Lydia Part 3: The Rest Comes Crashing Down

It was in the midst of this storm, when I felt I had nothing left to give, that more was demanded of me. More than I ever thought was possible. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was about to get a crash-course, a supplementary degree if you will, on the topic of mental health.

It was the day after Thanksgiving 2018. I know this because Paul was out Black-Friday shopping. A Chromebook had been missing from our stash for some time and Paul secured it before he headed out. “I put it in the safe. It was in Lydia’s room again. You might go take a look.” That was code for “go be an amazing-snooping-parent-sleuth.” I never could have imagined what I’d find.

Hangouts was one of her favorite places to chat. She had recently been on there with her boyfriend, Preston. It was a rather long conversation, so I scrolled back, trying to find the beginning. As I did, I saw words like “cut” and “blood dripping,” even “help me!” Something caught in my throat as I tried hard to swallow it down. Could this be real? My heart began thumping wildly in my chest as my mind raced.

I remembered her talking about this with a friend in junior high. Her principal had brought it to my attention. Maybe it’s just a fad, something the kids are talking about nowadays? I had confronted her. “Lydia, are you cutting yourself?” “No Mom. It’s just the cool thing to say. I want them to like me.” Eating up her words like a starving beggar, I took it, line, bait, and sinker, and thought nothing more of it.

But this was too much to turn my eyes from. “Lydia, can we talk in your room?” As she stepped through the door, I closed it behind us. “Pull up your sleeves. Let me see your arms.”

While she fought me at first, with a huff and a puff from the other side of the game room she just stomped across, she screamed, “Fine! See!”  as she pulled up the sleeve of her sweater. I tried to calm her and coax her back to her room where I could actually see what she was showing me. It was then that I saw. Her forearm was covered with slashes, back and forth, up and down the entire surface. 

I couldn’t breathe, let alone talk. Grabbing her wrist and taking a picture, I sent it to Paul. “You need to come home now.”