Archives for category: parenting

Every DAY is Mental Health Awareness DAY here at Ava’s Corner…as we try to help those of us who are challenged with our brains’ alternate states to define “normal” one person at a time…and often one minute at a time.
YOUR best normal is what you should strive for (not someone else’s definition of that) and, when life throws you a curve ball, find that new normal for you to try to maintain.
My normal before Ava Kauffman’s death was being on the phone with her any time of the day or night helping her stay focused on completing her degree and encouraging her to think past the moment of depression into a positive future. However, my life after that horrific phone call at 6:00 AM on March 23rd changed my “normal” forever. I now struggle with PTSD as a result of 40 years of cumulative angst, pain, anxiety and struggle to help my son help himself to stay alive (he was murdered), help Ava stay alive (she killed herself) and, finally, help my 90+ year old Mom stay alive in her last years.

Carl, Ava and me April 1984

Carl, Ava and me April 1984

 

Yeah!

Mom watching fireworks from my deck in 2011…before the world stopped spinning. 

The difference? As a mother, you ALWAYS have HOPE that prayers, hard work in helping your children, etc. will help them see a brighter tomorrow. When ALL fails and the most important people in your life are all gone…critical support team, best friends, loved ones…some of us struggle.

People who don’t really “know” me think I’m strong and dumber ones have asked me if Montana was one of those “fake” service dogs. That’s about the time they might just find out exactly why I have her! Word of caution! Don’t ask that!

Remember, you don’t always “see” who we are but that doesn’t make us whole! It makes us in a constant state of healing. The trick is finding YOUR very own way of creative coping and healing!

 

Montana doggie park 10-10 taken by Maya

Montana is MY creative coping mechanism. I could leave the house without her!

Today is Carl’s birthday.

I had figured it all out by Carl's first birthday!

Me me and Carl on his first birthday!

When he was little, we celebrated it with the Birthday Frog bringing him presents. He wondered why there was an Easter Bunny, Sandra Claus for Christmas, etc. and nothing for birthdays. So, we created one.

Carl’s laugh was infectious and like music to my ears and his sense of humor wonderful. He loved to fish better than anything other than science and taught himself how to make his own fly lures at eight for fly fishing. At first, he caught more limbs than fish but he didn’t stop trying.

My blue eyed baby...Carl around age 8.

My blue eyed baby…Carl around age 8.

When he was sent to military school by Ava’s father, it changed him forever. He became a hurt and angry young man who had succumbed to hazing and learned how to drink and smoke pot at the age of thirteen. He took his life down a tragic path regardless of the time, money and help I could get and, by the age of eighteen years, two months he had disappeared.

Carl about the time his step-father decided he needed military school.

Carl about the time his step-father decided he needed military school.

For the fifteen years he was a “missing person,” I spent this day praying and fasting as I cut trees and bushes at Mom’s just to get through the day wondering if I’d ever know what had happened to him.

The last picture taken of the three of us in March, 1984. Twenty-eight years later, Ava was gone too in that same month.

The last picture taken of the three of us.

After I found he had been murdered, I spent the first six years fantasizing about killing his murderer who was already dead! Irrational, emotional and illogical however it was what happened.

These last few years, I’ve been trying to do something to celebrate who he was before he got sidetracked from a creative, happy, talented, bright child into a tortured soul. One year I spent time with the Native Americans at their mounds near Macon, GA. Other more spiritual adventures included traveling to his favorite fishing holes or visiting places out of town that he loved.

While I was pulling weeds out of my little patch of flowers I stole from Mother Nature this past week in meditation of this day, I knew I wanted to do something totally different.

I remembered that I’d found one of his old fishing lures as I cleaned out his tackle box…one he’d missed when he was selling his precious treasures for drugs. I’d carefully placed the hook still attached to a piece of line next to some of Ava’s treasures. Somehow, I knew I wanted to take these relics of their respective childhood to them.

Having just ordered Ava’s marker, it seemed fitting that I go to the cemetery where they now are side-by-side. They absolutely adored each other from the day Ava was born.

I thought I was going to go alone because so many things like this are uncomfortable for others to deal with and I’ve had to do so much of my hardest work alone. I was surprised to have the comfort and company of my good friend and neighbor, Jackie Miles, volunteer to go with me. This time, I thought, I’m going to have someone who understands what this day is all about.

I took these treasures which represented their innocence and hope.

At Ava’s request, Carl’s marker had a circle cut into the granite when we finally put in his marker ten years ago. As I looked at Carl’s lure, I knew it represented his innocence; his name tag from military school represented what stole both his innocence and hope away. I placed the fishing hook down into the circle and buried his name plate above his remains.

For Ava, I had a tiny pink bow she wore in her hair as a baby. She was born with more hair than most adults have and I needed to keep it pulled away from her face! This tiny pink bow represented her innocence. I buried it over her remains. I’d found the key to Ava’s treasured Vegas home which had a happy young woman’s face on it. It reminded me how happy she was to have that hope of her marriage working but knowing it’s where she tragically ended it because she had no hope. I placed it beside Carl’s fishing lure already in the circle on his marker and poured sealant over them.

I spoke to each one, apologizing to Carl for being so absorbed in Ava’s death to pay much tribute to him these last two years and reminded him of my unconditional love for him. I told Ava that I would love her unconditionally forever as well but that I was still upset over her permanent decision to a temporary problem and that she darn well better help us help others with Avascorner.org because we need her.

I walked around and visited my other relatives resting there and drove off to visit Mom at the facility where she’s, hopefully, getting better. Mom looked better than I ever hoped for. I even got to see the doctor and we all had a nice chat as Jackie perked up the room with rearranging Mom’s flowers and clearing the old ones out.

It was on our drive back toward home that we knew we were surrounded by Guardian Angels.

We were approaching I-85 on I-285 East at Malfunction Junction (aka Spaghetti Junction) when I noticed the cars in front of the truck directly ahead of me were stopped. The white Expedition with blacked out windows immediately in front of me never put on their brakes and ka-pow slammed into the stopped vehicles. I knew there hadn’t been a car to my right a second ago and I only had about that much notice. I pulled over in total faith preferring to be sideswiped over than becoming involved in that fray.

As I continued past the occurring wreck, we drove into what felt like time-lapse photography…a spray and also a barrage of black glass and car parts for me to dodge.

Well, I gotta say that’s the worst wreck I was never in and saw firsthand. Jackie and I both started saying our “Thank you GODs” over and over hardly believing we’d missed being horribly injured just by a second or two. WOW!

We kept hearing the replay of the horrific sounds coming from the impact for miles and continued to say our “Thanks.”

So, Happy Birthday, Carl. We still need you and will love you forever. But, hey, Ava, can we make your birthday a little less exciting?

Jennifer, hit the ground running. She adored her big brother, Carl, at their first meeting in the hospital when she was born. Carl watched his baby sister raise up on her two palms and turned her head from side to side as if telling everyone to turn off the bright lights! He was so tickled by this that he ran into the recovery room to report to me. His eyes gleamed as he told all about what she looked like as if I hadn’t seen the baby at all!

Carl loved to fish better than anything and Ava loved her brother more. Here's Carl with his prized catfish.
Carl loved to fish better than anything and Ava loved her brother more. Here’s Carl with his prized catfish.

Carl and Jennifer laughed and screamed and played like two puppies…joyful as if to have found each other again during their first eighteen months as siblings. Everything started to unravel the day Carl’s step-father attended a meeting at the school. Carl was not the cookie cutter kid. He didn’t fit a mold for many reasons and the DeKalb County school system wanted to test him every year he was in their system but couldn’t find anything “wrong” with him.

In the seventh grade, a very “special” county worker tested Carl and reported to me that Carl just didn’t fit in at school. She reported he dressed too nicely, had his hair cut too short and was known as “preacher” because he carried his Bible to school.

My blue eyed baby...Carl around age 8.
My blue-eyed baby…Carl around age 8.

Outraged by the audacity of this county employee, I shared this report with Carl’s step-father. He went berserk and demanded a meeting with the Principal. Fool that I was, I thought he was finally being supportive and acting like the father he should have been these last two years and a half years.

After their meeting that fateful Thursday, Carl’s step-father decided Carl should go to military school on Sunday in the spring of his twelfth year. His step-father totally failed to understand Carl’s sensitivity and artistic brilliance.

Carl about the time his step-father decided he needed military school.
Carl about the time his step-father decided he needed military school.

I had dated boys who had attended military school and thought the disciplinary training might be good for Carl even though my heart was broken over this outrageous unilateral decision.  And, although I was known to be a strong, independent woman, I felt powerless to stop him. I’d never lived with a man other than my father and older brothers and didn’t have a clue on how to usurp my own authority over a man much less a husband. All I knew to do was pray the Lord would slam the doors shut to prevent my determined husband’s decision, confident he could never come up with the money necessary to carry out his plan. Even years of  therapy didn’t give me the tools I needed for this nightmare. So, on the third day, Carl and his step father flew to the Florida winter camp of the military school designated to train and mold him for the next three months and twenty days.

Carl called me often…crying from the terrible hazing and unfairness of the system. As soon as the boys relocated to Georgia, Jennifer and I would drive to spend every visitors day with Carl trying to encourage him to learn from the experience and be his cheerleader assuring him he would be back home. It was after one of those visits that I came back home knowing things were getting ready to change. I had my spine back and wasn’t going to be bullied by her husband any more.

But, it was too late for Carl. He came home an angry, bitter thirteen year old. Sadly, military school had taught Carl about hazing, abandonment, drinking and drugs. Not a single therapy session gave me the tools to handle this conundrum. I ended the ruse of a marriage to save my children but Carl’s psychological damage was done and Jennifer’s was just beginning to show at a whole new level.

In those days, there were no resources readily available like today. Everything learned was done by hundreds of hours spent on the phone begging strangers for help, resources and/or funds. My fight for the mental health Carl needed over the next six years included therapists, psychiatrists, counselors, attorneys, psychological testing, law suits against local School Board, numerous unproductive meetings and red knees from praying but every single time I thought I had the answer, a tragedy would strike from outer space and topple all the hard work into ashes. Hope was hard to come by but it was all I had. Carl’s drug exploration continued until the day he disappeared when he was just two months past his eighteenth birthday in 1984 when there were no resources for missing young adults.

Jennifer was six years old the last time she saw Carl. He was celebrating his eighteenth birthday at their grandmother’s house. He was getting his driver’s license, a car and his freedom. There was a big fight and he got into his car.

Jennifer ran outside to tell him she loved him but hesitated. He drove off not knowing he was leaving the six-year-old forever blaming herself for his disappearance sure that if she had told him how much she loved him as she intended to do, he would have stayed and been safe. No amount of words, therapy or assurances ever convinced her otherwise.

The last picture taken of the three of us in March, 1984. Twenty-eight years later, Ava was gone too in that same month.
The last picture taken of the three of us in March, 1984. Twenty-eight years later, Ava was gone too in that same month.

The only thing consistent about Jennifer’s father was his absence…emotional and physical. Jennifer’s losses were coupled with challenges she had from birth.  Days old, she began displaying severe separation anxiety. When I tried to take a shower or do anything without Jennifer glued to my hip, she would cry so hard she would hyperventilate. This little one was presenting challenges the pediatricians would categorize as spoiling her. They didn’t know anything about mental health…only physical.

Washing her hair was like pure torture to her. She screamed so loudly the first time I washed her hair that the neighbors came running to see what was wrong with her. They saw me holding her closely while she was on the kitchen counter next to the sink, my hand gently messaging her head while the water trickled. I was as stunned as they were. I didn’t know until after her death that this is one of the symptoms of Asperger Syndrome in children!

Dropping Jennifer off at pre-K was always a traumatic experience to her. She would stand at the windows watching as I drove off as if it was going to be the last time she ever going to see me.

Out of compassion and understanding of this child’s challenges, I spent all my non-working time with her trying to give her the love and support she needed. But, Jennifer’s need for love was insatiable. There was no way I could fill the void Jennifer’s father and brother left behind but I sure tried to give her lots of love and stability because I discovered early on that her brain didn’t process like most and I didn’t know anything else to do.

From past experience, I knew the public school system didn’t know how to deal with an intelligent child who couldn’t “fit” into a box so I moved back into Mom’s so Jennifer could attend the private Christian school affiliated with our church. I kept waiting for Jennifer to settle into the school but even these teachers weren’t trained to know how to deal with a child who didn’t fit into the mold.

The therapist Jennifer had been seeing since age ten was seeing wasn’t any help either. I withdrew her before the seventh grade and home schooled this hormonal hellcat for the next year. As Jennifer progressed through puberty, she resented her body changes…willing it not to happen. She told me she didn’t want to be a woman. It was during those pre-teen years that she started talking about suicide. Jennifer’s psychiatrist didn’t know what to do with her either never giving a hint of treatment or diagnosis.

In the hope of getting Jennifer outside of herself, I had kept her enrolled in many activities from modeling, modern dance to ballet to competitive ice skating since she was two years old. It was one of Jennifer’s older friends at the ice skating rink when Jennifer was eleven years old who mentioned to me that she, herself, had a chemical imbalance and that it might just be what was wrong with Jennifer. I didn’t know what that meant and, in 1990, there wasn’t much available about it…no internet or resources at the public library about this brain malfunction. What I did learn was it was possible for the brain to fail to produce the right chemicals for the brain to process information properly. That sure sounded like it might be the answer but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t just drugging Jennifer as none of her therapists ever mentioned this disorder. Drugging my daughter for everyone else’s convenience wasn’t going to happen. I wanted to make sure that Jennifer’s demanding, narcissistic, clingy tendencies weren’t due to me needing to be more or do more.

The summer of 1991 was tragic. Jennifer was involved with an unitarian youth group who allowed the thirteen-year-old Jennifer to associate with an eighteen-year-old pedophile. After the pedophile raped her, Jennifer dissociated for the first time. She became more outwardly angry at me and more inward in her behavior until she attempted  suicide just six days before my father died. Knowing how much Jennifer hated doctors and needles, I was sure the Emergency Room visit would surely jerk her out of her strange behavior. Strangely, it fed the monster which always needed more and more attention. I now know that she was exhibiting symptoms of PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder).

It was time. Medication was in order. First the doctors tried Prozac but to no avail; they doubled and tripled it but nothing helped her chronic, severe depression. They tried every anti-depressant available but nothing worked. In fact, her depression got worse.

It was 1992 when I purchased our first home (with no job, no money or reliable income) through an elderly gentleman who owned hundreds of rental houses. I  did all the paperwork for a seller finance and presented it to him; I could because I had been in the real estate legal business for many years. The owner was very happy to help us realize our dream. However, being in this house would mean  Jennifer would have to attend public school. The good news, as I told her, was she could start off with a clean slate. No one knew she’d been raped or knew any of her past. It would be up to her to share what she wanted. She could just be fourteen years old and try out for team sports at the new high school while the doctors played with her meds.

Public school proved to be a disaster for Jennifer as it was for Carl. During the summer of 1992, Jennifer started acting strangely aggressive and defensive. I asked her to sit down and talk with me about what she was going through. We realized she was steeling herself for going back to the public school. I couldn’t put her through it. I searched our new community for a private school to put her in and there was one. All I needed was six thousand dollars. It might as well have been six million as I was still self-employed. Somehow, I made it happen and everything rocked along for the next school year and summer until the wheels started falling off the wagon again.

I registered her for the private school again because I had no direction from any of her therapists, the school or my counselors. Plus, I needed to find work. I couldn’t keep this up no matter how much I wanted to be home for her. In March, 1993, I went back to work full-time. In May, Jennifer called me to say she was going to kill someone at school and then herself.  I walked out of work without even telling anyone what had happened.

When I got home, she was sitting in her room holding a knife totally dissociated. I couldn’t reach her at all. I cried and phoned everyone I knew to call…therapists, doctors, family, school. Finally, my only choice was to call the police. Here I was again but, this time with my daughter. I hadn’t had any good experiences with getting help from the police before so I didn’t have any good expectations with this scene either.

I hadn’t had any good experiences with getting help from the police before so I didn’t have any good expectations with this scene either. She was on large doses of Zoloft. She was now sixteen years old. The most amazing thing happened when the police came. They were wonderful! They spent hours talking with her, helping her reconnect with reality. We dodged another bullet but not for long.

By the time she was seventeen, I had gone as far as I could go without having another nervous breakdown. I was drowning. I had to keep my own head above water if I wanted to help this strong-willed, independent, recalcitrant, self-destructive, narcissistic, chronically depressed, drop out teen. She thought she had all the answers and, by now, was wanting emancipation. I felt I had done all I could do and the world would have to finish raising her.

Every weekend for six weeks, I sold everything in our home. I rented the house out and moved in with a friend. She asked what she was supposed to do and I told her to call her father because I didn’t have any more answers to her questions. For the first time in her life, her father was there for her even if it was for selfish reasons. His mother had recently died and he needed someone to pack up her belongings and label the boxes. She could move into her other grandmother’s house if she was willing to do the work. Jennifer moved in and turned that quiet neighborhood on it’s ears with her tattooed friends and late night partying. After a respite, I could give her a helping hand up as long as she was helping herself.

It was late 1994 when I heard her sing opera aria for the first time as we packed her up to move. I couldn’t believe my ears. She was blessed! She needed to be learning music. It had always been her passion from birth. It was the only thing that would calm her down as a fretful baby or as a disturbed teen. She delved herself into all kinds of music. She never discriminated…heavy metal bands, hair bands of the 80’s, Mozart, big band sounds, opera, jazz, blues…everything. It was then that I told her I would provide for her living expenses (except for gas, car insurance and spending cash) as long as she obtained her GED and registered for a full schedule at the community college toward a degree…any degree. She now had a dream and her private lessons started immediately as she obtained her GED and moved forward with her college goals.

The next ten years were wrought with psychiatrists sleeping through sessions, group therapy, medications, breakdowns, suicide attempts, failed treatments, successes, failures, highs, lows, research into what was wrong with her and, finally, marriage.

It was a therapist who finally diagnosed Ava right before her marriage as Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). She has a diary full of documented moods, thoughts and fears. She was very fearful…of everything and nothing. It is one of the most prevalent common denominator of this brain malfunction. When she was diagnosed, there wasn’t much research about this condition.

In the meantime, her psychiatrist was treating her for Bipolar Disorder with antidepressants and not even addressing her prior diagnosis at all. I have several family members in the mental health care industry in a range of jobs from admissions to certified therapists to college professors. They all say the same thing. Borderline Personality Disorder diagnosis is one that has no chemical treatment and, until recently, little therapy treatments with any substantial result. The “professionals” appear to all have the attitude there is absolutely nothing which can be done to help people with this disorder.

There is hope, however, due to an ever-increasing diagnosis of this brain malfunction. There is a treatment called “Dialectical Treatment” which helps. It doesn’t have to end the way Ava chose to.

Ava was an opera singer in Las Vegas (an unforgiving town) married to the wrong person. She was bullied at work by her co-workers and at home by her estranged husband. She was exhausted from a grueling two year, accelerated college schedule trying to finish her degree in vocal performance so she could have financial freedom and all that would mean for her future.

She chose, however, to take advantage of the perfect storm. All her closest support members were in the Emergency Room dealing with life threatening issues. Friends in Vegas were oblivious of her despair or intentions as is customary with BPD.

Ava took her life on the night of March 23, 2012. Since then, I’ve been caught up in a tsunami of grief and work.

It was during my drive back to Vegas just a few short weeks after her death to attend to Ava’s final affairs that I was “told” to create a website to help others. Not having any experience in such matters caused me great confusion about the directive. I argued and negotiated. I was “told” to “just ask.” So I did. I asked all her friends in Vegas and they immediately responded “YES!”

At that time, I didn’t know that the suicide rate in Las Vegas was fifty percent higher than the national average.

With the help of Ava’s closest friends I now call my chirrens and through nothing short of many miracles, AvasCorner.org (AvasCorner.net and AvasCorner.com) was kicked off on December 2, 2012, just in time for the holidays…the month that has the highest suicide rate of the year.

I designed it and professional volunteers put the vision into action. Ava’s Corner, Inc. is a Georgia corporation with 501(c)3 non-profit public charity status with the IRS. We are a grassroots project to change lives giving them new ways of thinking about therapy through Art, Music, Yoga, Massage and more. We want to help our visitors find hope. The mental health industry may have given up on our loved ones with brain malfunctions, but AvasCorner.org (.net & .com)  hasn’t. We’re here for them.

http://www.avascorner.org/

I was startled when my therapist used that diagnosis for what I have been feeling these last sixteen months…startled enough to evaluate and re-think it all.

When I think of people with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), I think of our brave men and women who have faced the battlefield or the people injured in horrific acts of violence like 9/11 or the Boston bombings. I have never thought of my life, but I guess I should have and maybe so should you if you feel like I have and do.

After my daughter’s suicide, I was “told” by my Reliable Third Party to design and build a website to help others. Through the hand of my Reliable Third Party and the love and support of Ava’s friends, AvasCorner.org exists. So, I naturally went to my own resources to find out more about this condition. I share two and you can go to AvasCorner.org for more informational websites on this condition.

Acute stress reaction – Hypervigilance – Category:Posttraumatic stress …

NIMH · Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic…ptsd/index.shtml

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) A booklet on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder(PTSD) that explains what it is, treatment options, and how to get help.

*****

Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

http://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/guide/post-traumatic-stress-disorder

Posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a serious mental condition which is a lasting consequence of traumatic events.

*****

After re-reading these articles, I went back in time to evaluate my own symptoms. My first questions were: “When and how did it start?” The only answer I could muster was: “The minute I heard she had killed herself.”

I thought hearing of my son’s murder was surely the most horrific event a parent could face, and it was, but it came after he had been missing fifteen years. I knew he had to be dead because, at a minimum, he wasn’t asking for money! That sounds cynical but every eighteen-year-old needs money from their parents, don’t they? Also, my pain from Carl’s disappearance was often distracted in the measurement of   seconds during those fifteen years with helping Ava find hope to stay alive and functional. She was my mission, the love of my life, my joy and my greatest pain.

However, “that” minute…”that” phone call will be forever engrained, frozen, carved, jolted into my bloodstream as the most horrific trauma a human could face. Ava’s estranged husband…sobbing…hysterical…barely audible…telling me this disgusting, revolting, unbelievable truth. I spent the whole day throwing up and hearing deep soul-sounds come from my vocal cords which had originated from my core. My sister said I was also on the computer emailing Ava’s friends and answering their questions on Facebook. I don’t remember that part but I’m glad I did and could.

Thanks to my sister’s careful planning and execution, I was whisked away like royalty. I don’t remember getting to Vegas but I do remember seeing Eric and Cheryl who hosted our stay. They were dear friends of Ava’s…and still are. The five days I was in Vegas was truly an “out-of-body” experience because only moments of memory have stayed with me, the return trip with her ashes, her burial and my return to my cabin, which is when “it” hit.

My first recollection is having to go to Wal-Mart to pick up necessities. It was all I could do to muster up enough energy to run that gauntlet. I was walking rapidly through the store trying to hurry through my task when I found myself wanting to SCREAM as loudly as I could to the other customers, “How can you walk around so normally? DON’T YOU KNOW SHE’S DEAD?” It was such a task to suppress this urge that I walked out without buying a single thing.

I was reminded of that moment just a couple of weeks ago when Alicia and her sweet autistic son were visiting me from Ohio. We went to the local outdoor flea market.  The little guy had a melt down because there were too many people in the area we were approaching. I “got” it. Ava had been that way as a child as well (but not as severely) and I certainly had been that way most of last year. Too many strangers around freaked me out.

In trying to describe to my therapist, friends and family why my innate outgoing personality had disappeared, all I could say is that my skin had been ripped off that day leaving me raw, filterless and extremely vulnerable…which prohibited loud noises or fast moves until after noon and even then, they had best be for legitimate reasons. Knowing “they” couldn’t understand even with the graphic explanations was understandable because it’s one of those things you just have to live to grasp and I don’t wish it on any one…which makes me tolerate their ignorance with love.

Weeks went by without my being able to even go outside my own doors. Paranoia creeped in that I was constantly being watched by Ava. When I got like that, I couldn’t “speak” to her star without succumbing to terrible pain from her deep inside  my soul. It was all just too much to feel and stay alive, so I stopped going outside after dark…stopped talking to her through “her star…” unconsciously holding my breath until it returned naturally.

As a writer, quick thinker and even faster talker, words have been critical to my existence, self-esteem and an extension of my soul. That day, sixteen months ago, stripped my brain of most of the words I have been used to having at the tip of my brain. For this last year, I’ve felt as if I had had a stroke…struggling daily to retrieve those words always available to me but now some distant, vague memory. I’ve worked hard reviving them…reading dictionaries, watching foreign films to not only block my horrific messages but to feed my ADD and desire to bring languages back to my brain. Seems to be working but I’m still feeling a bit retarded in the word department. The most important part of this lesson is that I can SEE improvement…even if it is microscopic…much like when I had my nervous breakdowns…microscopic improvement is valuable.

It was more than a miracle that I lived through July, 2012. Montana, the grace of God, the love of my friends and family kept me going. If it hadn’t been for taking care of Montana and taking her outside, I wouldn’t have ever left the house. If I hadn’t trained her from the day she found me to be my “service dog” without understanding the why behind that drive, I wouldn’t have survived the year. Ava’s pull to have me with her was strong and extremely painful.

I’m sharing this with you because you who have suffered similarly, do as I say do and not as I did. I recognize trauma in others but not in myself. I did listen to my instincts as I have always done, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around this condition being mine…but it is.

It surely is and it helps me having a name for what’s going on because I know it will leave with the right therapy, hard work and treatments.

It gives me hope. The hope that others who are suffering will reach out to AvasCorner.org for answers, directions and understanding. I just didn’t apply my own resources to myself.

I’m just sayin’…

Happy Trails (or trials).

The last picture taken of the three of us in March, 1984. Twenty-eight years later, Ava was gone too in that same month.

The last picture taken of the three of us in March, 1984. Twenty-eight years later, Ava was gone too in that same month.

I have said it before and I’ll say it over and over because I’m a break the rules kinda’ girl when it comes to my retirement years…just in case there was some confusion ’bout that! I travel outside the box, write that way and, now, I’ve written a website to help Las Vegas performers and artists of all persuasions to find outlets and resources in a way that everyone says it shouldn’t be! Oh well. I was TOLD how the Home Page  was supposed to look in early April as I drove back to Las Vegas to handle Ava’s final affairs. And, as  I travelled with her small urn to the redwood forest where more was revealed and so forth as we drove through this great country into Montreal and back home again. I have followed very specific instructions. So if any of you web techies go nuts over the design, keep quiet! But if you have a valid point, I’m interested…always! And if you don’t believe in a greater power, you’re just making it harder on yourself than you need to!

So, here’s the latest. As of last weekend, we had no entertainers lined up and, as of today, we’ll be packed with a wide variety of grateful performers and artists all interested in helping to raise awareness of Vegas’s horrific suicide statistics because they have been personally touched by it in their families, friends or co-workers. All it takes is knowledge and perseverence and getting the right help in time.

This website has resources specific to bipolar, borderline personality disorder, the available facilities and other more alternative methods of healing like art, music and yoga therapy and to encourage friends and family not to be afraid of the bright light that MUST be aimed in the dark corners of brain malfunctions of this type because I think the statistics prove out more suicides result from these disorders.

My beautiful daughter wasn’t properly diagnosed as BPD until she met a psychologist, Andy, in late 2005, even though she had been seeing psychiatrist, therapists and psychologists since she was ten. However, the leading psychiatrist who handled Ava’s medications and therapy was treating her for Bipolar because that was easier. That’s my conclusion after interviewing people in the industry who automatically shove BPD’s under the rug as not being treatable. Her doctor was so highly revered in Georgia that we couldn’t get second opinions from anyone after they learned of his involvement. She had to be hospitalized to take her off the cocktail of six meds he had her taking in 2005. She continued to see him when in Atlanta and he continued to give her meds. It was the easy way out. I trusted this learned man. If you’re a parent of a bipolar or BPD child, arm yourself with knowledge. Our website provides that with links to reliable resources of information.

As this fledgling website grows, so will city speciic therapy alternatives but Ava’s Corner can be used now everywhere to work on that learning curve regardless of where you live. But for now, we want to help one family, one person, one life change for the better because of our one-stop-shopping approach to valuable information.

By the way, I’ve been “told” it will go global to buckle my seatbelt. So, watch along with me to see how it goes!

Ava’s Corner, inc. Mission Statement bears repeating:

“Ava’s Corner is a website constructed to encourage healing through creative energy shedding light into the dark corners of mental disorders. Artists of all genres can come to the Avascorner.org forum to voice their suffering through art, music, Videography, photography or poetry.

All friends or family of those suffering from brain disorders are welcome to utilize education, support tools and participate in Ava’s Corner forums.

These resources include broad scopes of therapy and self-expression to encourage loved ones to get the help they need.”

Here’s the press release that went out today.

“FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact: Donna Friend (404) 313-3707

avascornerorg@yahoo.com

NEW RESOURCE OFFERS HELP, SUPPORT TO CREATIVE PERFORMERS —Singer Elisa Furr, Comedian Penny Wiggins headline Dec. 2 AvasCorner.com Launch Party— Las Vegas, November 27, 2012—

On December 2, AvasCorner.com brings a much-needed suicide prevention resource to Las Vegas’s creative community, and in true Vegas style, the site launch party celebrates the performers it’s designed to support.

The site is the creative labor of Donna Friend, whose daughter Ava Kaufman committed suicide earlier this year in her Vegas home. Like so many performers, Ava—an opera singer, animal activist, and graduate of UNLV—struggled with depression and borderline personality disorder that she hid beneath a confident veneer.

“After Ava passed away, I learned that suicide is the fourth leading cause of death for people between the ages of 18 and 65,” says Friend. “I wanted Ava’s death to change that. And that’s why we’re launching Ava’s Corner.”

Members of the media are invited to attend the AvasCorner.com launch party on Sunday, December 2, 2012 at Olive Mediterranean Grill & Hookah Bar (3850 E. Sunset Rd.) from 5:00 to 9:00 p.m. RSVP to Donna Friend with your name and the name of your media outlet at avascornerorg@yahoo.com by November 30.

The website reveal and walkthrough begins at 6 p.m.; come early for appetizers and a jazz ensemble. The entertainment starts at 7 p.m., and features Ava’s friends in the Las Vegas community, including local performers singer Elisa Furr, comedian Penny Wiggins, singer Kelly Vohnn, and musician Charly Urso.

The website will offer a safe place for Las Vegas’s creative community to share their struggles through conversation and creative works, creating a support network to remind depressed or suicidal performers that they are not alone. The site also provides resources, from suicide prevention hotlines for severely depressed visitors to local listings for music and art therapy. People who suspect their friends or family may be struggling with personality disorders or depression can find information to help them better understand and support their loved ones. Members who struggle with bullying or on-the-job harassment can find support tools and resources. The heart of the site, though, is the ability to share with other people who are struggling with the same issues.

“AvasCorner.com is a safe haven, reminding its members and visitors that you are never as alone as you think you are and as Ava felt she was in her last days. That awful night, Ava couldn’t remember that hundreds of loving friends would have done anything to help her. At AvasCorner.com, you don’t have to phone a friend if you don’t want to; you can reach out to any venue on this site to find hope and comfort,” explains Friend.

Friend started work on AvasCorner.com with a small group of committed volunteers, many of whom had known her daughter in Las Vegas and, like Friend, felt inspired to build a meaningful tribute to Ava’s memory. It felt only natural to launch AvasCorner.com in Las Vegas, the city where Ava, who had battled depression for much of her life, found her “tribe” for the first time. The fact that Las Vegas residents are fifty percent more likely to commit suicide than other U.S. residents and that so many of them pursue the same creative passions Ava embraced were also factors in the decision.

“Without performers, Vegas is just another desert,” Friend says.”

Ava’s Corner Logo – her own 1993 art of the lion and the wolf. Both significant to her.