The Hardest Year Part 1: CCBH

2015 was probably the hardest year in my entire life. But the beginning of the rollercoaster of 2015 started at the end of 2014.

The story all starts with me struggling in the fall of 2014. I had started seeing a psychiatrist and we were trying out different medications to see if we could try to get my depression under control. We tried a couple medications and they weren't working. During the period of time between appointments, when we were trying a new medication I really started struggling with suicidal thoughts. Eventually I remember having a text conversation with someone from the church and I remember feeling very triggered by him and thinking "well you know what? Then I might as well just end it" and that is exactly what I tried to do.
October or November of 2014 I attempted suicide by swallowing 120 pills. I received no medical attention, just threw everything up and spent a day and a half completely out of it.
December 1st, 2014 I had an appointment with my psychiatrist. I told my psychiatrist about the suicide attempt. They asked me if I was still suicidal and I said I was. The psychiatrist said I needed to go to the emergency room and be there by 5pm that day or she would be sending the cops to come pick me up. I had to leave my job stranded mid-day and head to the hospital, where I met the pastor of my church at the time. I told them why I was there, and not too long after they took me back to the psychiatric area of the ER. I was made to change into paper scrubs and give up all my personal belongings. I was put in a room and evaluated by a social worker. The social worker was an older lady who asked a bunch of different questions. When I told her about the suicide attempt, she rose her voice, telling me I was lying, fabricating the truth just to get attention. She told me I wouldn't be alive if I took 120 pills. She finished her evaluation and put me on involuntary commitment papers. My pastor left after a while and I was left alone. Around 11 or midnight, I was told I had been placed at a hospital and would be transported. I was taken to the Carolina Center for Behavioral Health, a place I would get to know well. I went through the intake process and was finally able to change back into my clothes (which were my work clothes) and go to sleep.
During the first week, I bonded with other people in the unit and was going to therapy as instructed. It took a couple days for my friends to bring me clothes and toiletries and I didn't think they had scrubs in my size so I never asked about scrubs even though they said they had scrubs every morning at community meeting. I realize now that the first few days with me not showering and wearing the same clothes I started to smell and it bothered other people. After a couple days though, my friends finally brought me clothes and I was able to shower and change. I was seeing my doctor every day as I was supposed to and she was messing with my meds a little bit. After a couple days of seeing her, I asked her if I could have my pillowcase. She asked me about it, like if it was a pillowcase that went over a pillow and I said yes. It was my pillowcase that went with me everywhere and I kept it in my purse (but I didn't tell her that part, I just wanted her to let me have it) so I asked her to write an order so that I could have it. She agreed to let me have it and I was able to get it that afternoon. I was so relieved to finally have my security item back. I began carrying it around with me everywhere, like I did when I was outside the hospital. Over the next couple days, I complained of a lot of anxiety so she put me on Vistaril every 6 hours and then every 4 hours when I said it wasn't working. Then one day the anxiety got so bad I couldn't handle it and I used a staple to cut myself on my arm. When I wrote a note to my doctor the next day and told her that, she immediately put me on klonopin and I got put on "Visual" for the first time. Visual meant that I had to be in staff's eyesight at all times. This meant that to go to the bathroom I had to ask for one of the staff to go to my room with me. It also meant pulling the mattress of the bed out of the room into the dayroom and I would be sleeping out where everyone could see me. It sucked. It meant that I had a restless night of sleep. After one day of visual, I was let off of it and back on normal privileges. After about a week of being there, I brought up the idea of me staying through Christmas because of how difficult a time Christmas was for me and because of how unstable I was. She told me we would talk about it as time got closer. A few days later as she stopped making medication changes, she decided she was going to discharge me even though I was still very suicidal and still a major danger to myself. I freaked out and as soon as I walked out of the office with her, I was surrounded by the other patients on the unit who were now my friends and they were holding me as I was crying, telling me that they weren't going to let me leave knowing I wasn't safe. I was not quiet about the fact that if they let me leave, I planned on immediately going out and hurting myself. I found out after the fact that they made a petition to the staff and had everybody on the unit sign it to not let me leave because I was a danger to myself. I asked the staff what I could do and they told me I could file a grievance, which I did. I requested a different doctor and the next morning that was exactly what happened. This doctor decided it would be a good idea to keep me through Christmas as long as my insurance covered it because of the danger it would lead to of me going home. The next couple of weeks we spent making medication changes and nothing really seemed to get better. There were multiple other instances of self-harm (even one when I was on "visual") where I got put on "visual" for a day and then taken off. I ended up getting a roommate who also struggled with self-harm and we both sought out staples for us to use to hurt ourselves and we talked about it with each other. During these couple weeks, I had multiple meltdowns which challenged staff to figure out what to do with me. One night I had a flashback. I sat between my bed and the wall and rocked myself with a staple in my hand, trying to hurt myself. The staff found me like that and had to coax the staple out of my hand and tried to bring me out of it. Eventually, one nurse, Shakira, became the one they called to come help me when I was struggling.
Also during this period of time, my arthritis flared up really badly and I began limping because my ankle was so bad and I was in so much pain that I had difficulty walking. The limping made my other joints hurt because I was putting extra strain on the other side of my body. So one tech thought about getting me a wheelchair to use to make life easier on me. When she got me that and I got in it, one of the nurses saw me and made me get out of it. She was really nasty about it too. She said I had to get out of it or she was going to send me to a geriatric unit. So I got up, but the next day I asked my doctor to write an order for it, which she did. I spent most of the time in a wheelchair to not put pressure on my joints.
When Christmas came closer, there were few patients between units 1 and 2 so they combined the 2 units. This was not a good combination. Unit 1 was chemical dependency and detox. Unit 1 staff was not trained in how to handle unit 2 patients and tried to treat unit 2 patients just like they treated unit 1 patients which was all wrong. This triggered multiple unit 2 patients, including me, especially me. I began reacting to the treatment and things began getting even worse. One night I self harmed really badly and wrote "failure" in blood on the wall. They immediately called Shakira to come help take care of me and bandage me up. I ended up on visual again and staff took a picture of what I did and put it in my chart. A couple days later I received a note in my room from one of the patients. It was mean and basically directed at me being dramatic and such during group I think. I got really upset and unit 1 staff showed no sympathy at all, and said the note was right, that I should stop acting so self-centered. Which just made me upset and want to self-harm, which I think I did. A couple days later I got upset again about how I was being treated on the unit, both by other patients and staff. I started throwing books in my room from the table next to my bed to the desk across the room. This was the stick that broke the camel's back and it earned me a trip to Unit 5. I cried the whole way to the new unit. They put me in a room and I was kind of just left to myself. I spent a week on Unit 5, working with my doctor continuously on my medications, adjusting here and there to see if something might work. One meeting I had with my doctor when I was on Unit 5 I asked her if she thought I was Borderline and she officially gave me the Borderline Personality Disorder diagnosis. While I was on unit 5, I was self-harming pretty much every day, but I was hiding it. I did it under my wrist brace so it wouldn't be seen. After a week of being on the psychosis unit, I asked to be moved back to Unit 2. They let me attend groups on the unit for a couple days before officially moving me back there. Once they moved me back to unit 2, I was informed that I would have a doctor change again. The doctor I had did not know what else to do to help me, so she called in the medical director to put fresh eyes on my case and take over. So that was a change. I did seem to calm down a little bit though, once back on unit 2. I do remember having a conversation on the floor with Shakira and a tech Sue when I opened up to them about how I was feeling and how I had self-harmed when I was on unit 5 and how I was worried that it was getting infected. They were glad I told them and were supportive and caring and tried to lift me up. I was still very hopeless through this whole time, even after I got moved back onto unit 2. I had a conversation with my new roommate and just basically explained how hopeless I was feeling and how determined I was to hurt myself when I got out. My roommate then went and wrote me a letter and got the rest of the unit to either sign it or write notes for themselves to me to try to encourage me to not give up like I really wanted to.
After a couple more weeks and some more medication changes, it was decided that I would be okay to try PHP (partial hospitalization program) and to see how that goes. I lasted 4 days before having to be re-admitted to the hospital because I was severely suicidal and was hurting myself.
Upon re-admission, staff immediately just got an order for my pillowcase because they knew I needed it. They did the normal intake stuff of going through everything and putting everything away. Except this time, they made a mistake in putting things away and left the purse strap hanging down from the cabinet, which was just an easy idea for someone like me, who was determined to hurt myself. So I tried. It was a weak and stupid tried but I did try to hang myself with the purse strap. Once I told staff what I did, I was of course immediately put on visual.
This time when I was put on visual, I was sleeping out in the dayroom like I had done multiple times before. I had fallen asleep early unlike the previous times and was sleeping fine when the night shift head nurse decided that I was not going to be allowed to have my pillowcase anymore. I told her that I had a doctor's order for it. She did not listen but I would not give up my pillowcase. I started crying telling them they couldn't take it because of the order. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by people who were putting gloves on. When I still refused to give it up, I was quickly grabbed and it was pried out of my fingers, me screaming and crying the entire time. During this process, they managed to twist and re-sprain my bad ankle which had already been a problem for me, leaving me in a wheelchair earlier in the hospitalization. When I was finally released, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I was angry and hurt. I threw my pillows across the room and bit myself multiple times as well as digging my nails into my skin because I didn't know how to handle the intense emotions I was feeling and the only thing I knew to do was to find a way to hurt myself. I cried and cried and cried because my pillowcase was my security blanket, it was my way of coping with the world, it was how I pushed through anxiety, it was how I tried to ground myself, it meant everything to me and it had been literally pried from my fingers. After a while the head nurse came back to the dayroom and we started talking. She talked with me about what had happened earlier in the day and what she felt and she said things she felt I needed to hear. At the end of the conversation, she felt like I was "safe" enough and I think she realized what the importance of it was, so she gave it back to me, under the condition that my mattress was moved out of the dayroom and in front of the nurses station where they would have eyes on me all the time. Finally, after multiple hours of me being awake, it was returned to me and I was allowed to lay down and try to go back to sleep. I only slept a couple hours that night and was miserable the next day. When my doctor found out what had happened, she was furious. (She was also the medical director of the hospital.) She said it never should have happened and she was sorry it did happen to me. I went back into a wheelchair because I couldn't walk on my bad ankle and limping made my other ankle and knee want to give out and caused a lot of pain. Overall, it was a very traumatic experience for me.
This second hospitalization, there were 2 staff members who reached out to me personally about me wanting to hurt myself. They told me if I had the urge to hurt myself, that I just needed to go tell them and they would help me. They said that they would put lemons and limes in the freezer that I could use instead. So there was one night when I did feel the urge to self-harm and I walked out and they were like "yes Kimberly?" and I was quiet cause I didn't want to say it and they asked me if I felt like I wanted to hurt myself and I nodded yes. They brought me over to a corner of the nurse's desk that was by the fridge and told me to get a lemon and put it on my arm where I wanted to hurt myself and asked me what music I liked. I told them Casting Crowns so they put on Casting Crowns music while I stood there with frozen lemons on my arm trying to get the urge to pass. Eventually, it did and I said I was okay and it worked which was good. I only think I did it one other time but it was a strategy I took with me to other hospitals.
My second stay at this hospital was 2 1/2 weeks. At that point, I was informed that my insurance had run out and I needed to figure out what to do because I couldn't go back to PHP. So I decided I was going to BS everything and say I was fine and agree to just make a schedule for home and then get discharged. I lied to my friends and told them I was fine when I wasn't and lied to the staff telling them I was safe and I wasn't. But they bought it so the end of January I was discharged, in pretty bad shape.

Age 15

My sophomore year of high school was a tumultuous one. It started with a lot of drama regarding the band director and my dad and this big miscommunication. It was marching band season and it was my second year in marching band. I was living with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and struggled with chronic pain that was unmanaged. What this combination meant was that I had to take breaks during rehearsal and sit out on the sidelines. I also couldn't participate in exercises like push-ups (I wore 2 wrist braces) and running (too strenuous for my knees and ankles). This upset some of the other kids and one day it upset a band parent who was helping with rehearsal. She came over and told me that my best wasn't good enough and that I wasn't trying hard enough. This confrontation upset me, obviously, as I felt I was doing everything I could possibly do within my power despite my limitations. Once my dad found out about this confrontation, he went directly to the band director and had a conversation with him. The conversation eventually led to my dad telling me that the band director said that I was going to "decrease the morale of the band". This took over my mind and bothered me the entire marching band season and when we went to the state festival that year and didn't make it to finals, I blamed myself.
During the trip to the state tournament, I didn't talk to my parents. On the ride back from the state tournament, I got a nasty voicemail from my dad calling me a little s***. I got upset and a band parent came and talked to me. A few weeks later I had hurt my wrist and gone to the doctor. When I texted the director that my wrist was okay, I also asked him if he really thought that I was the reason the band didn't make it to finals. He said he would talk to me the next school day. During that conversation, he told me my dad misconstrued what he had said and that that was not what he had meant. He also asked about what had happened on the bus on the way back from state. I told him it happened all the time and shrugged it off. He told me it was wrong and shouldn't happen all the time. This started the friendship I had with him. Two days later, I texted him and told him I would trust him and open up to him but only if he kept it confidential. He said he would but only if it wasn't something that he had to report. The next day he took the opportunity to talk to me. I opened up about the bus incident and about other things that were going on in my home.  From then on, I began to trust him and started talking with him. I would frequently go to the band room once I finished my assignments in my computer class which I did pretty much every day. It was during this hour that it was his planning hour and he didn't have a class so I would talk to him and I began to open up about things that were going on inside my home, specifically the verbal and emotional abuse. He didn't know what to say or how to respond. He told me one time that he wished he had a magic wand to make it all go away but he didn't. But what he did do was listen and validate my feelings and that was what I was looking for and needed to do at the time. I started opening up to him about my mental health issues and my depression. I told him things my parents said to me and did to me. I asked him for help in dealing with it. He asked me questions and I would answer them. After talking with him for a little while and with a little coaxing, he got me to meet with the school counselor (with whom I was terrified of meeting with). I didn't trust school counselors because of my history with them. Finally, one day we agreed to set a meeting with the school counselor, only on my terms with a close friend and this teacher by my side. I was terrified but I talked. Then entered the school counselor at PHS.
During the first meeting I told her about what was going on in my home and she instantly recognized it as being verbal and emotional abuse but she knew that it couldn't be reported because it couldn't be proven. We talked about some of my struggles and I frequently went back to my support people for assurance. At the end of the meeting, I asked the question "what would happen if you reported physical abuse that ended in the past" and she said that it would depend on how long ago it had ended and I said 3 years and she said that she wasn't sure and she would have to look into it. I know that question left a lot of questions rolling in their minds but they couldn't report it because they didn't know what to report and I was too terrified to speak up. The meeting ended and that was the start of a back and forth relationship between me and the school counselor. A few days after the first meeting, I decided I was going to take the plunge and open up about the realities of the abuse that happened in my home. I sent a 4 page document about it and links to where I had written it online. When the teacher got it, he asked me if I was sure I wanted him to read it. I said yes. So both him and the school counselor read it and shortly after, he pulled me out of my computer class to take me to the school counselor's office. The reporting process began. Thing were put together and a report was put on file about the physical abuse as well as the emotional and verbal abuse that was going on inside my home. Department of Human Services just put the report on file since it had been a few years since it had happened, just in case it started again so that they would know to take action. During the reporting process, the question was asked if I was self-harming.  I had been self-harming for a while at that point and had kept it hidden from everyone. I started with knives that I would keep behind my computer monitor and then moved to disposable razor blades which I carried around in my wallet along with band-aids. When I was asked about it, initially I answered no but then felt guilty about lying so I pulled the teacher into the extra room and told him that I was. He was confused at first but when I showed him, he understood and we immediately marched back to the school counselor's office to tell her what I was doing. She asked me questions about it and talked to the lady at Human Services about it as well. Eventually a plan was come up with and a resource was found where I could go to a therapist's office and see a therapist behind my parents' backs for no charge.
During Christmas break, my friend drove me to the counseling center where I registered and met with a therapist for the first time. I started going to therapy every week as well as frequently meeting with the school counselor and talking with the teacher who often checked up on me and asked me about my self-harming and my depression. Despite being in counseling, my mental health continued to deteriorate. Suicidal thoughts entered the picture in the spring of 2010. One day, I asked the question what would happen if I said I was suicidal. That scared both the teacher and the school counselor and they were not about to play around with that. I told them that I really wasn't, I just wanted to know. It ended up being a big fiasco as they were not sure whether they should follow protocol or not. Protocol was for them to call my parents and I begged them not to because that meant that everything in my life would fall apart again and I would lose everything. I ended up crying in the school counselor's office and I never cried when I was a teenager. Eventually I agreed to a safety agreement and was let go, once a parent who worked in psychiatric care came and cleared up the situation. Soon there after Spring Break came around and I was without school again.
After Spring Break I began to fall apart. The depression was getting stronger and I was having difficulty fighting it and so the self-harm was getting worse again too. Then one afternoon I went to the band room after lunch and had an image pop into my about me trying to kill myself, plan, place and everything. This scared the heck out of me and I had a panic attack. The only way I knew to calm myself down was self-harm so I went and did that and tried to distract myself after that. I went to the teacher and told him I was struggling, but didn't tell him what with and he helped me work through it and suggested I look up band jokes on the computer and that helped me calm down. Over the next week, things didn't get any better, the thoughts and image didn't leave, only got stronger and I confessed what was going on to one of my friends (the same friend from before) a week later through Facebook messenger. He was very concerned and with his mom's help guided me through a conversation trying to decide what we should do. They asked me about calling a crisis line. I told them I would contact a crisis chat online which I did and they told me that I needed to go to a hospital which I then forward on to my friend. My friend wanted me to leave my razor blades at home because they were part of my plan and I told him I couldn't do that. Eventually it was decided that I could remain safe that night and that the next morning he would come pick me up and take me to the town's crisis center. The next morning I got up and got ready for school like normal and drove to school (because I had my permit) with the family friend in the car. I broke off the mirror in my attempt to back out because I was so nervous about getting to school that I wasn't paying well enough attention. When we got to school, I immediate went and sought out the teacher to try and tell him what was going on. I had to do a quick explanation and he was shocked when I told him. Then I went outside the band room door and waited for my friend to come drive around and pick me up. I intercepted one staff member during this and it was really awkward because I was supposed to be in a classroom doing standardized testing with a scribe that we had worked hard getting for me and I had to tell this staff member that I wouldn't be there. Once he picked me up, we went to Starbucks. It was my first time going to Starbucks, I had never been. I got a smoothie because I wasn't big on coffee at that point. Then we drove to the crisis center.
When we arrived at the crisis center, we rang the doorbell and a man walked out. My friend told him that I was having some suicidal thoughts. We immediately went inside and were put into this little room. We sat in this room for a few minutes waiting. Soon after a lady came through and started asking me a bunch of questions. After the questionnaire was over, she told me that she was putting me on what was known in the state as an A1 hold which is not even able to be overturned by a judge. It was a mandatory 72 hour hold at the hospital. She told me that my parents had to agree to sign me in or else DSS would have to take custody of me. She left for a few more minutes and I told my friend that I had the razor blade and ended up giving it to him which he gave to the lady when she returned. The lady then called my mom and explained to her what was going on. My mom immediately turned on the tears and played the victim card like she usually did but agreed to sign me in. From there, I was told I had to say goodbye to my friend. I gave him a hug and I remember him telling me he was proud of me. From there I was taken through the hospital into the intake area. I had requested to not see my parents because I knew they were going to be angry. They began their initial process of taking height and weight and then they had to proceed to do their comprehensive skin check. With their skin check, they make you change clothing and you have to remove everything so they can document any markings you have like cuts, scars, tattoos, etc. I was extremely uncomfortable and having the feeling of wanting to cry but unable to. I changed into scrubs and then was placed in a small room with a packet of paperwork to fill out that had questions on it. I don't remember most of the questions but the questions that I do remember was that it asked if I had been abused and I put yes and wrote both physically and verbally. I finished filling out the packet and gave it to a lady and was instructed to give a urine sample. Once I was done with that a lady came and asked me about the abuse and was briefly interrupted about the urine and apologized, but then continued questioning me. Then she took that information to my parents. At this point, they were livid because the abuse had never come out before to their knowledge (it had been reported to DSS a couple months prior). They completely denied everything saying they never did anything I was saying they did. After an hour or so, a staff member said that my mom was begging to see me and also said that the family friend that was living with us, Paul, wanted to see me. I agreed that I would see him. Paul was so surprised and shocked about what was going on. He told me that I could have come to him with what was going on. I asked him to contact the teacher and gave him the teacher's contact information and asked him to please tell the teacher what was going on and let him know that I'm okay. Paul agreed to do so and then he was escorted out of the room and I was placed back in the day room with the other patients. I was introduced to the only other teenager on the unit who said hi and then walked away. I sat down at a table in the corner of a room with the books they let me bring in with me.

My time in the psychiatric hospital was a living nightmare when it came to dealing with my parents. My parents and I were basically at war the entire time I was there. It was a rule that your parents had to determine who you could talk to on the outside and my parents only limited it to them so I was stuck. The beginning visits only ended with my mom in tears, playing the victim role and me running to the bathroom to end it. Phone calls were always ended because they were deemed "un-therapeutic" because I ended up balling my eyes out after each one. One phone call my dad yelled over the phone "I never touched you", completely denying any of the abuse that had taken place at all. Then I started denying visits which hurt my parents even more. The day before I was released from the hospital for the first time I was forced to have a visit with my parents. They walked in looking like they meant business. The staff let them take me into the seclusion room so we could have a little meeting. My dad got down to business. He immediately told me how he hacked into my computer and got all the information about who I had talked to and how I had talked to the teacher and the school counselor. Then they told me about how they got the school counselor in trouble and how they got the teacher in trouble. They told me how I would never be able to talk to them again. They told me about how they had a meeting with the principal and how the cops were called on them and it was all my fault. They said that I was going to be forced to switch high schools because they were going to file a lawsuit against my high school. My world as I knew it had come crashing down. The staff had sensed the tension building up, especially with my dad's hostile remarks towards me so halfway through visiting hours, they asked my parents and brother to leave. I totally lost it then. I cried so hard that they asked me to go into the seclusion room so I wouldn't disturb the other visitors. I sat in a corner and cried. One of the staff members came and tried to talk to me and when they had to go they said they would come talk to me tomorrow. The next morning they had set me up for discharge and the staff member apologized in passing as she couldn't talk to me.

The hospital had discharged me to an adolescent treatment facility in the same city and my parents were supposed to drive me there. We stopped at a gas station on our way there and picked up drinks and then moved on. I was still having suicidal thoughts when they transferred me to the facility and because it was less secure than the hospital, the facility decided they were going to make me sign a daily contract that I wouldn't try to hurt myself. The facility also determined during the intake process that I couldn't deny any visits from my parents. Their goal was to try to get things worked out in the family again. My dad was still very angry about the whole thing and expressed it openly throughout the intake process. After I was taken back to the unit, I was given a folder which included information about the program, rules and such, and a checklist of assignments I was supposed to complete before the end of my time there. The facility was basically a miniature apartment that had 3 bedrooms with 2 beds in each bedroom. There was one bathroom and a kitchen area where our meals were prepared. There was a general living area that had a TV and a couch and some chairs and a table that we would pull out for meals. There was usually one staff person assigned to be with us each shift. Every morning we would have to have to set a goal for the day. This was part of what determined how many points we got each day. Each day we could earn up to 100 points based on our actions and how involved we were and if we completed our goal or not. If we earned 100 points you got to pick out a prize from the drawer or choose 20 minutes of game time. Throughout the day we would have groups on different topics and time to work on our assignments. We would have free time to go to the gym or to the game room where they had a Wii and a foosball table. Another aspect of the adolescent treatment unit was the level system. They had 4 levels. Each level determined what privileges we had including what time we went to bed and controlling the TV. The last level also gave us the privilege to go off the unit on passes with our family for a couple hours and come back. To go up a level, we had to fill out a paper that explained why you thought you deserved to be leveled up and then you got questioned by two or three people about our answers. It was usually pretty intense. We could also be demoted levels if we acted out. During my time there, I did manage to go up through all the levels and achieve the highest one. Also during my time at the adolescent treatment unit, school work was re-introduced. My parents brought my work from school for me to start working on since I had fallen so far behind. When I was on the higher levels, I stayed up later to work on it to try to catch up and various staff members would try to help me through some of the things that I didn't understand.

The visits at the adolescent treatment unit were all completely awkward and rough. My parents talked about looking into sending me to a different high school and trying to keep me as far away from the teacher I had been talking with as possible. My parents continued to talk about filing a lawsuit against the school and how they were talking to a lawyer about it. They were trying to make me pin myself against the teacher and the school counselor much to my dismay. One visit my mom came in and wanted to pull me aside. The staff let her pull me into a hallway and she told me my dad had had a TIA and that he was okay but that he needed to take it easy for a while. It was a scary situation for me being in a treatment unit. I struggled to express my emotions that night. Visits began to get somewhat better as time went on. With the exception of the big family meeting. This family meeting took place in the intake room and was monitored by staff and had my parents and my brother plus multiple staff members. Things started out okay but that didn't last long. My dad began to bring up the fact that the cops had been called when they were at the high school and how it was all my fault. I got upset so I chose to walk out of the room, listening to my mom crying out "my baby" in the fake show tone I knew. I left the room gathered myself and returned. We finished up the conversation with a plan for when I would return home that would include weekly therapy for me, weekly family therapy through DSS and a case manager checking on us every once in a while. It was a rocky meeting but I looked forward to going home in a way. It was better than being in the treatment unit. At least I got to go back to school.

So after spending 2 weeks in the adolescent treatment unit, after getting to the highest level and going on multiple passes to home and back, I was released. When I was released, it was like I was in a prison. I was not allowed to have my phone or my computer and all my phone calls were monitored by my mom. My parents did allow me to have friends over. We had a small get together after I got home to "celebrate" me coming home and three of my friends came over and had dinner which was fun and one of my friends ended up staying overnight. All of my passwords had been changed and I was locked out of everything. I had been out of school for a month and was very nervous to go back. I had made plans to stay after school every day but I could only stay after school if the teacher agreed to write an email to my parents letting them know that I was in their classroom until a certain time. The class that I was a teacher aide was changed to a study hall so that I could be kept away from the teacher. I was playing catch up for missing a month of school and it was a struggle. My first day back was the hardest though. I tried to go up to the teacher who I had looked to for help for so long and he had no choice but to push me away and that tore me up. I flipped out inside over it. I started writing letters, to the teacher trying to let him know how sorry I was for screwing everything up for him and for how my parents were acting, to the school counselor for messing everything up, and then I started writing goodbye letters because I was suicidal again due to the fact that I felt abandoned by the people I had trusted. It was my parent's fault but the hurt was still there. So I freaked out and started journaling all my thoughts and feelings in a journal I had gotten in the hospital. I had written goodbye letters to my parents and friends. I left it at home when I went to a get together for a group I was in and my mom decided to be nosy and read it and when I came home my parents immediately took me back to the psychiatric hospital.
On the way to the psychiatric hospital, my mom did her normal dramatic thing and said "I can't lose you Kimberly". They signed me in and I was put back in a room that night. That hospitalization was a little different. My parents allowed my friends to be on the call list and on the visitation list so I could talk to them and see them and when visitation came around my parents only came for a short time so my friends could visit. My parents did ask and think about sending me to residential treatment but I told them that I wasn't suicidal anymore (which wasn't entirely true, I just didn't want to be sent to residential treatment) and that it was just a medication reaction. After a few days, I was released and sent back home and my parents and I came up with a plan that I would take classes online during the summer so I could graduate high school a year early and get out of the high school my parents hated so much. I went back to school and got caught up in my classes. I had to do one unit of math over the summer which my friend (the one who had taken me to the crisis center in the beginning) ended up teaching me.
The couple months after I got out of the hospital were rough. We were scheduled to have family therapy once I was discharged but every time it was scheduled, something came up. Either my dad couldn't (well wouldn't) make it or I got sick or so many other excuses. Our caseworker came by multiple times and she was very rude and intrusive about things and demanded I talked to her which I didn't feel comfortable with her, or with anyone so I didn't talk to her. I attended therapy once a week but didn't talk to the therapist because I was afraid of my parents finding out what I would say so it went nowhere and that therapist gave up on me and sent me to someone else. That person moved and didn't tell me when she did and we ended up switching to another therapist who I found out knew my mom so that wasn't going to work. Eventually, I just stopped attending therapy because I wasn't going to trust anyone with anything and wasn't going to get anywhere. I was seeing a psychiatrist once every month or two and those sessions were horrible because they always created problems between my mom and I. The psychiatrist also told me that I was showing signs of Borderline Personality Disorder but that I couldn't be diagnosed until I was 18 so I needed to get help now so I didn't get the full diagnosis. This never happened though, and I was diagnosed with it a couple years later.
Eventually, we stopped going to all treatment providers there. I got my phone and my computer and Facebook back. Life 7 back to normal. My parents went back to verbally and emotionally abusing me just like they had before. I struggled with self-harm off and on for the remainder of my time in high school and my mom caught me occasionally and it created some awkwardness in the family because she wanted me to talk to her and I wouldn't. Things never did get better. Life just went on until I left for college.

Bob Jones University

I entered Bob Jones University in the fall of 2011. I was 17 and doing everything I could to get as far away from home as possible. I wanted to go to a Christian college and my youth pastor had suggested Bob Jones so I applied, got accepted and decided to attend. I had attended Summer Orientation and was prepared for the start of my freshman year. I realized once I got there that I had no idea what I was getting myself in to.
I quickly tried to adjust to everything around me and really did enjoy being there. I enjoyed my classes and was doing well in them. I enjoyed being around other Christians and having many friends which was different for me. I was surrounded by people who actually cared about me which was completely different for me compared to where I came from. I was managing pretty well throughout the first semester when we began talking about something in Bible class, I don't remember what exactly, but the teacher brought up abuse and that if we had been through abuse we needed to forgive the people who abused us. This struck me and I wasn't sure what to do with the information. So I emailed the teacher and asked him how you were supposed to do that. He invited me to come by during his office hours. So one day I did and we talked about the abuse that I had been through. When he discovered that I was only 17, he knew immediately that he had to make sure that it was reported so we walked over to the Dean of Women's office. There, we met and discussed what had happened, where and if it had been reported. We talked for a while and the teacher said that he knew someone who could potentially counsel me to help me work through it. The Dean of Women stopped him though and said that she would want me to work with the dorm counselor in my dorm. The dorm counselor was basically a master's student studying something like biblical counseling. So that's where I got sent. I started meeting with the dorm counselor on a weekly basis. We started with listening to sermons and studying passages of the Bible. This went through the end of the semester.
Second semester came and I wanted to continue counseling so I started back up with the dorm counselor. We started going through a book of the Bible. Part way through the semester I started struggling with depression really badly again. I started self-harming again as well. This led to even more drama between me, the dorm counselor and the dorm supervisor. I would tell my friend who lived across the hall from me about the self-harm and she would tell the dorm supervisor about it. They would take the materials away from me and I would just go get more. I would tear apart razors even if I got desperate enough. I started having in-depth conversations with my friend who lived across the hall about a variety of things, including my past abuse that I had gone through. There would be nights when we would stay up until 1am going back and forth about things. Due to the depression, I was missing classes repeatedly and struggling to keep things together. When the suicidal thoughts started, things just got worse. They took the medication out of my room and threatened to make me walk to the campus hospital to take my medications each day but that never happened. One night when I was really suicidal, I was laying in my bed and both the dorm counselor and the dorm supervisor came to address me. I wouldn't talk and they said if I wasn't going to talk then they were going to leave me alone. I was thinking about killing myself and they were going to leave me alone, that makes perfect sense. My friend never left me alone though. She slept in my room that night to make sure that I was safe. This happened more than once. I survived the semester and went home for the summer. The summer was miserable and I made it through.
Returning for my sophomore year, I was excited for hopefully a less stressful year with less credit hours and a schedule planned. I knew I wanted to get help and counseling for my childhood when I got there so at the beginning of the semester I contacted the same teacher that I had asked for help from the year before and he gave me the name of a lady that he had wanted to refer me to the year before. I sent her an email and we agreed to meet.
Upon meeting we discussed some of what I needed help through and we agreed to start meeting weekly. She gave me different things to do and I would do them. Additionally, I also agreed to start meeting with my dorm counselor as well and we started working through the book "Quieting a Noisy Soul" by Jim Berg. Once again, my mental illness showed its head and I became suicidal and started self-harming. They took my medication out of my room and this time the counselor kept it in her apartment.
Then I got into a car accident on campus. I didn't realize when it first happened that it was a car accident so I went and parked my car and left, which obviously caused some big problems. This pissed my parents off big time. It also made the school very mad. The head of public safety made me come into his office at a very inopportune time in my schedule and meet with him. He was very harsh with me and said that he was giving me a ticket and that I was losing my privileges to drive on campus. He outlined the rules of what that meant and had me sign a statement that I agreed to it. Then we walked to my car and he changed the sticker which moved me to the lot off campus. He made me walk all the way back to campus, without consideration that I had to be at a concert shortly after that.
My meeting with the counselor after the accident she decided (or was instructed to, I don't know) she had to address the car accident issue with me. She told me how it was really bad that I left and how I could get in huge trouble for that and everything, which I knew by that point. That same meeting, she also decided to tell me that we were no longer going to be meeting because she didn't think I was taking things seriously enough and I wasn't committed enough to doing the work. This devastated me because I felt like I had been given up on once again, just like I had been in high school. I got really upset and cried (I totally disrupted prayer group that night because of my crying). I went a couple weeks with not meeting with her and just meeting with the dorm counselor before I sent her an email saying that I was committed to working hard and doing what she said. This was shortly before Christmas break.
We met once or twice before Christmas break. She told me that she wanted me to focus on honoring my parents and obeying them. She said that she wanted me to focus on doing right by them. (All of this was CRAZY considering my parents were abusive and she knew it). I agreed to try and we left with that in mind.
Christmas break all hell broke loose at home (see other post) and I got kicked out. When I got kicked out, I texted my dorm counselor and asked her for my counselor's number. She gave it to me and I texted her and let her know that I got kicked out and was struggling. She tried to encourage me and give me some verses to read and said she would be praying for me. I had talked to many of my friends as well as my dorm counselor during the last week of Christmas break about the situation and many of them said they were praying for me and were trying to encourage me as I was struggling.
The day I flew back to Bob Jones things really started falling apart. The flight was fine but the moment I got off the plane and got cell service again in Greenville, I got a slew of text messages from my dad. He said that Bob Jones had called them and told them "everything" about me and told them that if I didn't change I was going to be kicked out. He threw all of it in my face. I began freaking out and started texting people asking what it was about. I talked to the dorm counselor that night and she didn't really know what it was about. I had scheduled a meeting with my counselor the following day to see and hopefully hash some of this out with her.
The next day I went to go meet with her and sat outside her door and waited like usual. When she came, she immediately said that we were going to be meeting with the Dean of Women. No warning, we just immediately walked into the Dean of Women's office. The next thing I knew, I was on trial. I was being questioned about what had happened over Christmas break and about why my story differed from my parents. I was questioned about specifics and why I didn't do this or that. I was challenged about the car accident and it was thrown in my face along with many other details to show that they had done some more digging on it initially that they never told me about. They blamed me completely for the car accident. They threw in my face everything my parents had told them which included the abuse. They questioned me and I had to try to defend myself and try to explain to them that my mom was trying to manipulate them. Even after trying to convince them of this, they responded with "she didn't seem like that was how she was coming across." My mom had successfully manipulated them into believing a bunch of lies about me and I was now riding a thin rope. I was told that if things didn't change I would not be allowed to enroll the following semester. I left and cried.
My following meeting with the counselor, I asked for specifics that I needed to do to meet the Dean of Women's standards. The counselor said she didn't know but would ask and find out. I found out at the next meeting that she wanted me to work on getting my medication for my depression adjusted, work on reconciliation with my parents and one other thing that I can't remember. What's ridiculous is that reconciliation with my parents was not possible and she wanted me to reconcile with my abusers.
Things continued to get worse. I was severely depressed. I was living on my own with no family support. I had no family contact and was really struggling to get through day to day. I was struggling with how to pay bills and how to pay my school bill. I eventually ended up turning back to the thing that helped me when I was depressed, self-harm. When my counselor found out about me self-harming, she immediately told the Dean of Women and I got served with a letter and told that I was on character probation, basically one step away from being kicked out. Character probation is basically a letter saying that you aren't being a good enough Christian to meet their standards so you are on probation to see if you can continue to be enrolled at the school. I was angry and hurt. I was struggling and no one could help me.
I was required to meet with the counselor on a weekly basis. As part of this "counseling" I was given homework and part of my homework was to listen to a bunch of sermons from a few people. Multiple of them talked about bitterness and a couple talked about honoring your parents. I had to listen to these sermons and take notes. The sermons basically said that I had to forgive my parents, my abusers, and that forgiveness meant that 1) to not tell other people about it, 2) to not treat the other person differently, 3) to not bring it up and to 4) not think about it. I was told as someone who had been through abuse that I was not supposed to think about the abuse that I had gone through and was to forgive instead. I was taught through these sermons that I was bitter and that to get rid of bitterness I needed to reconcile with the offender, my abusers. I was taught that I needed to honor my abusive parents and hold them up highly even though they weren't Christians. I was taught that being bitter meant I didn't get grace from God and that I was bitter against my parents. I was taught that I needed to reconcile with my parents and honor them when just before that Christmas, they were actively verbally abusing me.
Things finally came to a head when I texted my school counselor a vague text about what would happen if I was really struggling. This led her to ask me to tell her what was really going on. I wouldn't tell her so she went and got the Dean of Women, to which I went "No!" but it happened anyway. The Dean of Women walked in the room, sat down and said "Kimberly, you have 30 seconds to tell us what's going on or I'm going to kick you off this campus right now." They knew I was suicidal and were threatening to kick me out. I said I was dealing with suicidal thoughts. They asked a follow up question and when I didn't answer fast enough, the Dean of Women said "Okay, Kimberly let's go" like she was going to kick me out. I went "No! I'm thinking," to which she gave me a little bit of time. I answered her question and her response was to tell me that suicide was selfish. Then they gave me a little booklet about suicide to have me read it. They also decided to take the medications out of my room again. However, I got a chance to get to my room before they did and I took out 2 medications and hid them before they got there. So they took the rest of the medications and I kept the rest of them. The next day I felt slightly guilty so I handed over one of the 2 bottles, but they still were not aware I had one bottle left.
That night I took that pill bottle and swallowed all the pills and contemplated using Nyquil too. I had never ODed before so my whole body was shaking and I couldn't go to sleep. I ended up getting sick and threw up all over the bathroom. I went and got my friend who was in the room down the hall. She came and helped clean it up and we talked for a while and I got sick a couple more times. After we talked for a little bit, she went and got the dorm counselor. The dorm counselor came down and I can still remember her face, she was shocked. She asked why and I tried to explain. She went and called the counselor that I was seeing. She came a few minutes later and said that we would be going to the hospital. So me, my dorm counselor and her all went to the nearest hospital. I filled out the paperwork in the emergency room and they took us back. I remember my O2 level was low, like 89% which is something that can happen from the OD that I had. They took us back and asked what happened and then tried to get an IV. They could not successfully get an IV. It took them multiple hours and 5 separate tries to get an IV and they had to use a tiny needle in my wrist to get an IV, I think to get blood to make sure that certain levels were okay and then to try to run fluids. They said I was on watch so the counselor took my phone and my purse. Eventually she agreed to put it on the table in the middle of the room so I could put music on since we were going to be there for a while. Then they decided that I needed to drink charcoal to absorb what I had taken. I remember the counselor trying to build me up so that I would drink it. It was disgusting but not as bad as I thought it was going to be. I drank it one fell swoop and it was done. I just remember my mouth feeling dry and nasty afterward and not being able to have water and that was the worst part. Then, of course, came the throwing up due to the charcoal. Each time I went to throw up the counselor would jump up from her chair and come sit next to me on the bed, like she was coaching and supporting me. I didn't sleep at all that night. When 8am came around, the psychiatrist in the hospital came around to evaluate me. The counselor and dorm counselor left the room so I could talk to the psychiatrist and he asked me a bunch of questions like if I was still suicidal and if I had a history of abuse and all that. He diagnosed me with PTSD during that evaluation. I think I told him that I wasn't suicidal anymore, which I'm pretty sure was a lie at that point but I didn't trust anyone. So he said I could go and was not going to commit me.
On the way back to the campus, the counselor told me that we were going back to her apartment and that I was going to be allowed to sleep there for a couple hours. She told me that she wanted to let me go to Barge and sleep there all day but that that wasn't what the Dean of Women wanted. So she set me up in the spare room in her place and I slept there for a couple hours. I was very unsteady and still very sick from the night before. When I woke up, they led me into the main room where the Dean of Women was sitting along with the counselor. That was when they told me that they were kicking me out. I immediately got upset and started crying which led me to start hyperventilating. The counselor had to come over and kneel next to me and try to calm me down, which after a few minutes I did. They told me that they had already called my friend's parents and set it up for me to go live with them in Indiana, since going home wasn't really an option. Then the Dean of Women said that they had already called my mom and that we were going to have a phone call with my mom. I had not talked to my parents at all since I had left Colorado over winter break. My mom asked me what happened and why I did it and tried to tell me how much she loved me and wanted me to come home and said that we could even do a trial basis (this was all pure manipulation on her part, as she was trying to play the victim in the situation). I said no and she started trying to make me feel guilty and saying how I was making stuff up about them. The Dean of Women also said that she did not believe what I had said about my parents, that she thought I was lying, because I had made up lies about her.  I just started crying. I cried and cried and cried. They took me to the back room where I was still crying and I couldn't stop. They ended up calling the head of public safety about me who decided that I needed to be hospitalized. He came to the counselor's apartment and when he came in, the counselor and him looked at each other and she shook her head at him as if to say that I hadn't stopped and it wasn't good. He came up to meet and kneeled in front of me and told me to stop and calm down. He told me that I had two choices, either I signed myself into the hospital or he was going to get a judge to sign me into a hospital. I told him I couldn't, I didn't have insurance (I had found out mine had expired). He said, it didn't matter, they could find assistance for me. I needed to decide if he was going to have to get a judge or if I would go willingly. I agreed and he said okay. He then had the dorm supervisor pack a bag of clothes for me and we started making our way to the car. We had to walk through the apartment around the front of the building and then all the way through the lobby to the back of the building to the car. I had started feeling completely sick again and was so nauseous that with every step I took, I felt like I was going to throw up so I could barely hold myself up. I was leaning on the counselor for support as we walked. As we slowly made our way through the lobby, the Dean of Women made the comment "Come on Kimberly, I know you can move faster than that." No sympathy or empathy, just demanding that I move faster despite how terrible I was feeling.
Eventually, we made it to the car where the Dean of Women and the head of Public Safety were. The Dean of Women decided to sit in the back with me during the drive. Her and the head of Public Safety chatted happily the whole drive and completely ignored me, except for the one time I started dry heaving again, the head of Public Safety asked me if I was okay. When we got to the hospital, the head of Public Safety went and got me a wheelchair because he knew I couldn't walk well. The Dean of Women was still treating me very crass and like I was perfectly fine, which I wasn't. They wheeled me into the lobby and explained the situation to them. They asked them if they had brought my meds and they showed them the Walmart bag of meds that was my entire medical supply of meds including all my over the counter meds (I was completely embarrassed by this) to which the nurses responded with "Seriously?" obviously annoyed by the whole situation. In the lobby I was still dry heaving and one of the nurses got me a cold washcloth to put on my face which seemed to calm down my body. Once they decided to take me to the admitting room, the Dean of Women and head of Public Safety left. In the admitting room there were 2 chairs and a small couch. I was so exhausted that I could barely stay awake and the lady doing my admit was going in and out of the room so I decided to lay on the small couch and answer her questions from there. Once we got through that process, they wheeled me back into the unit and did more intake paperwork, which I struggled to stay awake for. After that they showed me to my room and let me sleep.
I spent four days in the hospital. During those 4 days, I remained in contact with my friend and my counselor from Bob Jones. I also stayed in contact with the family that I was going to be moving in with. One day, the counselor and the Dean of Women came and visited me during visitation hours. I was not thrilled that the Dean of Women showed up. I didn't want to see her at all and it was hard to put on a happy face. Throughout my 4 day stay, I was asked repeatedly if I was suicidal and I always said no, even though I was. All I wanted to do was get out of there but because I wasn't honest, my medication did not get changed so nothing was going to improve. The hospital knew that I was moving to Indiana and were going to try to set some future appointments up for me but I didn't know what part of Indiana I was moving to so they couldn't. They just suggested that I did once I left. I got discharged with no follow up care and just a plan to move to Indiana.
Immediately after being discharged, I was taken to Bob Jones to load my stuff, which had already been packed up for me and take part of it to the uncle of the family I was going to be moving in with and part of it to one of my other friend's place for me to go through. I spent a couple nights at my friends house, getting the chance to process the fact that I was leaving Greenville and Bob Jones with some support. Once everything was gone through, we packed everything up in my car and I drove to Tennessee where I was meeting the family I would be moving in with for a wedding. After a couple days in Tennessee, we eventually made our way to Indiana.

I never did go back to Bob Jones. Bob Jones does have a rule that once they kick you out you aren't allowed on their campus unless you meet with the Dean of Women or Men and get what's called your "campus privileges" back. When Bob Jones was being investigated by GRACE, I requested to have a meeting but not with the Dean of Women because of how traumatized I was by her actions. So I met with the Dean of Students and the Assistant Dean of Women. Through that meeting, I was able to get my campus privileges back. I was also able to change the writing on my transcript. They had originally put on my transcript that I had been put as a disciplinary suspension which is not what they claimed so I requested that they change that and they agreed to change that to Involuntary Withdrawal. I also requested for an apology from the Dean of Women and the counselor but I never did get one. They said that they didn't think they did anything worth apologizing for.

This was my experience with Bob Jones University. It has left me with a very messed up faith and I struggle with it right now. But I am actively working through this and hope to be moving forward.

December 2012

I came home for winter break from Bob Jones University at the end of my first semester of my sophomore year. It was mid-December of 2012. It was time to prepare for Christmas for the family and get through the holiday, which we did. One of the things that took place while I was on winter break was surprising my nephew Damian with the fact that I was home. This led to him staying over at my house for multiple nights and me taking care of him. One night in particular his parents, Dawn and Bobby, were fighting rather loudly and one of them called my mom. It was keeping Damian awake past his bedtime so my mom and I went to go pick him up and take him to our house so that he would be able to sleep while they had their fight. After that he continued to stay with us, all the while me taking care of him and basically taking him everywhere we went. During this time, there was repeated drama between Dawn and Bobby and the idea of divorce came up between them. Dawn and Bobby had not paid their rent and were getting evicted from their place and that was part of their fighting. Shortly after Christmas, the drama came to a head.

December 29, 2012. My mom and I went over to Dawn and Bobby's apartment to help Dawn with getting some things and maybe some packing. My mom was appalled at how the apartment looked. During this time Bobby came back and the yelling and screaming began. Bobby ended up punching a picture and shattering the glass of the picture all over the floor. The cops were called. They told us if he came back to have us call them. Then the neighbors got involved when the argument was taken outside. Eventually, we all migrated into the neighbor's apartment in their living room where everyone was arguing. I was trying to be the peacemaker for everyone as were the neighbors. What we were doing wasn't working. Eventually, my mom got so offended by the way she was being treated that she left in her car, saying she was not going to be yelled at. I did not follow but tried to stay to continue to help the situation. After a bit of time, I received a call from my dad and when I answered he screamed at me over the phone to come home now. Then I received a text from my dad in all caps demanding that I come home immediately along with some threats and things like that. I left at that moment. Dawn and the neighbors followed so that they could pick up Damian because they knew at that moment that my dad was angry. When I arrived home all hell broke loose.

Dawn immediately grabbed Damian and his backpack and removed him from the house. My dad immediately started screaming at me to pack my stuff and get the hell out of his house. I ran upstairs to the room I was staying in (I no longer actually had a room at the house). My mom tried to pacify him and tried to quiet him down but he was so angry nothing she did was going to change anything. He screamed "No. I love you and I love Zach but I do not love her! She is not my daughter!" I immediately started texting my friends from church asking if I could come stay with them and they said I could. They offered to come get me and I said no, that I would go to church the following day and leave with them. My mom came upstairs as I was crying and tried to act like everything was okay and tried to pacify me. She tried to justify my dad's actions. She kept trying to touch me and hug me and I kept trying to get away from her and she would not get away from me. I kept telling her to back up and leave me alone. Eventually I gave her a little push because I couldn't stand her being in my space anymore. When she responded with something like "don't push me" my dad immediately screamed "oh you want to push your mom? Do I need to call the cops and tell them you pushed your mother? Do you want to get arrested for violence? Don't you dare push my wife" and so on. My mom again tried to tell him to stop but he wouldn't. Eventually she left the room and I went straight to packing up my stuff. I packed up all my clothes and personal items that I had, which really wasn’t much since most of it was away at college. Then I went to bed. 

The next morning I got up and started getting ready for church. I finished packing what I needed to pack. My mom came in my room early and told me she wanted to figure this out. She wanted to be the peacemaker. But the damage had been done. I said no, grabbed my stuff and put it in the car. We went to church. On the drive to church, she kept trying to grab my arm and touch me, trying to beg and plead at me to talk to her. I wouldn’t. At church, my mom and I both began talking to people, each of us telling our sides of the story. My mom making me look like a bad person and saying how she was trying to fix it but I wouldn’t let her and me trying to explain how much damage had been done. I went upstairs to the youth room for Sunday school. At the end of Sunday school, my mom came into the youth room. She once again was trying to “fix” everything. My youth pastor decided to try to step in the middle and be of help. It only made the situation worse. He proceeded to listen to my mom say her piece about it and she misconstrued the whole thing, once again making me look like a horrible child. I had already told my youth pastor what my dad had said the previous night. My youth pastor tried to explain to my mom that I was hurt about the things said and that I needed space, to not latch on to me like she kept trying to do. Then he proceeded to lecture me about how he told us over and over again to obey our parents and why had I not done that. After a while, it ended in nothing be done so we all just went into service. At the end of service, I got my stuff out of my mom’s car and transferred it to the people’s house that I was going to stay at and left with them. I stayed at their house for the remainder of my Christmas break. During that time, I saw my mom twice. Once when she changed my car over into my name at the DMV. The other time was when I agreed to talk to her at a McDonalds. It lasted 5 minutes because all she did was try to justify what my dad did and I wasn’t going to hear it. So I left. I saw my nephew and his family over the remainder of break a couple times and then I flew back to South Carolina. Where a whole new level of hell met me.