This is from Meg's mom's, Ramona, view. Sorry it took a couple of days. Band is going to be the death (or life, I guess) of me.
~~*~~
I love my daughter. I love her a lot; I just haven't been able to show it. It's called borderline personality disorder. Either I'm there or I'm not, it's black or it's white, it's love or it's hate... etc.
I was so happy Meg's father decided to do the main parenting when she was born. It got me out of having to do any of the hard stuff. I can't do the hard stuff. Forrest did so well with Meghan; she was always dressed in the cutest dresses, she was always fed, she was always shown loved.
Then For died. I fell apart, and begin working 3 jobs to try to keep together. Meg was shipped off to friends and relatives. An aunt here, his parents there, my college drinking buddies. I should have been more careful with who I trusted.
One time, Michael was watching Meg when she was 8. I had left for work, and I left my ID badge at home.
I will never forget that sight. The fear in Meg's eyes, the evil in Michael's.
I later found out that he raped over 20 little girls.
One of the fathers later killed him.
The father was a cop. Nothing was ever done to him.
~~*~~
I found a job working, as a nurse's assistant when Meg was 10. Made pretty good money, and I felt like I was having to run away so much, so I quit my other jobs. I still didn't say home as much, though, and I guess Meg begin to feel unloved.
I came home one night, and found a bloody Kleenex in the trash bin. I asked Meg about it, and she made up something about her nose bleeding. I guess I was so focused on having a perfect world that I didn't want to see what was in front of me.
She was 12 when she had to first go to the ER. She cut deep.
The doctor said that if she had lost any more blood, she would have had to have a blood transfusion.
She was stitched up, and sent home.
I never said anything about it until a few months later when she was sent to the ER, this time from school. She had cut in between classes. I was so worried about her being suspended that I didn't really check if she was all right.
I took her home before the psychiatrists could talk to her.
I didn't want them to make me see the truth.
My daughter wasn't OK.
I guess she was SCREAMING out for help. I turned a deaf ear, because I didn't want to listen to it.
~~*~~
I found a job out in LA when Meg was 15. She loved it, and quickly made friends with Doctor Jesse Travis. He was about 30 at the time, but even now looks much, much younger. I don't know all of what they talked about, but I think it was probably partially about me.
I haven't found any more bloody bandages in the garbage, but I think that even if she had cut, she would learn how to hide the bandages better.
I have found some uneaten food that Meg has claimed to eat, though. She is losing weight rapidly, like about 5 or more pounds a week. It's amazing and scary at the same times.
I was taking a shower last week, and found a huge clump of hair in the drain. It's not mine. Her hair is almost black, I'm bleach blond.
I want to intervene, but I think she hates me so much, it wouldn't help at all if I did. Maybe Jesse can help.
~~*~~
I am in shock. I just got a call from Community General Hospital. Meg has overdosed. Either it was accident (she's doing drugs. I don't think she's the type of person to do drugs), or she tried to kill herself.
Either possibility is very unpleasant.
My stomach is in knots as I nurse the gas pedal. Why today, of all days, does the traffic have to be so slow? DAMMIT! I want to scream, but I don't. I just keep trying to maneuver around all of the cars.
I finally make it to the hospital. I am so scared that I can barely walk, but I push myself anyways. This is my daughter. I should have watched out for her, taken care of her, paid attention to her. Instead, I have ignored her, and made her second string.
What have I done? How could I have been so stupid?
They tell me she will be OK physically, but emotionally, that is to be seen.
I should have expected it.
I saw her when she was still in the ER. She was so pale, that she made the pillows look like they were blushing. I can't help but blame myself for this. I just feel so helpless right now.
I talk to Jesse. He can't believe that it got this far, either. He seemed distracted by something. I wonder if he has seen her cuts. I haven't seen them in a year or so. I'm too scared to ask to see them.
I won't be allowed to see her until she's seen by a psychiatrist. I know she'll stay at least two weeks, if not more. They want to put her in a residential treatment facility called Vista Dal Sar. It is one of the best places in the country for self-injurers.
Man, I don't want to think of her as a self-injurer. It doesn't seem right.
~~*~~
I don't know how, but I ended up talking to Mark Sloan, the head of Internal Medicine here at the hospital. Jesse has mentioned him as his mentor, so I know he's a good man.
I was just sitting in silence in the courtyard outside, and he comes up and sits next to me.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No." A pause. "Yes."
He looks at me, expecting me to talk. "I feel so helpless. I feel like I have failed her. I have failed her. She needed a mother, and I was just a floating figure in her life, there one moment, gone the next. No stability, no home. Just a lot of houses." For some reason, a tear has made it down my face. I brush it back, and begin to sob. I'm so lost in my own sobbing, I don't realize Mark's arms coming around me. I just know that when I finally calm down, Mark is rocking me, saying that everything is going to be all right.
I try to believe that.
~~*~~
I'm about to see Meg for the first time she's been conscious since her suicide attempt. I'm about to throw up, I'm so scared.
I don't know what to say.
I enter her room, and try not to gasp at her pallor. It has been some hours since she took all of the drugs, but she still is pale.
I suspect the not eating is a factor.
There is still an NG tube in place. A couple of IV's are also in her arms. She's hooked up to a heart machine. There seems to be probes, lights, and tubes all over the place.
She's talking to Jesse, reclining with the hospital bed. She looks up when I come in the room, and sees me. She puts her head back down in shame. It breaks my heart.
"Have me paged if you need anything," Jesse said as he saw me. He got up to go, but Meg grabbed his hand.
I could barely make out her whispered plea, but I think it was something like, "Don't leave me, please."
Jesse looked at me. I nodded, and took a seat on the other side of the bed.
I didn't know what to say. After a couple of deep breaths, I said, "Meg, I love you so much. I'm sorry I put you in so much pain. All I want is the best for you."
She looks at me, sizing me up, I guess, for a few minutes, and says in a small voice, "I love you, too, Mom. I'm sorry I hurt you." I can't take it any longer. My eyes were already misting over, but at that, tears begin to flow down my face freely. It's not very long until Meg puts her arms around me. Jess must have left the room sometime during all of this, because when I came up, he was gone.
Meg was asleep, so I laid her back, and put the bed down.
Her face was dry.
~~*~~
It's been two weeks since Meg attempted suicide. She's being moved to Vista Dal Sar tomorrow. I'm in her hospital room helping her pack.
"I don't want to go, but I know I have to if I want to get better."
"That's the spirit. We'll beat this!"
Big mistake in trying to be a cheerleader. She lets loose with a fury that I haven't seen in a long time. As much as it scares me, I'm happy, because she's feeling emotion again.
"Come again? Did you say we? Excuse me, but it wasn't you who took the razor and sliced her arm every day because she was trying to feel emotion, was it? Was it you who almost died on an overdose? You have no friggin' idea what I'm going through. WE will not fight this. I will. If I feel like it."
I mumble a quick apology and exit to the cafeteria.
When I come back an hour later, she's asleep.
~~*~~
The Vista is on 50 acres of sprawling land. There is a school, gym, pool, and other recreation facilities available to the patients. No, not patients. Clients. I broke the first rule. I'm not to call Meg a patient because she's not sick. She's a client.
God, I hate this.
I take her as far as I can go. She's going to be in lockdown for 2 weeks. This is goodbye for 2 weeks. I'm trying to savor it.
I hug her. "I love you, Meggie."
She's scared, but she's not going to show it. "I love you, too, mom," she says, squeezing me hard before she disappears behind the door into the lockdown ward.
I got out to my car and cry.
