mental illness, parenting

Having a Child With Mental Ilness: Adventures in Living on a Prayer 

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I love this little girl all the way down to her little pinky toe. I love her to the moon and back. I love her like a jelly bean at Easter. These are the things I have to say to her over the phone. So far away. “I miss you major,” I tell her.

Unfortunately Mary is back at the inpatient unit in the psychiatric hospital.She only made it home for about a week. I am just home from 5 days in the hospital after having spinal fusion surgery. We had a few days together before it just got to be too much for her.

Maybe my surgery was a huge trigger. Maybe the onset of puberty is like a freight train running us all over. Maybe her medication just isn’t there yet. There are so many pieces to this complicated puzzle, that is part of our daughter.

Mary slept over at a friend’s house one night and told her friend’s mother she was too scared to sleep upstairs. She claimed she could see her biological parents waiting for her up there. Her visual delusions have been increasing.

Friday at school she had an outburst, yelling at a girl who was absent (presumably for being absent.) After school she has another tantrum at her Partial Hospitalization Program. She was screaming and kicking and generally unsafe.

When calm, Mary was able to tell them she hears more voices than she admits to anyone. The voices tell her to kill me and she is afraid of them. She has drawn and written a lot more about my death lately. She is so afraid her mommy will die. After all, her biological mother left. I am sure these are all fears pertaining to her trauma that are flooding back now to take control of Mary.

Over the weekend, she had another melt-down. Papa wouldn’t let her touch something dangerous in his workshop, she was defiant. When he raised his voice and repeated his direction, she lost control. She ran out of the house to the road. She wasn’t wearing shoes or a coat and it was winter. 

My husband was able to pick her up and bring her home.  I was locked in my room, my parents had Carl, and Luke was keeping Mary safe.I Face Timed her from my locked room to talk her down, and try our deep breathing together. Luke was able to give her a PRN to calm her. She fell asleep in her room still adamant that nothing was wrong and she didn’t need to wear shoes. Ever.

As Mary slept, the crisis worker gave us a safety evaluation. We reviewed the safety plan we had with him.  We explained why we locked up our knives, removed  sharps from her room, and activated the locked door plan when she was triggered. He looked at us for a long time, silently, and then asked us if we felt safe. Not, “Do you feel safe with the plan?” But just, “Do you feel safe?” 

The answer is no. We mulled it over until the next day, but truthfully, we weren’t safe. Mary has not been physically violent or disassociating since 2014. Her medication isn’t working anymore. Therapy is an ongoing process, but without the right medication, she is trapped inside this cycle. We made the decision to send her back to the inpatient  unit while her new medication continued to be titrated. We will not take chances with her safety. We cannot take chances with mine. This is nonnegotiable.

All of this happened as I lied helpless in bed. I felt like we were suddenly back in 2014, watching her fall apart all over again. To be honest, I felt a bit defeated. She’s had ups and downs but she hasn’t had these kind of meltdowns in years. She’s been living a relatively normal life (albeit with a the help of medication and therapy.) It’s very hard for me to admit that things have been spiraling with her for a short while now. It’s just that she’s overcome so much. She’s living such a full and happy childhood. For the last few years she’s been so in control of her moods.

As I hobble around in my walker, or lie prone in my bed, I get a sense of helplessness. I need to recover. I need to be strong enough to be the mom she needs. Lying helpless in bed behind a locked door is all I can physically do for now. So here is where I pray.

“Please,” my prayer starts, “Please let the medication help her. Please don’t send us back to the starting line. And please, please, let me be strong enough to be the mom she needs.”

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved

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11 thoughts on “Having a Child With Mental Ilness: Adventures in Living on a Prayer 

  1. If she is in the psychiatric unit, then you need to relax, your body will get better quicker when the tension is. This is good for her, good for her to know that you can be sick and still be there afterwards, it’s a life practice. Relax, get better slowly. It will take time for them to get the medication right. The more you relax. I know you know this and there are probably much more skilled people advising you, but sometimes a stranger’s words help. You’re a great mum. Relax. She will be coming back when is right for you and her, in time. Have some rest. You deserve it. You’re whole family deserves it. Much love xx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Heila says:

    Do you accept (very gentle) hugs from strangers on the internet? I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through. What I can say from watching my mom recover from fusion surgery is that you must take it very easy and be very kind to yourself. The best thing you can do for Mary right now is to look after yourself. Don’t underestimate the effect that anaesthetic and the surgery will have on you. Make as much use as you can of your support structure, your turn will come to be there for them again at a later date.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Gail says:

    Hugs to you from another mom who’s been there. I underwent 2 knee replacement surgeries in the past 18 months and I’m a single mom. Both surgeries triggered huge regressions in my son, and we are still working out way out. But we have a new psychiatrist and she’s great, so I have hopes. Hope for you as well.

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