can tell you the heartache that is felt when their children are hurting. But to actually experience it, is the loneliest feeling. I am at a loss with my son, and it feels like I have nowhere to turn.
Years ago, Carson started talking about hating himself. Having struggled with low self-esteem and suicidal tendencies at a young age myself, I wanted to nip that in the bud. I tried to focus on positivity, complimenting him, and reminding him of his importance. Several times I sat down with him to explain how much I loved him, how I gave myself shots for months to get him, how I prayed for years to have him join our family. I told him how much I loved him, and we had many family home evening talks about how each of us add so much to our family, and sharing the things we all love about each other.
The episodes were infrequent. But they weren't stopping.
Eventually, Carson wasn't just talking about hating himself. He started talking about wanting to die. I tried everything I could think of. I prayed, I had discussions, and continued to show him unconditional love.
The episodes were more common.
Things escalated. Carson would lash out, trying to hurt his siblings or break things and talking about killing himself. Nothing I did made a difference. After a while, he tried to hurt himself. I told Carson that he should probably not get baptized if he didn't respect his body. He wanted to get baptized, and I felt like it might help him overcome those feelings if he had the companionship of the Holy Ghost. It did help for a while..... but the episodes came back.
Carson didn't just threaten to hurt himself. He actually did. It was superficial, but it scared me. I called about getting him into counseling.
The counselor was no help at all. He never once talked to Carson individually, he didn't seem to be trying to find the root of the problem, he didn't try any sort of therapy, just talking. I am sure the therapist was good, but he wasn't a good FIT for us. He made me feel like I just had to make some changes in my parenting and Carson would improve.
I read articles online, I prayed, Jason and I discussed at length what we should do. Carson always waited for an audience before he would act out. He would sit, waiting, and once I looked at him or gave him any attention, he would start trying to break things, or hurt himself (or others). I tried, and I failed. Nothing was working. Things were escalating. Before, Carson only acted up at home. Usually only around me. If friends or extended family were over, he didn't say those things. Jason felt he was just trying to manipulate me because he knew I would react. Which seemed to be right. And to some degree, I still think that is true.
Soon, I got a note from Carson's teacher. This year is the first time the twins have been in class together. Vanessa told me that Carson had acted up, and the teacher wanted to talk to me. The note just said "I would like to discuss something that happened with Carson. Please call me." We played phone tag for a few days, and then I went in one afternoon. She told me Carson had talked about killing himself in class. He had started banging his head on the desk, and several students were afraid. Then, he wrote "I am stupid" on assignments. I fought back tears as we discussed how we could help Carson.
In the 4 months since school started, I have received multiple reports (usually from Vanessa before anyone else) about Carson trying to cut himself with scissors, or banging his head on the desk. At home, he was threatening to kill others. Talk of killing, running away, death, and suicide became commonplace. When I called my insurance about a new therapist, the person I spoke with made me feel like I wasn't doing my part to help my son. Like I didn't care enough about him, because I didn't rush him to an ER and have him admitted to the psych ward.
I have hidden all the sharp objects in our home, and Carson started therapy with someone new last month. I thought things were looking up. But the last two days Carson has had episodes in school. That's the first time he's had back-to-back episodes.
For several years this has been escalating. All I can do is wonder what I've done wrong. I have struggled with depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. I should know how to help my own child. I doubt every decision I make when it comes to Carson. What will make this worse? Will anything make things improve? I was hopeful, and I still think this therapist is a good fit. But I'm losing hope.
I am afraid to ask for help or advice because people will often blame me. I must have raised him wrong, or he is being abused, or I got remarried too quickly, or I had a baby and he was traumatized. If circumstances weren't to blame, then it's my genes. I passed on a mental illness to my son. I am to blame, and I don't know how to fix this. My little boy will probably struggle for the rest of his life. I don't know if I'm strong enough to help him. I am so afraid for him. I am in shock how he can go from screaming about killing himself, to wanting a hug and a kiss and telling me he loves me, in a split second.
When a child faces serious illness, parents usually face feelings of guilt. They may feel lonely, or afraid. They can find support groups, other parents struggling, doctors that understand, neighbors who will help, family to pray for them. While I know that I have been very blessed to understand mental illness, and I realize that society has come a long way in understanding, I also know that this is never going to be accepted as "just" an illness. If he is medicated, there will be those that think he's too young and I should not "drug" him. I will face judgement on every decision I make, and I already struggle with those decisions. I find myself trying to shut down, afraid to love him because I know that it will hurt to love a child with this kind of life-long battle.
I truly don't know if I'm strong enough to watch my baby fight depression.
Years ago, Carson started talking about hating himself. Having struggled with low self-esteem and suicidal tendencies at a young age myself, I wanted to nip that in the bud. I tried to focus on positivity, complimenting him, and reminding him of his importance. Several times I sat down with him to explain how much I loved him, how I gave myself shots for months to get him, how I prayed for years to have him join our family. I told him how much I loved him, and we had many family home evening talks about how each of us add so much to our family, and sharing the things we all love about each other.
The episodes were infrequent. But they weren't stopping.
Eventually, Carson wasn't just talking about hating himself. He started talking about wanting to die. I tried everything I could think of. I prayed, I had discussions, and continued to show him unconditional love.
The episodes were more common.
Things escalated. Carson would lash out, trying to hurt his siblings or break things and talking about killing himself. Nothing I did made a difference. After a while, he tried to hurt himself. I told Carson that he should probably not get baptized if he didn't respect his body. He wanted to get baptized, and I felt like it might help him overcome those feelings if he had the companionship of the Holy Ghost. It did help for a while..... but the episodes came back.
Carson didn't just threaten to hurt himself. He actually did. It was superficial, but it scared me. I called about getting him into counseling.
The counselor was no help at all. He never once talked to Carson individually, he didn't seem to be trying to find the root of the problem, he didn't try any sort of therapy, just talking. I am sure the therapist was good, but he wasn't a good FIT for us. He made me feel like I just had to make some changes in my parenting and Carson would improve.
I read articles online, I prayed, Jason and I discussed at length what we should do. Carson always waited for an audience before he would act out. He would sit, waiting, and once I looked at him or gave him any attention, he would start trying to break things, or hurt himself (or others). I tried, and I failed. Nothing was working. Things were escalating. Before, Carson only acted up at home. Usually only around me. If friends or extended family were over, he didn't say those things. Jason felt he was just trying to manipulate me because he knew I would react. Which seemed to be right. And to some degree, I still think that is true.
Soon, I got a note from Carson's teacher. This year is the first time the twins have been in class together. Vanessa told me that Carson had acted up, and the teacher wanted to talk to me. The note just said "I would like to discuss something that happened with Carson. Please call me." We played phone tag for a few days, and then I went in one afternoon. She told me Carson had talked about killing himself in class. He had started banging his head on the desk, and several students were afraid. Then, he wrote "I am stupid" on assignments. I fought back tears as we discussed how we could help Carson.
In the 4 months since school started, I have received multiple reports (usually from Vanessa before anyone else) about Carson trying to cut himself with scissors, or banging his head on the desk. At home, he was threatening to kill others. Talk of killing, running away, death, and suicide became commonplace. When I called my insurance about a new therapist, the person I spoke with made me feel like I wasn't doing my part to help my son. Like I didn't care enough about him, because I didn't rush him to an ER and have him admitted to the psych ward.
I have hidden all the sharp objects in our home, and Carson started therapy with someone new last month. I thought things were looking up. But the last two days Carson has had episodes in school. That's the first time he's had back-to-back episodes.
For several years this has been escalating. All I can do is wonder what I've done wrong. I have struggled with depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. I should know how to help my own child. I doubt every decision I make when it comes to Carson. What will make this worse? Will anything make things improve? I was hopeful, and I still think this therapist is a good fit. But I'm losing hope.
I am afraid to ask for help or advice because people will often blame me. I must have raised him wrong, or he is being abused, or I got remarried too quickly, or I had a baby and he was traumatized. If circumstances weren't to blame, then it's my genes. I passed on a mental illness to my son. I am to blame, and I don't know how to fix this. My little boy will probably struggle for the rest of his life. I don't know if I'm strong enough to help him. I am so afraid for him. I am in shock how he can go from screaming about killing himself, to wanting a hug and a kiss and telling me he loves me, in a split second.
When a child faces serious illness, parents usually face feelings of guilt. They may feel lonely, or afraid. They can find support groups, other parents struggling, doctors that understand, neighbors who will help, family to pray for them. While I know that I have been very blessed to understand mental illness, and I realize that society has come a long way in understanding, I also know that this is never going to be accepted as "just" an illness. If he is medicated, there will be those that think he's too young and I should not "drug" him. I will face judgement on every decision I make, and I already struggle with those decisions. I find myself trying to shut down, afraid to love him because I know that it will hurt to love a child with this kind of life-long battle.
I truly don't know if I'm strong enough to watch my baby fight depression.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Travis Joshua White (TJ)
I can't believe that just 6 days after my last post, I delivered my sweet little boy, and I was blessed to have the VBAC I had hoped for. At about 11:00 on July 12th, I felt a small gush as I was cuddled up to Jason in bed. I rolled over, getting ready to make yet another trip to the bathroom. As I rolled over, there was a much bigger gush, and I knew my water had broken. I told Jason my water broke, and he said "are you sure it wasn't just pee?" then he looked over at the bed, and said "oh... yeah... your water definitely broke."
I took a shower, called my coworker to inform her she'd need to cover me the next day, and let my mom know we were headed to the hospital. Jason woke Karleah up to let her know what was happening and that she'd need to watch the kids for a while.
We got to the hospital after midnight, and the nurses seemed to doubt that my water had broken. They had to "make sure". Of course, they confirmed it and admitted me. I was blessed to go in when I did. The nurses questioned if I wanted a VBAC once they saw that I have 2 previous cesareans. I had the perfect nurse for my situation. She questioned why I had the 2nd cesarean, and rolled her eyes because she agreed there was no reason I couldn't have had a VBAC then. She was realistic, but very optimistic as well. She supported the VBAC option, and said that if I had to have a C-section, she would make sure the staff knew that I wanted to hold my baby immediately and have skin-to-skin contact and be able to nurse the baby right away. She had done personal studies on the importance of this contact, and even though it wasn't exactly hospital "policy" she would do her best to make sure I had that opportunity. I was so relieved!
There was meconium in the amniotic fluid, so I knew the hospital would be putting me on a timeline, and if I didn't progress quickly enough, I would have to have cesarean. I was afraid to get an epidural too soon (or at all) because it had slowed my labor before. I was pacing my room, trying to "move things along", but when the nurse (Jenni) checked me a couple hours later, I wasn't progressing. I know that I looked frightened, because she turned and put her hand on my leg, then calmly said "it's OK. Things could change. You've done this before, and can do it again. Either way, it will be the best outcome for you and baby." I couldn't have asked for a better nurse! So wonderfully supportive of my choices and hopes!
Around 4am, when Jenni returned, she was just as surprised as I was to find just how quickly things were moving. I got the epidural. I was struggling with the decision, because I wanted another un-medicated birth. Part of me is still disappointed I didn't wait it out. But I had very high hopes that at least I would have a VBAC. At about 5:30, I knew it was time to have my baby. My doctor showed up just in time! TJ was born at 5:59am, weighing 8 pounds, 3 ounces and 20 inches long. I got to hold him immediately, though only for a couple minutes since he was struggling to breath with all that meconium in his lungs.
I lay there in the hospital, thrilled that I had successfully delivered my baby, feeling very empowered. Jenni had just missed it. But I DID it! My doctor said "way to go! you beat the odds!". I just smiled, and looked at Jason.
TJ is now 2 1/2 months old, and I still feel so happy that I was blessed to have the experience I had hoped for.
I took a shower, called my coworker to inform her she'd need to cover me the next day, and let my mom know we were headed to the hospital. Jason woke Karleah up to let her know what was happening and that she'd need to watch the kids for a while.
We got to the hospital after midnight, and the nurses seemed to doubt that my water had broken. They had to "make sure". Of course, they confirmed it and admitted me. I was blessed to go in when I did. The nurses questioned if I wanted a VBAC once they saw that I have 2 previous cesareans. I had the perfect nurse for my situation. She questioned why I had the 2nd cesarean, and rolled her eyes because she agreed there was no reason I couldn't have had a VBAC then. She was realistic, but very optimistic as well. She supported the VBAC option, and said that if I had to have a C-section, she would make sure the staff knew that I wanted to hold my baby immediately and have skin-to-skin contact and be able to nurse the baby right away. She had done personal studies on the importance of this contact, and even though it wasn't exactly hospital "policy" she would do her best to make sure I had that opportunity. I was so relieved!
There was meconium in the amniotic fluid, so I knew the hospital would be putting me on a timeline, and if I didn't progress quickly enough, I would have to have cesarean. I was afraid to get an epidural too soon (or at all) because it had slowed my labor before. I was pacing my room, trying to "move things along", but when the nurse (Jenni) checked me a couple hours later, I wasn't progressing. I know that I looked frightened, because she turned and put her hand on my leg, then calmly said "it's OK. Things could change. You've done this before, and can do it again. Either way, it will be the best outcome for you and baby." I couldn't have asked for a better nurse! So wonderfully supportive of my choices and hopes!
Around 4am, when Jenni returned, she was just as surprised as I was to find just how quickly things were moving. I got the epidural. I was struggling with the decision, because I wanted another un-medicated birth. Part of me is still disappointed I didn't wait it out. But I had very high hopes that at least I would have a VBAC. At about 5:30, I knew it was time to have my baby. My doctor showed up just in time! TJ was born at 5:59am, weighing 8 pounds, 3 ounces and 20 inches long. I got to hold him immediately, though only for a couple minutes since he was struggling to breath with all that meconium in his lungs.
I lay there in the hospital, thrilled that I had successfully delivered my baby, feeling very empowered. Jenni had just missed it. But I DID it! My doctor said "way to go! you beat the odds!". I just smiled, and looked at Jason.
TJ is now 2 1/2 months old, and I still feel so happy that I was blessed to have the experience I had hoped for.
Thursday, July 7, 2016
Sorting it out
I am 38 weeks along in the pregnancy today. I am so excited to have a baby with Jason, and to see him interact with a newborn. I am also increasingly frustrated at the number of people that share their opinions on my hopes for a VBAC delivery. It's probably just because I'm hormonal, more so this pregnancy than any other! I don't want to justify my feelings and thoughts, but I do need to sort them out so here goes.
10 1/2 years ago, I had an un-medicated birth experience. Nathanael was born before I was admitted to the hospital. The doctors didn't believe I was in labor, because I managed to stay calm through some training I received on natural childbirth. I had such a sense of satisfaction, such pure joy that I had been able to accomplish such a thing, when so many people are against it. Choosing natural childbirth doesn't make me "crazy" or "hippie" or "old fashioned". It just means I made a different choice than many others do. WHY people always have to question those of us who choose natural methods, is beyond me. It's how it was done for centuries before. I recovered quickly, and when I moved 10 days after Nathanael's birth, I was lifting boxes and furniture with the men.
Fast forward to the twins, I had an emergency cesarean because my water broke and with Carson bum-first and Vanessa foot-first it was not really an option to deliver any other way. Compared to the feeling of accomplishment after my previous experience, this was discouraging. I struggled with deep depression (no stranger in my life...) because I felt I had done "nothing". I was strapped to a table, and my son was passed into the next room for breathing help, and I barely got to see my daughter. Physically, my recovery was much easier than anticipated, but it was the emotions I struggled with. Maybe if I didn't have any comparison, it would be different. But there is no skin-to-skin contact immediately after delivery with cesarean, and I had to wait several hours to try and nurse. The staff gave Carson formula against my will, WITHOUT consulting me. I felt so powerless, with Carson in NICU, and the staff there pushing me to leave a feeding tube in when I wanted nothing more than to breastfeed him. I was not a first-time mom, but I felt like the entire staff refused to hear me out, they just wanted things to go according to their own timeline, their own plan, and their policies. When you are overwhelmed with so many other things, what can you do?
Two years later, I had Faith. I told my midwife (YES!! I WENT TO A MIDWIFE! I'm still not a crazy hippie) I wanted to do VBAC. Because of my previous cesarean, he had to send me to an OB/GYN, but he still saw me regularly. The midwife wanted me to go VBAC, but informed me that the hospital I had to deliver at, and the OB he had sent me to would probably not "allow" it. My baby was in position, I had already delivered vaginally twice, and yet I felt completely alone in my hopes for VBAC. I don't think it was medically necessary, but when everyone that is supposed to help you pushes you towards another C-section, it's hard to argue. I had a cesarean at 39 weeks. I prepared myself for it this time, having known it was going to go that way. But if I had been able to see 6 years down the road, and known how much that would affect my choices if I had another baby, I would have fought harder. How can anyone expect a pregnant, emotional woman to argue with medical professionals about their options?
So here I am, 38 weeks along, hoping and praying I go into labor naturally and things progress so quickly that no medical professional can force me to have cesarean. Yet, I am scared that if I do that, there will be problems with the scar tissue and it will be much worse than scheduling a C-section. My doctor supports my hopes for VBAC but also warns me of the dangers. Jason's job requires a lot of weighing risks to benefits. Although the concept of struggling emotionally with having a C-section is foreign to him, he knows how much it means to me. But my sweet husband, he is just as concerned about the physical risks. He would have so much on his plate if things went poorly.
I am struggling with the choices. I don't want to deal with the surgery, the recovery, trying to carry the burden of a newborn while balancing the needs of my other 10 kids, and the things that need to be done at home and in the yard. But I don't want to take unnecessary risks if this baby really is as big as the doctor thinks. I have had suggestions for blue/black cohosh and the use of clary sage essential oil to induce labor. But every time I think about it, it feels wrong. I know it is not for me, and it almost makes me angry that Heavenly Father is pushing me away from what I think I want. There is a reason.
Monday I have an appointment, and Jason and I both feel that he will want to schedule a C-section. The doctor has wanted that for a while, but has postponed it because of my hopes for VBAC. I still struggle with the decisions. I cry when I think too much about it. It's out of my hands.
10 1/2 years ago, I had an un-medicated birth experience. Nathanael was born before I was admitted to the hospital. The doctors didn't believe I was in labor, because I managed to stay calm through some training I received on natural childbirth. I had such a sense of satisfaction, such pure joy that I had been able to accomplish such a thing, when so many people are against it. Choosing natural childbirth doesn't make me "crazy" or "hippie" or "old fashioned". It just means I made a different choice than many others do. WHY people always have to question those of us who choose natural methods, is beyond me. It's how it was done for centuries before. I recovered quickly, and when I moved 10 days after Nathanael's birth, I was lifting boxes and furniture with the men.
Fast forward to the twins, I had an emergency cesarean because my water broke and with Carson bum-first and Vanessa foot-first it was not really an option to deliver any other way. Compared to the feeling of accomplishment after my previous experience, this was discouraging. I struggled with deep depression (no stranger in my life...) because I felt I had done "nothing". I was strapped to a table, and my son was passed into the next room for breathing help, and I barely got to see my daughter. Physically, my recovery was much easier than anticipated, but it was the emotions I struggled with. Maybe if I didn't have any comparison, it would be different. But there is no skin-to-skin contact immediately after delivery with cesarean, and I had to wait several hours to try and nurse. The staff gave Carson formula against my will, WITHOUT consulting me. I felt so powerless, with Carson in NICU, and the staff there pushing me to leave a feeding tube in when I wanted nothing more than to breastfeed him. I was not a first-time mom, but I felt like the entire staff refused to hear me out, they just wanted things to go according to their own timeline, their own plan, and their policies. When you are overwhelmed with so many other things, what can you do?
Two years later, I had Faith. I told my midwife (YES!! I WENT TO A MIDWIFE! I'm still not a crazy hippie) I wanted to do VBAC. Because of my previous cesarean, he had to send me to an OB/GYN, but he still saw me regularly. The midwife wanted me to go VBAC, but informed me that the hospital I had to deliver at, and the OB he had sent me to would probably not "allow" it. My baby was in position, I had already delivered vaginally twice, and yet I felt completely alone in my hopes for VBAC. I don't think it was medically necessary, but when everyone that is supposed to help you pushes you towards another C-section, it's hard to argue. I had a cesarean at 39 weeks. I prepared myself for it this time, having known it was going to go that way. But if I had been able to see 6 years down the road, and known how much that would affect my choices if I had another baby, I would have fought harder. How can anyone expect a pregnant, emotional woman to argue with medical professionals about their options?
So here I am, 38 weeks along, hoping and praying I go into labor naturally and things progress so quickly that no medical professional can force me to have cesarean. Yet, I am scared that if I do that, there will be problems with the scar tissue and it will be much worse than scheduling a C-section. My doctor supports my hopes for VBAC but also warns me of the dangers. Jason's job requires a lot of weighing risks to benefits. Although the concept of struggling emotionally with having a C-section is foreign to him, he knows how much it means to me. But my sweet husband, he is just as concerned about the physical risks. He would have so much on his plate if things went poorly.
I am struggling with the choices. I don't want to deal with the surgery, the recovery, trying to carry the burden of a newborn while balancing the needs of my other 10 kids, and the things that need to be done at home and in the yard. But I don't want to take unnecessary risks if this baby really is as big as the doctor thinks. I have had suggestions for blue/black cohosh and the use of clary sage essential oil to induce labor. But every time I think about it, it feels wrong. I know it is not for me, and it almost makes me angry that Heavenly Father is pushing me away from what I think I want. There is a reason.
Monday I have an appointment, and Jason and I both feel that he will want to schedule a C-section. The doctor has wanted that for a while, but has postponed it because of my hopes for VBAC. I still struggle with the decisions. I cry when I think too much about it. It's out of my hands.
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