Finally Seeking Help

[My baby came and left; source]

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. 

[Therapy...supposedly; source]

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.

[Suffering alone; source]

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.

[Trying again; source]

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. 

[And again; source]

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. 

[Seeking help; source] 

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. 

Approaching Her Birthday

[Alli's birthday comes again; source]

 Alli would have been 15 next month. She could have been studying to get her learner's permit. She could have been thinking of a crush, hoping for a date. She would have been a fully-formed human looking forward to adulthood. Instead, she's our angel, the first of many. All of the others didn't even make it to birth. She's still fully formed; we just can't see her. We lost her at just shy of four months. For almost 15 years, we have been members of the Empty Arms Club. It's a disconcertingly large club. It's always nice to be understood by fellow members, but I don't wish it on anyone. The dues are too high. I'm thankful to understand how to show empathy and understanding. I know that's one good thing that has come out of the worst time of my life. I just wish I could say that fifteen years have brought true healing. 

[The state of my shattered heart; source]

I truly don't know what healing looks like. I took a course on trauma writing, so I know writing can help. I've read about the five stages of grief, but I've also heard there is no reliable research to back them up. I can pass through most days without feeling the agony of loss, but I'm not sure if this is what's called healing. This is what fifteen years have granted me. When I really face the pain, it almost feels like no time has passed, and I'm in agony again. After watching me break down, my psychiatric healthcare nurse friend recently pointed out I could still use therapy for real healing. She also said the combination of a childhood of abuse, the loss of 18+ babies including Alli, dealing with the fallout of losing Alli--including DCSF attempting to frame us for negligent homicide--and all the other things I've suffered have left me with depression and PTSD. Yeah, pretty sure I'm just surviving instead of actually healing. But therapy costs money. It's never fit in the budget. Maybe one day. But I've always been the most fully functional of all of us. Everyone else's therapy always felt like a higher priority. 

[Research; source]

I did some research early on to find out what real healing is supposed to look like. I read books of child loss for the faithful, but none of them quite encompassed the kind of loss wherein a thought of the child also drummed up months of trauma at the hands of the state nor years of futile striving for a rainbow baby that would never come. I've heard you can tell you've healed when you can reflect on the joys and forget the pain when you look at the person's picture. I'm nowhere near that. Alli's pictures are still hard for me to look at and can even be a trigger. I usually do a pretty good job of not thinking of the gaping, bleeding hole in my chest. However, slight references to child loss or even babies have set me off more than usual recently. Maybe it is because the anniversary is coming up. The anniversaries and birthdays are always the worst days of the year. Maybe it's lack of sleep or an excess of stress. Little things also remind me of my late dad, who died a year ago this month, and my brother, who died the month before my baby did. But worst of all is when something reminds me of my baby.

[Source of Healing; source]

 I also know healing, true healing, comes from the Lord. I've sought that, and I feel like searching the scriptures and prayer have helped a lot. I've sought to understand what brings peace and what brings joy, and it all comes back to a relationship with the Lord. That is a work in process. Maybe one day, all of this will come together to truly heal my soul. In the meantime, I will continue to trudge through life, ignoring the gaping hole in my life and heart, hoping for a healing that may not come until I hold Alli in my arms again.