A year later

It has been awhile since my last post. I am not entirely sure where I left off in my journey but there is never an end. After my last post regarding discrimination I was threatened with a lawsuit thus prompting the deletion of all prior entries. The storm has calmed and I will continue to blog.

Olivia spent five months in a residential treatment center and returned home a year ago. She has been readmitted once since that time. Today, as I blog, she has one foot in the threshold of the hospital. Her mental state has been rapidly fluctuating in the last two weeks and as always I am worried about reliving the past two years. Not to undermine the support system I have in place, but again I am back on my emotional rollercoaster for which no one can understand. I am still questioning my parenting and stifling through the past looking for answers. My goal is to keep her home where she belongs. She is so depressed that every time she is awake her eyes are filled with tears. Her anger serves as a safeguard to protect what little sanity she has left. Her school has called expressing their concern for her as she is not adapting well in school. Her outlet of journaling has ceased, or rather I cannot find any trace of her journaling. I find myself in the same state of mind I was the day I searched her room for clues and then lay on her floor sobbing uncontrollably. Again, this was a blog that was deleted previously. I don’t know how to help her or if she can be helped at all. I wonder if she will be able to care for herself when she leaves home. I have done the best I could and yet she is still suffering the unrelenting mood swings and psychotic notions. She told me not to long ago that she wants to be in the hospital and she knows what strings to pull to make it happen. So I am left with the question of whether she is truly ill or if she hates her home so much that she would rather live in a hospital hundreds of miles from home. When I gave birth to her I was a teenager. As she grew so did I. She did not have the things that my other children are offered now because I did not understand mothering at such a vulnerable age. I ask myself if I had been more involved in her schooling or put her activities would she be different. Time and time again I let my guard down just to be awakened with the possibility that she will have to be placed in a facility away from home. I am broken yet again, my family has been through enough but the end is not in sight. I am not sure if there will ever be an end. I just feel so alone and desperate despite those around me whom care and support me. As a parent our job it to make sure that are children are happy. They fall and we pick them up, if they skin their knee we tell them it will be okay and place a band aide to stop the bleeding. How do I stop the bleeding, how do I pick her up? I feel sorry for myself most of the time but feel sorry for her every waking minute. To be confined to a black hole and a bleak life has to be prison sentence of torture. I wonder if she will ever understand that her life is valuable and she was placed on this earth with a purpose. Will she find her purpose and suddenly shake this feeling of depression? I always refer back to the saying “how can you help them if they can’t help themselves”.