Just under 15 years ago, Alli, the much-desired little angel, came to us. Four months later, she left us, leaving us all reeling, especially her older sister who lived for her every breath, every sneeze, every smile. Her older brother resented her but was still terrified when Alli rolled into a pillow and suffocated. He found his bed terrifying and wouldn't sleep in it. We took the kids to a therapist, state-provided because we couldn't afford other options.
The kids' therapist scarcely talked with or even looked at the kids over the months we went to he. She was supposed to be their therapist, but it turned out she was just there to get into our heads and report whatever may help the state. It wasn't enough that DCSF had violated HIPAA laws to be in the room when we found out our baby died. It also wasn't enough that they violated other laws in trashing our house before taking pictures or falsifying pictures of where the baby died. It wasn't even enough to hide any evidence that showed us in good light. They also had to rub our noses in whatever information we'd entrusted to a therapist. They clearly were not satisfied with trying to frame us for negligent homicide or marking our records, so we could never adopt or work with kids. It wasn't even enough to verbally abuse us or falsify reports against us. They had to destroy our trust in everyone.
Other than a grief counselor for us at the same time, it was a very long time before we could trust anyone calling themselves a counselor, a therapist, or a psychiatrist. They were traitors all. Or at least we didn't know which we could trust, so we didn't trust any.
When Alli's bereft older sister showed ongoing emotional scarring in middle school, we tried again with a religious counselor, someone who we knew wasn't obligated to say anything to the state. But our child had a hard time speaking to strangers, which was foundational to the struggle. The appointments helped some, so we ended appointments when things seemed to stabilize. But stability and healing are not the same.
Again, we sent both kids to therapists in high school, but neither really made much if any progress. I've heard again and again that therapy is supposed to be magical or at least helpful. I still haven't seen it for myself, though my friends have shown progress with their own situations.
That "therapist" who had betrayed us had diagnosed me with being "normal." Over time, one person in my family after another exhibited emotional scarring and distinct mental issues, so I had to be the "strong" one. But of late, my armor has revealed its cracks. My friend, who is a mental health provider, has been helping us sort out our emotional issues over the last couple of years. She's helped us get meds figured out. Over the last couple of months, she has encouraged me to seek mental help for myself because I seem to be one short step from an emotional breakdown. In 15 years, I can't say I've healed. I've just borne enough emotional scar tissue that I could function without thinking about the pain. I've just kind of trudged forth, bearing the emotional and financial weight of the family because someone had to do so. Now that my youngest is over 18, and DCSF, our constant boogeymen/emotional terrorists for 15 years, have no power over us. So, I've opened the door to get counseling. I don't know what to expect, but I hope it helps.