O.K., so the dance was last night and it was just beautiful. All the moms that showed up last night to chaperone and that hadn't seen the decorations yet were bowled over, dads too. I made husband J come up to the school to see it and he was suitably impressed. Even said that my descriptions didn't do it justice (he doesn't say stuff like that very often so this is a very telling statement!).
M is a girly girl when it comes to makeup and clothes; she literally started thinking about what kind of dress she wanted for the 8th grade dance back in 7th grade. To say that she's been excited about this dance is a hugh understatement. She's seen older sis's pictures of her 8th grade dance and she's totally on board with it all. I'm somewhat chagrined to say that, over time, the preparations for this dance, as far as the girls go, almost rival those being made by the high schoolers for prom, homecoming, etc. I'm talking mani-pedi, eyebrow wax, semi up-do for hair, White House/Black Market dress (bought for a song back in January on clearance), the whole shebang. I know it's really too much but for me it was worth it when on the way to the dance last night, M tearfully told me that she had never felt as pretty as she did right then.
So, you might be thinking, what's wrong with this picture? Sounds like things were going pretty well, huh? Well, I'm going to digress from the dance stuff for a little bit. Caution: it gets a bit more serious here.
O.K., so my family has this genetic thing going on - I believe the politically correct term for it now is "chemical imbalance". There are so many people in our family that have been affected by different nuances of this insidious affliction. But this is the one that is currently breaking my heart. Older bro and sis have had problems (understatement!!) with chem. inbalances in different ways but we all hoped baby sis would be spared. She is the most outgoing, cheerful, and dramatic of the 3 and it seemed that luck was on our side, for the first 12 years, at least. However, my mom died suddenly 2 years ago (another blog, another day) and this sent little M into a downward spiral that manifested itself in panic attacks. e.g., several times she was convinced that I had died while out running errands when she couldn't reach me on my cell. In between classes in school she would hide out in bathroom stall and text me making sure I was o.k. Over time, the anxiety became cloaked in depression. Counselling ensued for several months and then our therapist (a true godsend of a woman) told us that what she could do for M had pretty much been tapped out and her professional opinion was that we should see a psychiatrist for evaluation. I'd been down this road before with B and C so, unlike some parents, I didn't freak out and think "Oh no, I can't put my child on psychiatric medications". Oh, no, here's what I thought ~ "Yep, we've done as much as we can with counseling; bring on the drugs, baby!"
Soooo, where the heck am I going with all this? Well, the drugs gave me back my little girl. A few weeks after beginning treatment, M told me that she had no idea how bad off she really was until the meds enabled her to feel like herself again. Thinking back on how narrow and constricted her life had become prior to getting help, I thank God for all the medical advances in this field.
However, over time, the meds weren't working as well, very common with growing adolescents and in general with adults too. Some tweaks were made and it was better for a while but then a few weeks ago, her depression sank to a level that I can only describe as frightening. When your precious little girl says to you "If someone gave me the choice right now to live or die, I'd choose to die", you start thinking omg, omg, Lord ~ HELP! Where do I go, what do I do? But it's imperative to stay calm and don't show your child that you're freaked out. Then my sweet little girl asked if I would take her anywhere she wanted to go. Cautiously, I said yes, not having any idea of what she was going to say next. She said "Will you take me somewhere where people can help me?". So that's what I did. I knew from experiences with B that I did not want to take her to one certain psych. hospital here but knew of another one that two friends had had experience with and spoke well of. So, after a phone call to M's shocked dad, letting him know what was going on, we were on our way and she was admitted to the psych. hospital. After 6 days, she was released and then followed up with 5 days of outpatient care. Thank the Lord that the new meds and around the clock availability of professional help helped pull her out of her despondency. It's still very much a work in progress, as it always is with mental illness but it's getting better. Well, I should say it was getting better. We're on high alert again now. Read on, dear reader.
Prior to everything going to hell in a handbasket (my grandma used to say that) M had spearheaded plans for a big group of girls to go out to eat and then travel to the dance together. However, the girls all made other plans while M was away from school (a total of about12 days) since they didn't know when or if M would be coming back to school. Very understandable. Unfortunately, though, M didn't find out that she was now "groupless" (a fate worse than death when it comes to the 8th grade dance) until the day before she was set to go back to school which was two days before the dance. Definitely not what was needed at that time. That in itself wasn't horrible but it set off a string of things being said, looks being exchanged, stories being told, etc. One girl was angry because M didn't return her texts while she was out, not realizing, of course, what M was going through (and even adults, if they or a family member, havn't experienced some kind of depression or anxiety disorder, really don't understand), another told M that she could go with their new group but she couldn't sit at their table with them because restaurants charge more for larger groups! Well, you get the picture. Just a bunch of silly girls, mine included, with hurt feelings, insecurities, and lots of cluelessness. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about this kind of thing; I mean, I listen to M and all that but don't get emotionally invested like this time. Anyway, M was able to find another couple of kids to go to the dance with and all seemed pretty o.k. BUT, M came to find me about 30 minutes after the dance had begun (I was busy collecting tickets from incoming students) and she was shaking with emotion, eyes brimming over, saying that they were ignoring her and saying things that weren't true, you know ~ girl stuff. I did the tough love thing and told her don't be ridiculous, don't give anyone the power to ruin such a special night, blah, blah, blah. I mean, you have to at least try that tactic first, right? Well, 10 minutes later with the aforementioned girls huddling in the restroom, whispering who knows what, and M emotionally overwrought, I took her home.
It was just so darn sad because our 30 yr. old school truly did evoke feelings of Paris, with a giant Eiffel tower, park benches, trees, fairy lights, and pots and pots of geranium tissue flowers in the gym where the dancing took place. Best Buy had donated game systems like Guitar Hero, Wii, etc. (a big hit with the boys); there were giant inflatable jousting rings, bouncy toys and a cafeteria that really did make kids feel like they were sitting in an outside Paris cafe, complete with sultry Edith Piaf music! Outside, when the kids approached the school, there was an Orient Express styled train car that devoted dads had built complete with windows and little lamps in each window and that's where we collected the tickets. It was all just so awesome. My daughter and I slipped out a side door and drove away, leaving the dance behind us, and me to begin watching M like a hawk all over again, praying that the experience won't trigger another frightening episode and chalking up one more experience to the demon of mental illness.
