Suicide awareness month is upon us. During this month we share with others and encourage them to reach out. I have felt compelled to share my story. Perhaps you will read about me and see yourself. Or you will see a friend, a loved one, a co-worker who needs your help. My hope is that you know there is help and it is OK not to be strong.

My story begins with my daughter. She was adopted at age 3. She has been the love of my heart and my burden all in one. She is now 17. Together we have been through 10 behavioral health hospitalizations, 2 stays at RTCs, countless escalations that left me bruised, scratched and bitten. My home was destroyed. I did this for 12 years. I would move on after each incident as if I was unphased. People admired my ability to stay calm and not hold a grudge against my child.

My dad passed away 8 years ago. I mourned for a year. My daughter got worse. My husband and I disagreed about what to do. I insisted she get treatment so that my son did not have to live with the chaos and violence. This was the beginning of the end of the marriage. We divorced 3 years later. I was then a single mom with 2 kids. No child support. No help with managing behaviors. I couldn’t work. But I still went on.

I met my current husband in 2015. He is a saint. He loves me and my kids. I thought that perhaps with a male in the home we could make it work. It became apparent that she was not getting better. It was getting worse. I had to admit I couldn’t do it anymore in my home. We requested a DDD group home. She moved to Phoenix. We soon followed.

The first group home ended up being emotionally abusive. We had to pull her out. They had no other placements so she had to live with us for a period of time. I was trying to manage to live in a 2- bedroom apartment with 4 of us. We were driving her 45 minutes each way to school every day. I was terrified she would escalate and we would be evicted. The stress was huge. One day I had a horrible panic attack after dropping her off at school. That is when I lost my brain, lost myself and was completely debilitated.

I started being terrified of knives. I was afraid of what I would do with them. I told my husband to hide his gun. I couldn’t think. Even going through a drive-through at McDonald’s was too much. I wasn’t ok. I did not know what was happening to me. That lead to my first hospitalization. I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder, PTSD and anxiety. I was put on medication.

The next month we had a stressful meeting with DDD and behavioral health. On the way home, we drove past a cemetery. Out of nowhere, I imagined the car driving off the road and me being buried there. What was happening? This had never occurred before. A fear of things that I could hurt myself with is a bit different than thoughts of dying. Why was my brain doing this? My therapist convinced me I needed a second hospitalization.

I have worked harder than anyone I know to get my mind back. It is not working. I cannot handle being employed. I am trying to complete my master’s degree. I have had to take many breaks from school. Some days I cannot leave my home. I don’t answer phone calls. The depression and anxiety are debilitating. I have had some medication changes in the past 3 months that lead to 2 more stays in the hospital. I never thought my life would be this way. I don’t want to die. I want to live. But something happens, which is larger than me. My brain turns on me. It sends me images so disturbing I cannot and will not tell anyone about them. In the images, I see gory pictures of self-harm and death. I don’t watch horror movies. I cannot understand why I would have these. When this happens, I have to go to the hospital. I don’t want to know what would happen if I didn’t. I have never self-harmed or attempted to take my life. But my brain cannot be trusted. It becomes my enemy.

The PTSD is the hardest part. When my daughter struggles, I get triggered. When providers are not doing their jobs correctly and my daughter is not being treated right, I get triggered. If I don’t distance myself during these times, I will deteriorate to the horrible images. Not only can I not advocate for her as I need to, I cannot be there for her in her tough times. I hate this. It is not fair to her. The guilt is overwhelming at times. But in this instance, self-care can be a matter of life and death.

I don’t share this to get your sympathy. I share this to say to all of the parents out there who are warriors for your kids: PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES. I did not listen, nor did I understand what this meant. I also want to convey to those of you who have teens, young adults and adult children with mental illness; compassion is always the best route. Our brains are not predictable. When we are ill, everything is hard. After a hospitalization, please don’t expect too much. Our brains are still swirling with thoughts, images and the effect of medication changes.

I see a therapist, see a prescriber, take my medication, see my case manager, exercise, journal, read self-help books, reach out to my friends use my coping skills and meditate. I do all of these to maintain my ability to function, even if it is minimal. I have been told mental health recovery is possible. I hope it is. I will not give up. God bless you all.