It Scares Me

It scares me to think, in a short couple of years, Mya will want to shave her legs.  Can I trust her with a razor, alone, in the bathtub?

 It scares me to think, Mya isn’t old enough to know how to really hurt herself, but will there be a bully in a few years that teaches her ways to hurt herself beyond repair?

 It scares me to think, when Mya goes to middles school, and high school, there will be mean kids that try to bring her self-esteem even lower. 

 It scares me to think, will she ever find a friend who is good to her, and helps her?  Or, will she always be drawn toward the kid who hurts her, because she thinks it’s okay, because they like her, and want to play with her?

 It scares me to think, if she’s at school, or anywhere, and gets hurt, she won’t say anything.  She won’t cry out, she won’t ask for help.

 I have so many fears of what her future holds. 

 I know she’s smart, but she’s also naïve. 

 I know she’s guarded, but she’s also overly trusting.

 It scares me to think how she must feel at school each day, completely out of her comfort zone.  I see what she does to herself while she’s at school.

 
Right now, I’m at a place where I no longer know what to do.  Medication doesn’t seem to be helping.  Therapy doesn’t seem to be helping.  The school says she’s fine.  I know she’s not.

Where do you go from here?

 

 

Every. Single. Day.

 

This is our new norm

 

Homework is always stressful

 

One place is barely healed and new place begins

 

Scar

As you may have figured out by now, we have daily struggles with Mya, and her anxieties, and OCD.  Every day, when I pick her up, I’m always drawn to her hands.  The reason being, every day, she had a new place where she’s picked or chewed.  I don’t think there’s a day in the week where we don’t have to apply Neosporin and a Band-Aid.  It has become a part of our life.

On Facebook, I recently posted some pictures from a themed photo shoot, where Mya was dressed as Scar, from the Lion King.  I knew she would want to be Scar, because any time she can get an opportunity to portray an animal, she’s all in. 

The other day, the photographer posted another of Mya’s pictures, and I immediately saved it to my files.  Since all of my family and friends don’t have Facebook, I always send out a bulk e-mail to include them in our day to day lives.

Here’s the picture that was most recently posted.

 

I immediately shared it, via e-mail, with those who aren’t on Facebook.  Never in a million years did I expect this response from my Aunt:

 “While other people will get caught up in how beautiful she is, the expression on her face, the look in her eyes, her fabulous hair, etc….

I was immediately drawn to her fingers.

How many people will notice how ‘worn’ her cuticles are?

To me, her fingers reveal more of the spirit of ‘Scar’ than the make-up on her face.

The struggles, the life and death situations, the toughness, are hidden behind the mask so beautifully painted and portrayed.

But, beneath the character in the photograph, lies a child who deals with the untold struggles of a child with an anxiety disorder.”

I have read it a million times, and haven't stopped thinking about it.  I couldn’t believe I wasn’t the only one that immediately noticed the places on her fingers.  Someone who can relate, who has lived it, and who understands the struggle.  While sad to think about, it was a breath of fresh air.  I’m not alone in this.  I have the love and support of so many.  And for that, I’m very thankful.

Later she responded again, with this:

“A scar is born out of weakness.

The delicate skin is torn.

It heals, from the inside out.

Almost impossible to tear, a scar is tougher than the original skin.

 

While others see the scar and realize that you’ve been hurt,

You can look at the scar and appreciate that you are stronger than you used to be!”

 

I’m in awe.

 

A Conversation With My Daughter

Do you ever have one of those conversations that just rip out your heart?  Last night, Mya and I talked, and I was slowly dying inside.  My heart ached for her, and I wanted so much to grab her up, and never let her go.  But, as you know, Mya won’t allow it. 

 When we have our “heart to hearts”, I have to be very careful, and not push anything.  If I ask too many questions, she will shut down, and the conversation is over.  I tread carefully, act casually, and hope to get a peek into her thoughts.

 Last night, I was successful, and it killed me inside.

 I had discovered earlier, that she had found a thumb tack at school, and used it on her hand.  At first she wouldn’t show me her hand.  She thought I was going to be mad, or disappointed in her.  After convincing her I was concerned, and needed to see, in case it needed to be cleaned and bandaged, she showed me.  As always, when she shows me her wounds, she looks at me and says, “I can’t help it, Momma”.  I know she can’t help it.  I told her we need to figure out a way to redirect.

 Our bedtime talk went like this:

 Me:  we really need to figure out a way to redirect, so that you have something with you, you can chew, or pick, instead of doing it to your body.  The problem is, we need to find something you can take to school with you, that won’t be a distraction, and cause you not to listen to the teacher.

Mya:  I know if I had something at school, I’m not going to listen. 

Me:  I know.  That’s why I need to think really hard about what we can use.

Mya:  I can’t help it, Momma.  I’m not perfect.

Me:  I know you can’t help it, and I don’t expect you to be perfect.  We all have flaws, and make mistakes.  No one is perfect.  That’s what makes us all unique.  I’m not perfect, and I would never expect you to be.

Mya:  I’m not unique.  I’m like Graci.  We both love dogs, we both have brown hair….

Me:  Yes, but Graci has brown eyes.

Mya:  I do too.

Me:  You do not.

Mya:  I can make mine turn brown.

Me:  You can’t make your eyes change colors.  we giggled

Mya:  What is special about me?

Me:  You’re very smart, you’re funny, and you’re full of energy.  It’s our uniqueness that makes people want to be around us, and be our friends.  If everyone was the same, it would be boring.  It’s much better to be who you are, than try to pretend to be someone else.

Mya:  I pretend I’m someone else, at school, all the time.

Me:  Why?  (I couldn’t help but ask why, but I know never to ask that question!)

Mya:  Because I don’t like who I am.

Me:  Why don’t you like who you are?

Mya:  I don’t know, but I don’t.  Can we go to sleep now?

 

Oh, how I wanted to ask so many more questions.  I know, when she’s finished talking, asking more questions only leads to frustration, and anger, on her part, so I didn’t push.

 I lay awake at night and think about her, and all she goes through.  I want to help her.  I crave to hug her tight and comfort her.

 This week has been a rough week for her.  We’ve had to bandage almost every day.  She comes home from school, completely exhausted.  Her lunch is hardly eaten, and she’s not hungry for dinner.

Just a glimpse into what I see most days.

 From the thumbtack she found at school:

 

 

 

Thankfully, this one was mild, compared to the time she used a lapel pin.  Nonetheless, it hurts to see your child hurting inside.

 She explained to me, when she did this, she had a really hard time picking off the little pices of skin sticking up, that’s why there’s still some left on there.

 I asked her if her teacher sees her do this.  She said, I think sometimes she peeks, and sees me.  Like today, I think she peeked and saw me, so I hid my hand under my desk real quick.  If she sees me, she will send me to the nurse, and I DO NOT want to go to the nurse, she’s mean.  She also added, sometimes I pick, and it bleeds, and my friends see it, and I tell them not to tell the teacher, but they do it anyway.

Several things to notice in this one.  First, notice the fingernails chewed off.  That’s the norm for her.  Second, notice the “tall man” fingertip being chewed.  And of course, the obvious one, the chewed place on her hand.

 

 

Here, she’s chewed the tip of her thumb.

 

 

 

These were all taken this week.  When she chews, she chews down far enough, she bleeds, and the places stay sore for several days.

 

This might explain why she's been exhausted this week.  The anxiety has surely been high.

 

We get by, and take it one day at a time.  I just hope, in the near future, we figure out something and move past this. 

 

 

Into Her Head

Into Her Head
Living with Anxiety and OCD

Imagine not sleeping at night. Dreams haunt your sleep, you reach out constantly for reassurance you’re not alone.




I don’t want to die.




Imagine waking up each morning, dreading the idea of facing the day ahead of you. The people, the noise, the chaos.






I don’t want the world to burn in fire.



Imagine being afraid of what people are thinking of you. Why are they laughing, are they making fun of me? I can’t choose this outfit, someone might think I’m a boy. Or maybe they will think I’m too prissy. What if they think I’m not good enough? What if they think I’m a bad person? Why are they looking at me? How can I hide? I need to change the way I behave so I am more like them. Or, maybe if I act like someone or something completely different, they won’t see me.




I want to live forever.


Imagine you are not worthy of love. You won’t let anyone close to you. You won’t accept love and friendship from others. Never let them see you.




But, what if I die.




Imagine being in a crowd of people, scared someone will touch you, talk to you, or look at you.



I’m never good at anything.



Imagine wanting to speak, but your mind won’t allow your lips to move. You’re frozen.



I hate my life.


Imagine your every move is being monitored, and judged. All eyes are on you, and your actions. What if you say the wrong thing? What if you behave in a way that’s not appropriate for the situation? What if they don’t like you?



Do you think I’m weird?




Why am I different?


Now, imagine your 9 years old. You’re not able to understand, let alone deal, with these thoughts and emotions.





Mental health issues in children are very real. Anxiety and OCD are very real.

It has taken us years of pushing doctors, teachers, and mental health professionals, to get her tested, and to get a diagnosis.

Mya knows how to camouflage herself, and will go into role play so she can fit in with her peers. No one knows the internal struggles because she’s learned to hide it well. Except when it comes out, as shown in the pictures above.

We decided to medicate a year or so ago. That was one of the most difficult decisions we’ve ever had to make.

My recent discussions with the doctor involved the use of Benadryl to calm her, and help her sleep. I’ve bought the Benadryl, but I can’t bring myself to give it to her.

When I was buying the Benadryl, I also had to buy more Band-Aids. It all hit me like a truck. Instead of buying my daughter Hello Kitty lip gloss, or nail polish, I’m buying her Benadryl to calm her so she can sleep, and Band-Aids to cover her self-inflicted wounds.

Most kids love to be hugged and snuggled. Our daughter doesn’t want to be touched or comforted.

Most kids jump right in during a party or play date. Our daughter only chooses to play with the ones that know the real her. No outsiders are allowed in.

Mya is quite the chameleon. She observes her surroundings, and adapts. But that’s not the real Mya.

The real Mya is smart, talented, beautiful, and funny. Her smile can light the night. But you won’t see that, unless you’ve been invited into her world. Into her way of thinking. Into her head.