ANN'S SUICIDE ATTEMPTS

 

Her carefree demeanor belied the horror of her brutalized arms. The inside of both of her forearms was covered in two-to-three-inch scars going in different directions. The newest cuts were wrapped in bandages with fresh blood seeping through.

I had recently graduated with a master's degree in counseling psychology and landed a job as a caseworker in the Dallas Mental Illness Court. My primary responsibility was locating community resources for individuals due for a hearing where they might be committed to the state institution for the mentally ill. The institutional placement was avoided when I found alternative living situations.

Although this was over forty years ago, the memory of this young woman in her mid-20s, who I'll name "Ann," remains clear. When we first met, I was instantly transfixed by her story. She was raised in Highland Park, an exclusive town of wealthy people carved out in the middle of north Dallas. Her father was a well-known CPA and owned one of the office buildings in downtown Dallas.

According to Ann, her father began raping her when she was a little girl. Throughout her teenage years, she was promiscuous and would frequently skip school. After her parents kicked her out of the house, she lived on the streets or couch-surfed. Eventually, she became a prostitute because she had no skills. Besides, her body was never really her own.

As a frequent flyer to the state mental institution, Ann was always glad to see me because I worked diligently to prevent her from returning to it. Part of my role was to meet relatives of the people awaiting their hearing. I found Ann's mother aloof and stoic even though she expressed concern for Ann. In retrospect, I suppose she was embarrassed by her daughter. Maybe she also felt partly responsible for Ann's numerous suicide attempts. Ann didn't fit the mold of most children launched from Highland Park. Highland Park kids attended the best schools and colleges, which enabled them to enjoy lucrative careers.

As I became more acquainted with Ann, I learned some disturbing details about her life, and it wasn't about her "tricks." Her father still sexually abused her. Ann described their trysts as the "best sex she had ever experienced." She was happy he continued to pay attention to her, although it was the most horrible thing a father could do to his daughter. He probably gave her money, and that likely excused his behavior in his demented mind.

I felt deeply sad for her and begged her mother to locate and pay for her apartment while I arranged outpatient psychiatric care. Her pro-bono attorney, who would become my husband several years later, approved the plan. We successfully got her off the streets and out of a mental hospital.

I don't know what happened to Ann after my brief time with her, but I don't have much hope that she's still alive. She only marginally functioned by dissociating, but even that didn't prevent her from the dark times when she lost all hope and started whittling away at her arms. How does anyone recover from a body that was never theirs or from abuse by parents who were supposed to love and protect her?

I will never forget Ann, and if she's no longer walking the earth, I wish her peace at last.