I feel myself at war with myself.
There’s a meeting at her school this week.
To talk about the hygiene problems.
And the OT evaluation that was done.
I was going to go.
I didn’t want to go.
But I was going to go.
Because I love her.
And I still want to help her.
As much as she doesn’t want me or my help.
I just got an email from the school psychologist.
It was to confirm the meeting.
And to inform the team that she doesn’t want me there.
And I feel awful saying this.
Like I’m some kind of monster.
But I’m glad I don’t have to go.
And I don’t like this about me.
I’m truly tired.
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
Sour Grapes
How do you protect, parent, care for, a person who wants none of it and is so oblivious to the world around them that it’s hard to remember there’s no malicious intent on their part?
The answer is you just do it and feel like shit all the time, like the meanest mom ever, like a truly awful person.
But you do what you have to right?
I’ve been struggling over how to handle the night binge eating and her ballooning weight on top of all the hygiene issues. I have had to say the words clearly and to the point, I can’t hint gently because she doesn’t hear it then. So I told her that these were her snacks and anything else was not to be touched. Except she could have some grapes from the bowl I always keep in the fridge. It’s one of the only things I feel comfortable eating and that doesn’t trigger my food anxiety. But then I noticed the bowl, a pretty good size Tupperware bowl, was emptying way to quickly. So I asked if she was eating them at night. She said yes. It wasn’t just a handful here and there but a huge amount, like a full bowl would be 1/4 full come mornjng. It was an unhealthy amount of a healthy snack. So I told her she now had to ask before having some and I’d help her figure out a good portion. It was ok for a day or two then started again. I almost wondered if I was sleep waking and eating them. Or maybe the boy child was. So I asked if he’d been snacking on them...and he got sad and said that he’d seen girl eating them, digging in the fridge at odd hours when he was using the bathroom st night.
So now another conversation. And her telling me I never told her to ask now.
I’ve begun to wonder if I need to lock up food. But we live with extended family and I just am too tired to figure out how this would work.
But every small thing isn’t. And it all stinks...figuratively and literally.
That’s a post for another day. Because I already feel like a failure writing about grapes.
The answer is you just do it and feel like shit all the time, like the meanest mom ever, like a truly awful person.
But you do what you have to right?
I’ve been struggling over how to handle the night binge eating and her ballooning weight on top of all the hygiene issues. I have had to say the words clearly and to the point, I can’t hint gently because she doesn’t hear it then. So I told her that these were her snacks and anything else was not to be touched. Except she could have some grapes from the bowl I always keep in the fridge. It’s one of the only things I feel comfortable eating and that doesn’t trigger my food anxiety. But then I noticed the bowl, a pretty good size Tupperware bowl, was emptying way to quickly. So I asked if she was eating them at night. She said yes. It wasn’t just a handful here and there but a huge amount, like a full bowl would be 1/4 full come mornjng. It was an unhealthy amount of a healthy snack. So I told her she now had to ask before having some and I’d help her figure out a good portion. It was ok for a day or two then started again. I almost wondered if I was sleep waking and eating them. Or maybe the boy child was. So I asked if he’d been snacking on them...and he got sad and said that he’d seen girl eating them, digging in the fridge at odd hours when he was using the bathroom st night.
So now another conversation. And her telling me I never told her to ask now.
I’ve begun to wonder if I need to lock up food. But we live with extended family and I just am too tired to figure out how this would work.
But every small thing isn’t. And it all stinks...figuratively and literally.
That’s a post for another day. Because I already feel like a failure writing about grapes.
Thursday, February 14, 2019
Pinkie Promise
I don’t use the word promise lightly. I’ve learned first hand the pain of broken promises and the pain of kept promises that shouldn’t have been made in the first place. So I’m careful to make promises that won’t harm someone if kept (ex:I promise you’ll be sorry if you do ____ again). And I’m careful not to promise something I know I can’t or won’t deliver on (ex: I promise I’ll fly you to the moon). If I make a promise it’s becuase I will do what I say I will.
And as we learn as kids a Pinkie Promise is the most sacred of promises. And when I had my children I made them 3 Pinkie Promises:
1- I’ll love you until I breathe my last, no matter what happens, there’s nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you.
2- I’ll never do to you what was done to me, I’ll never barter your body or heart and soul.
3- I’ll always be there for you when you need me, no matter what, even when you don’t think you need me, I’ll be here doing my very best for you.
The first two have been easy to keep. I love my children, all three of them. More than life itself. I have never abused them, mind or body. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve lost my temper and overreacted and apologized when I did. But I’ve never made them feel unsafe at my hands and in the process I’ve taught them that no one is perfect and when we mess up and hurt the feelings of someone who didn’t deserve our actions, someone we care about, we apologize and do better next time.
It’s that damn number three I’m having trouble with lately. It’s becoming harder and harder to be there for one of my children. Mental illness has among other things messed with her perspective and while those of us outside of her can see the troubles, in her mind we are the problem, I am the problem. Yes me. It’s all my fault in her mind.
She doesn’t want my help. She doesn’t want to be here in our home. She doesn’t want to or isn’t capable of (or both) caring for her body, her space, her belongings, her family relationships. And she’s making it harder to keep that third promise.
I’m failing her. I love her. I want to make her better. I want the real her back, the her she was before this insidious worm worked it’s way into her brain and changed her, remade her, took her from us. But I am not taking the kind of care of her that she needs. And it sucks. Becuase the law says 18 is the age of maturity and her mind says she’s magically an “adult” so she thinks she doesn’t need to listen to anyone other than herself. But her mind isn’t giving her solid and healthy thoughts on what to do and who to be. So how do I keep that promise when I don’t want to be around my own child? When I’m so sad and angry and finding the love is easy but the like is gone? How do I keep that promise when my own PTSD is triggered and I just want to run?
I’m sorry I’ve got nothing witty today. Just a lot of anger and confusion and fear and guilt. And I think the word that best describes it, these feeling, mourning. I feel like I’m mourning.
But one more thing...adult..what the fuck does that even mean?
Except that I can choose to eat cereal or ice cream or both for dinner and eat pizza for breakfast and no one can stop me, the rest is over rated. The bills and responsibilities don’t seem worth the trade off for a bowl of Count Chocula for breakfast.
And as we learn as kids a Pinkie Promise is the most sacred of promises. And when I had my children I made them 3 Pinkie Promises:
1- I’ll love you until I breathe my last, no matter what happens, there’s nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you.
2- I’ll never do to you what was done to me, I’ll never barter your body or heart and soul.
3- I’ll always be there for you when you need me, no matter what, even when you don’t think you need me, I’ll be here doing my very best for you.
The first two have been easy to keep. I love my children, all three of them. More than life itself. I have never abused them, mind or body. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve lost my temper and overreacted and apologized when I did. But I’ve never made them feel unsafe at my hands and in the process I’ve taught them that no one is perfect and when we mess up and hurt the feelings of someone who didn’t deserve our actions, someone we care about, we apologize and do better next time.
It’s that damn number three I’m having trouble with lately. It’s becoming harder and harder to be there for one of my children. Mental illness has among other things messed with her perspective and while those of us outside of her can see the troubles, in her mind we are the problem, I am the problem. Yes me. It’s all my fault in her mind.
She doesn’t want my help. She doesn’t want to be here in our home. She doesn’t want to or isn’t capable of (or both) caring for her body, her space, her belongings, her family relationships. And she’s making it harder to keep that third promise.
I’m failing her. I love her. I want to make her better. I want the real her back, the her she was before this insidious worm worked it’s way into her brain and changed her, remade her, took her from us. But I am not taking the kind of care of her that she needs. And it sucks. Becuase the law says 18 is the age of maturity and her mind says she’s magically an “adult” so she thinks she doesn’t need to listen to anyone other than herself. But her mind isn’t giving her solid and healthy thoughts on what to do and who to be. So how do I keep that promise when I don’t want to be around my own child? When I’m so sad and angry and finding the love is easy but the like is gone? How do I keep that promise when my own PTSD is triggered and I just want to run?
I’m sorry I’ve got nothing witty today. Just a lot of anger and confusion and fear and guilt. And I think the word that best describes it, these feeling, mourning. I feel like I’m mourning.
But one more thing...adult..what the fuck does that even mean?
Except that I can choose to eat cereal or ice cream or both for dinner and eat pizza for breakfast and no one can stop me, the rest is over rated. The bills and responsibilities don’t seem worth the trade off for a bowl of Count Chocula for breakfast.
Friday, January 11, 2019
Hush Little Baby
October 2000
I had a baby
She was so very wanted.
It took many months of trying
The only of my three that was planned
She was amazing right from the start
Ok maybe not during the hours of colicky crying
But yes even then
She started everything early
She was walking AND talking by 8 month
Yes 8 months
She was so happy and smart and she shined
For many years she shined
And she loved talking to people
All people but especially older people
And I held her and rocked her and told her stories
And at some point she began telling me stories
And drawing
And creating
And then the shine began slipping
Just a little at first
A few less smiles
A little more quiet
And then BOOM
“Mom I want to die”
And I cracked
It’s been six years
And the cracks have become breaks
And now we barely speak
I’ve had to begin protecting my heart and mind
So I cook meals
Monitor medications
Make sure services are in place
Etc Etc Etc
And I shine less and less
And hurt more and more
My arms are empty and I miss my baby girl
Even when your children are grown your arms still feel them
Even when it’s the shadow of them and they are off exploring the world
But sometimes something happens
And you can’t feel them anymore
Somewhere in the brain broken and wracked by illness
My baby is there
But my arms feel empty
And what is looking at me wants nothing from me
And I’m trying to not feel it in my heart
Because my head knows it’s disease and not daughter
But
My
Arms
Feel
Too
Light
I had a baby
She was so very wanted.
It took many months of trying
The only of my three that was planned
She was amazing right from the start
Ok maybe not during the hours of colicky crying
But yes even then
She started everything early
She was walking AND talking by 8 month
Yes 8 months
She was so happy and smart and she shined
For many years she shined
And she loved talking to people
All people but especially older people
And I held her and rocked her and told her stories
And at some point she began telling me stories
And drawing
And creating
And then the shine began slipping
Just a little at first
A few less smiles
A little more quiet
And then BOOM
“Mom I want to die”
And I cracked
It’s been six years
And the cracks have become breaks
And now we barely speak
I’ve had to begin protecting my heart and mind
So I cook meals
Monitor medications
Make sure services are in place
Etc Etc Etc
And I shine less and less
And hurt more and more
My arms are empty and I miss my baby girl
Even when your children are grown your arms still feel them
Even when it’s the shadow of them and they are off exploring the world
But sometimes something happens
And you can’t feel them anymore
Somewhere in the brain broken and wracked by illness
My baby is there
But my arms feel empty
And what is looking at me wants nothing from me
And I’m trying to not feel it in my heart
Because my head knows it’s disease and not daughter
But
My
Arms
Feel
Too
Light
Wednesday, January 9, 2019
How Do You Go On? One Baby Step At A Time
Today was a good day. It was a day that was not about the mess. It was a day that nice things, good things, happened for me and by me. It was the kind of day that happens so seldomly but that without I think I’d fall over, curl up into a ball, and never get back up.
I got to work and a friend had put aside an ARC (a copy of a book before public release) of the new Angie Thomas book On The Come Up for me and shared in my excitement of Angie retweeting me.
I surprised Joshua with a trip to Lesley University to see one of his favorite authors, Jason Reynolds, and we heard him read from a work in progress.
And I didn’t think about the demons we are fighting for a few hours.
And I’m determined not to feel guilty for living in the moment and shutting out the crap that drowns me most days.
I got to work and a friend had put aside an ARC (a copy of a book before public release) of the new Angie Thomas book On The Come Up for me and shared in my excitement of Angie retweeting me.
I surprised Joshua with a trip to Lesley University to see one of his favorite authors, Jason Reynolds, and we heard him read from a work in progress.
And I didn’t think about the demons we are fighting for a few hours.
And I’m determined not to feel guilty for living in the moment and shutting out the crap that drowns me most days.
Saturday, January 5, 2019
I Don’t Know How To Not Feel
I Don’t Know How To Not Feel SAD
I Don’t Know How To Not Feel ANGRY
I Don’t Know How To Not Feel GUILTY
I Don’t Know How To Not Feel FRUSTRATED
I Don’t Know How To Not Feel FEARFUL
I Don’t Know How To Not Feel LIKE A FAILURE
I Don’t Know How To Not Feel
We are in a holding pattern. Being home is hard because everywhere I look is a reminder of what we are going to be losing again when a place in a program is found. Every interaction is a reminder of what we have already lost to the thing that has had its way with my child’s brain.
Simple things aren’t. Pain is constant. And I just wish I could stop feeling it all.
At work I can pretend for a little while that it’s not happening.
I talk to fellow book lovers, people who know that there’s escape on paper and I peddle it to them.
And for a little while I pretend to feel whole. And I almost believe it.
Almost.
Wednesday, January 2, 2019
Hi. You may be sorry you found me...but....here goes...day 1 post 1...
I was inspired by my friend Eileen to begin a blog that isn't about my struggles with my weight or my books. I will still be doing my book blog of course but this place is different. I have things to say. Things that will often be difficult for me to say and you to hear.
But I can't keep it in. I am busting with it, these words, they are swirling in my brain and gut and drowning me.
I am trying to throw myself a rope into the world so I don't fall away completely. Something to hold onto.
Today seemed like a good day to start this...it is the first day back to school after the Holiday Break for the two of my kids who, for now anyway, live here at home...HOME...what a loaded word...
A fresh start for them and a start for me to dump all of this guilt, ugliness, pain, struggle, and hopefully a few small victories too....
And what you may be asking yourself could be so bad as all that?
For the past six years my family has lived with an illness that one of us has but fucks with all of us...the person who has it being sometimes so oblivious to the explosion and aftershock their actions cause that they are the least impacted....Mental Illness.
My now 18 year old has severe mental illness....Bipolar....Borderline Personality Disorder & some level of Schizophrenia and/or Schizoaffective Disorder.....We are WAITING....and WAITING...and WAITING...for the formalization of diagnosis now that they are 18...some of this WAITING is age...many don't want to diagnosis these things until a person is 18 no matter how clear it is that this is what is going on...and the other, the harder part of the WAITING is the wait lists, the WAITING caused by a lack of there being enough providers....
So now I say what I have been stalling in saying by giving that bit of background....but if I don't say it will be another stone in my pocket pulling me under....helping to drown me in loneliness and shame...
I am so fucking glad that school is back in session, I am so glad my poor, sick through no fault of their own, child is not in the house....Things got really fucking awful over the past 2 weeks and I am tense and ashamed...but I am glad to have this space, this quiet before the school day ends, time without the tension of their presence and my inability to help them....
And as much as I don't like my child (FUCK it is so hard to say that, and I am sure I will be judged by some for saying it)...I love this kid so damn much...these two things war inside me....
Ok so think you will stick around? I hope so...but even if you don't I will be here spilling my blood in the form of my broken and ugly words....
But I can't keep it in. I am busting with it, these words, they are swirling in my brain and gut and drowning me.
I am trying to throw myself a rope into the world so I don't fall away completely. Something to hold onto.
Today seemed like a good day to start this...it is the first day back to school after the Holiday Break for the two of my kids who, for now anyway, live here at home...HOME...what a loaded word...
A fresh start for them and a start for me to dump all of this guilt, ugliness, pain, struggle, and hopefully a few small victories too....
And what you may be asking yourself could be so bad as all that?
For the past six years my family has lived with an illness that one of us has but fucks with all of us...the person who has it being sometimes so oblivious to the explosion and aftershock their actions cause that they are the least impacted....Mental Illness.
My now 18 year old has severe mental illness....Bipolar....Borderline Personality Disorder & some level of Schizophrenia and/or Schizoaffective Disorder.....We are WAITING....and WAITING...and WAITING...for the formalization of diagnosis now that they are 18...some of this WAITING is age...many don't want to diagnosis these things until a person is 18 no matter how clear it is that this is what is going on...and the other, the harder part of the WAITING is the wait lists, the WAITING caused by a lack of there being enough providers....
So now I say what I have been stalling in saying by giving that bit of background....but if I don't say it will be another stone in my pocket pulling me under....helping to drown me in loneliness and shame...
I am so fucking glad that school is back in session, I am so glad my poor, sick through no fault of their own, child is not in the house....Things got really fucking awful over the past 2 weeks and I am tense and ashamed...but I am glad to have this space, this quiet before the school day ends, time without the tension of their presence and my inability to help them....
And as much as I don't like my child (FUCK it is so hard to say that, and I am sure I will be judged by some for saying it)...I love this kid so damn much...these two things war inside me....
Ok so think you will stick around? I hope so...but even if you don't I will be here spilling my blood in the form of my broken and ugly words....
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)