Several years ago my life was very different from what it is today. I was working in management,and also had my own business; it goes beyond saying that I was busy. Through all of this I was a wife and a mother too. My husband also worked full time as well as helped with the business.

We were living life in the fast lane, spending like there was no tomorrow and livin' it up. We went to church every Sunday and patted ourselves on the backs for being "good" parents, responsible citizen's; you know--- all is well. We were living the American dream!

I like to call this time The Hamster in the wheel lifestyle because we were really getting after it and running in one direction.(but in reality getting nowhere.) In the midst of all this there were lots of changes going on in our home too, our oldest graduated High School and left home, our middle child started High school and our youngest ones graduated kindergarten all in the same year.

There was a silent enemy that was taking its toll though; our family life was in shambles and our kids were slowly falling by the wayside. Yet we didn't see it. We saw what we wanted to see. Reality has a way of coming up quick and stopping you dead in your tracks.

Our middle daughter was hit the worst; for whatever reason maybe that middle child syndrome. A moot point as I see it. Her grades at school plummeted, she dropped band and drill team flat, two things she excelled at. She shut down to us or me in general; her dad could still get through. She began to dress goth, and we just thought it was a phase, you know teen angst was the in thing. Every kid hates their parents at some point right?

We tried to make sense of it, but couldn't. She was begging us to take her out of school and put her in a charter school. We rejected the idea intensely-- I mean those are schools for losers you know and she was not that. We did the only thing we could think of, we sought medical help. We got her a psychiatrist who instantly put her on medications. We took her for weekly visits, we met with the doctor and voiced our ideas and concerns; and we watched and expected to see things get better. The improvements didn't come, it seemed for every step forward there were two back. We learned around this time that she had been cutting.

Talk about freak out, why?, how?, when?,what? was all this about. How did things spiral out of control so quickly? We felt like our life had been tipped upside down and shaken until every bit of normalcy fell out. She would make threats that she would kill herself, she was angry and would rage at the drop of the hat. We learned to walk on eggshells for fear of setting her off. The doctors solution; increase her meds and add something for anxiety.

It all boiled to a head one evening after a family fun night, we had just come in from dinner and were getting ready to watch a movie when our oldest remarked that her sister had been in the bathroom for quite sometime. When she wouldn't answer the door my husband busted in, she was in a heap sobbing uncontrollably on the floor; there was blood it seemed everywhere. We gave her no options, get in the car or we call the ambulance, she went begrudgingly. We drove straight to the psychiatric hospital. We were living in a city that had a separate one on the campus of a big hospital complex. They evaluated her in intake and she told them she had taken a bunch of pills too; in addition to carving her arms up. At this point it becomes an urgent situation so we were escorted to the ER at the main hospital along with our own security detail(fun stuff for sure).

We spent the night in that ER while they monitored her, and gave her charcoal and I held her head as she puked her guts up . My thoughts fluctuated between her as a baby and a little girl and her infectious laughter, and the devastated shell she had become, my mind was churning trying to figure out what went wrong.
I can remember being angry, yet not knowing who or really what I was angry with/about. They discharged her to the psych hospital in the wee morning hours and she curled in my lap in that waiting room begging us not to make her stay there. My husband sat silent through most of this, his face a mask of pain and anguish, he spoke up then and made certain she understood there was no discussing it, she was staying.

We made our stand the following day, it was during visitation and we were all there with the exception of her younger brothers. She was flippant and giggly and acted as though she was at camp, she was upset that we were not allowing her any visitors or phone calls. She was even putting in her order for the clothes she wanted us to bring for her. After-all every psych patient needs to have their favorite fashions right? We each had our say about how we felt and how it affected us to see her there. It would have rivaled the best scene on the show intervention. When we all got back to the car I asked everyone there "Do you think we were too hard on her?" No one did, my heart was broken for her. I remember feeling afraid for what the repercussions might be, would she try to hurt herself more etc?

We met as a family in a group session the following day and she was upbeat and excited because her doctor thought she was doing well enough to go home the next day, until we dropped the bombshell that no she couldn't come home. We weren't ready yet, even her counselor looked shocked. We explained our position and reasoning which the counselor thought was fair. We wanted the opportunity to search her room and remove any and all items that could cause harm to her or others. We wanted time to remove her bedroom door as well as the bathroom door. We wanted the chance to read her journals to try to make sense of everything.

I know there are those who would say this was very wrong and that we invaded her privacy in a major way. Maybe we did, maybe we didn't; to this day I would not change what we did. There were things written in her journals that tore our hearts to shreds. If what she wrote was to be believed she hated us all, her family. We went through each item together as a family, and packed away each of her journals and letters etc. We stripped her room of all razor blades and cutting tools; believe me when I say it was a sizable amount of things, hidden in the strangest places. My husband is in Law enforcement and corrections and we did a thorough shake down of her personal space. We spent the better part of a week making ready for her homecoming.

We wrote a contract for her and reviewed it with her counselor and doctor as well as her and we signed it together the day she came home. It seems quite surreal as I reflect back on this, but it felt right; it gave us at least a modicum of control.

When she came home she was on some heavy duty meds, we continued with her doctor and a counselor and watched as she floundered but seemed to make small progress. I am not certain the breaking point but I can remember at one point her meds being upped yet again and seeing her stagger around in a stupor. This was unacceptable; yet when we voiced our concerns with her doctor, she resisted our concerns and requests for reducing meds and getting her off them completely. Our argument was if they are not working and need to be increased to the level that she was unable to function without being literally "stoned" what was the point; afterall where is the quality of life in that? We made a major decision; we chose to decrease meds and wean her until she was completely off of her meds. Her doctor was not pleased; but we continued against her advice. Her counselor was supportive and encouraging, which helped.

I can not pinpoint the pivotal event when things began to change as each day was different; some were good and some were not. In the end it was a gamble which payed off.

To this day I don't know that we really have any answers that lead to all of this. There was nothing traumatic etc. that would point to a reason for any of it. This was not a short term event; it was the sum of several years; with at least one completely intense one for sure.

I am happy to say that she is doing extremely well now and has been for a couple of years. She has not had any episodes of depression and has not self harmed in over two years. We are grateful for everyday. It is a joy to again see that cherub face and hear her infectious laughter. She lives in her own apartment and is in college now. She even has a hard time trying to explain what was going on during that time.

She has thanked us for sticking by her through it all (like where else would we be?) She is a beautiful and talented young woman who has a very bright future. I hope someday to see her use her experience to help others going through a similar experience. She recently took that box of journals and letters and got rid of them, she said she didn't need them anymore. Healing is a process sometimes and sometimes I think it is just a miracle.

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