It is amazing to me that in this information age and with so many groups and resources available to us, that many people still speak about things using their opinions as fact. Why someone would rather show their stupidity and biases instead of gathering facts is beyond me. This kind of ignorance can't be tolerated anymore.

One of the issues people like to talk about and make judgements about but make no effort to learn about is cutting. My daughter cut for several years. At first, it scared me to death. I had no idea what was wrong or why she was doing it. The sight of those bright red lines on her arms and legs made me nauseous every time I caught a glimpse of them. That wasn't too often because she (like most cutters) hid them under long sleeves and pants. Even in hot weather.

It started about two years after her depression started. At that time, we had no idea she had depression, either, just that something was wrong. She was slowly slipping farther and farther down into a deep, dark pit and didn't know how to reach out for help or even why she hurt so bad inside. One of the boys in her class "burned" a picture with an eraser on her hand and for a minute her internal pain disappeared. She went home that night and gave herself her first cut. She said feeling the pain of the cut and seeing the blood took the pain from inside and placed it on the outside where she could see it and deal with it. It gave her a high like she'd never felt. She became addicted to it. Addicted to the adrenalin rush she got from it. The deeper her depression got, the longer and deeper her cuts became.

All of this was so hard for me to understand until I got an information packet from the doctor. As I read through it, I came to a section on other forms of self-injury. One of these methods was burning. I felt as if I'd been slammed into a brick wall. All these years later and a memory came crashing back into my head. I'd been sexually abused as a child for many years. I remember starting in my junior year of high school (about a year after the abuse stopped) I began burning myself with cigarette lighters. I remember the unbearable, intense pain I felt inside that I just couldn't deal with. When I'd burn my wrists, arms, and legs the pain inside was drowned out. I, too, had an amazing rush of good feelings when I'd burn. I became addicted. My heart would race and I'd feel so high.

Suddenly, I completely understood my daughter when she'd tell my why she cut. And finally I was validated by doctors and psychiatrists that assured me I wasn't to blame for her cutting or depression.

I've posted 2 links below for those of you that are just in the dark and want to know more so that maybe you could be of help to someone. Teenagers aren't the only ones that cut. Adults do it, too. Depression strikes teenagers and adults. You could be the person that holds out a life line to someone in need. You could possibly save a life.

For those of you that make judgments on the parents that have children who cut or have depression ~ these links are especially for you. If you want to remain uneducated, then PLEASE don't talk about issues you refuse to learn about. It makes you look ignorant and you are doing a terrible disservice to the people you come into contact with that are crying out for help and you can't see it because of your self-righteousness.

http://www.webmd.com/mental-health/features/cutting-self-harm-signs-treatment?page=4

http://www.helpguide.org/mental/depression_teen.htm

It's been discussed several times this month. Yet no matter how often it gets talked about, I can't make sense of it. At all.

As soon as we leave an old way of life and start making a new, better life for ourselves there are those who want to derail you. They'll go to any length to bring you back down to the level you've always been at. Why?

Is it because the changes you've made in your life now open their eyes to the areas in their own lives that they should be focused on? They are now fully conscious of the less than desirable "things" in their life along with all the yucky feelings that go along with that new found awareness. It's so much easier to sweep habits and baggage under the rug than to turn and fully face it. So much easier to ignore they exist rather than deal with them.

Some people are just too lazy to take on the project. Many find comfort in something familiar even if it's not good for them.

I remember 12 years ago....

I had become really sick inside. An ulcer, constant aches and pains, nausea, headaches...not to mention being totally unbearable to my family and myself. My body would shake uncontrollably at the mere mention of my dad's name. I was a total mess. I didn't need to go to the doctor to find out what was wrong with me. I already knew. The hate, pain, and resentment I had towards my dad for the past 17 years was taking its toll on me. All of these feelings and fears I had lugged around secretly since the age of 10 had finally caught up with me.

We had had a ladies' retreat one weekend and, not surprisingly, the topic that came up most often was forgiveness. I remember at the prayer service on the last night of the retreat, a friend sat next to me and put her arms around me. I don't know how she knew what my struggle was because I hadn't told anyone at that time. It could only have been God speaking to her. But she sat down next to me and told me a story about her life long ago and she had been through the same thing. She told me that the hate and pain had become a stronghold in my life and I needed to somehow find a way to forgive. She said "Don't let his sin become yours."

I went home that night with a new purpose. I refused to live like this any longer. For the next several months, I poured over studies on forgiveness and strongholds. I studied my Bible and my Concordance. I fasted. I prayed. I asked God to place in me a forgiving heart and a love for my dad.

One night as I prayed, I felt a peace. I knew I had reached the place where I could honestly forgive my dad. After I called him and confronted him about the abuse and told him I forgave him, I remember getting into the car with my brother and husband. I told them it felt like an elephant had been sitting on me and had just gotten off. I was giggly and couldn't stop smiling. It was pure joy and peace.

The next day, panic set in. I looked in the mirror and had no idea who was looking back at me. I felt as though I'd been ripped away from myself and a stranger had been left in my place. The me I had been so comfortable with was gone. A new me stood there. Scared to death.

I remember saying to the mirror, "I don't know who I am without the hate. Who are you?!"

It's the same with our friends and family that suddenly realize we're no longer carrying some of our old baggage. It scares them. They don't know who we are anymore. They don't know how to act. By making ourselves better, we've taken away their comfort zone.

I've recognized this with people in the past year and a half along my healing journey. I've dealt with numerous issues and I'm not the same person at all.

I finally have a voice and I stand up for myself. I speak it even it my voice shakes.

I'm not afraid to try new things or open up my mind to new ideas.

I'm more confident in myself and possess self worth.

I still have baggage. After all, I'm still on my healing journey. Can't take a journey without some baggage. But my load is lighter. There are people out there in my life that are threatened by that fact. They are uncomfortable with my changes because it has put a mirror up to their own lives. So they come after me with attacks and lies. Lies about my character, my personal life, accusing me of thinking this way and feeling that way, putting me down for being "this" way because I've always been "that" way and I'm just putting on a show for people....I can't believe the trash that has come up. Even going as far as to attack my role as a mom and blaming all of my daughter's problems on my total lack of parenting skills.

(I'd just like to say to those 2 particular *ahem* "women", that you must have forgotten that I'm raising TWO children. Both have been raised by the SAME mother. My son gets A's, has a ton of friends and interests and talents...and is a very good child. My daughter was the same way. Until depression took control of her. It almost destroyed her life and mine. Why don't you research what depression is, how you get it and how it affects teenagers? Do some research and talk to people that have been there. I've advocated for my daughter and fought, screamed, and jumped through hoops for the last 6 years until someone heard me and helped my daughter. You have NO frickin' CLUE what I've gone through to get her life back. When you have all of that information and think you KNOW what you're talking about ~ call me a loser parent again and this time I hope you see how ignorant it makes you look.)

What people fail to realize about me (and the other women I know dealing with the same thing) is that when I dropped that baggage, I picked up something to take its place. It's called STRENGTH and it protects me from your nasty words and your ugly attacks. I have a new found confidence in who I am and what I'm doing. Nothing you say will bring me back down to where I was. Nothing you say can detour me off this road. I know where I belong and I know, without a doubt, who I am and what my purpose is. I am a Survivor and you can't change that no matter how hard you try.

It's sad when you're on your journey and you start to learn who is real and who isn't. The ones that really love you and want the best for you cheer you on no matter how much you shake up their comfort zone. They want to see you succeed. The others? Well....who needs 'em?

Monday marks the beginning of another chapter in our lives. Daughter is beginning her transition home after living apart from us for the past year. So let's start from the beginning...or somewhere kind of close.

My daughter will be 17 in a few months. She's always been an exhausting child. What I mean is, always demanding attention, constantly on the move, a total energy vampire. At the same time, she's a total ray of sunshine ~ laughing, brightening up the room and bringing unique ideas to the table. I noticed a change in her behavior starting in 5th grade. I KNEW something was different, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I attributed it to her age and the onset of puberty.

I kept this opinion throughout her 5th grade year while I tried different discipline tactics, tried to keep her engaged in activities and went bald on 1/3 of my head from pulling my hair out. Somewhere between 5th and 6th grade, almost overnight, she began stealing, lying, grades began dropping. My once happy child suddenly became defiant and hateful. Never happy about anything. I felt like such a failure as a parent.

Knowing something was wrong with her and having grown up with a Bipolar sister, I took her in for a professional opinion. The diagnosis was anxiety and mild OCD. I chalked it up as a bunch of bull and left. After all, how he could come up with that after only spending 10 minutes talking to her blew my mind.

Things got progressively worse to the point that I just wanted to send her to live with her Dad. I was exhausted and out of options. At the end of her 7th grade year, I noticed several cuts on her wrist that clearly weren't any kind of accident. I questioned her over and over and got no where with her. I went through her room one day and found a suicide threat, some really dark poems she'd written and a few letters to some of her friends discussing her cutting. Needless to say, I freaked out. There's just no other way to put it. I called our family doctor because I had no idea what to do. He suggested taking her to the ER once school was out and explaining what I had seen and found. He said this was the fastest way to get her help because she needed to see a Psychiatrist but the waiting list for those was over 6 months long.

That started a LONG, LONG road to Nowhere Street. Over the next 2 1/2 years, we'd been to 3 psychiatrists all who told me it was me with the problem and she was a perfectly normal teenager. Somehow it was all my fault. We took her to the ER 4 times for suicide threats and notes. They kept her once overnight and a second time for the weekend. I spend countless nights looking for her, calling friends to see if they'd seen her when she wouldn't come home from school or never showed up for curfew. The police were called numerous times to report her as a runaway. She began skipping first a class, then entire days of school. She was getting straight F's even if she was in class. She was so defiant and ugly at home that I'd spend my nights crying my eyes out and praying for a miracle. Her cutting worsened. There were times she cut so deeply that she almost needed stitches. She began self tattooing and piercing herself.
The pain I saw in her eyes was almost enough to kill me. I just had no idea what was wrong, what had gone wrong or how to help her.

Every where I turned for help, I was turned away. She wasn't "bad" enough for services; she was just "lazy"; let her do what she wants, she'll come around; you aren't a good parent; you don't discipline her; you don't show her enough love....I felt like I was jumping through hoops and getting beaten at the same time.

Finally, on our 5th visit to the ER in a year and a half, the male nurse who was helping us told me, "You've been here too many times for this. I can't believe nobody has helped you or looked into this. I'm going to go through your daughter's file and I'm going to get both of you the help she needs." I started crying. FINALLY! Finally somebody was listening to me.

Long story short, we ended up with a social worker from the county to help get her the services she needed, a psychiatrist who placed her in a summer program to test and diagnose her, a family therapist, a personal therapist for her, and an IEP at school. Her diagnosis was ADD, severe depression and anxiety. She was put on medication to help those things. We went on like this for a year with some things getting better, some things worse.

Last year at around this time, I had to call her in as a runaway again when she never showed up after school and I got a phone call from school saying she hadn't been in school all day. None of her friends knew where she was or had seen her. At around 8 pm, I got a tip off from a friend and had the police go and pick her up. It was the deputy that noticed the severe & long cuts on her arm and wrist again. He strongly suggested taking her to ER again and calling her therapist and social worker. They ended up keeping her in the Adolescent Mental Ward for a week while her social worker and I ironed out what to do.

I was given two options: 1) Voluntarily place her in a group home or 2) Wait it out, stay on the same path and wait until it becomes court ordered.
Being at my wits end with her and running out of time to help her straighten out her life (she was a month away from turning 16), I opted to voluntarily place her in a group home an hour and a half from where we lived.

I cried for 3 days straight. I worried about doing the right thing for her. I worried about if she'd be safe. I grieved for the little girl I had lost somewhere along the way. The little girl who had laughed and been silly. The little girl who had worn my high heels around the house and sang worship songs. The little girl I had held in my arms. The little girl who had my heart and soul. I had to believe I was doing the right thing. Had to believe God had a plan I couldn't see & He had in all in control.

The past year has been hard and long. It turns out that it was the right decision. It's been harder for Daughter than for the rest of us. She's done a lot of soul searching and digging. She's learned a lot of hard lessons. She's had to look at herself in a way that's hard for anyone to do.

On Monday, she moves back home during the week and goes back to the group home on the weekends. She'll be finishing off the last quarter of school at her own school. She left with straight F's and is coming back with A's and B's. We are all excited for this chapter to begin and also to close it and start on the next chapter.

She hasn't cut since last August. She laughs and is silly again. She wears my high heels and sings again. Though now the shoes fit and its definitely not worship songs she sings. I hold her in my arms and snuggle with her. OFTEN. We talk, we cry. I'm learning from her everyday.

And that little girl still has my heart and soul...woven tightly in every fiber of her being, held together with tears and laughter and love.