Committed

There are a lot of things I am committed to:  my family, landing a job, finding my way to better mental health.  And, apparently, fighting to not be committed.

That's right...I was this close to being committed...involuntarily.  It's a really, really good thing I have a great relationship with my physician.  I talked her out of it.  Apparently, they have a legal obligation to have my crazy ass checked into the hospital, all because I have thought the unthinkable and how I would do it.  Not that I would do it.  See paragraph one.  Family.  That's why I don't do it, and never tried.  Doesn't mean I don't think it.  I'm too smart for that.  And, just because my ass is crazy, doesn't mean my kids don't need me.  I think I need them more.

It isn't usually rainbows and ponies around here...but lately?  Yeah, lately has been really bad.  My eldest child is now bald.  That's right...she's bald.  ADHD usually spurs OCDs, we've battled kleptomania (there are more school scissors and paper clips in my house than I care to mention) and won.  Now it's trichotillomania...the twisting and pulling of the hair from the scalp.  It affects 4% of the population.  Four.  Percent.

I love statistics as much as any other "numbers junky".

Just not that one.

~

When your child becomes a learning experience for her pediatrician.

When your child receives pity laced attention because her hairless head is covered with a bandana, and cashiers think she has cancer.

When you lie awake, sobbing every night, because you don't know how to help her or stop her.

What do you do?

We're doing what we can.  She is getting help.  Hair grows back, if you stop pulling it out.  Time will tell. 

That's all I have now. 

Time.