anxiety – How do I…life?

Marks

I see the marks, feel the pain from the marks. Marks that I never thought I would have. No one would believe that I would have these marks. I still can’t believe I have these marks. I never thought I would understand the marks I see on others. I now understand. I understand the extreme mental anguish and despair that evoke the marks. I always thought I could handle it, handle my emotional pain. I never thought it could get worse. It got worse.

Was that day my rock bottom? I keep thinking about that day. I see it clearly; I hear it clearly. I remember. I remember fear, hurt, regret, disappointment, pain, embarrassment, despair, hopelessness. What I wanted was the darkness. The darkness of nothing. Was that the answer? Nothing? I wondered how long I would need the darkness; need the nothingness to last. Would it be for an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year? Would it be forever? Should it be forever? What would it be like, the darkness? Would it be like floating? Seeing everyone I loved, but I can’t get to them? Would I feel nothing? Would I feel the people I loved? Did the marks keep me from darkness, from nothingness? Maybe the marks saved me in some fucked up way. Did they?

It was a week ago that the marks showed up on my body. A week is not enough time to answer all the questions or figure out all the answers. Some days, waking up is the best I can offer. Other days, I want to conquer the world and give a big fuck you to all those judging me for trying to figure out my world. Why am I not allowed to be me, EVER? Always dancing the line between acceptable and hearing the disappointed tsk. Live for me, live for them. Live for me, lose them. Live for them, lose me. Why are there only two options?

Fuck. Do you see? This is where the marks come from. The exasperation, the desperateness, the hopelessness. My marks are mine. I own them, I understand them. I needed my marks.

My Girl – Another Chapter

I apologize I’m advance. I try to read and re-read to catch errors. For some reason this one was too hard to re-read.

It’s been a little over a week since the last major upheaval with my girl. I still don’t think I am fully comprehending what happened. What I saw, what I heard, what I had to do.

She went back to him after the last incident. You know, the one where he drug her with his car and beat her again. She signed a six-month lease with him for a shit hole apartment in an old house. First floor was my girl and drippy dick, second floor an old lady and the third floor was drippy’s uncle (shocking) and miscellaneous other derelicts.

The last week of April I could tell she was struggling. The messages and texts she was sending were…..too happy. I wasn’tsure if she was trying to convince me or herself that she was happy. Throughout that week she messaged that she was going to stop at some point during the week and also over the weekend. She didn’t come during the week.

On Sunday, May 1st, I was outside painting a piece of furniture. My other half was doing miscellaneous yard work. My phone rang, it was her. As usual the feeling of “what now” mixed with fear and angst shot through me. I answered to hear my girl and drippy screaming at each other. I had to scream at the top of my lungs to get her attention and get her to hear me. She was pleading and begging me to come get her out. He was yelling at her; she was yelling at him. She found messages he sent to other girls, again. That started the fight, but it always turns into much more. She was completely out of control. He kept threatening to call the cops because she was using “his phone”, the phone he got for her when he put her on his plan. She was screaming at him to stop touching her stuff. I asked her if she thought he would talk to me. She asked him and I heard his response “of course I will talk to your mom”. I can still hear his smug ass voice. I said, “Hello, drippy dick (but actually used his name). We are coming to get “my girl” and all her things. This situation needs to end for your well-being and her well-being.” He stopped me from continuing. Drippy said to me, “please don’t pretend to care about my well-being, that is just disrespectful.” I said, “Oh, I forgot you are all about respect.” I couldn’t help it. I asked if they could please stay away from each other until we get there. He assured me that they wouldand hung up.

She called me back. She was hysterical; dry heaving, crying, screaming. I told her to stay on the phone with me. We were getting ready to leave. Just as a side note, it’s about a 35–40-minute drive to get to her. I kept telling her to go to her car and get away from him. Just sit in her car and ignore him. She said she would. I still heard them yelling and screaming.

We are in the car headed to her. She is still on the phone, I have her on Bluetooth. She tells me she called the police. I was actually shocked. She was in her car waiting. She was crying, wailing in emotional and physical pain. Repeating over and over that she didn’t want to be alive, she can’t do this anymore. This was the FIRST TIME my other half has had the experience of hearing her like this. It’s not a fun thing to experience. But part of me was glad, if I’m being honest. He needed to hear what I have heard for the last four years.

She told us the cops were there. I told her to stay in her car until they come and talk to her. She is still hysterical. I hear her talking to the cop. She has her edge of ghetto girl in her voice and words. I hate it. The cop is trying to calm her. It’s not helping. There are two cops. They go to talk to drippy. She is screaming at drippy. So much is being said and yelled it’s hard to hear everything. At one point is sounded like drippy told the cops he didn’t want her there, and she quickly yelled back that she is on the lease and has every right to be there. Good for her. She was still yelling at drippy to stop touching her things and yelling at the cops to get him to stop. I understood her side. She wasn’t allowed to go into the apartment to keep things civil, but he could start removing her things.

One cop stayed with her, one with. I asked her if I could talk to the cop, he agreed. I explained we were on our way and that I didn’t feel she would be safe if they left. He asked when we would get there, at that point it was another 20 minutes. I hear my girl yelling about one of drippy’s relatives now being there. It was the uncle that lives on the third floor. The yelling and screaming continue until we get there. She was continually saying she wanted to die, she wanted to go to the hospital, she’snot going to make it, she can’t do it anymore. Drippy was playing the victim card with the cops that were there, she felt completely defeated.

We finally get there after what seemed like hours. She was in the apartment getting things, there was a copy inside and one outside. We talked to the cop outside, he was very nice and obviously saw through Drippy’s attempt to be the victim. My girl had her car packed full, and there was more of her stuff in the yard. We started loading up, the cop helped us. While loading up Drippy’s mom showed up. Just as cynical and condescending as her son. She made sure the cop heard that she was at church and her son was just blowing up her phone and she had to leave church early. I can only assume it is a church that allows illegal drug use, carrying weapons illegally and beating women. We introduced ourselves, this is the first time we met or talked. She went into the apartment to console her son.

Drippy tried numerous times to get me or my other half to engage with him. We both refused and ignored him. At one point my girl wanted me to come onto a porch area, which leads into the kitchen of the apartment. There are a few steps up into the kitchen and a man door at the top of the steps. I was standing on the top step, refused to go inside. But I could hear her and would know if anything was happening. Drippy walked by, noticed me and used his foot to slam the door on my face. He made comments to my other half, all to antagonize him into a verbal or better yet a physical confrontation.

We have basically everything in the cars. The cat was the last thing. My girl was maybe a 7 out of 10 in the hysterics. My people are in the yard area, his people are in the porch area. Cops are basically in the middle. Conversations are being had about Drippy not being allowed at our home. He wanted the same for my girl, but whoopsie! She’s on the lease fuckhead. She can come anytime she wants. I loved hearing the cop tell him that. Drippy feels he is very smart in regards to civil and criminal laws. Drippy didn’t like it. So, he says to the cop that he would like to discuss a matter in private with him, because he wants my girl arrested for Domestic Violence because he has a scratch on his hand from her. And BOOM. She is set off. So I said, if that’s the case then my girl will press charges for Domestic Violence as well. That is when Drippy’s mom stepped in and told Drippy they will discuss it and if he feels strongly about it, he can contact the cop later. But my girl is completely out of control at this point. She is now screaming and yelling about $500 worth of dab shit that she just bought for him, and she wants it back, it’s in his car. He refuses to go in his car – for obvious reasons. She refuses to leave; I can’t do anything with her. I can’t get through to her at all.

At this point I have no choice but to manhandle her. I basically have her in a bear hug, walking her out of the yard and to the car. She broke free a few times, throwing things, yelling and screaming. Drippy keeps asking about his phone. She wipes the phone, restoring it to factory and I hand it to the cop to make sure it is returned to Drippy. She still will not leave willingly. Still screaming it’s not fair he gets to play the victim after all he has put her through. I have her wrapped tight in my arms. I tell my other half to open the passenger door and then start my car. I get her into the seat, he has to get her the rest of the way in and shut the door. I am in the driver seat and as soon as her door shuts, I put it in drive and fly out of the alley. She is thrashing, pounding on the dash, the windows, throwing her body front and back. I was terrified she was going to jump out of my car. Oh, I should add that my other half drove her car.

I try extremely hard not to cry in front of her. I couldn’t hold it back. I was so done. I reached my limit. Nothing I said was right, so I just had to stop talking. She eventually held my hand. Slowly began to calm down. I think her body was just done; her mind was done. She was completely spent. She has no more fight in her.

I call her one brother on the way home. He can relate well to her. He tells her he will be at home when we get there and will stay as long as she needs him. I also call a friend who is an officer and ask him to come to the house and talk to her about the domestic violence side of things. He agrees to.

We get home. No one really knows what to do or how to act. We talk to her about going to the hospital to commit herself. She just isn’t sure that’s what she wants. Yes, we can commit her. She will answer all the questions correctly and be released in about two hours. And I take a chance of ruining her being safe with us at home.

It’s eventually decided she will stay home. She wants to be in her bed, in a safe place, with her cat. I take Monday off to be home with her. We talk quite a bit. With her beside me I set her up for an outpatient day hospital program. She agreed to this. Five days a week, 7 hours a day. She is scheduled for in-take on Monday, May 9th. We have to help her make it 7 days.

Throughout the day on Monday, I get her a new phone number. I call the landlord for the lease; I have to leave a message. I get no call back.

Tuesday, I have to go to work, pulling out of the driveway is the hardest thing ever. But she promises me she will not hurt herself. Oh, shit. I should mention that while my girl and drippy were fighting, before anyone got there, she was cutting herself with a scissors. He actually told the officers that he “eventually” took it from her for her own safety. E-V-E-N-T-U-A-L-L-Y.

Anyway, I end up talking to the landlord, she is fine with releasing Hannah from the lease if Drippy agrees to sign a new lease in his name only. She said she would talk to him. My girl sends me a text, she forgot a motorcycle jacket and a picture of her cat that she took, edited and spent quite a bit of time on. I get Drippy’s mom’s number from my girl and text her asking if I send a box with a prepaid label, would she send the items. She said she would need to check with her son. Before she responds about the items, she asks me if I am going to pay the rest of the lease or pay for the phone that he bought for her on installments. WHAT? We had a back-and-forth text conversation for a bit. Nothing was resolved.

Called the landlord back on Tuesday. She answered. Explained the situation. She said she would talk to Drippy and see if he would be willing to sign a new lease in just his name. This will shock you; he did not agree to this. And he let the landlordknow if my girl didn’t pay her part, he would sue her civilly. I fully believe that he would do this. The last thing she needs is to be served with paperwork from him. So, I am paying her half of the rent for the next three months. Sent Drippy’s mom a text advising her, along with a picture of the letter and check I sent to the landlord. Apparently, that isn’t enough for them. Now Drippy also wants me to pay or the phone that HE bought, that is in HIS name and doesn’t have my girls name anywhere on the paperwork. It just never ends.

I’m backtracking here a bit. The evening of May 8th, my girl gets a call from the therapy group she is going into treatment with. They are short staffed and cancelled her in-take for Monday, May 9th. I did confirm this. The next available in-take date being May 20th. Awesome. She got yet another call last week to cancel the May 20th appointment, again due to being short staffed. She actually stood up for herself and said no, she needs this, needs to get it started. She had to settle for an in-take via zoom on May 18th. My fingers are crossed this pans out and she follows through with it.

I have no way of knowing if she is contacting him. I check phone records and don’t see any of his numbers. But there are so many other ways. I know that. I ask her almost daily if she has talked to him, she says no. There are days she wants to. I can imagine after almost 5 years it would be difficult.

I now have to figure out how to get my girl on disability. I can’tkeep paying for everything. Her car insurance is $280 a month, plus the rental payments, plus gas (which she needs to drive to her therapy and doctor appointments) and then there will be all the co-pays for the actual treatment and medication. I have heard attempting to get disability take months, if not years. I am still paying off her last commitment. And of all times, I decide to take a new job, and a 15k yearly pay cut.

Anybody have any advice? I did contact a lawyer and got some basic information. She has to apply, she will be rejected, she will have to appeal, will be rejected and then we have to get a lawyer. We are now working on getting all her medical records to send along with the disability claim. This is not an easy task.

None of this is easy.

Here we go, again

Even though I knew it would happen, I didn’t think it would be so soon. My girl is home, at least for now. She moved out March 9th. She called me crying and screaming on March 23rd. He had her cornered in the bathroom. She was sitting with her back against the tub, feet on the door, trying to hold the door shut. She begged me to get the phone that was once on my plan activated so she could let the phone he “bought” her at the apartment. I did. I must give a shout out to Verizon for their quick work and dealing with a frantic mom. Anyway, he eventually left to go to work. I stayed on the phone with her, she was packing her things, loading her car and coming home. When I felt she was stable enough I hung up with her (since I was at work), and we communicated through messages. I would check in, she told me she was getting things together. At one point I asked what was happening and she told me there was just a shooting right outside the apartment, at a high school across the street and there were officers everywhere, the school was being evacuated, etc. I checked the local news and sure enough, a 17-year-old was shot dead in a park next to the high school. She used this as an excuse not to be able to leave. I checked in with her again, now she told me she talked to him on the phone and how it was all just a miscommunication on her part, and they were communicating really well now, and he was finally understanding what her thoughts were and how she feels, blah, blah, blah. So, she did not leave.

On March 24th, me and my husband left for Florida for a family party. She did not go. I do not have to explain why. But I was scared shitless that while we were away something would happen. I chatted with her a few times, and she seemed okay.

We returned the evening of March 28th. On March 29th it was back to work. I received a call from her at 8:01 AM. She was crying, screaming, and yelling. I heard him in the background screaming at her. She was begging me to help her, to call someone in the family to come and help her get her stuff and get out. While she was on the phone, I called my middle son and asked if he could go to her. He said yes. I called my husband and told him to get on the road and get to her, which he did. Both asked if they should stop and get their handguns. I said no. Although, drippy dick is known to carry illegally (shocking). I stayed on the phone with her, he eventually went outside, and she was able to get to her car and leave, without any of her things, including her cat. I told her to stop using the phone that was on his plan, the same phone he was screaming at her for using and he was threatening to call the cops and have her arrested for theft. I told her to let him call the cops. (He has multiple charges that he hasn’t responded to, which means he has active warrants. But I did not tell her that.) I had her drive to a public place and told her to wait there for her brother and dad. I hung up with her. She called back a few minutes later the “old” phone and told me that she drove back to the apartment, reset the phone he “bought” her, and she threw it in the back yard. All this was apparently witnessed by drippy’s Uncle who lives in the same house, different apartment. That was the first I heard about that.

So, her rescuers get there. They all drive to the apartment and get everything possible loaded into the three cars and drive her home. The home that now has her room cleaned out. No carpet because it was destroyed by her. No bed because she took the bedframe and box spring when she moved in with drippy. No dresser because she took that as well. We had started to redo a room for our grandkids and were using her old room to store things.

I get home from work, call an order in for food and leave to go pick up food and get groceries since we were away and needed the basics. Got home, ate, put groceries away and started moving shit around to make room for an air mattress, her cat, the cat box and all her shit that had been taken out of the house. I now have her clothing hampers all over my downstairs because there isn’t any place to put it.

I tried talking to her briefly about drippy and the situation, however she stopped me very abruptly and got nasty. I stopped. I knew if I started on her, I would not be able to control what I said.

This morning, me and the hubby get up as usual to go to work. After being at work for a few hours I sent her a message and asked how she was. She said OKAY. I asked if she talked to him and she said yes, they messaged on Snap Chat. He told her that he slept in his car at his mom’s house because the apartment was so empty without her and her stuff. Really, dickhead? I told her it was yet another one of his games. She didn’t say much to that.

My prediction is she will go back to him. We will then need to decide what we are willing to live with. We cannot keep living like this. Do we kick her out completely? Tell her if she goes back, we will not be able to rescue her again? Tell her we will rescue her, but she has to find somewhere else to live? What is right? What is kinda right? She needs fucking help. So fucking bad. She would not agree to committing herself to give her mind and body a break. She is thin, too thin. Is there more happening than we know? Probably. It scares me. She scares me. He scares me. Together they are toxic.

Here we are, again. No closer to having answers or helping our daughter.

Scattered

Scattered. My brain is scattered. My world is scattered. I’m trying to sit and get it all out. I can’t seem to find a place to start. There are so many places, so many things that keep rolling through my brain. The things that keep me awake at night. The things that scare the shit out of me.

I don’t know why I haven’t put anything on paper recently. Maybe because it makes it all too real for me. If I write it, it’sreal. If I don’t, I can pretend. Pretend everything is “normal.” What the hell is normal anyway. Normal, a preconceived idea of what life is supposed to be like, what you want life to be like. If only it were that simple.

I apologize in advance it there are errors in the following. It is hard enough to write, its even harder to try to go back and proof and re-read.

My girl child. It happened again. February 6-7, 2022. He beat her again. She went to see him on February 6th, messaged me to tell me she was staying over that evening. I was at work (a new job that I have been at for only about a month). My cell phone rings and it’s my girl. I couldn’t answer immediately because I was talking to someone. She called back, I answered. She was crying and close to hysterical. She said they had a fight. I asked if he touched her. She said not as bad as last time. I asked where she was and she said she was in his car, driving to where her car was parked. I asked where he was, and she said she had no idea. They fought and she left. I pleaded with her to be safe, get to her car and lock the keys to his car in the car. I called my husband, told him what was happening and asked him to go to the parking lot where her car was parked and watch for her. He did. She never showed up. I tried contacting her with no luck. She called again, screaming, yelling, hysterical begging me to help her, begging me to save her, she was throwing up and dry heaving while she was talking to me. I got from her she went back to his house, they fought again, she ran outside and was at a convenience store and scared that he would find her. I have her on the cell phone and call 911 from my work phone. I give all the information I have to the dispatcher; he sends police. Her phone goes dead. She calls back from the convenience store phone. Still crying and begging me to help. The dispatcher tells me the officers are on scene. I hear them talking to her. She is beyond rational thought. I can hear the officers now yelling at drippy dick who found where she was. They were telling him to get away from her and stop talking and to listen to them. Drippy yelled at her for calling the cops. She blamed me. The phone went dead. I hear nothing for hours. I finally get a call from her saying she needed to figure some things out and she would be in touch with me, but she didn’t know when she would be home. Deep breaths. Trying to stay in “control,” trying not to freak the fuck out, trying not to let my new employer know what’shappening.

She calls again on my cell. Upset, but not hysterical. She tells me that drippy dick was driving her back to her car, and he got stopped by police for expired inspection. The car smelled strongly of weed (shocking), and drippy was put through Field Sobriety Tests and then taken for a blood test. She now had to drive his car to the police station and wait for him to be releasedbefore she could come home. I offered to get her an Uber, she refused.

I go home at the end of the workday. I message my girl a few times and finally hear back that drippy dick is driving her to her car. This would be about a 30-minute drive from where drippy lives to where her car is parked. She messages and says she would like to talk when she gets home. We wait and wait. We go to our bedroom because it’s getting later, and she isn’t home. Again, my cell phone rings and it’s her. Again, screaming and crying for me to help her. She fears him. She got to her car, they continued to talk, and she drove away. He was now following her, and she did not know what to do. I told her to keep driving home, told her to drive to a police department. Again, she really isn’t hearing me. She stops her car at a gas station and tells me where she is. The phone again goes dead. I call 911, again. I tell the dispatcher the details of what has happened throughout the day and ask him to send officers to help her. My husband also leaves to go to the area where she is. Officers call me back. They can’t find her. I tell them the events of the day and what happened. I call my husband and relay to him that the officers can’t find her. He is in the area and sees the officers, so he stops to talk to them. I get a call from a strange number and answer. It’s her calling from one of drippy’s phones. Her phone is turned off so we can’t track her. She will not tell me where she is but tells me she is safe and okay, and they are talking. But he is sitting in his car, and she is locked in her car and they are talking via phone. We have an idea where she parks her car and my husband, and six officers are in that area searching and find nothing. She calls me numerous times from drippy’s phone, and the calls just keep dropping. I have no idea what is happening. Eventually, the officers must respond to other calls and my husband comes home. She eventually gets home sometime after midnight on February 8th.

I don’t see her until the evening of February 8th because I had to work.

Sorry, back up a minute. As the things were happening the previous day, I was advising my sons, so they knew what was happening.

My girl messaged me at some point during the day on the 8th and said she would like to talk when I get home from work. I told her yes, we would definitely be talking. I asked my sons to be there as well. That way everyone hears what I have to say in case she isn’t thinking clearly, and she decides to go to one of them for help. She initially wasn’t happy that everyone was. I told her she needs to be honest and no lies about what happened.

Drippy dick decided it would be a great idea to get them Xany-bars for Sunday evening (the 6th). She said she had never tried them before. They ate them. Apparently, they ate a lot. She has little memory from Sunday evening at around 11PM to Monday evening around 6PM or 7PM. She knows they fought almost none stop. She showed us a few bruises on her legs. She was still very……. on edge. She said she could still feel whatever was in the bars was still in her. We asked that she tell us what she does remember. She knew they fought both inside his house and outside his house. She told him she was done and wanted to leave and was getting some of her things out of the back of his car. He was in the driver seat and when she reached in the back seat he started to drive away and drug her with the car, hence the road rash all over her ankle/leg. She remembered him punching her in the back of her head when she was trying to walk away from him. She said she knows at one point she was fighting for her life and had his skin under her nails when she came home. We all talked for about an hour. I could tell she was reaching her limit. She just repeated over and over that she wanted to sleep forever, she was tired of this, tired of making mistakes. She wants to be dead. We encouraged her the best we could. Knowing if we push too hard, she would flee.

She has been at home since this happened. I know she has been in contact with drippy, but she has not seen him. Will this be her rock bottom? Will she want help this time? Will anything change? I am trying to get her to talk to a Domestic Violence hotline. I am trying to talk to her about maybe trying a wilderness program where she has no contact with anyone. Will any of it help? I don’t know.

Watching her is hard. Hearing her words is harder. Not knowing how to help is beyond words. Seeing her beat up body is debilitating to me. She took a video of her body. The bruises are unbelievable. Her neck, throat, shoulders, arms, legs, feet, and head all have bruises. But I am sure that her brain is the most damaged. That damage doesn’t fade like a bruise. That damage is deep and permanent.

Her end

I feel her end is near. I fear her end is near.

She will not accept help. She will not listen to anyone but him.

He is killing her slowly. She is killing herself slowly.

She is allowing it. I can’t stop it.

I can’t save her. She doesn’t want to be saved.

Reality

This is my daily reality. My beautiful girl child has Borderline Personality Disorder. This is what it looks like.

It’s 2020. People dealing with mental health issues are not getting the proper help. I can’t help my own child. It is devastating. It is sad. It is scary.

A Jumbled Mind

My mind is a jumbled mess. Unfinished sentences, words I can’t quite seem to find, all floating around making a mess. I thought I had reached my lowest point in dealing with my girl child’s issues. I try and pretend everyday that I am fine. I’m sure I am selling the idea that I can handle it all. I’m not falling apart on the inside and I am certainly not falling apart on the outside. Pretty sure none of that is true. There are definitely people in my life who ignore the signs they might see as I spiral downward. It’s much easier to ignore the bad. And I get that. I really do. But please stop telling me that I just have to put “it” out of my mind. I can’t do that and I will not do that. Because that “it” is my little pink baby girl. A life that I promised to protect and love and support.

The past week has been one of my worst. Not because of any one thing that I can point to, but the culmination of the last four years. At least that is my opinion. When I am dealing with the chaos of living among my girl child’s issues, I have to stay strong. I have to be her support, still go to work, still take care of a house, I still have to make dinner every night, still babysit my grandbaby three or four nights a week, still make time for the other people I care about. I HAVE TO! If I don’t, I fail – right?

As of right now things with the girl child are what I would call stable-ish. I think this is why my body is now “releasing” the stress. She had a job for about two weeks and quit. She has lied about chlamydia boy and seeing him. He has broken up with her on three occasions creating some fairly severe breakdowns. She has had a severe bladder/kidney infection (again) which landed her in the ER for dehydration. The antibiotic made her sick, so she couldn’t/wouldn’t eat and drink. (Side note: She was at the family doc in May 2019 and weighed 131, she is currently about 115. But I am positive she is again smoking weed because I have seen a significant increase in what she is consuming throughout a day.) I finally found a place to do a psych evaluation on her. She had the first appointment the end of July. She is scheduled for a total of 7 hours of testing over a three day period. After all results are combined and reviewed, she should have a better understanding of what her mental health issues are. During the evaluation the doc mentioned she wouldn’t be surprised if my girl child has been dealing with a learning disability that school never picked up on. The girl child promises she will do what is recommend to help herself. She has made these promises before…… So yes, this is stable-ish for our family.

On the physical side, I have had some sort of weird throat thing happening for over a week. My voice sounds very hoarse, my throat doesn’t hurt. It’s weird. About two years ago I was diagnosed with fibro. I deal with it cause I have to. Some days are better than others. This week and last week have been hell. For some reason my worst areas are my elbows, shoulders and feet. Picking up a bottle of water hurts, picking up the phone at work hurts. There is also a “brain fog” that goes along with fibro. Not sure if this is the cause of my jumbled mind or it’s a combination of everything.

I also find myself eating, a lot. And this is something that makes me feel so incredibly awful. Almost eight years ago I had weight loss surgery. That’s an entirely different story. And I was successful. I have never been prouder of myself. I now find myself turning to my old friend food. Food was always there for me. Food made me feel loved. Food doesn’t judge.

The jumbled mind has just been awful. At work I don’t think anyone has really noticed. I have the occasionally stumble over finding a word or remembering a name. I think I’m handling work pretty well. Outside of work I feel like a person that might be described as “slow”. I was at Walmart to get specific items, I even had a list. I found myself just wandering aimlessly having no idea what I was getting, not remembering the list I had and just buying random shit. During conversations my mind just wonders off. My brain derails from the train of thought and I don’t get it back. It’s GONE. I was driving one of my dogs to the groomer, drove past not one, but two roads that I needed to turn on to get to the groomer.

And the worst thing lately is my lack of sleeping and the nightmares I have when I do sleep. I had what felt like and seemed like a full length movie type nightmare where I had to plan my girl child’s funeral. Start to finish. Throughout the nightmare the actual reason for her death was never actually said but the feel was it was suicide. I had to pick where to hold the funeral, what she would wear, what pictures I wanted of her displayed, how her hair should be, how her make-up should be, get her nails done the way she liked them. Details that I never want to deal with or think about again. The way I had to console other people through the funeral and was never really allowed to grieve the way I think I needed to. No one would see what I was going through. I felt so selfish the next day.

A few nights ago I had another horrible nightmare. This time I was holding my grandbaby and was putting her to sleep. She was very small and wrapped in what reminded me of a hospital blanket. Almost like she was a newborn (she is actually 10 months). I was rocking her in my arms to sleep. At some point I realize she isn’t breathing. I scream for my husband. I lay her on a table and unwrap the blanket. She isn’t breathing. Her eyes are just slits, but I can see the beautiful blue color of her pupils. I am screaming for someone to call 911, I call 911. I am on the floor sobbing and crying and asking for help. My husband is the only there and he can’t/won’t go close to her. I go to the table and start CPR. I can feel my mouth going over her nose/mouth to give her breaths. Some kind of EMS personnel are now there and telling us its too late. I won’t listen. I’m sobbing and wailing and the feeling of guilt that I killed her. She died in my arms is overwhelming me in the nightmare. I woke up with swollen eyes and a throbbing headache. I have not told anyone about these nightmares. They were too real. They feel too “close” to share. I feel like they are very selfish dreams. I don’t really know how to explain it. Why was I making a nightmare like these about me? Why am I trying to get people realize what I am feeling? UGH

…and the saga continues

It’s hard to believe it has been over a month since my last post about my daughter. At times it feels like an eternity. As an update to dealing with health insurance and the healthcare industry; after my daughter was released from in-patient treatment she had an appointment scheduled for her first group therapy session. I was not thrilled to find out it was the same healthcare facility where she had a very bad experience with a child psychiatrist. I raised my concerns with her social worker and was assured it was the best option available. Okay.

The sessions were to be a few times a week and last for about 5 hours. The first scheduled day happened to fall on a Friday. She was to be there by 10AM and would leave around 3PM. This just so happened to be the Friday that my husband and I were heading to the apartment my daughter had while attending photography school. On the day my daughter came home back in March she brought some things along, but was not mentally ready to clean the place out. I made arrangements for my mom, her grandmother, to drop her off at the therapy session and I would pick her up. My daughter agreed to this. As my husband and I are in the midst of cleaning the apartment, which is about 2 hours away, my phone starts blowing up with messages from my daughter. She’s not going to therapy, she can’t, she can’t get out of bed, she can’t make herself get dressed, she doesn’t want to do it, she’s not going to do it. FUCKING AWESOME! I began with messaging her back telling her she had to, needed to, etc. Got to the point I called her, she is hysterical crying that she can’t do it. My dilemma – I’m 2 hours away, no one is home with her, she just got released from in-patient therapy a few days ago, she has a history of self-harming, suicidal thoughts….hmmmm, what do I do??????? With my husband glaring at me, I calmly tell her that she will have to call the therapy place, cancel her appointment and reschedule the appointment as soon as possible and I would talk to her when we get home.

Now, the apartment. I was a mess thinking about what we were going to find when we unlocked her apartment door. From the way the rental agency acted the place was trashed, would need to be repainted, etc. Apparently, they just wanted her out and I can’t blame them for that. When we opened the door things really were not that bad. Yes, it wasn’t white glove test clean – but it certainly wasn’t trashed. I started in the bathroom, my husband started in the kitchenette area and we kinda met in the middle. Things were going really well, moving quickly and what not. And then I started cleaning the bathroom sink. (As a reminder, weed had become a very close friend of my daughter’s while away at school.) I’m cleaning the vanity and sink and the water is not going down the drain. I’m playing with the drain plug, doing all I can to get this moving. No luck. I call out to my husband that he needs to go to Walmart and get a plunger, a snake thingy or Drain-O. His response “like hell I’m spending anymore money on this place.” I had to agree with him. Since he is a very handy guy, he went to work on the sink drain. I continue my cleaning of the bedroom/TV area. At some point my hubby starts screaming for a towel. I’m thinking great – he broke something, we will have to pay a plumber thousands of dollars….nope, he took the trap out which seemed to the be problem. Here is a helpful hint to all who use those little cigar wrap thingies when assembling a blunt – DO NOT put the leftover tobacco stuff down the drain because it will clog. Just a little FYI from me to you. I may not have gotten the terminology correct – but you know what I mean. Anyway, we continue on our way and are done in about an hour and half. I had a sense of satisfaction when I opened the cabinet below the kitchen sink and saw the large brown Ball jar that the chlamydia boy gave my daughter for Christmas – cause I threw the bitch in the trash. Take that chlamydia boy! HA HA HA

The drive home from the apartment was long. I had no idea what to expect when I walked in the house. I was in communication with my girl throughout the drive, but until you actually see that they are safe- the mind can go to so many wonderful places! She was in her bed, she seemed distant and was defensive. That is my indication that she smoked weed before we got home. That just makes talking to her so much more difficult. The eye rolls, the attitude – AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH. I made her call the therapy place to reschedule, which she did. She asked if I would take her and drop her off and I agreed to do that.

Now, during this time she was talking the life coach person. My daughter described her as “life changing”. Great, awesome, fanfuckingtastic! She said she felt as if she was learning how to control her anxiety with new ideas and meditation. Again, I am all in.

The day for the therapy appointment arrives. I take off work. It is a very quite 20 minute drive to the place. I sensed a definite attitude, but more of a she was scared and nervous and couldn’t believe I was making her do this kind of attitude. We walk in, follow at the signs through a maze of hallways to the out-patient therapy registration. We walk up to the little reception area and a very pleasant lady asks what we are there for. I tell her. She looks at my daughter and asks for her name. My daughter didn’t hear her through the bulletproof surround the lady was behind. I answer, which annoys the lovely lady even more. She clacks away on her computer and tells me she doesn’t have any appointments for my daughter. I tell her it was made and confirmed. She gets my daughter’s date of birth and clacks away some more. Asks a few more questions, who set it up, why was it set up, etc. I am giving her all the information. Meanwhile, my daughter is shrinking farther and farther away, tears in the eyes, ready to bolt out the nearest door. The lady insists there are no appointments scheduled for her, but we can sit in the waiting room for the first come first serve therapy and they might get to her today. WOW – no, that’s not going to happen. We leave and drive home. My girl goes immediately to her room and I sit on the sofa to try and figure out why the fuck this shit keeps happening. Why are these doors continually slammed in her face?????????

About an hour after we are home my cell phone rings. I don’t know the number, so I don’t answer. I get a notification that I have a voicemail. I listen. Well, how surprised am I to find it is Emily from the therapy place asking why my daughter missed her appointment. A very snooty Emily at that. I am fairly certain my blood pressure rose so quickly I passed out for a few seconds. I tried calling back and received Emily’s voicemail. I let a message asking Emily to call me back and the numbers where I would be available. Emily called me back the following day while I was at work. Emily starts the conversation asking why my daughter didn’t show up. I explain to her we did show up and were told there was not an appointment scheduled for my daughter. She asked where we were, I gave her the address where we were and how we followed the signs to the out-patient therapy registration and were then greeted by a very rude person. She wanted to know the name of the person, I don’t fucking know Emily. She asked me to describe the room, describe the pictures on the wall, describe the color of the paint on the wall. WHAT? I don’t know, I was trying to keep my daughter from breaking down and fleeing! I actually did say that to her. To which, Emily said that the program didn’t sound right for my daughter if she was that anxious. Excuse me? A social worker set this up for my daughter while she was in-patient. Unless, Emily, you have a degree to diagnose people, please shut up. Emily also tried to tell me we were probably at the wrong place but had no response when I asked her if there were multiple locations to register why wouldn’t the lovely person behind the bulletproof walls tell us that? Couldn’t she use the company phone and maybe call another department to see if we were scheduled somewhere else? Emily told me she would look into the matter and get back to me by the end of the day. That didn’t happen, she got back to me two days later. She left a voicemail on my cell phone ( I don’t get reception on my cell at work, which I told Emily during our last conversation). She told me she had an appointment for my daughter with a therapist who agreed to “fit her in to his very busy schedule”. That is actually what she said. Not the group therapy she was supposed to attend, that she actually liked and got some “stuff” out of, but some random therapist that “fit her in”. I never called her back. I know that was wrong and immature, but my gut feeling was my girl was not going to get the help she needed and it would push her away even more.

I stared the process of trying to find a female therapist type person that is credible for my daughter to meet with. It was proven difficult and I am on wait lists for appointments. Again, wow.

March turned into April. My girl stopped talking to her life coach, without my knowledge. I got a text one day that she didn’t “show up” for their video session or whatever you call it. I asked her why. Her answer – I don’t want to. My answer – you need to, you aren’t in any therapy and you need an outlet. Her answer – but she (the life coach) told me she doesn’t think I have depression or anxiety. She thinks I just don’t have the right coping skills and she doesn’t think I need to be on meds. I can handle it, mom. So, we had the ongoing argument about her talking to someone. She is willing to go back to therapy, that is when and if I can get her in somewhere. Why is this so difficult?

I was cautiously optimistic that just maybe the stress from school was gone, there was a distance between chlamydia boy, she seemed to be vested in the world around her. Maybe she was learning to cope better.

NOPE! I was wrong. So very wrong. I thought we beyond the lies and the bullshit she puts me through.

There is one girl who she still occasionally chats with from high school. The girl is local, a nice kid. I know they smoked weed together in high school. My daughter asked a to hang out with her friend and stay at her house. I voiced my concern about the weed. I was told the friend doesn’t do that anymore. Okay. She stayed overnight on a Monday into Tuesday. Just so happened that I contracted some bizarre viral infection that caused a coating of ulcers down my throat and I left work early that Tuesday for a doctor appointment. I’m at home waiting for my appointment time and I had messaged my girl asking when she was coming home. This was maybe 11AM. She said that the two were getting a late breakfast. Okay. Sounds legit. That is until my cell phone rings about an hour later and it’s my daughter. I answer and she is crying. She was in an accident. After finding out that she wasn’t hurt, she told me she lied to me and was actually with chlamydia boy and the crash happened in the area he lives, which is about 45 minutes away. The crash was not her fault, a lady in a big Mercedes blew through a yield sign and basically t-boned my daughter’s car on the driver’s side.

Now, this is where I think I shut down. Maybe because my body was already battling a strange viral infection, maybe because of the last month that was pure hell, maybe because the last eight years have been hell. I told her she needed to deal with it. I would call dad and let her know where to have the car towed to. While sitting at home my biggest fear was the cops would get to the scene, smell the aroma of weed from her car, search her car, take her for a blood test to see if she was driving while impaired. I could feel the bile rising in my throat as each second ticked by. I have the unfortunate knowledge of how that process works – cause I work in a police department (just as the office manager, not an officer). My girl continued to keep me updated on what was happening and told me she was driving the car home. RANT: the cop that investigated the crash let my 18 year old drive 45 minutes home in a car that’s side air bags deployed, the driver’s door could not open (she had to enter and exit the car from the passenger side) and the roll bars popped. The car was a convertible and when impact occurred, it was that hard the car was lifted off the ground, which caused the roll bar to pop. That is not safe, no matter if it was my kid or a 50 year old man! End rant. I looked at the positive side that she was at least not arrested and was on her way home. We had her drop the car off at a dealership and my husband picked her up and brought her home.

It was a quite day. I think she was expecting a lot of yelling and screaming. I asked how many times she lie to us and went to chlamydia boy. She said one other time. I will assume that means at least three other times if not more. Here is the bonus. Chlamydia boy was with her when the crash happened. She told me she was driving him to pay off some fines and stuff he had. I knew he had a record. I did a check on him – but only what anyone else can find. It was all public information. The charges were for harassment and possession of a controlled substance. Cause, ya know, he is really turning his life around…… As she was calling me and telling the details of what was happening at the crash scene I asked how chlamydia boy was getting home, did she now have to drive him home, etc. No, the officer was going to take him home. Okay, that happens all the time. This is where things get interesting. For some reason chlamydia boy tells the cop he has a joint in his pocket. I can only assume the officer offered him the ride but still ran the kid and found he hadn’t paid his fines and costs and he was in violation of his probation by having the joint. Chlamydia boy was taken to jail, well at least an in-take area of jail. My girl found this out after she was home and someone messaged her to let her know. I just couldn’t be sympathetic because I could’t understand why she wants a person like this in her life. Of course, chlamydia boy was released after paying his fines and costs. The jails are just to crowded to keep a little shit like that.

April is soon turning to May and she has done little to help herself. I was promised she would contact the life coach and start talking to her again. That didn’t happen. I was told she is applying for jobs. That hasn’t happened. I was told she is going to clean her room and do her wash. That hasn’t happened. Sigh. Do I kick the 18 year old out of my house and let her fail even more miserably? I just don’t have the right answer. I have pressure from almost every member of my family that knows what has been happening with my girl. I know very well that I am fucking up in every way possible. But I also know I don’t want her to be dead. My mind can’t help but remember all the stories from work. A few weeks ago a mom called because her daughter left the house and was texting her mom saying goodbye, and how she couldn’t keep going. It was awful. The cellphone of the girl was pinged for three hours, until the car the girl was driving was finally seen and the girl was in it. Last week a local woman hung herself in her house while her husband and kids were there. The woman was known to have “issues”. I guess I need a new job.

Will she get a job, get into therapy, start taking her meds again, get chlamydia boy out of her life, finish her photography program’s final project so she can get her certificate? I just don’t know. I do know I am tired. I do know there are days I feel crazy. There are days that I want to stay in bed all day, days were I want out, days where I don’t want to keep taking care of everyone. But that’s what being a mom is about, right?

Another Journey Begins…

February 26, 2019, a day I will forever remember. It started as any other day. Mid-morning while at work I received an e-mail from my husband telling me to call my daughter ASAP. Thanks to AT&T, I have no cell phone service in my building. I called her and found her to be in hysterics. The mental breakdown that I was always hoping would never happen, happened. She was crying, talking, yelling. It was horrible. She told me she didn’t want to do life anymore. She was over everything. She knew she wasn’t doing her best work at school, she had no creativity, had lost her passion and the boyfriend was also mentioned.

We agreed she would drive home from her school apartment and we would deal with whatever was happening when she got home. I’m sure someone will give me grief for letting her drive. However, I do know my child and knew her waiting for me to get to her (about a 1 1/2 hours drive) would have been far worse than her driving to me. Trust me on this one.

I left work, got home and started making calls. About one month prior I had started researching inpatient facilities for depression and anxiety. I knew with what we had experienced over Christmas, my daughter needed more than just a monthly therapy appointment. I contacted an organization that was helping me with this search and since this was a situation that demanded immediate action, I was directed to a local behavioral health center. I called and made an appointment for my daughter to be seen when she got home. My husband got home before my daughter and when she walked in the door, we basically walked right back out and into the car. My girl had voiced the fact she knew she needed help.

Once at the facility, we were taken in to an in-take room. My daughter’s vitals were taken and some general questions were asked. This entire time my girl was sobbing. It was then time to sit down with an in-take specialist. Only two people were allowed. Of course my girl chose me and poor dad had to wait in the waiting area. There was about an hour of questions, which she answered very honestly. This was the first time she really told the truth about her self-harming to anyone in the therapy field. It was like a stab to my heart when she told him she now used scissors to make the cuts. There was a time when it was razor blades. He asked to see her arm and this was the first time I saw the “new” cuts. I’m not sure how I didn’t throw up. Yes, I have seen far worse self-harm pictures on-line. But seeing it on my girl was beyond words. There was one that was about four inches long and about .5 inches deep. She was also very open and honest with her thoughts of “not wanting to be here”. She no longer wanted to be alive as the person she currently was. She wants to live as the person she hopes to be.

After all the questions were answered, the in-take specialist took the answers to the psychiatrist to see what is recommended. I knew what the answer was going to be, but I don’t think my girl did. He came back in the room with papers to sign. The first being a 201 commitment paper. He was very clear with what it was and what she was signing. Since she was 18, she is now in control. She willingly signed the paper. As the in-take specialist was explaining more about other papers that needed to be signed, the realization that she would not be coming home with me hit her hard. We talked for probably 30 minutes about why this needed to happen and that at this point it was going to happen. She was begging me to get her out and not make her stay. At one point I asked if I could go get my husband. I left the room and went into the waiting area with the in-take guy. I knew when I walked out I would not be going back in. We talked about what to do at this point and I told the guy there was no way I could go back in or it would just get worse. We then left. We left our girl at that place. She was alone, scared, confused, hurt and now I left her. The first phone call came about 35 minutes later. She couldn’t understand why we would just leave, how could we do that, she can’t stay there, she needs to get out, I need to get her out. I think she ended up hanging up on me. That was the first of six calls that night. Each one was the same. The guilt was insane at this point. Wow. Not knowing what she was doing was the absolute worst for me, and the fact I was sure she would hate me and never talk to me again.

To make that evening even better, I got a Facebook message from “the boy” telling me he has been trying to call Hannah and can’t get her and she told him she was coming home to get help. After about an hour I replied “she is safe”. Then I got another message asking me to give him the facility information so he can arrange to visit her. My response “no visitors”. His response “is that the facility rule or your rule”. Seriously, dickhead? You are going to throw attitude to me? What the fuck? I replied “facility”. The next day the boy messaged asking for a number to call her. I never responded to that one. I can only assume that I hurt his feelings because I later received this message “I really appreciate your consideration you aren’t the only person who has an emotional attachment to her and is pained by what she is going through but I know my place now don’t worry sorry to bother” and yes it was just like that, no punctuation. Did I want to respond? Oh, I wanted to respond. I wanted to ask the concerned boy about the violent fights my daughters neighbors reported to the rental agency. I wanted an explanation for the odd bruises on her body. I wanted to know how many other diseases he was sharing with my daughter. I wanted to know why if he was so concerned did he not tell me about the cuts on her? I wanted to know why my girl suddenly was 30 pounds lighter if he was so fucking concerned about her. I wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of her life. However, I knew that would only make matters worse. So I said nothing.

On day 2 of my daughter’s commitment she called me every few hours. The morning calls were much of the same. She wanted to leave, didn’t want to be there, etc. By the afternoon she had perhaps adjusted to being there and asked if we were going to visit her. Visiting is allowed every day from 5:30 PM to 6:30 PM. Yes, I lied to the boy. I told her I would love to visit her. My husband (her dad!), her youngest brother, his fiance and me all went for a visit. It was awkward at first. We talked about her day, what the schedule was like, what the food was like, etc. She did admit that she did like the group therapy and realized there were other people who had feelings like hers and there were people that were much worse. At the end of the visit she asked that we not visit her the following day. She said it was too hard to imagine what we were doing when we left without her. We followed her wishes and did not visit on day 3. However, we talked quite a bit on the phone throughout the day. I also talked to the social worker assigned to her. It was helpful to be able to give the social worker some input from my point of view. She felt very confident that my girl would be released on day 4 and set up a family meeting for 1:30 PM on day 4.

As my husband and I were pulling into the facility parking lot for the meeting, my phone starts exploding. The boy has now messaged my two sons (her brothers) and their respective girlfriend/fiance. The message was something about how concerned he was and he isn’t getting any help or response from “her mother”. The girls were the ones texting me at this point and I told them both to ignore him and that anything they said would be twisted and he would just throw it in Hannah’s face the minute she had her cell phone in her hand.

We had the meeting and were thrilled with what the social worker told us. The behavioral group felt Hannah would be much better suited for intensive out-patient therapy and that was set up for her. And out the door we went (yes there was other stuff regarding medication, etc). The minute we got in the car she wanted her phone. Before I handed it to her I showed her the exchange between me and the boy, just so she knew exactly what I said. She calls him from the back seat, my blood is boiling. Of course we can only hear her side of the conversation. I’m not sure how many times she apologized to him. Again, I am seeing red. She eventually hangs up and my only comment (right or wrong) was “you just got out of in-patient treatment and he is making you feel guilty and you have to apologize to him?” And that is all I said. Now, unbeknownst to me throughout the afternoon the boy and the brothers are messaging and it got UGLY. Very ugly. The boy threatened to kill my oldest and make sure his daughter grows up without a dad, just like him. This is the caliber of person we are dealing with. OMG – that night was just horrid. Even though she knew what was said in the messages, she still begged the boy to stay with her. All the alarms are going off in my head and the last thing I can do is scream at her that he is manipulating her, using her and abusing her. At this time I was also very disappointed in my sons. I know they love their sister. I know they were doing what they felt was best for her and protecting her and I appreciate that. I did not appreciate them then turning their backs on her because they felt she was choosing the boy over them. She is messed up in the head, just got out of the psych ward and is so confused about life she can’t see straight. She needed their support. Stop and think about it before you judge…………

It’s now been almost two weeks since she was in the hospital. We are learing to live with a new normal. She has been given a leave of absence from school. She will have five months to complete her final portfolio and have it judged. That is a huge stressor to cross off the list. Today, she returned the boys property (the usual t-shirts, sweatshirts). I can’t say they are officially over, but we are moving in the correct direction. I will occasionally send my girl links regarding domestic abuse, how it starts, what it looks like and I think she is finally admitting to herself that she was in a bad relationship. This boy treated her how she feels she should have been treated. She isn’t worthy of a nice guy because she is a piece of shit – her words, not mine. Therapy starts in two weeks (yes, the mental health system is amazingly fast), but in the meantime she is speaking with a life coach twice a week. I never thought much of the life coach crap – my opinion has now changed. My girl is learning to deal with and control her anxiety. She is relating to her life coach and enjoys every session. I think my girl reached her rock bottom. Now we do all we can to build her back up, support and love her the way she deserves.

Do I tell her….

I would like to apologize for the post yesterday. I should really wait a few days before throwing shit out there. But what fun would that be? And how cathartic would that be for me?

There are days I struggle with the overwhelming guilt of all the mistakes I made with my baby girl. Guilt that makes me want to stay in bed with the covers over my head. Guilt that makes my body physically ache. Guilt that gives me the overwhelming desire to sob for days.

Then there are the days that I struggle with anger. No, I struggle with RAGE, HATRED, FURY, RESENTMENT. And I HATE it. Some days it is towards all the bullshit we go through trying to get quality mental health support. Some days it’s resentment towards all the “perfect” social media family’s. I know it’s all for show, I know it’s not all rosy and perfect, but I’m fucking sick and tired of seeing it. What’s really going on in your house? And I don’t mean to sound like I want bad things to happen to people, but COME ON! Just once post about how shitty you day really was. Your boss is a dick, your fighting with your significant other over skid marks in the toilet, your kids teacher emailed about missing homework, you had to stop and get gas in the pouring rain, and you walk in the house to find the dog shit on the floor and no one cleaned it up. THAT’S REAL! Just once I wish I had the balls to post what I was really thinking on my social media or what actually happens in my world. Hell, I wish I had the balls to make this blog public to my social media.

Then there are the days that I want to scream and yell at my girl. This is the feeling I hate the most. As an adult, I know this is not her fault. I know there are thoughts and feelings she has a hard time dealing with. I knew when I decided to have kids it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. I didn’t think there would be days I would feel this way about my child. Do I tell her all these things? Do I make her feel worse? Do I make her feel guilty for being mentally ill? No, I can’t and I won’t. But this is my reality. There are days that I really want her to see that her disease isn’t only wreaking havoc in her life.

Do I tell her….(and there is no order to these, just as they pop in my demented brain)

I can’t do it anymore
I want to give up
I can’t keep stopping my life
I want to have fun again, but I feel like I can’t. How can I laugh with friends knowing you have suicidal thoughts?
I’m tired of canceling plans to babysit you. Take care of yourself for a change.
Stop making such stupid ass choices.
Next time you cut yourself, you might as well cut me. I feel it.
Do not make me find your body.
I want to have sex with my favorite person. We are both so exhausted with worry and fear. It’s not an excuse, it’s our reality.
I cancelled an anniversary/birthday party for me and your dad because I don’t know if you will be here for it. How do I plan a party when I might have to plan your funeral?
GET OUT OF YOUR FUCKING BED AND LIVE
I need my baby girl back, I want my baby girl back
I need to feel “normal” again
I need to see you smile
I need to see you love
I need to see you live

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this: