Two days ago was the most difficult day of your life for me this far. I worried about you as an infant. I fought for you as an elementary and middle schooler. But on Friday I admitted you to Timberline Knolls. Because for 3 years you have done everything to cry out for attention and refused to use any of the coping mechanisms offered to you by family, friends, and professionals. Upon admission you handed razor blades to the staff. That meant I didn't get to hug you goodbye and tell you that I love you. Then Saturday they called to ask more questions, because the 3hr intake wasn't enough. And they called back to say you were continuing to self harm, by picking at scabs. They needed to tell me, but they also wanted to verify your adhesive allergy.
Here's what you need to realize. When you lie about things that people can confirm, it makes them question what they can't confirm or deny. And that's where we sit today. I never know if anything you are sharing is real.
I sit and wonder where I went wrong. What could I have done differently? There are so many things that have happened in the last 4 years that have brought us here. And as a mom does, I am looking over them all for what I could have done better. Forced hugs on you rather than respecting your clearly stated aversion to physical contact? Did I miss that your aversion didn't extend to me? It's clear you love hugs from your little sister. Could I have handled the divorce in a different way? I tried my best to survive a difficult situation. But clearly you needed something different to have happened. I wish I knew what it was.
I need you to know, though, simply that I love you. It seems that I haven't done the right things to show you that. When I ask what you need, you say you don't know. So I show love as I know how. I do your laundry, I drive you places, I make your favorite meals, I get you special food at the store, I ask you to join me on walks, I try to include you in anything that I'm doing so we can spend time together, I tell you that I love you. But I seemed to have missed the mark with all of these. So I honestly don't know what to do. And so my last act of showing you love is to send you to a place as my heart breaks apart and pray they can help you figure out what you need.
This place scares me from the outside. You lose most of your standard rights. You won't get to be alone unless you are asleep and I don't even know if that is the case. You probably get to be in a shower stall alone I suppose. I wasn't sure you needed to be there. But then I went to wash your sheets. And I saw the pile of bloody kleenex and your blood on the wall. What is going on in your brain? What have you been hurt by so deeply that your only recourse is to hurt yourself? You are a brilliant young woman, so why are you making this decision over and over again? What will it take to stop you? I send you to this facility so that I can stop wondering if you will be dead the next time I come home. This goes beyond your gender confusion. Beyond your self diagnosing of ailment after ailment. I sincerely hope that you are taking time to dig deep and understand the amazing love that God has for you and the wonderful plans He has for your life. I don't know when I will get to talk to you again. But I wish that I could have had a chance to hug you and tell you that I love you.
Until we meet again in person, I hope that you can latch onto God and know that He, me, and so many others love you. We're praying for your healing. And I hope to see you soon.
Love always,
Mom
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