Lydia Part 7: Evolving Diagnosis

She ran from us, ran from school, ran from friends and anything else that seemed to compound the problem. Her grades dropped. She was unable to care. This was difficult for me to watch especially when I didn’t know what was going on.

We responded to it in the way any parents would have. “You’re grounded until you get your grades up! Go to tutoring during your lunch and after school. Forget your social life.” Little did we know that we were only making matters worse.

Taking care of self had to become top priority. As we learned phrases like “mindfulness” and “dialectical behavior therapy,” our perspective slowly began to change.

Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP)

For ten weeks we attended SHIELD, three days a week for a total of five hours each day (including drive time there and back). It was there that I first learned about mental illness. Through curriculum and experience I got to see first-hand that this was a life sentence.

This wasn’t going to be something we could “fix” or move past. And no matter how much I learned, the rest of my life was going to be a learning experience. Nothing beats practice.

We moved from a Bipolar diagnosis (with severe anxiety and depression) to possible Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Diagnosis seemed haphazard at best and treatment was fluid. Counseling and psychiatric treatment became top priority as we learned what it would take to help Lydia manage her conditions.

“Be careful with official diagnosis and labels,” we were told. Outside of severe anxiety and depression they didn’t want to have anything on record. BPD cannot even be an official diagnosis until the person turns 18. I guess most teenagers would qualify.

There was shame in the process. So many things we couldn’t talk about. “As long as she’s managing her emotional response in healthy ways, we were on the right track.” The only problem is that this was in a constant state of flux.

“It’ll take a few years to figure it out.” This was not a comforting statement. Medicine would be prescribed and adjusted as need be. It was often a shot in the dark. “We want to switch her from Depakote to Lithium since she is at child-bearing age. The drug could cause permanent harm to a fetus’ brain.” I didn’t even want to think about that.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

In this journey we also learned that Lydia had PTSD. Someone sexually propositioned and touched her, saying it was okay. His advancements were refused, but it left a mark.

Unable to sleep, Lydia was awakened by nightmares every night. He denied it, which only made matters worse. Many believed him. They said hurtful things. She feared abandonment.

Prozac was added to the list of meds as we struggled to find our way through the mess. Relationships were strained as everyone tried to make sense of it all. Lydia was already struggling so it made sense to others that she could be fabricating things a bit. All of it seemed to be playing in his favor.

But we had to live in the reality of all of it. Lydia was traumatized, and the effect on her life (and ours) was undeniable. Panic attacks got in the way of traditions. I tried to not become embittered toward him — he had his own issues he was working through. It was hard not to be angry, though. His actions caused a paradigm shift. Everyone had to choose a side.