Since I was last here, my Dad died, my dog Calla died, and a great friend from my younger years named Laura Himes died. All three things were difficult to contend with. Less Laura than any of the others. Although I experienced a PTSD episode at her burial. To which I made a public spectacle of myself, without intention. I have thought of that for the last few weeks and wish I could apologize to the Himes family for how things went that afternoon. Regardless…. I digress.
When my father died, certain funds were moved into accounts for my husband and I. We were able to purchase a house in Kewaunee, WI and start a new phase in our existence. To which I say, I love it. I honestly and truly do. The community is beautiful and quiet, and I have places to which to grow plants, food, and we see wildlife in the backyard upon occasion (which could cause problems in the food growing aspect…. ). There are friends here and a desire to learn more about the community that I am now a part of. However, there is a dark part of me that demands acknowledgement. So I have to take care of that now.
Ashleigh (my daughter) and I haven’t talked for months. She moved to Albuquerue, NM with her boyfriend/fiance’/whatever she wants to call him today. Her son, my grandson Kalvin got adopted by the foster family that was caring for him because Ashleigh was not able to provide him the life he deserved. She is unstable mentally and physically (homeless most of her pregnancy) and doesn’t have enough money to care for him (a little over $500 p/month in SSI up until this month. SSI allegedly cut her off. Had I not found out through my brother Tim who still talks to her, I probably wouldn’t know) Ashleigh has not sought out work, she did however manage to get a housing voucher and lives in an apartment. Once her SSI got cut off she called Tim to ask for money for rent. She also solicited an old friend Jill/Amber’s mom for money for her cell bill. (That nugget of information I found out on facebook messenger shortly after I got off the phone with Tim, telling me that Ashleigh lost her SSI to begin with) And given that Frank, the not biological father (come to find out) and the likeliest of options being the father not wanting anything to do with the child, the adoption was possible. I could only imagine Ashleigh would be devastated. She is pregnant with child #2, who she said she wants to name Iris. I have no doubt that Iris will be put up for adoption as well.
I’m going to backtrack a little for the sake of storytelling. I mentioned that Ashleigh and I are not talking. This is why:
If you’ve read my blogs before, you know things are rough with Ashleigh anyway. She really and truly made life for my husband, our daughter and I a living hell. She was sexually promiscuous and trying to get pregnant from 16 years old on. She was always engaging in suicidal ideation and frequently in the psych unit (which was our only emotional vacation from the age of 12 on). She was abusive to Darrian, our child that passed away at the tender age of 16. She had been in two different day treatment facilities for a number of months. She was in therapy and seeing psychiatrists. She ended up in foster care and once she turned 18 and had successfully graduated from high school, she got an apartment of her own which she subsequently lost after the city had to condemn it. (That’s how bad the state of her apartment was)
At one point before Ashleigh and I stopped talking, I had a dream. The dream consisted of this: I’m in my house (granted, the furnishings aren’t the same) and I’m sitting in the living room (honestly the living room looked like a waiting room with leather bound chairs/short back/modern looking. Comfortable. Ashleigh was in the kitchen (which looked identical to what my kitchen ACTUALLY looks like in real life) She was complaining about her phone, needing to get a new one because the one she has is a piece of shit. I’m annoyed, sitting in the living room after hearing that same one sided conversation, over and over again. I finally get fed up with it and tell Ashleigh to leave my house. I look to my phone (and here’s how you can tell it’s a dream, aside from other… aspects) and I find an app that will block people you don’t want from entering your house. A barrier of sorts. Well, the app doesn’t work as it promises and Ashleigh re-enters, angry. REALLY angry. She stomps her way towards me and starts punching me, first on the back of the head and then comes around to punch me in the face. Brutally. And I wake up.
……
In January, Ashleigh was calling me. Upset about the fact that Kalvin was going to be adopted. Saying this nonsense about how if anything bad happened to him while in the custody of this other couple, she was going to sue. That this was bs, blah blah blah. I take the position of if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say it at all… so I just maintained being quiet. I do this for a number of phone calls because the same ramblings progress, call after call. And eventually I lose my cool. I tell Ashleigh that raising a child requires a place to live, food to eat, and safety and security. That she cannot provide that. Literally with everything that she makes from SSI and being homeless at the time, that’s not a safe life to live with a young child. She eventually blames me for not allowing her and Kalvin to come live with us. She at one time offered to pay me rent for them living with us and after being quiet for so long and being so frustrated by her inability to see the elephant WAY obvious in the room for most people, I lose my cool. I scream into the phone. I fucking raised you, I did my time. You’re an adult now and you need to be the adult for yourself . At one phone during my screaming I acknowledge that she hung up, although I’m not sure when.
Ashleigh continues to email me pictures of Kalvin before the adoption was final and asking me for things, but I don’t answer. She sends me facebook requests, but I’ve blocked all 40 of the pages that I’ve found that she has of hers. Her last email is this: “It’s ok for you to block me on fb. When i had something major happen. Aint my fault Tim talked to my caseworker trying to talk her into having kalvin taken. And you wanna sit there ignore me when i need u. Well i will be trying to go home next month. I cant put this baby girl in danger. Fuck that. I love you but blocking me is no answer to get me away as a daughter just saying”
Look, I have come to a point in my life where I have a good marriage, a wonderful marriage. I have a home, and I’m now focusing on myself more than I ever have in my life. I’m no longer in the teenage mindset where everything I was focused on was the need to find love. I have love. And honestly, I’m not sure Ashleigh knows what love is. She is mentally ill. Literally. Her last diagnosis was Borderline Personality Disorder, Delusional Disorder (Persecutory Type), Major or Severe Depression and Generalized Anxiety. So, this isn’t just the minor stuff here people. This is a massively unhealthy individual. She needs a LOT of help! I have not come to a point in my life where I can forgive who I was, who I was to my family (my mom, dad, and my community at that time). I have not resolved, in completion that I am a different person. I cannot bring more positivity into my life until I do that. Because if I bring more positivity into my life it will be the case of the self fulfilled prophecy. I have been there, done that and got the crappy ass free bumper sticker. I don’t recommend it. I deserve a good life, and I deserve the people in my life that will help enrich me, and not take away from me. I love my daughter, but at this point she is toxic and will not find the means to help herself the way she needs to. I honestly wish the best for her, I do. I have put prayer requests out there for her from a church group my friend Shannon is acquainted with, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m doing the best thing for her and for myself. I need to forgive myself for who I was. I need to remind myself regularly that I am NOT the reason for all the bad that has come into my life. I was not the common denominator. I just happened to be an unwilling participant. And in the grand scheme of things, I wanted to be loved. Just like everyone on the fucking planet.
I have resumed therapy with my therapist Barb. More to come…..
psychosisrus 