First blog

I highly dought anyone will read this but as i no longer go to therapy this is the best way for me to vent. Just to let anyone whos reading know, im going to use this first blog as my "about me" and my story so far.
                 Im 17 years old and live with my father in california. My story begins on April 7th 1992 in contra costa regional medical center. My mother Rose gave me birth to me at about 11am. We stayed in the hospital a couple of days and when I got home I kept coughing and cried most of the time. At first they told my parents it was normal for a new born to cough. That didnt sit well with my mom because I was her fourth child and none of my siblings had coughed as a baby. So my parents went to another doctor who told them that I had asthma. I was given some albuterol, then the doctors told my parents to give me a treatment everyday and I would get better. I stopped coughing but I also stopped growing. I wasn’t gaining any wight or getting taller. I wouldn’t eat any meat but chicken. The doctors didnt believe my parents when they told them that I wasnt growing. One dr. went so far as to say to my mom that it wasn’t me who had a problem. It was her. She should be checked for munchausen bi proxy.


After a series of hosptial visits my health record was about as thick as all three of my siblings put together. Somewhere between all of the hospital visits my parents separated. They both swear that it wasn’t my fault that they devoiced. I don’t really believe them. I believe that it was the strain of having a sick kid that really snapped there relationship. My grand mother finally took me to The Children’s Hospital in Oakland. She told them that I wasnt growing and didnt eat much, I couldnt stop crying and coughed a lot. They really didnt consider the growing thing a big problem until they saw the pictures of my first birthday and second birthday and I was wearing the same outfit in both. This is when they suggested I have a very cheap, painless test that ruled out a genetic disease called Cystic Fibrosis or CF.

The test was called a sweat test. That is where they put a colorless, odorless chemical, known to cause sweating on the arm or leg of the patient. They then put an electrode on the same spot, which emits a very weak electrical current that stimulates sweating. The second part of the test is to collect the sweat on a piece of gauze or filter paper. Its then sent to the lab for an analysis of the chloride in the sweat. It takes about an hour for the test to be performed. It came back positive.

Cf affects every part of the body in one way or another. The way it affects everything is that the salt in my system cant pass properly threw cells. This disruption in salt makes the mucus im my lungs very thick and extremely sticky. It being so thick and sticky tricks my body into believing it is low on mucus and it makes more. The extra mucus is usually made in the lungs which makes breathing difficult. The next place its made is the pancreas which makes the enzymes not get to my intestines and can also make the pancreas not work at all and cause CFRD. CFRD or Cystic Fibrosis Related Diabetes is very common.

When the test came back my parents were devastated. They didn’t know anything about this disease and didn’t know how to give me my treatments, my grandma and my mom took classes about how to care for a child with CF. It was difficult for them. Especially since I lived with my dad and he was now a single parent of a “special needs” child.

Not too long later my mom was arrested and found guilty of, child neglect. She was put in prison for a long time. My brothers were put in foster care/ group homes since my dad wasn’t their biological father. My sister went to live with my moms best friend Bobby-Jo. It wasn’t until I was about 9 or 10 that I started to get to know them again. My mom was fighting for custody of my brothers. It was hard, she had to submit to random drug testing for a long time, but im glad because then I knew she wasn’t using drugs like she used to. She did get custody of them agian when I was thirteen.

Thirteen was an important year for me. My mom got my brothers back, I got my first boyfriend, I was in a play in school, I had to go into the hospital again for the first time since I was two and I got to go on a Disney cruse. I was in the school play of Cinderella. I was one of the peasants and was in three scenes. When I wasn’t in a scene I was helping other people find things or get dressed. I made a lot of new friends like a guy named Chance and a girl named Trisha, both of them were a year above me. Chance was playing the king and Trisha was... I think she was a peasant too.

I had a huge crush on chance but knew there was no way he liked me because he was dating a friend of mine named Caitlin. The day before my birthday party I had a school dance to go to. Chance was there and so was Trisha but Caitlin wasn’t there for some reason. At a slow song I saw the two dancing and was puzzled. Later in the dance me and Trisha talked and I asked her if Chance and Caitlin had broken up, she said yeah earlier that day. She asked me why I wanted to know and I told her I liked him. Then she preceded to drag me half way across the gym and tell him I liked him. The next slow song we danced and I gave him my phone number after he told me he liked me to. We talked all night with eachother, literally we spoke non-stop from the time I got home, like 9ish till the time my phone died at about 5 or 6ish. I had invited him to my birthday party and thats when I introduced him to everyone as my boyfriend.

About two or three months later, we were still dating, I went on the Disney cruise. The cruise was all expence paid courtesy of the Make A Wish foundation. On the cruise was me, my mom, my dad, my brother tommy, my grandfather, my grandmother, and my cousin Tamara. Tamara came with us because she is my closest cousin in age. She is only about a month older than me. It was quite fun and a good break from my medical treatments.

Me and Chance dated for about nine months, and I can even remember why we broke up. I was scared because I knew I loved him and I had learned from my mom and dad that the people you love hurt you and nothing good really comes from love. I don’t know if it was the wrong choice to break up with him or not, All I know is that I missed him for along time after that. He was a lot of my firsts. My first boyfriend, my first kiss, the first guy I made out with, the first guy I snuck out to see and the first guy I fell in love with.

Just about the time we broke up I also had to go into the hospital. I hated it. I cried almost every day I was in there because I was bored and lonly. I wasnt really alowed to leave. I was miserable because I was to sick to leave but not sick enough to be satisfied with sleeping and laying in bed. I thew a fit almost every time I saw my doctor. I didn’t really like him to begin with, he was a new dr. to me because my old dr. retired. I gave the nurses crap because they were way to cheery when I was so upset that it wasn’t fair. They were also free to leave after their shift ended and not being held against their will in a place that poked and prodded me with needles around the clock. I was simply a pin cushion with a pulse.

That was the first time I had talked to my social worker. Her name is Ann. She talked to me for a bit and kept me company. I told her that something was wrong with me. I felt that I needed therapy and was scared to tell my dad because when I had brought up the subject of therapy before, in passing, he had told me that only the really crazy people needed therapy and he was glad I didnt need to see those “pill for every problem” doctors. She recomened to him that I get counseling. He didnt really listen.

After that hospitalization I went in agian a year later, then six months after that, and six months after that, now its more of a once every 4 months type thing. The second time I was refered to counsiling the dr. who did my psyce evaluation told my dad that it was ether that or they call CPS and have them investigate. They said this because I had told them about how I wanted to be in therapy but my dad didnt want me to. They said it was child neglect if he didnt get me the help I needed. After that I went to therapy twice a month.

I was diagnosed as Depressed and put on prozac. This was when I was 14 till I was 15. I was still depressed on prozac and thought a lot about killing myself, but didn’t want to tell my dad or therapist because I didnt want to disappoint them. And on September 3rd 2007 I tried to kill myself. The reasoning why is a long story in of itself, but I will try to sum it up.

When I entered jr. high I had also started to go to starbucks on almost a daily basis for a frapachino. Every time I went there the same guy was working, and taking my order. Finally he knew me so well he never even had to ask and usually had my drink ready for me by the time I got there. One day when it was raining I desided to get something diffrent then my usual and ordered carmel apple cider. It confused him and we started talking, I was 13. I had always thought he was cute and even though I had a boyfriend I desided to see if I could flirt with him a bit. He flirted back, even though he was19. After that almost every day I went there I flirted with him a bit. Nothing but harmless flirting happend, until I got into high school. I was 14. I saw him driving on my way to the boys and girls club. He saw me to and pulled over and asked if I wanted a ride since he lived really near the boys and girls club. I was tired and welcomed the transportaion since it was another 8 blocks to the club.

I don’t know how it happend really but one day we were talking by his house because I was on my way to starbucks, and then the next thing we were kissing. It was blissful. I still remember the taste of his grape cigarettes on his lips. It wasnt much longer after that, maybe two or three weeks, he took my virginity. I remember it didn’t hurt nearly as much as people say it should. He was very gentle and loving, that day was also the day he told me he loved me. I know it was legally wrong but it felt so right. He took me out to the movies, to dinner all that stuff. But I was in no way allowed to tell anyone but my few best friends. I didnt mind because it felt romantic having our own secret relationship.

At his house I was treated like a memeber of the family, his mom, who thought I was 18, would treat me like a daughter. Her and her son took care of me better than my family ever did, made sure I ate because he had found out I had an eating disorder. They would make sure I took my meds and did my treatments. I felt whole with him. Then in augest of 07 he told me he was moving and what was between me and him had to stop.... he was getting married to a woman in Main. It crushed me. The suicidal thoughts were in my head real thick. I didnt think I could manage with out him. On the night of September 3rd 07 my dad was yelling at me for sneaking out and was looking threw my phone when he found his number. He asked me who that guy was and when I didnt tell him he called the number. About a year earlyer he had told me not to talk to him. So he found out that I was still talking to him and had read a text that had described the night before, in great detail. He was pissed. I thought he was going to call the cops and I got back my phone deleted his number, his texts and locked myself in my room.

I got out my razor and sliced up my left arm pretty bad. It helped a bit but I wasnt satisfied. I had a bottle of simply sleep in my room because I had trouble sleeping for a long time. I took the rest of the bottle and drank it down with some water and went to sleep. I don’t remember anything else up until two days later when I woke up in the hospital. I was quite confused until my mom saw me and was crying. I remember my dad crying and the rest of my family there. Thats when I thought back and remembered the incident the night or two before.

I don’t really remember much else about the regular hospital. I do remember being transported to alata bates summit medical center psychiatric ward. I stayed there for two weeks. Origenally I was held on a 5150 but after that my dad volunteered me to stay. I hated it. Until the second week. I started liking it, and by the time I got out, me my mom and dad went to ice cream and cheese cake, (two things I hadnt been able to have since before the hospitalization) I started crying. I couldnt handle not being told what to do when to do it and how to do it. There was so meny people around it made me uncomfertalbe. My arm was still healing and it felt like everyone was stairing. I was ashamed.

I started seeing a new therapist who I really like. I see her almost every week. She really helps me and has since told me Im not depressed I have bipoler disorder. This is why I would get so worked up by the hospital is because it was one of my triggers. Only once has being hospitalized not made me react so badly. It was this last time. In April I had go to the dr. and was told I was 95 pounds. I told my dr. that I needed to go in. I felt like crap I was two skinny and I needed a break from life. He agreed with me and admitted me. I stayed all two weeks with out a single shouting match or snap at the nurses. It was nice. So I have learned to not think of it as me being held agents my will but me getting something not every one else does, a break from the stress of life.