by Tracy Brooks

Created on: September 13, 2010

It was gray out. Like a veil placed heavily something was hanging over over me. It may have been spring and not a cloud in sight,but it was gray out. This ride was all to familiar. Every afternoon we'd kiss our youngest, leave the world of sunshine and what made sense. We'd embark on a visit to what seemed like hell.

Having a child in a psych ward is an unimaginable thing. Well, it used to be. I always clung to the false thought that love and attention were all you needed. I had that belief ripped from me the first time she cut her flesh. I wore my love for her like a clean, crisp garment. This day what was left of that pretty garment was torn from my fighting hands. Under that perfect,pretty garment was more love than I ever knew even existed.

Before we could see her we always had to stop and check in with the nurse. That day they shuffled my husband and I into an office. Some therapist we barely knew gave me some colorful brochures and asked "have you ever thought of these?" She began to rattle off some psych jargon. I had done research, even studied this crap in college. More importantly, I had spent the last 13 years raising this "beautiful disaster".  My mind lost connection with reality and floated away. Therapist kept talking. My husband sweetly yet firmly grabbed my hand.They were "long term facilities"  and we really should consider them.

I bit my lip hard. My trick for keeping tears inside. It nearly always worked. I jolted back to now when we got to the ''quiet room''...that's what they called the ''isolation room'',where the ones who were really screwed up,acting out,dangerous to self or others.

I bit my lip so hard it stung for hours. My beautiful girl,the sunshine in my world was all tied to some table. It looked like she was in jail,on death row. Surreal. Piercing. Her eyes seemed swollen. She'd been crying. Lips red and chapped.She must have been biting her lip for hours.

"She was poking her hands into her own eyes, stabbing herself with her own fingernails.''  That nurse was so cold as she spoke.

"Mom, please,please take me home" she cried. She pleaded like a lost child.

I bent down and held her head in my trembling hands. ''Take these straps off of my child now please'', I whispered.

''Now!'' I felt the words roar. 

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