September 10, 2017 was the 3rd anniversary of the terrible awful. I missed the occasion but I was not sure I would write about that infamous day anyway. Part of me believes this is not my story to tell and part of me thinks that during this month of suicide prevention now is the most fitting time. Part of me wants to SCREAM from the mountaintops. Part of me wants to crawl into a hole. I’ve decided I will share the story from my perspective.
In hindsight, there were signs. To be fair, when someone does not want you to know something, she becomes the master at hiding. Only in retrospect, with deep analysis does the light bulb go off. On that day however, nothing could have prepared me for what happened.
Let me start by saying that finding help for someone with mental health issues is difficult. When that someone is under 18, the ability to find help becomes even harder. As big as San Antonio is, there were slim pickings. And I have good insurance which makes me cringe to think about the uninsured/underinsured.
That’s all for now. I have to pace myself. As always, more to come.