Diane’s Story
Every day I watch my beautiful 27 yr old daughter get thinner and thinner with anorexia. When I hug her I can feel all her bones. I have had her in therapy for years, hospitals for years where they would shove food down her throat and ignore her cries of pain. And everyday my heart dies a little, watching her and knowing I am helpless because doctors don't know enough about it. Society tells her she is thin and stylish. Boys love her. Now she is too weak to bathe or take care of herself and needs a nurse every day. No one hears her but me. And she believes she is hopeless and every waking moment I wonder what magic I can say or do to reach her. I think of Karen Carpenter and know that she can die from a massive corornary any day. She already has all kinds of skin and malnutrition damage to her body. She can never have children because she does not have a period.
She was my first love, my miracle baby. I promised her no one would hurt her. But how can I stop her from hurting herself. Her caseworkers ignore her and say she is an addict. She tells them she is in pain in her body and needs pain meds. They don't listen. Why not? Doesn't she deserve a chance? Will someone in the medical community help her before it's too late? Eating disorders are a part of mental illness. No one wants to be anorexic. No one wants to be depressed or in pain. She had goals in her life once.
And I am her mother. My whole family has struggled with different mental health issues. I believe there is a gene for mental illness. We are all struggling in a society that blames us and fears us because they won't listen. Please stop the name calling and labeling. We're just people like you. We want to get better. We just need someone to listen and believe us. There is no loneliness like knowing you are alone and misunderstood and in pain. Hope is a thread we all cling to day after day. We work. We pay taxes. But we have to wear a mask for fear of loosing our jobs or our friends. We can never be ourselves and just talk plainly. Please listen to our desperation. Please give us a chance. Please let me believe that someone, somewhere, cares. Thank you for reading this.
Bless you and if you can, pray for us. We cry ourselves to sleep every night and dry the tears in the morning. It is too late for my daughter. The damage is too extensive. When she dies, I will die. Maybe I'm already dead. Sometimes I think I'm a ghost because I stopped feeling because it hurts too much. No mother should have to bury her child.
When you see a teen, boy or girl, wearing baggy clothes, as young as 11, and they tell you they ate at their friends house or they exercise too much, don't always believe it. They may already have it. Get them help. Talk to them. If I can help one child to survive here with Sherry's story, maybe it will have all been worth it. I know Sherry would be happy that she could help someone else. Hug your child everyday, and when you feel bones, they may be purging and hiding it. I hope you never have to find out, but if you do, get help for them. Thank you Glenn and Jessie for your bravery.