Blog Description

How do you convey strength when the tears don't stop running down your face? My daughter's fall into the deep hole of depression and eventual admittance to a psych ward. Our journey,our hope-to share and learn the whys,whats and the ways of mental illness. Specifically the downward drain of depression that can happen to any of us. #StopTheStigma

Sunday, September 15, 2013

60 days later...

It's been over 2 months since my last post and so much has changed, yet not really.

My daughter was hospitalized for three weeks. As long as I kept busy, cleaning her house, making meals, organizing paperwork, things were fine-my composure was the epitome of strength. As long as my brain had something to focus on the heart remained silent, but as soon as I'd see her, all hopes of maintaining that were gone.  The hardest thing I have ever had to do, was try to show encouragement to her, try to telepathically will her strength, lazer beam through my eyes all my love, hoping that there was a miniscule opening to her soul behind the catatonic stare. Despite my best efforts, my tears wouldn't stop flowing and her soul remained lost to me.

It was the longest three weeks of my life. During this time I began research on mental illness, focusing on depression, which is what the doctors say my daughter had- depression caused by stress. I started a blog, a Facebook page, all in hopes of finding help and perhaps in being help to someone else. I'm a writer, a blogger to be specific, and these are my tools, my way of communicating and in my world this is how I survive.  Meanwhile, my first born was fighting to do the same; she was in another world trying to survive.

Cristyl is back home now. To say we have all been changed by this is an understatement; things will never be the same.  Daily medicines for at least two years, and fear of a repeat episode are always in the background, but also in her life is the proof of how much she's loved.  Her estranged father flew in from another country just to be by her side- something she longed for so many times, and he's remained in contact, just a phone call away.  Cousins, aunts, inlaws, and of course daily visits by me and her boyfriend helped her know she could come back and be loved.  But it is a battle, at times hourly, but it's worth it- she's worth it.  As her mother I pray she comes to believe that. There will always be memories, scars, but these will fade. Hopefully she'll come to realize that scars have their purpose. They remind us of how strong we are, for we have lived through the pain and were not defeated.