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.