I feel as if I'm living in a constant state of crisis.
It's completely exhausting.
Dar woke me up this morning at 5:30 with the words, "Our daughter is missing".
Oh, how I hate those words and the worry that follows them!
I went into her room to check, hoping he was wrong. He wasn't. Her bed was empty, her cell phone gone, the door downstairs unlocked.
At least this time my first reaction was to turn to Jesus. I prayed...please, let her come home. Have her answer our calls and texts. He answered. She answered almost immediately after I prayed. She'd woken up from a nightmare about her experience last week, and couldn't go back to sleep. So she got up and went for a walk.
We told her, please, next time, wake us up! It's a lot more disturbing to wake up to an empty room than it is to an upset daughter.
This morning we both have to work, so she's home alone. We're calling every half hour or so, to make sure she's there. Don't know what else to do! The wheels of mental health services turn SO slowly, and so we wait...for a psychologist for her to talk to, for a psychiatrist to get her on medication, for the county to tell us what resources are out there for us.
The little bit of reading I've done on Bipolar Disorder paints a grim picture, a long, hard road full of worry, trying anything one can think of, lots of pain and tears and frustration. I've read that at least one third of people diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder DIE from suicide, accidents, drug overdose, etc. And it may be closer to two thirds.
Please, please, please, keep us in your prayers. I pray that the diagnosis is incorrect. I pray that our road won't be as hard as it seems it will be. I pray her life doesn't end in suicide or accidental death or drug overdose. I pray for peace in our hearts, discernment and guidance for our steps, and understanding from employers, family, and friends.