Alex's Break - Chapter 6

Why had Alex picked this moment to call me ‘Mom’? Was it another ploy or a cry for help? My mind was a tumbleweed of questions as I searched for the knife under the sofa.  My husband held Alex braced against the wall, but the screaming and fighting had subsided.  My hands began shaking as I picked up the knife.  Just moments ago, she held this to my husband’s throat while he lay napping.

I gave Jim the knife.  Alex took advantage of his focus being elsewhere; she shoved him away and ran.  Another battle of strength and power ensued.  Jim outweighed Alex by more than a hundred pounds and towered over her 5'3" frame.  Despite her best efforts, he picked her up and dragged her to the couch.  Tossing her on it, he stood over her to prevent another escape attempt.  His comments were addressed cold and firm to me though he never let his eyes stray from her.

“She either goes into a teen mental institution or I press charges, and she goes to jail.  We obviously aren’t doing her any good now.  She needs help we can’t give her.  She will NOT stay another night in this house.  It isn’t safe for any of us.  Jane, you get on the phone to her therapist and find a facility, or I’ll call the police.  And it’s not up for discussion.  There’s no waiting until tomorrow.  Now, Jane!”

Jim isn’t one to make demands often, but I know when he does it’s something he has given great thought to, and believes to his core that he is right.  And if I were honest with myself, I would admit that I knew it had to be done. Within seconds, I was on the phone dialing her therapist’s cell number.

After several frustrating hours, Alex’s therapist informed me the only facility for teens that had a space and would take her was almost a six-hour drive.  No other options existed. 

All this time, Alex remained frozen on the couch.  She stared straight forward with her mouth pursed shut and her arms folded across her chest.  At times, it didn’t even look like she was breathing.  I diverted my eyes.  I didn’t like looking at her.  I felt as if I were betraying her.  Or perhaps I had betrayed her by not doing this sooner.

I packed two weeks worth of clothes, her medications, and necessities.  Her therapist said that fourteen days was the average stay in these kinds of facilities.  Of course, ‘average’ could mean shorter or longer, depending on Alex.  We sat down in the living room to explain to her the best we could what would be happening.

“Alex, we’re taking you to a place called Cedar Ridge.  Dr. Darby thinks it’s a great place, and they have a bed available.  We’ll be able to visit once a week.  They’ll do an assessment similar to what Dr. Darby did when he first saw you.  That’s really all we know.  But Dad and I will be with you every step of the way.  Alex, I’m sorry, but you’ve given us no other choice.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled.  “You should have left me with my real crack whore of a mother.  She would’ve done a better job than you.”  Before my face had a chance to register the shock and hurt of her words, she spat at me.

Jim said nothing.  He grabbed her bags and went to the door, waiting for her to follow.  Alex stood, staring him down.  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.  It was like watching an old West showdown between two people I loved.  She walked stiffly toward him; he didn't flinch.  Without warning, Alex balled her fist, drew back, and hit the glass in the door beside my husband’s head.  Blood and glass showered down on them. 

Looking at her mangled hand, Alex calmly said, “I guess you’ll be taking me to a real hospital now.”

And we did.  After twenty stitches and a cast on her wrist, we began the long drive to Cedar Ridge.  Alex had hit through the door with such force that it cracked her bone in two places.  Rather than focus on what was ahead of her, she needed to prove that she still had some control over what would occur and when it would occur - even if it meant breaking her own hand.

Cedar Ridge wasn’t Alex’s home for the expected two weeks.  She lived there for nine months.  Even at a place where they called all the shots, Alex wouldn’t bend.  When asked in therapy, why she thought she was there.  Her answer was always, “Because I got angry, hit a wall, and broke my hand.”  Never did she take any responsibility.  Never did she follow the five step program that would allow her to return home to us.  She believed new rules should be set for her; she was above their childish regulations. 

I was an emotional wreck.  Instead of taking advantage of the peace and time I had, I obsessed on convincing Alex to follow the program.  I begged, bribed, and searched for answers everywhere.  It was as ineffective as always.  She was determined to win, even if it meant no freedom or privacy for months. 

She did win.  Eventually, they released her without Alex completing any of the five steps.  They apologized to us, saying they didn’t feel they could do anything else for her, and she was causing havoc with the other patients.

So Alex came home, angrier, more manipulative, and stronger.  A scar on her hand was the only evidence that the last nine months had happened. 


Link to Chapter 7

Moving On - Final Chapter  (18+) There comes a time when you must admit your failures and move on. #1586223 by audra_branson