A product of my insanity

There are no words in any language to describe the shock of finding out that my sweet baby girl was cutting herself. This beautiful, precious child who does nothing but smile and sing and love the world. This most treasured angel who has honored me with her presence in my life. My sweet baby girl was in such terrible pain and I hadn't seen it.

I’ve heard this from every girl I’ve known; “Oh my wedding day is going to be…”. “When I get married I’m going to have…” “Oh I can’t wait to be married!”

I have never had that desire.  I’ve never dressed up my dolls in wedding dresses and I’ve never had visions of walking down the aisle to my waiting knight in shining armor.

I have always wanted to be a mother.

My dolls had pregnant tummies and swollen ankles and were exhausted from late night feedings and sick babies.

I was going to have six children and live on the beach and sell pukka shells to the tourists, so that my six little angels could have sand between their toes and brown skins from the hot Caribbean sun and sea salt on their noses. And when tourist season was over the seven of us would go off to our farm on the river and bake bread and run barefoot in the grass. Just me and my six rowdy, rebellious, society-defying off-spring.

“Huff you”. Sweet little baby girl telling mommy she loved her. And now my child was showing me her arm.

She had done a fabulous job of hiding it for almost three months. “I can’t wear that shirt, it’s too uncomfortable”, “I’m kind of chilly, I need a sweater”. “Don’t come in the bathroom MOM!”

“And mom, don’t get scared…” and she showed me her thighs.

Nothing in this world can ever prepare you for the numbing feeling of seeing your child in so much pain. And I had known nothing. I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t make her hurt go away. I hadn’t protected her from the world. And I knew exactly what she was feeling and why she had done it.  

Because you just need something to make you FEEL.

And the beautifully powerful, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach that hurts and proves that I’ve gone as long as I can without eating makes me FEEL.

I have made my child a product of my insanity. And pain is the only way we know how to FEEL.