So…another week begins.
We spent time Thursday and Friday last week talking as a family about what’s going on with The Girl* and talking to her about what an evaluation is. We’d had a cocktail party scheduled for Saturday night for weeks and, while debating if we should cancel, we all decided not to. She was looking forward to seeing my friend Carla and Carla’s dog who were coming to stay the weekend, as well as some of the neighbors. And since her therapist agrees she’s not in crisis (meaning, not a risk to herself and not underweight), and she was looking forward to an evening of movies and doggie-love, and, frankly, Tom and I needed a few hours to enjoy our friends and neighbors and not think about mental illness, the party went on as planned. She watched Moulin Rouge and Mama Mia, clumped in a pile of puppies, and we talked about the coming winter and the homeowner’s association over a couple of martinis and pot luck appetizers.
Thanks to my loving and ever-supportive husband, a few close friends, and a slew of online friends who really know what this life is like – and who allowed me to vent my anger at the universe for inflicting additional pain on my children – I was able to get my head screwed back on straight by Sunday afternoon and get my daughter to her first evaluation at the behavioral health hospital that, until now, we’d only visited with Tim. And the good news is, while The Girl* does need to see a specialist that deals with body image issues and depression, we will be doing that outpatient, in the doctor’s office, for now. I’m still pissed at the universe. I’m not sure if I ever won’t be. And that’s what I work on in my therapy sessions.
*”The Girl” is a pseudonym I use for my daughter. She picked it because, while Tim knows I blog and wants me to use his real name, she knows and would prefer I didn’t. That’s also why I never post pictures of her face here.