A Little Bit of Allison: Hope When All Was Lost

Alright guys, time for another personal story that I have chosen not to share until now. I shared it a lot in high school, but then decided it unnecessary to continue sharing once I graduated. Well, recent decisions made by others to divulge personal information of mine have provoked me to write this post. It's not quite as touching as my adoption story, but it was a miracle in my life nonetheless. I'll try to make it short, sweet, and to the point.

So, for those of you who are close to me in my life, you'll know that I suffer from a mental illness. Although I am sharing this story, I have chosen not to specify which mental illness. I am medicated for it though, and let me tell you, those 150mg tablets saved my life...literally.

When my family and I had moved back to Idaho when I was about to turn 14, I was quite a wreck. I was getting into all sorts of trouble and behaving like the child I never was. Growing up, I was always sweet and kind, never getting into too much trouble. Right around when I was 9 or 10, I started feeling symptoms of my illness, but it went unnoticed. I did cross country when I was 11, 12, and part of being 13, so I was able to manage my illness with it, once again, going unnoticed. When I found out we were moving back to Idaho from Washington, something snapped in a drastic, terrible way. I was shoplifting, fighting, and even saying/doing crazy things. The Allison I had once been was now lost. It got really bad when we moved to Idaho. That summer, my parents didn't know what to do. They had tried sending me to a nature behavioral camp called Anasazi which entails a six week program of hiking in the Arizona desert. Two and a half weeks into the program, I had stopped eating and drinking water, so they had to get me to the nearest hospital and send me home. My parent's hearts broke as they felt so helpless while viewing my struggle. School began in Idaho, and I attended my freshman year in another junior high. About two months into the school year, I got into a fight with a girl from school. Once again, not being myself at all, I had to be taken out of school and evaluated for behavioral issues. It was so bad that my vice principle thought I was taking some sort of illegal substance.

It was at this point that (and my father reported this later) my parents thought they would never have their Allison back. They thought she was lost into their memories, only returning in brief moments of coherency. Once those moments became so far and in between that they were memories themselves, my parents decided that the BHC wasn't working for me.

Countless prayers, holding numerous ward fasts, and being on the prayer roll each week, my family and friends were desperately hoping for a miracle. I received many supporting notes/cards from the young women in my ward. (I still have all of them by the way). The support of our home ward was overwhelming, and to this day I am so grateful for each of them.

With one last ounce of determination to get their Allison back, my parents decided to call a residential treatment center in Salt Lake. This place had an excellent reputation, and was fully furnished so there would be no hiking. One event that began the miracle was that there was a waiting list that lasted two or so months, and I was able to get in within the next week of my dad calling.

I can only fathom how challenging this time was for my parents. My father drove me down to Salt Lake, and I can't even begin to understand the pain he must have felt in his heart as he drove back to Idaho. I remember it was conference weekend in April. To find some comfort in my situation and distract myself from tears, I tuned the radio in my room to the station playing conference. I finally had calmed down when a man knocked on my door and proceeded to take my shoes and radio from me because I was a high risk patient. The darkest night in my life up until that point was nothing compared to the loneliness I felt in those first hours at the treatment center.

There were so many helpful counselors and staff members there that made those two months of my life a miracle. The loving young women in my ward made a quilt and sent it down with my parents. That quilt has stayed a part of my blanket set on my bed ever since.

Through constant prayers and support, I could feel myself return. My parents witnessed the miracle as they picked me up from the treatment center two months later. (They visited almost every week while I was there, by the way). My sister Kristie and her husband made a constant effort to visit me and did so often.

A couple weeks before I was discharged, Kristie and her husband came to see me. As they were saying goodbye, Kristie hugged me and I could feel her tears spill on to my shoulder. I pulled back and could feel the tears well up in my own eyes. She tried her best to contain her pained sobs, and wiped the streaming tears from my face and said, "Don't cry, don't cry. You'll be ok, you'll be out of here soon. Don't cry, I love you. It'll be ok." We hugged again and I could hear her sobbing as she was let out of the building. I made two lifelong friends at the center (Katie and Kayla) and Katie said to me that night, "You need to go home. I saw you and your sister, and you need to go home."

As the day approached for me to check out of the treatment center, I couldn't be more thrilled. I'll always remember so clearly how my father hugged me with inexplicable joy and said, "Oh this is so much better than I could have imagined". They had their Allison back, and she was here to stay.


My friends, my story of having a mental illness is personal to me, but if you get one thing from it, I hope that it's the story of hope. I know so many people who suffer from a variety of mental illnesses and it can cause some to take their own lives. Please, please know there is help. There is hope. If I could return to my family in a stable and healthy matter, I know anyone can.

All is not lost, and hope will prevail.

Thank you for reading!

-Allison Susanne De Arton