I've taken a break from SMI and I’m trying to find my place. My daughter Raven took so much out of me and my advocacy for SMI — even when she was institutionalized. Because she lived with delusions most of her life, I knew it was a matter of time until I would lose her. I didn't think it would be on her 18th birthday.
Those, who have followed, know Raven left the institution she was living in on December 9, 2019. She spent eight months there and the level of care remained Intense because she’d set fire to our cabin during a six-hour psychotic episode. She chose to live with her creepy, biological father. CPS had removed her from him as a baby. At the time, CPS reported his family was involved in a demonic lifestyle. A year ago, he promised Raven they would get matching grills — vampire bite marks tattooed on their necks — once she moved in with him. That was her Thanksgiving holiday fixation. The lack of insight into her illness — schizoaffective and borderline personality disorder — allowed her to walk away from our relationship with little emotion.
After she moved in with her father, he harassed me (they’d both leave bizarre messages in manic states of hysteria…nothing that was coherent), threatened her friends, and cut off her phone and all forms of contact including social media. He began this weird last-name obsession about adopting her. I filed a report with the police, but it was all legal. I don't understand why turning 18, with her long psychiatric history and severe brain disturbances, meant there was nothing that could be done to protect her.
Raven called one time wanting to leave her father. As I made arrangements, she called back as if in a trance. "I was having a meltdown and decided to stay... and um, could you please never call me again.” That was the last I've heard from her.
I’m grateful I had 14 years with her — teaching her how to tie her shoes and how to swim, listening to her cry when she skinned her knees, empathizing with her teenage troubles and heartbreaks. We took vacations to the Bahamas and to Florida. She and I had a special Taylor Swift song called “The Best Day.” Now, my husband and I experience the best days as empty nesters. The good memories of our lives can never be taken away. At the same time, the hole in my heart can’t be filled nor the calm of each day feel normal. I have to hang on to knowing, whenever she can think clearly, Raven will remember that she loves me and we had the best days.
I’ve gone back to work (until COVID-19 shut everything down). I plan to live as if my daughter is dead. Things will never be the same. Her dad won’t tell me if she leaves, commits suicide, or gets arrested. I know, if she were well, she would call. Maybe she would miss me as much as I miss her.
Note: See more from Channin on this blog — August 13, 2019, I SEE CHANGE COMING
Channin writes: “For Raven’s 18th birthday, I made a ‘Best Day’ book with the words to the song and photos of us.