Colorado Trip: What If

After camping, we headed to Greeley for the rest of our vacation. I was still sore, but I was doing ok. I kept having that nagging "what if" as I would move and hurt. Philip had no idea what had happened, but he could have grown up without me. Things could definitely have been much worse.  I had to grin and bare the pain... I was alive! Of course the word had spread and even family that wasn't there was informed of my "adventurous spirit". Everyone was concerned if I was ok, but I was just embarrassed. I was good and determined to enjoy the rest of my vacation! 

I was excited to take Philip to Ryan's dad's dairy for the third time. He had done well his second time there a few months before. I was especially excited because Philip loves animals and is more interested in them everyday. He loved it! He wanted to see everything and had no fear to reach out and touch the cows, even the big ones.  

My Little Bug turned one a couple days later. How is that possible? He was just born? Where did the year go? We celebrated with a small party, pizza, and cake.  Philip was a fan of the pizza and his very own chocolate cake. He destroyed it, got it everywhere, and needed a bath afterwards. He was showered with gifts and love by his Colorado family. 

I had grown more sore, especially in my upper body, and it took a lot to get out of bed in the morning. More than that though was the amount of love that I was feeling. I was overwhelmed by love of my life, my husband, and my son. I am so blessed! God protected me and blesses me richly every single day. Why does this matter? Well, I felt like I had gotten a second chance.  With that my thoughts started to change. Ryan and I had taken foster classes, but is that the right direction? We started to seriously talk about our options.  Should we try for another baby? 


These thoughts left me conflicted. Am I crazy to even be thinking about this? What if I have complications again? What if I need a C-Section? What if I have Postpartum Depression and/or Anxiety? I just finished taking my Postpartum medications. Do I want to start them again? I could go on and on with negative what if's, but what if we should try again? What if now is the time? What if I am prepared for these possibilities? 

I don't know what the future has in store, but there are definitely more options than there were a couple of months ago. I'm just happy to be here and I am ready to see what God has in store for my family!! There is a God and it's not me... He has a plan for my life. 

Colorado Trip: Mountain Madness

Where to begin...

It has been a little while since my last post.  It has been busy around here! We have had a vacation, a wedding, a birthday, family visiting from England, and lots of summer fun. Let me start with our vacation in early June.  

Ryan, Philip, and I traveled to Colorado to enjoy Ryan's mom's wedding. We rented an RV and made our way to Sylvan Lake. It was a beautiful area - mountains, nature, and of course the lake! Our first day there we enjoyed hiking, campfires, and spending time with family. Ryan even took Philip on a four-wheeler ride with his brothers who were on mini bikes.  There was a dirt road that went up the mountain side to a gorgeous view. By the end of the day, I was one of a few that hadn't made it up to see the view.  

The next day was the wedding. The lake was a beautiful backdrop for the ceremony on a beautiful day.  Ryan's mom couldn't have gotten better weather, even if she had hand picked it. Ryan officiated the intimate ceremony. There was not a dry eye around as vows were shared and the happy couple became husband and wife.  I was also able to be the photographer and was thrilled to lend my services. (Deanne: Your photo book is finished and heading your way soon!)

After a barbecue lunch, we were free to enjoy the area again like the day before. I was excited for the afternoon. The plan was to go on the four-wheeler to see the view with Ryan.  Then my five year old nephew was going to teach me how to fish. He had a hard time believing I had never tried, but he was willing to teach me the basics. 

Ryan's brothers were going to watch Philip. I changed out of my wedding outfit and I was ready to go! Ryan was going to ride a mini bike, while I was on the four wheeler. I got a quick tutorial - start up, brake, gas.  It was easy, I was all set! A quick selfie and then we were off. Just beside the campsite, there was a stop sign.  I stopped and the engine died. Ryan told me how to avoid that and drove off up the mountain road that led to the view. 

I followed behind, nervous, but feeling confident. I had only gone about two hundred feet before things started to go wrong. I was having trouble staying straight on the bumpy, curvy mountain road. I veered to the left and tried to correct by veering right.  I must have over corrected because that is when the front wheels left the road.  I was now driving off the road, heading down the mountain.  I screamed, but there was nothing I could do.  

I closed my eyes and thought it was my time to go. I
was falling down a mountain. Who survives something like that? I came off the four-wheeler and 
felt  myself do a couple head over feet tumbles before skidding to a stop on my back.  I didn't move and my eyes were still closed. Am I ok? Did I break any bones? I heard people at the base of the mountain shouting that a girl just drove off. Would they help me? What should I do? 

I heard foot steps and Ryan's voice.  He had heard my scream and was coming to find me. He was at my side asking me if I could move. Did I have any broken bones? I started trying to move. Things seemed ok. I couldn't believe what I had done, but I could move! My sister-in-law was there to help now too. They both helped me climb through the dirt back up to the road. 

A park ranger had arrived to interview me for an accident report.  I was sore and very dirty, but felt ok.  They recommended that I go to the doctor, but I was more embarrassed than anything. I had a few scrapes, but nothing major. The four wheeler definitely had more injuries than me. It had continued down the mountain until stopped by a barbed wire fence. The park ranger had me wave to my worried family, who had gathered down below, before having me sign that I was declining medical treatment.  

We made our way back down.  I needed to clean up and take a few minutes. I had a small scrape on my chin, a couple on each arm, and that was it! I could write plenty about how things could have gone worse.  The four wheeler could have hit me, I could have hit a tree, there could have been broken bones, or worse. One of the wedding guests was a nurse. She told me what I should watch out for and that I would probably wake up sore the next morning. Each day I was more sore and about a week later, I had some rib pain that wasn't fun.  

It was a crazy, embarrassing, scary event, but I survived relatively unharmed! I didn't get to see the view, but I was just happy to be alive... more time to enjoy the daily blessings in life with my family, friends, and these two loves!


(My new father-in-law took me in his truck to see the view before we left the campsite.")


Stay tuned for Colorado Trip: part two in the next couple of days.  
  

Choose Joy

As I continued to get better, I couldn't help to think "why". Why me? What had I done wrong? Could I have prevented all this? I found quickly that these thoughts couldn't do me any good. They could only lead me back to my anxiety and spiraling thoughts.  

Before I got pregnant, I defined myself by joy.  This joy stemmed from my faith. There have been times that I have felt a warmth inside me. Some people may disagree, but I felt like it was God within me. I have believed that God is in control of my life since I was fifteen years old. I was always glass half-full. During these hard times, my glass felt empty or smashed on the floor. I couldn't believe that God would lead me down this path for nothing.  What did He want? What should I do? 

I knew that I needed to use these trials to God's glory. When I feel like I can't, I need to refocus and realize that He can.  What was He trying to show me? What does He want me to do? Through Him I can help others who are struggling by showing them it is okay to speak up. Through Him I can educate people and provide resources. Through Him I can help others who have not struggled see that it is very common. Through Him I can help my family and friends understand what happened to me.  


Some people say that Joy stands for Jesus, others, yourself. I agree with this completely. I could have wallowed in self pity, but I had to focus on Jesus and others by choosing joy. If I put Jesus and others first then I will have joy. The joy I had become accustomed to would return. Every time that I have shared my story there has been joy. A joy from compassion, understanding, and honesty.  As I have spoken to people that have asked questions or needed help, I have felt joy.  Joy to tell them it will be okay and that there is help out there.  I could have used this kind of help when I was at my worst.  God has slowly returned the joy I used to feel back to me.  In fact recently, for the first time in a long while, I began to feel like myself again. I was back to glass half full and feeling the joy within me shining.    

What is next for me? How can I share Joy? How can I focus on Jesus and others? I will continue to speak out about mental health and Postpartum Depression.  This may include starting a support group, providing resources, and talking to people who are sent to me by friends and family.  I can also imagine one day working for an organization that offers support. Of course just because God is with me and I have joy does not mean I will never face struggles again.  They will come and my strength will come from Him.    

Ryan and I have also decided to help others by pursuing fostering. We have taken two classes so far and done a lot of paperwork. We will continue to work towards being licensed. It is hard to be reminded how great the need is in Bexar County. Children are being abused, neglected, and killed. I have shared joy with many children in my life. My students, Sunday school children, my foster daughter, nieces and nephews, and now Philip. We don't know what will happen when we are licensed, but we are going to find out. Hopefully there will be more children and adults with whom we can share His joy. We might foster, adopt, or have more biological children. I'm excited to see what the future holds! Until then I am enjoying my 11 month old who overflows with joy - constantly laughing, smiling, bouncing, and just yesterday started clapping.  

Love and Motherhood

Today I sit here and think of my foster daughter. She turned ten on Saturday. She was in my life for a year and I haven't seen her for almost six. That's the funny thing about love and motherhood, it doesn't have to be biological and it can happen in a short time. I will always think of her as my daughter.  She was a part of my everyday and my number one job was to take care of her. The foster agency asked me if I wanted to adopt her because her parents couldn't handle the responsibility for their own reasons. I hadn't thought about adoption, I wanted to, but it wouldn't come to be. The grandmother that didn't have time for her when she went into the system now wanted to adopt her.  She would be transitioning out of my home. About a month later she was gone. Her grandmother was not happy that her granddaughter had been in the system and called me mom.  As if it was my fault, she wanted nothing to do with me and I have not heard from them in more than five years. How is my foster daughter? Is she doing well? How could I love her and not the son I gave birth to? 

As I continued therapy, I continued to learn what things might have contributed to my fears and depression. I hadn't thought about it, but I had lost my foster daughter and miscarried my first pregnancy. Having a child, up to this point, had ended in tears and heartache. I was terrified that it would happen again. These things paired with the c-section and blood pressure complications could have caused these struggles.  There is no way to know for sure and I don't dwell on the "why". I might have ended up with Postpartum Depression even if everything was easy and I didn't have this history.  

Each time I had therapy I felt stronger. I was learning and I was growing.  Soon I was down to going once a week and then every other week. We continued to explore techniques that I could use at home.  My therapist suggested that I write letters to Philip about the things I was looking forward to.  I wrote about his first vacation, Halloween, Christmas, and visiting the pool.  I started to look forward to things instead of dreading them.  I don't know when it happened, but one day as I held Philip in my arms, I felt love.  It hit me like a flood. I looked at him and thought he was the best thing I had ever done.  He wasn't just the cute baby that I was caring for.  He was my baby! It took me longer than I thought it would, but it came! I love my son! Life is not hopeless! I am strong!

I am not saying life is perfect, because frankly whose is? I enjoy being at home with Philip and watching him grow and learn. We have traveled to many places this year and I have enjoyed every minute. Even with all my struggles, this has been one of the funnest years of my life.  We have been to Oklahoma City, Nebraska (twice), Colorado (twice), Chicago, and England! 


At this point, I feel better, but my day is still shaped by Postpartum Depression and Anxiety. It comes back to the pills. I am hard on myself and want to be done with them.  I also feel like others are judging me and my handful of pills in the morning and again at night. I stopped taking my anxiety medication for two weeks and started having problems at night again.  I hadn't tied myself to my bed for a while, but I couldn't quiet it. I needed the medication, I still couldn't do it alone.  I went back on the medication for a few more weeks and decided to try stepping down again.  I am now off my anxiety medication and my sleeping pill.  I'm sure it will be a while before I am off medication completely, but I am working on it!

Until next time...

Moving on... one day at a time

So I had everything I needed - a psychiatrist, therapist, and pills. I didn't feel better, but I was ready to take life day by day.  How long would it take for me to feel better?

Ryan's mom arrived a couple weeks after I got out of treatment.  She helped me with my process to feel normal again.  It sounds bad, but when she first arrived she took care of Philip. I was free to go to appointments and do things around the house. I felt relieved to have her taking care of him.  It was still too hard for me to handle.  I could cook and clean and distract myself from the truth... I was a horrible mother.  

In the beginning, I had therapy two times a week. I had never been to therapy before.  I had to sit there and tell a stranger all about my problems. I was lucky, the woman I had chosen due to my driving preferences was a great fit for me. I was comfortable talking to her and sharing the horrible thoughts I was having. It was hard to say some things out loud. Every session it got a little easier. It felt freeing to put everything out there.  I started to tell Ryan and his mom more and more too.  

We talked about my upcoming psychiatry appointment.  I was still tying myself to my bed at night.  The room crashed in on me daily.  I couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen. Would this ever stop? Can I be a good mother? Will I love my son? This is where my sleeping pill was useful. I couldn't stay up all night drowning, I was knocked out in about thirty minutes. My therapist said that I might ask the psychiatrist about medication for anxiety. 

The day came for my first psychiatrist appointment. As I waited, I was again struck by how "normal" everybody looked.  There were children, men, and women.  All ages and races were represented in the chairs around the room.  Each one had their own struggles that they needed help to handle. Mental health does not look a certain way.  I don't look "broken" and neither did any of the other people. When it was my turn, I sat down with another person to tell them what was going on. She increased the dosage on one of my medications and added one for the anxiety.  

You shouldn't drink much alcohol while on any medication.  That was okay, I hadn't had any since before Philip was born.  The psychiatrist made a point to mention that with my new anxiety medication that I shouldn't drink at all.  It was six weeks after my c-section.  I was starting to get my body back and wasn't having pain very often.  I have never been a big drinker, but I was disappointed to hear this.  Ryan's mom was going to watch Philip while we went on our first date night since Philip's birth.  

As I progressed with medication, I continued to feel better. Each day I was trying to do more with Philip.  I would feed him his bottle, let him fall asleep on me, and just spend time holding him. It wasn't easy, but I needed to do it.  I was starting to feel less hopeless. I wanted to get better... I needed to get better.  Ryan's mom left and I continued to get better. I was taking care of Philip during the day, by myself, with no babysitters.    

I would calm myself with adult coloring books and thought stopping. When thought stopping, I would picture a stop sign and then think positive thoughts.  I was not "healed", but I was getting better. I felt stronger! I would take life day by day; I could handle one day at a time.    







  

Coming home

Before I start this post, I would like to say a huge thank you.  
I am thankful for the positive response that I have gotten for this blog. I am thankful for the support of family, friends, and readers.  I am especially thankful for Ryan and his support while I got better.  A lot of people have said that they had no idea, or to the extent, I was struggling. It was easier to say that I was ok.  I figured it wasn't a lie because I didn't say I was good, but I had definitely been better.  If you are struggling, it can get better!  Thank you for helping me on my journey!

Coming home...

I got the all clear to leave treatment.  I had received needed psychiatric treatment. The doctors kept saying that if you had a heart attack that you would seek treatment.  The things I had been going through were like a mental heart attack. Will we tell anyone I had been in treatment? Should I be ashamed? Will people think I am crazy? 

I felt ready, but scared at the same time.  I was armed with a safety plan, prescriptions for a month, and an appointment for half day outpatient treatment.  The real world was coming back fast. Is this all I needed? Was I "cured"? I had a handful of pills to take, but was it enough.  

Ryan was glad to have me home, but we had to figure out where to go from there. Trust needed to be built up again and I couldn't go from zero to a hundred.  The treatment center said to come back if needed, but I didn't want to leave my family again. Everybody is telling me that I look and seem better.  Were they right? Or was it just wishful thinking?

My parents and sister could help me adjust. One of them would watch Philip in the morning while I went to treatment and Ryan went to work. My dad came to pick me up from treatment at noon and then they would babysit me and Philip. I was back to supervised parenting, but half day this time. In the afternoons I was armed with a list of psychiatrists and therapists.  I would need both to continue getting better.  The only problem is that I was having trouble getting appointments. I found a therapist, but couldn't find a psychiatrist.  I called plenty - not accepting new patients, didn't take my insurance, or just didn't answer.  Would I find myself with no help again? What if my prescriptions run out? Will I have to go back to treatment? 


I was making it day to day, but I needed a lot of help. I was still having thoughts of hurting Philip and forcing myself to hold him more.  I was on a sleeping pill, so I was getting enough sleep.  This made me feel really guilty because Ryan was doing the night feedings. I was also still scared that I might act out one of these awful thoughts while I slept. I was fighting the sleeping pill.  The room was spinning and the thoughts were crushing me again.  I had to do something. Should I go back to treatment? I decided that I would feel better if I couldn't get up.  I needed something to keep me in bed, but what? I thought about hand cuffs, but I don't have any.  What do I have? Ribbon! I know it sounds crazy, but I would tie myself to my bed.  I knotted the ribbon to the bed post and made a loop around my foot.  I would have restricted movement while I slept, but that is what I wanted. I couldn't hurt anybody at night.  We were safe again!

I finished outpatient and would go back to full day "babysitting".  Ryan dropped us off at six o'clock in the morning and picked us up after work. Finally after many phone calls, I had scheduled appointments. I would be starting therapy the following week and had a psychiatrist appointment in a few weeks. Philip continued to grow, but this wasn't working.  Ryan's mom would be coming in two weeks to help us.  I would be able to stay at home, but will still be supervised.  I was starting to think about what we would do after she left.  I could pay my sister to be a live in nanny.  I could put Philip in daycare and substitute teach. Why can't I do this? Will I ever be the mother I dreamed I could be? 

During treatment, I heard the phrase fake it until you make it.  That is what I needed to do.  I would make sure Philip is well cared for and hopefully one day I would feel something.  I felt like a horrible mother.  People say that you don't know your capacity for love until you hold your child in your arms.  Why couldn't I feel it? What was I doing wrong? 

  

    

Treatment

It was one o'clock in the morning and I had just said goodbye to Ryan and Philip.  I was escorted to the building I where I would be receiving treatment.  He unlocked the doors and let me inside.  It was dark and quiet. Everybody was in bed except the three nurses I saw behind the desk when I entered. 

I was not allowed to keep my bag.  I was given a laundry basket and toiletries tub.  My clothes would go in the laundry basket in my room.  The toiletries would go in the cabinet behind the nurses desk.  I could ask for them if I needed them, but had to return them as soon as I was finished.  There was a nurse in charge of medications.  She took my two blood pressure pills, iron supplement, and pain medication.  She locked them up and would call me up twice a day to take them.  After I put my things away, they took my bag to a back room to store until discharge. Will I ever be discharged? Can they help me? 

I was taken to a back room to be checked. They wanted to make sure I wasn't bringing anything in with me.  I had to take my clothes off.  They documented my tattoos and any scars.  I was asked to drop my underwear, bend down, and cough.  I never imagined that I would be checked for smuggling something in my butt.  Next I had to remove my bra and they saw that it had underwire.  They could cut the underwire out or put it with my bag.  No underwire, shoelaces, cell phones, or razors were allowed.  I let them keep my bra with my bag.  Now I had no bra on and was going to leak until I could get nursing pads back on. How had I gotten here? Was this a mistake? 

Philip was still sleeping fine.

I had one more intake procedure.  I had an interview with the night nurse.  He asked about what had been happening and why I was there.  He talked to me about his wife and the postpartum struggles she had.  He said, "Hormones are rough". I was sitting in a treatment facility, talking about my problems, and leaking all over my shirt.  Yeah, I guess you could say, "Hormones are rough". At this point, it was about 2:00 in the morning.  I asked him what time people get going in the morning.  He said between six and seven.  It 
would be an early morning and I needed sleep. Would I be able to sleep? 

They showed me to my room.  It had three twin beds and a bathroom.  I got ready for bed and laid down.  I started to cry and one of my roommates stirred. I put my head under the blanket and tried to stop.  My thoughts were rushing, the room was spinning.  The bad thoughts were attacking. I cannot hurt anybody here, Philip is safe.  The visions swirled and were overwhelming me again.  I need to sleep. Can they fix me here? Will things be the same when I get home? 

I woke up in the morning, still wondering if I had made a mistake.  It was early and I was tired, but it was time to get up. The bedrooms would be locked starting at 9:00. We needed to make our beds, get ready, and head into the main room.  Breakfast was on a table in to-go boxes.  I looked at the scrambled eggs with biscuits. I wasn't hungry at all, but I made myself eat a few bites. It took a lot of effort and I didn't have the energy to spare.  I put it in the trash. Food just doesn't taste good anymore.  Will it always be this way? Is it hopeless?

Orientation started at 9:00.  There were three other newbies, they looked as terrified as I felt. We were told the rules and looked over the daily schedule. I would be on unit restriction until I saw my psychiatrist. I couldn't go to the cafeteria for meals or go out for activities.  I would be locked in this building until I was taken off restriction. The medication nurse called me over.  They couldn't get one of the medications that I needed.  I called Ryan and started crying as soon as I heard his voice.  He would bring it for me, but I couldn't see him today.  There were no visiting hours, I would have to wait 32 hours to see him.  I wouldn't be able to see Philip at all, no children were allowed inside the unit. Did we make a mistake? Does Ryan think we made a mistake? Will they be able to fix me? 

We would have group therapy twice a day.  During my first one, my psychiatrist called me out.  I told him everything. I had been crying off and on all day.  He told me it sounded like Postpartum Depression. Thank you! I figured that was what I was experiencing, but he was the first to agree and verbalize it. He prescribed me a sleeping pill and a mood stabilizer to start the process. Both were pretty low doses and he would see me again tomorrow.  He also took me off of unit restriction. I spent about ten minutes with him, but he had done something! Maybe I will get better.  Will these pills help? Is there hope?  

The rest of the day felt like forever. I was locked in a room with a tv, but I didn't have the remote. There were "fresh air breaks" which I found out quickly were actually smoke breaks. I could make and receive ten minute phone calls. The phone would beep a warning and then cut off. I called Ryan three times throughout the day.  I was also able to go with a supervised group to the cafeteria for dinner.  I still wasn't very hungry.  I saw people from my group going back for more, but not me.  I had eaten a whole grilled cheese for lunch.  

We walked back to the unit.  They counted us several times.  They unlocked the two doors and we were back inside.  There is something about knowing you are locked in and have no freedom. I have never really appreciated my freedom until then.  On any given day, I can go for a walk, go for a drive, or just step outside of my house.  I checked myself in, but it was not my decision when I got to leave.  That was up to my assigned therapist (who I hadn't met yet), my psychiatrist, and the nurses.  They would be taking notes about how I was doing each day.  I wouldn't want to see the notes for that first day - cries a lot, doesn't eat, doesn't interact with others. 


The medication nurse called me up. Along with my other pills, I would start my new ones tonight. It was 9:30 and lights out was at 10:00. I was still tired from the night before and migrated to bed. How will this go? Here goes nothing, but will they even work? I fell asleep in what seemed like five minutes, but anything was less than what I had been doing. I woke up feeling like I slept well.  I was still tired, but it was early. I got ready and went to the main room to eat breakfast.  I opened the box and saw the same meal as the day before.  I was going to force myself to eat at least half of the biscuits, gravy, and scrambled eggs. I took one bite and it was delicious! I ate every single bite.  I was eating again! Had the pills worked? It was too early to get excited? I shouldn't get my hopes up. 

My second day was good.  I talked to my psychiatrist and he upped my dosages.  I didn't think it was a good idea.  I had been tired all day, even falling asleep during group therapy.  He insisted, I guess he is the expert.  The day was similar to the day before, but there was going to be visitation! My parents, sister, and Ryan came. They took turns, leaving somebody at registration with Philip. I was still having thoughts of hurting him and wasn't feeling love.  It was better for him in another building.  He was safe, protected from me.  Visitation didn't last long and then it was gone.  It would be another 48 hours before I could see anybody.  

Each day was similar to the next.  There were activities, meals, group therapy, medications, psychiatrist visits, and a lot of listening to people's stories.  I looked around and saw a room full of non-violent people with problems like my own.  They had attempted suicide, had depression, or had thoughts to harm themselves or others. There were all races and all types of people.  There were sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers. There were also people of every age. There were people dealing with loss, changes, and health problems. I think about that group and it cements the fact that depression can happen to anyone. 

I finally met my therapist and she sat with me as I made a safety plan.  She said that I needed to have a therapy session with Ryan before I could be released. I was fine with that, I had already told him everything.  He was still standing by my side.  Would he think I was getting better? I felt like it, but could people tell.  This is the first time I had heard anything about being released.  I felt excited for the possibility. Was I ready? What if it's the same when I get home? 

Along with a therapy session, there were two more visitations. Ryan came to one by himself, leaving Philip with my parents.  He was doing so much, but was making time to drive across town for me.  He was up every few hours during the night with an infant.  What would a single mother do in this situation? Luckily he was able to take some time off work because I was in the hospital. During the other visitation, I got to see Philip! I still didn't have feelings, but he sure was cute.  My parents, Ryan, and Philip came to the cafeteria when I was eating dinner.  Then visitation began and they rotated like before.   

They started to talk about discharge, but seemed to be very back and forth.  They don't typically discharge on the weekends, due to the different staff.  They said they would release me the next day! I called Ryan and shared the good news.  The next day, they took it back and said I needed one more day.  I was devastated and called Ryan crying. My insurance covered a week, so that is what they wanted to keep me.  At least that's what it seemed like to me.  They ended up changing their minds again and I could go home! I brought my hamper, sheets, and blanket to the front.  They gave me my bag back and I got ready to go.     

I spent six days in treatment. It was the closest thing to prison I will hopefully ever experience.  My freedom was gone, but me and my family were safe.  I was scared that things would be the same as before when I got back home. I would have to come back for outpatient treatment for the next three mornings. Would I have to come back for inpatient? Was I ready? Is this as good as I will get? I am still having bad thoughts.  Will they continue forever? I still had a long way to go, but I was ready to try. 

Ryan took great care of this Little Bug while I got the treatment I needed!