Can’t remember if I blogged about it, it’s been a while. (Yes, I say that frequently)
I wound up buying two Lice treatments for Ashleigh and boyfriend. It cost almost $50. And I was quite worked up afterwards. It’s hard to explain the dichotomy. She’s my daughter and I love her/don’t love her behaviors and/or actions. I want to support her but also, she needs to learn what supporting herself means as opposed to taking advantage of others that are good hearted and eventually their hearts turn cold to her. This was by no means the end of it all.
So I found out that Ashleigh had baby #3. This one needs to have heart surgery in Milwaukee and probably if not definitely has downs syndrome. And the social worker (from what Tim said that Ashleigh said…._) was contemplating Ashleigh keep the baby. In my mind, I became so angry. First let me state, ASHLEIGH said this. This by no means constitutes whether it’s true or not. However, I went purely off reaction. NOT looking at both sides of things initially. The prospect that things might not be what they seem did not occur to me until later. I became seething with rage. Why? Because shortly before I found out the baby was born, I heard from Eric who heard from a mutual friend that Ashleigh had just been asking for help on facebook for essentials that she didn’t already have. (This was confirmed by a screenshot the mutual friend took with her own phone) It seems that Ashleigh feels the need to breed, but not to do the hard work that is accompanied with that. You know, funding the child. Social services are great, but that also means that you’re accountable to them for something. And that my friends, does not work in her world. You know, foodstamps require proof of eligibility with financial information. Etc, etc. I felt like… sure, the social worker says that Ashleigh may be able to keep this baby because it’s not the “normal” baby like the other two she gave birth to in New Mexico. However, someone emotionally charged like her leads me to feel like she is in no way capable of being patient or providing the services that school, or other things that might be needed some day. Hell, even seeing a social worker of their own. So many of the things we had to abide by for her well being. And not because we took shoddy care of her, but because we wanted to give her the best chance given her mental illnesses that were present.
I would LOVE to believe I am wrong. That this is going to be the one thing that is going to straighten her out. That she’ll be able to rise above it because now what she’s wanted for ever is in her possible grasp. Even after she gave birth, she apparently was begging for people to provide her with money to get a bus pass. (Also, something that you can get if you go through certain county services… but see above) So, little has changed. Her opportunity to flourish is limited. Next, I’m waiting for her to show up on Green Bay crime reports for child cruelty, endangerment, abuse, etc. Or something unrelated. Because she’s Ashleigh.
Which leads me to what I meant to say. After I found out about and dealt with the information provided to me, I had some relatively difficult anxiety/PTSD moments. To the point where I was considering stopping after work at the crisis center downtown to talk to a therapist right away. After all, my therapy isn’t until the 30th and I needed to do something about what was festering in me. I had no relief. I did remember, however, the fact that I had lavender pills to calm the anxiety in me. Lavender pills are an alternative to the pharmaceutical anti anxiety pills. And healthier. Spread the word….. (just beware of the lavender burps.. I never got them. It is a side affect) And that helped. So emergency was over. Crisis center averted. I cried, I bitched, I moaned, and tried to move on. But after the baby was born, I again found myself in this mode. I tried to call my therapists office to see if there was a last minute cancellations. I was desperate. I JUST wanted to feel…. normal and get some kind of validation for how I was feeling. Even if it just seemed weird to the outside world.
If in case you haven’t had the experience of raising a child with severe mental illness issues like BPD, or others, let me tell you… In my next life I will screen my partners for mental illness before we get to the nitty gritty of things. I really and honestly didn’t think much of it. After all, who am I to judge? I am changed, in my approach to children. I am so completely jaded in how I look at children these days. My hope and prayers for children to not go through what a child with mental illnesses or other things worse… it’s there. However, I just cannot fathom being a parent to anything that stands on two feet anymore. I tried with Ashleigh. I gave everything that I could to raise her and give her the best change at life. And her payback to me was hurting me more than anyone in my life ever has and hopefully more than anyone ever could again. Not only did she punch me near my incision after I got my ICD placed, blame my husband and I for “killing” my youngest daughter, blame me for her homelessness over the course of the many years. I mean, there are so many stories I could tell you. I just don’t have the time or patience to tell you them all. There was no “village” as people say it takes to raise a kid until it was almost too late and she was placed in foster care. After that… sheesh! I lived by my appointment book.
So today, I drove to Walmart on the East Side of Green Bay. I drove by the apartment building where Ashleigh lives and looked toward the place, into the windows and in front of the building hoping like hell not to see her. And then when I was leaving, I saw a Green Bay City Bus pull through to drop people off and fear that I’d see her on it. Fortunately, I didn’t see her. The fear was very real. I WISH that I didn’t feel this way about her. I wish that I could feel a true sense of compassion and love for her like most parents do. Things would be so much easier if that were the case. Ashleigh derailed me. And I have to pick up the pieces… again.
Next topic: My mom. When I was growing up with my mom, she was the person to teach me things. A lot of times I’d see her visiting with family or friends of hers. She’d be doing things around the house, taking care of my niece Stephanie, watching Oprah, or dieting. My mom was never really at peace with herself and how she looked. She was always dieting. I was diagnosed with depression at 13 while she was still around, but I don’t think we ever really discussed it despite the fact that she suffered with it herself. We did spend time together, but it was mostly going out to someone’s home, going shopping… but a lot of the times I didn’t feel like I was truly connecting with my mom. I wanted more of her time, but I don’t think she could give it. Especially after Dianne died. By the time I was 14 years old, she was yanked out of my grasp. I was no longer able to learn from her. I could only wish for what other kids had. And a prayer to God that he could either save her and bring her back, or to end the suffering. I cannot even tell you how long those thoughts had been muttered. When I would hear about things that were being advanced in treatment of people like my mom, I’d email my dad. While my dad was raising me, I think there were only a couple times where I really connected with him. And only once did I ever feel special and accepted to him. The other times I felt completely wrong. Like at church. So – it kinda goes like this.
I embrace if you go to a church that makes you feel good. I do not, however, embrace a church that makes people feel bad. Or separates you (chosen ones vs not… going to hell or going to heaven.) I honestly believe that if there is a supreme being in the universe – it is not an us or them. It is us all. Well, except for the truly wicked. And those individuals will be taken to task at how the universe or the supreme being decides. A child that is acting out because all her stability being removed out from under her acting in troublesome ways should not be viewed as – that kid is just wrong. Or judged by humanity, or even avoided. That, is my story. When I started acting out, it wasn’t that I was viewed with compassion. I was viewed as someone to stay away from. And although I understand why to some extent now (and I do mean SOME), I was ultimately penalized and never made to feel whole. Even now, as much as I hate to admit this – I am continuing to try to make myself feel whole because no one else really truly helped me do that. My relationships are fractured. I don’t engage with people much and whenever I do – I always feel as though I’m not doing well enough or they are just putting up with me . Not because I’m worthy.
For years after marrying Eric, I sat in the basement at Eric’s parents home because I believed in my mind of minds that my in laws hated me. It wasn’t until one day Eric came downstairs to tell me that his parents were afraid that I hated them. And even then, I still had a hard time feeling like they gave any amount of shits for me. My former therapist, Jayne. She and I connected. And before she retired, I had this thought when I was looking in the mirror of one of my apartments I lived in. I had this thought of, what if she’s a mother? And at that point, I bawled. I never really saw her in any other hat, other than therapist. That hat suited me, and that hat didn’t hurt me. And when we discussed it, I told her about my reaction.
Mothers scare me. Mostly because it’s what I was never really allowed to have. Despite the fact that I have a mother in law, I rest in the fact that it’s not really my mother.
Most people I still hold at an arm’s length because I feel like in my heart of hearts that I”m not accepted. My friend Shannon stayed the night here one night after the Jeff Dunham show in Green Bay. We had such a wonderful time. The next day her husband came to pick her up and I completely folded. I love Shannon to bits. She’s probably the first person in recent history that I’ve really felt like I connected with and I stand to lose. And that was hard. And it was truly devastating. I literally wanted to grab her and never let go. But that is so impossible and unhealthy. And also, kidnapping.
Also, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I hate the name – God. I would prefer to call it///him///her anything other than God. I prefer to spell the statement, Gawd and not the supreme being. I refer to something above as the light or whatever. I do not like the name God. And I only type this because it’s a statement of how I feel. An explanation. It’s complicated, my relationship with the divine. I believe there is something out there in the universe. Something that brought humanity to the forefront. I don’t know if it’s necessarily a scientific explanation or a creation explanation. I will submit to the fact that there is something… and something I don’t know. I’ve been really trying to get better at accepting the fact that things are as they are and I cannot change the past. I have grown in the face of adversity and have become a better person. I just can’t say that I’ve grown so much to remove the damage that has been done in every facet of my life. I’m STILL very hurt and traumatized to what I’ve been through. And I feel like there are a lot of people that don’t understand me and seem to feel like if they argue enough, that I’ll submit. Or even give up. I know for myself though that I know how I feel and no one can tell me that I’m wrong for how I feel. I’ve gained a certain amount of self respect over the years. It’s bizarre and I like it, but I’m conflicted by it. It’s like trying on a skimpy dress on an overweight frame. It just doesn’t feel right. And maybe it makes you feel secretly good… but it’s not something you can show the world because it would hurt too much. (woah, that was a great analogy! Good job, Janet!) I am aware that I never would have become this person, found my way to the degree that I am… however, after 17 years of marriage – I still don’t feel like Eric really loves me or that I have him to count on for the rest of time. People die. I’ve had fears that I’d come home and he’d be dead. (I think this comes from the fact that I’ve lost so many people in my young life) I also worry that maybe someday he’d change his mind. That he’d see in me what – though has always been there, just gotten sick of it and then I’m on my own.
(Jesus, he’s watching the Jeff Goldblum series on Disney Plus…. sigh… )
I want to believe that the people that love me, love me for me. Or even the people that I’m convinced don’t accept me, but do…. that I could actually believe that. That I wouldn’t have to rely so much on people telling me that I’m good, I’m awesome… etc. The feeling that I can feel self assured. How can you feel self assured if you don’t really hear that you’re doing a good job? And even when I am told I’m doing a good job, or that I’m a good person – I don’t trust that they mean what they say. I cannot quite get beyond! Or if someone doesn’t answer my text right away, do they hate me? Did something happen that I don’t know about? Is it me? Did i do something wrong? My self doubt goes back decades and I’ve never really felt like I’m okay.
Please, help me heal. Anything. God, Allah, Buddah, the light, the divine, or Goddess. Help me find my way to my true self so I don’t feel like I’m drowning in this abyss that is my self disgust or lack of acceptance.
psychosisrus 