Graduation

The girl is done!
She has finished highschool, and is graduating!
The past year has been challenging, since we've had to do everything virtually, but we did it! She's finished!

The Future is Almost Here

My girl turns 18 in a couple of months. She'll be coming home around then. She has big plans - college, and living on her own - that she's excited about.
Here's the thing: she wasn't able to go take her ACT because of her anxiety. How can she handle college?
I want her to, don't get me wrong. But my biggest fears are that she will relapse and really injure herself, or that her anxiety will get the better of her and she will feel like a failure.
Obviously, there isn't anything I can do about either of those things. That just makes me worry more.

I'm a little afraid of what I might find when I see her next. She hasn't confided any episodes of cutting, but I know it's so hard to stop.

Moving Out

The girl has decided to move back to her father's house.
Obviously, I have some concerns.
I'm not going to rehash the past. Go back and read earlier blog posts if you would like to refresh your memory.

I hate the idea of her leaving. I'm worried out of my mind about her. I want her to stay here with me.
Of course I do. I'm her mother. She's my first born child. I wish I could keep her sheltered forever. But I can't. And, truth be told, I wouldn't.
Because more than I want to keep her, I want her to be happy. I want her to be successful. I want her to take advantage of as many opportunities as she can.

So, no matter how I feel - and I feel so many things right now - I need to let her take this shot. I need to let go, and trust that she will communicate her needs, her feelings, and her concerns.
I need to just love her. No matter how this turns out, I need to let it happen.

I just need her to know that I'm behind her, I believe in her, and I will always fight for her, whenever she needs me to.

Facing my fears...

Apparently, the girl has been talking to her father about spending next school year with him.
He's been talking to her about taking a class with him at a community college, to help her adapt to a college environment. He says that this way she can practice with him right there. He still hasn't discussed a word of this with me. He's only talking to her about it.

When she was talking to me about it she told me she needs to start detaching from me anyway. She said she has separation issues, and this might be good for her. Those sound to me like his words, and they make me mad as hell.

I have to admit, I'm kind of crushed, on top of being angry and scared.
The girl is getting ready to graduate, and she's turning 17. She's almost an adult. I'm not ready.
Partly, I'm worried about her safety. After the incident that caused another blog to be born, I'm terrified of what might happen. What if she still doesn't feel like she can ask for help? What if she still feels pushed to the side? What if he still won't take her seriously? What if she hurts herself? I'm worried that the other teen in the house will still get away with mistreating her. I'm worried that her father won't let her be who she is, but will try to make her be what he sees as normal. How will he handle it if she freezes? Will he help her get through, or will he humiliate her? If she cuts, will he make sure she's safe? Or will he make her feel like it's a failure?

It's not just those things, though. I feel like I'm losing her. It was her and me against the world for so long, and now she's going to go live with the person who repeatedly broke her heart, broke his promises, and wasn't there when she needed him. I can't trust him to take care of her, emotionally. I know he loves her, but he doesn't want to understand what her issues are.

So here's my problem - what if they're right? Maybe she really is too attached to me. Maybe she does need to do this transition, so that she's ready to go away to college next year. Maybe I have no idea how to prep her for the next phase of her life.

I feel absolutely heartsick. I will miss her more than I've ever missed anyone. More than I want to be right though, I want her to be happy. I want her to be a success - what ever that means to her. I want her to feel confident and competent. I want her to have a good life.

Despair

I guess it's not really surprising that Mom of a Cutter would be a self-harmer, too. 

I know these things can run in families, like diabetes and high blood pressure. 

I wish you could pick which things your kids get, and which they could be exempt from. This post isn't about cutting, though. 

This mom is dealing with some health issues I wouldn't wish on anyone. For more than a week now, I have been in the worst pain of my life. It feels like hot shards of glass are inside my hips and back. This is desperate, crawling-out-of-my-skin, do-anything-to-stop-the-pain awful. If this doesn't get fixed soon, I don't even know what to do. 

What if this becomes my new normal? I don't know how anyone can live like this, long term. I just don't know ...

I Remember (trigger warning)

I had a nightmare recently, one I haven't had in quite some time. It had me thinking about this all day, and I had to get rid of it. It still affects me, after all these years. My hope is that if it's out here, it will stay out of my head.

Do you remember when we met? I was 12, and you were 22. You were getting ready to go into the army.
Do you remember the furtive groping, and the secret kisses? I was 13, and convinced I was in love with you.
Do you remember all the letters we sent? I carried them around with me. I put them in my backpack and took them to school. I was 15, and so jealous when you talked about the 16 year old girl you were friends with.
Do you remember telling me about the woman who was caught molesting a boy during that march? You were upset, because people got involved in their relationship. I was really weirded out by your reaction - but I didn't know why.
Do you remember asking me to marry you? I couldn't believe that you asked me after all those years of thinking I was in love.
Do you remember after we got married, when I was almost 19 and you were 29? I worked while you went to school.
Do you remember getting mad when I wore make up? I was getting ready for work, and you asked me who I expected to meet that I needed to wear make up for.
Do you remember holding me down and fucking me? Even if I said I was too tired? When I talked to you about it after, you would tell me it was my fault because I led you on by changing in front of you in our bedroom.
Do you remember all the times you clenched your fists and your teeth and told me how much you wanted to punch me in the face?
Do you remember giving me a hard time when I wanted to go out with my friends without you? And how you would grill me about what we did when I got home?
Do you remember being invited to go out with your friends, and refusing to go if I didn't go with you?
Do you remember buying me flowers for the first time after I told you I wanted a divorce?
Do you remember showing up at my apartment in the middle of the night to tell me you were worried about my soul?
Do you remember showing up at my apartment early in the morning to tell me my life was in danger, but you couldn't tell me why?

I remember.
I remember it all.
I remember the look of confusion on your face when I tried to explain it to you.
I remember you telling me that I would change my mind if I turned to Jesus.
I remember crying myself to sleep almost every night.
I remember staying much longer than I should have because I didn't want to admit I had made a mistake by marrying you.
I remember turning down invites from my friends, because I would have to bring you with me.
I remember being out all night with your friends - even though I was tired and had to work the next day - because it was the only way you would go.
I remember going home to my family because I was terrified of what you might do next.
I remember being underneath you and faking an orgasm because I knew you wouldn't stop until I did - and it had to coincide with yours, or you would be upset.
I remember punching a boyfriend in the face because I woke up with his hands on me. I wasn't even fully awake, I just knew I hadn't given consent and I would never let that happen to me again.
I remember.
I remember it all.

Monsters

There is a darkness in me. I used to think it was because of events in my life.  

The first time I saw evidence of it in one of my children I was devastated. I thought that I had somehow caused it, that I had tainted the child with my own darkness. 

I now realize that there is darkness in all of us. 

It's like there are monsters living in our heads. I can't remember where I read that, but it rang true to me. 

We all have them, locked down in cages in our psyches. Some people have tight control of their monsters, and if one were to ever escape they would be brought back under control by any means necessary.  Other people's monsters seem to roam freely, causing chaos and destruction where ever the person goes. 

Most of us are somewhere in the middle. Our monsters are occasionally brought out to play, then get put back after they've had some exercise. 

Those monsters - our darkest fears, our deepest hopes, our scars and wounds that never quite heal - they're part of us. They make us who we are, just as much as our public personas do. 

Getting ready to graduate...

So after months of dragging her feet and procrastinating any way possible, the girl came to me and said "I have a plan that will have me finished with high school soon."
YAY!!!
She working on Chemistry, Calculus, and Economics.
I love it when she gets into her studies. When she's motivated, she's a powerhouse. It's amazing to watch. She gets so much more motivated when she comes up with her own plan. I'm so excited to see where she takes the remainder of her studies.

In other news, some superficial cutting about a month ago. Nothing really deep, and not as often as it had been, but she does still occasionally cut. It worries me, but I know it's hard to stop completely.

Raising a teenager

Raising teenagers is hard. I mean, really hard. They look like adults, and sometimes they sound like them. 

They are not adults. 

When I ask the girl a question I'm still likely to hear "I don't know" as an answer. But it will come from above my head because she's taller than I am. 

When she's sick she still wants me to rub her back and hold her in my arms - but sometimes her breasts get in the way. 

She calls me Momma and holds my hand in the grocery store. I glare at the people who give us funny looks because I don't want her to get too self-conscious to continue. 

Sometimes I look at her and wonder who the hell this almost-woman is, and where did my little girl go. Then she gives me one of her now rare smiles, and her dimples appear for a moment, and I see the little girl briefly. 

There are times my heart breaks because she's just so beautiful, and times when all I can see in her are my own flaws. 

I want her to travel, to see the world, to study whatever makes her happiest. I want her to fall in love, build a life, feel fulfilled. 

I wish I could protect her from heartbreak, from injury, from making stupid mistakes. 

Raising a teenager is hard. I can't imagine not doing it. 

NaNoWriMo

Hello friends. Just wanting to let you know that I'm not neglecting you. I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month. That's right, I'm finally actually writing that story that's been kicking around in my head for the last decade or so.

My story is going in some directions that I hadn't foreseen. Also, 50,000 words is a lot of words! I'm currently at about 10,000, and it's been tough! Thank you for your patience.

Two years

Yesterday was 2 years since the girl's suicide attempt. So much has happened since then.
When I brought the girl back home with me after the nightmare of those first 6 weeks, I didn't have any idea what was going to happen. I was so afraid - afraid she would try again, afraid she would never completely be herself again, afraid I would never see her happy again. I was just so afraid.

And when her therapist told me she was going to discharge her because she wasn't making any progress, I was angry. "Her treatment isn't effective, so we're not going to treat her at all any more." What? No one would say that to a cancer patient! This has just as much potential to be fatal!
And when therapist after therapist failed to grasp Social Anxiety Disorder, I felt like there was no place to turn.

Family members railed against homeschooling her, convinced she just had to learn to deal with things. (That really hurt. Not any more - now I stay away from those people as much as I can.)

After taking a class from the wonderful people at NAMI, I finally began to understand mental illness better, hers and mine. I learned new ways to fight for her, and how to accept things that scared me.

I saw my first glimmer of hope 2 months after she returned. A dog came into her life. That dog helped the girl finally start clawing her way back from the darkness. When that dog got sick and died, I was afraid the girl would, too. She didn't.

The girl is strong. She's a fighter. Recently, she tried to go back to public school. She wants to go to prom. It didn't work, but we're not giving up. Our new GP is running a bunch of tests. She said that certain medical issues can exacerbate mental illness, so she's checking for those things. We're looking for yet another new therapist.

Does the girl still cut? Yes. Cutting is an addiction. It's hard to stop. Does it scare me? Absolutely. But she's not suicidal. She has plans for the future, and we need to get this all figured out so she can achieve her goals. We're still working hard at getting the issues under control.
At least we know what the issues are. At least she's working with me. This will be a lifelong struggle, but she's equal to the task.

It's been 2 years. Last night, after I tucked her little sister into bed, the girl came in and grinned sheepishly at me. She felt silly, but she asked me to tuck her in, too. We snuggled and giggled for several minutes, and she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her lips.

To school, or not to school

The girl is thinking about returning to public school, so we made an appointment to meet with the principal of our local high school. We made a plan for easing her back in. We talked about part-time classes, and moving to full-time. We did the paperwork, and made sure her vaccines were current. We were ready.

And then time came to go. We walked into the school together so she could take the placement test for the classes she was going to take. The halls were full of students.
Then she froze. She got almost to the school office. Then she panicked. She went white as a ghost, eyes wide, hyperventilating. I asked her if she needed a minute and she nodded. Then she started to shake. I was talking to her the whole time, but she didn't register what I was saying. She couldn't move. Tears poured down her face, but she didn't seem aware of them.

In the past, I've forced her through situations like this. They never went well. This time I directed her to a seat. I spoke to the woman in the office, and let her know what was going on. We spent about 45 minutes in the lobby, trying to get her panic under control.

In the end we decided to try again another time. Walking out of the school, she did her best to keep from sobbing, but it wasn't easy. She felt like a failure. She was so disappointed in herself.
I told her I was proud of her. She looked at me like I was crazy, but I explained that even though she wasn't entirely successful, she got further than last time. She snorted at me, and I bought her a hot chocolate.
Another bit of progress - we were actually able to talk about it. Not just eye-rolling and shoulder-shrugging. An honest to goodness conversation. She told me that when she gets into a panic like that she can't really process what people are saying to her. She feels like her brain just shuts down. She finds it mortifying.

So she's still a homeschooler. We'll try again, I'm sure. Maybe next time she can do it.
But if she can't, she can't. We'll deal with it when it comes.

Summer

Self harming is an addiction. If you've never experienced it, it might be hard to imagine. But if you have, then you know. 

Cutters, sex addicts, alcoholics - even if you learn to control it, it never totally goes away. 

About two weeks into her summer, she started telling me she wanted to come home. She didn't want me to talk to her dad about it though. She was worried about hurting his feelings. I was concerned, but I try to respect her wishes. 

Sometimes I regret that. 

She came home at the end of the summer with literally dozens of new scars, in two rows down her right arm. Easily fifty new marks. And that's not even counting the ones on her legs. 

When I asked her how old they were, she said two and three weeks. 

I knew she was struggling. I heard it in her voice when she called me. And she called me a lot. Sometimes three or four times a day, even when she was doing stuff. 

The thing is, I did end up telling him that she was struggling. I asked him to make sure she took her meds (which he did). 

But, according to her, he never noticed or mentioned the new cuts. Which means, in her mind anyway, that he still isn't seeing her. 

Several of the times she called me, she told me she just wants to be normal. She thinks her dad would be more present for her if she was. It makes me wonder what he says to her. I worry that he rides her about being normal - or at least about acting normal. 

She's a good, smart, caring person. She happens to have crippling social anxiety. It's part of who she is. We're trying to help her deal with it as best she can, but it's not something she can help. She doesn't choose this. It just is. Making her feel even worse about it is counterproductive. 

My heart breaks when she tells me how much she hates herself, that she wishes she were someone else. That she wishes she were normal. 

My dear, sweet girl - nobody is normal. I hope she understands this, and soon. 

Childhood Remix

I know I've written about this before, but it just keeps coming up!

You see stuff all the time about people wishing they could be kids again, they don't want to be grown ups any more, and weren't those the good old days?

Do you people even remember childhood? Having no control over your own life, being expected to blindly obey just because you were smaller than the other people you lived with, being punished for stuff someone else did because the adults didn't believe you? Any of this ringing any bells? 

And that's people with ordinary childhoods! What about kids who were forced to hang wet laundry in freezing cold weather, or who were locked out of their houses on a regular basis but couldn't leave their yards? How about the kids who got smacked upside the head for no particular reason, or who got woken up during the night by drunk parents? Or the kids who got beaten with switches/belts/riding crops for minor infractions? 

No. Childhood was a nightmare. You couldn't pay me to do that again. 

I hope my kids have no idea what I'm talking about when they read this, after they're grown. But they will probably understand some of it. 

Prologue

Before I found Blogger, I had started on Tumblr. Then I forgot my password, gave up, and never thought about it again.
Until today, when I stumbled on it again. I figured out which password I had used, read the entries I had made (all 3 of them), and decided to share them with you.
So here is the link:



I shared this on another blog I write, but it has so much more meaning here - hindsight and all that.
When I ran across this today it brought tears to my eyes. So much has happened since then. I wish I had known what I was looking at, at the time.
I'm so grateful it didn't go worse that it did.

Update: Having issues getting the link to work, but here's the url to copy.
http://phoebigail.tumblr.com/

Missing her

The girl is going to be gone for another week and a half.
I can't help but worry. I'm happy for her that she is visiting the East Coast friends and family, but I want her home. I'm ready to knuckle down and get some academics going for the new year.

Who am I kidding? I miss the kid. It's that simple.

Holidays

My girl is on a plane early in the morning to spend Christmas with her dad. 

I'm glad she's getting to go, but I'll be happier when she gets back. 

I worry about what could happen when she's gone, even though I know she's much stronger than she was, and she knows she can call me at any time if there's an issue. 

I still hate when she's gone. 

At 15, she is still my light in the darkness of the world. 

Perception

It's funny, really, to think about how perceptions change over time.

Today I told an online friend that he's amazing, and his response was how much of a compliment it was coming from someone of my character. 

It made me laugh at first, and then think about what that really means.

My "character" has not always gotten that reaction. 

As a younger woman, I advocated the idea that a woman can do what she chooses with her body. I did whatever I wanted, with whomever I wanted, with no regrets about it.

One guy described me as fierce, and a woman I was with called me a force of nature.  I saw myself as a sexual creature, and that came across loud and clear to the rest of the world.

Consequently, like any woman who is free, I was called slut, whore, skank, and various other creative things that primarily denote immoral and unacceptable behavior. 

I didn't care. I am the only one who owns me.  

I realize now that it was about control - of my life, and of my body. 

I can't remember the names if every partner I've had. 

When people comment on my character I always want to say "if only you knew how I spent my 20s".

Personal value

I received a comment today that struck a cord. The commenter said that she wishes she grew up with a "woman as beautiful and bountiful member of the world" point of view, and thanked me for helping her feel that about herself now.

As a young girl, I remember feeling betrayed by my body over and over again. It began with growing breasts at the age of 9. Then came hips. As a girl completely obsessed with the world of classical ballet, it didn't get worse than that. Until it did. Suddenly I was taller than the other girls. There went my dreams of dancing professionally. With every change toward maturity, I hated my "womanly" body more and more.

In my early 20's I made friends with my curves. They attracted attention, and made me desirable. I still mourned my lost dream, but I felt that I could live with this body.

Then I had a baby. And gained 100 pounds. And cried daily for two years about my lost body. My marriage crumbled for a variety of reasons. I hid.

Then something weird happened. I started feeling beautiful. Not sexy, something more visceral than that. Interesting, intelligent, funny. 

And I liked this new woman. Until I didn't. 

A series of bizarre, disfunctional relationships paralyzed this version of me. I lost confidence. I hated the person I saw in the mirror. I hated the woman raising my daughter.

So I changed her. Not her appearance. The way she looked at the world. The way she modeled being a woman. I started working to become, not just a woman I wanted around my child, but the type of person I hoped she would grow to be. Strong, self-confident, independent, with a positive outlook.  

Everyday I have the opportunity to choose - will I be the woman who hates herself, or the woman with a sense of self-worth? 

Most days I choose the second option. Because I want my daughters to choose that option. I want my friends and family to choose it. I want you to choose it.

You are valuable. You are a beautiful and bountiful member of the world. 

I hope you feel that, every day.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving friends!

You are one of the things I'm thankful for today. Yes, I'm talking to you. 

Thank you for your support, and for being a part of my life!