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.

Okay

I’m confused.  I’m torn.  I’m trying.  I’m failing.

My girl moved out (again), yesterday.  She was home for 6 days.  She caused disruption, angst, turmoil, and a flood of emotions I can’t begin to describe.  I say she caused it.  That makes me feel guilty.  Did she cause it or did her disorder cause it?  Or is it both? How do I separate that?  How do I separate her from her disorder?  Can I separate it?  As much as I tell her that she can’t let her disorder define her; I feel like that is what I am doing.  

When I think of my girl, the first thing I think of, and feel is chaos.  I no longer think of my little pink princess.  I hate that.  

How do I know when I have done enough for her?  I don’t think I have.  Should I be making appointments for her to psychiatrists and therapists? Should I be picking her up, taking her to appointments, watching her walk inside, waiting in the parking lot until she is finished and then take her back to him?  Should I take her to another state?  Will distance help?  Should I stop working to care for her?  How far do I go?  How much is enough?

I feel myself breaking a bit more each day.  I get annoyed at things I wouldn’t have a year ago.  I don’t like it.  I drink too much, and I eat too much.  Why am I so weak?  Why can’t I get a grip and control both?  I need to feel in control of something.  With everything else that is happening around me, why do I sabotage myself by doing things that I know are not healthy for me?  Yes, the drinking makes me forget for a bit; makes me fake happy, makes it easier to pretend I’m okay.  The food is my comfort, as fucked up as that is.  

I’m not okay.  

I AM NOT OKAY, but my girl is worse.

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.

Let me be your light

On the days when you feel sad and unhappy with the world

Let me be your light

On the days when your best just doesn’t feel good enough

Let me be your light

On the days when you don’t want to get out of bed 

Let me be your light

On the days when you question everything

Let me be your light

On the days when you feel like giving up

Let me be your light

On the days when you seek comfort in the darkness

Let me be your light

Let my light guide you back to me, back to love

Let my light help you find your way home

Let my light be your beacon

And then there were none…

I never thought it would happen this way.  I never thought my girl would move out to be with drippy dick.  To be with the person who mentally, emotionally, and physically abuses her.  But she did.  It happened today.  She told us last night.  I haven’t let it soak in yet.  I took a sleeping pill last night, so my mind didn’t go berserk.  Wrong way to handle it, I know.  Ironic thing is, a few nights ago – I believe it was Sunday night into Monday – I had constant nightmares about my girl and drippy dick.  I was fighting to keep her; he was fighting to take her from me.   My nightmare came true.  And I hate it.  I HATE IT. I HATE IT. I FUCKING HATE IT.  How did this happen?  How is this the life she wants?  When she told us, I asked if she was sure.  I told her I am scared for her mental and physical wellbeing.  I told her she needs to do what is right for her. I told her I will always love her.   My door will always be open, my light will always be on.

International Women’s Day

I had no idea it was International Women’s Day.  I had no idea there was an International Women’s Day.    My first failure as a woman.  Not my only failure and certainly not my last failure.  

How should I feel on IWD?  Empowered?  Uplifted?  Kick ass?  Take on the world?  I don’t feel any of those things.  And that’s no one’s fault except my own.  I TOTALLY own that.  I actually feel similar to that of a beached whale.  Bloated, sloshy, swollen, poke me with a stick and I will ooze grossness.  Others are staring at me, seeing what I’m feeling; I know they are.  Like the little old lady in Sixteen Candles; making squishing noises as I walk.  

I completely do it to myself.  I talk to myself all the time.  Make the right choices.  I know what the right choices are.  I don’t always make bad choices, but we always focus on the negative, right?  I ate a small bag of Goldfish.  I shall now perish in the flames of hell and feel like a fat cow the rest of the day.  But I promise myself to do better tomorrow.  But why should I do better tomorrow if I already failed today.  I know I’m just going to fail again tomorrow.  Might as well just say fuck it now and roll in a tub of Crisco and order some muumuu dresses right now for the upcoming spring and summer.  No reason to try to change, nothing ever changes anyway.  

I want to say nice things to myself.  I try to.  I fail at that, too.  I don’t have those tools in my toolbox.  I love helping others feel good about themselves and try to raise others up.  That makes me feel good.  Knowing I might have helped brighten someone’s day, even for just a brief second.  Why can’t I do that for me?  Wait!  I know this one!  Because I hate myself and I know I’m not worth it.  It takes much more time and effort to be happy and positive. 

I want to feel empowered; I need to feel empowered.  I want to feel uplifted; I need to feel uplifted.  I want to feel kick ass; I need to feel kick ass.  I want to take on the world; I need to take on the world.  So why the fuck do I let my size dictate that?  GODDAMN IT.  

Can I make the necessary changes as I am about the enter my 52nd year in this world? I can, but will I? Can I make me a priority? I can, but will I? I must at least try. I need to make a promise to myself to try.

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.

Self – part 1

I have been mulling over many different and personal topics about myself, but I never see a worth in putting those “things” into actual words. My mind is so full of baggage right now and I need to free up some valuable space in my head.

We all hold onto shit that we shouldn’t. Maybe a comment made by an acquaintance, or a co-worker that really shouldn’t matter, sometimes hits hard. I find this to be especially true when I am already feeling vulnerable and when I’m doing all I can to keep my shit together on a daily basis.

I will make this disclaimer on any and all posts titled Self. I do not know many of my followers personally, but I do know some. And all of the followers I know are from different realms of my life. If you feel you may be uncomfortable reading personal stuff – STOP HERE. If not – let’s go.

When I think about myself, I always try and see what others may see or think about me. Is it wrong? Yep, but we all do it. At least I think we all do it and if you don’t – I commend you and give you the biggest high five EVER. So, I ask myself – what’s the first thing that pops into my mind that describes me? FAT. Fat is the only word that pops into my head and it’s flashing on a giant marquee shining bright for all to see and it’s flashing directly above my head. Why? I dunno. I have chatted about this topic numerous times in various ways. I’m going to attempt to break it down, for me and you.

foodhappy foodcomfort foodhappy foodcomfort foodhappy foodcomfort you get the picture. It has always been that for me.

Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we? I honestly don’t remember tons from my very early childhood. Is that normal? I have no clue. If I try to think back, I get bits and pieces of different stuff. One memory that kinda starts my love/hate relationship with food is being at my great-grandmother’s house over the summer. She was my person, my Nana. Mom worked full-time so when summer vacation came, I was dropped off at Nana’s each weekday morning. My sister was dropped off at our grandparents house. This is where and when I started to realize families had favorites. The grandparents house was much different than Nana’s house. At the grandparents house things were…..sterile and unemotional. My sister was their princess. Another family fact I realized very early. She was/is beautiful, smart, thin, great hair, great skin, etc. Nana’s house was for me was learning how to scrub a kitchen floor on your hands and knees. Learning the feel of making pie dough from scratch, the smell when a cake is almost finished baking. Nana’s house was food and comfort. I know Nana saw the favoritism, I know Nana felt sad for me, I know Nana loved me unconditionally and that is why Nana fed me and hugged me and kissed my cheek. Now, in no way am I blaming Nana for my weight at any point in my life. There were numerous other adults that played a part. It’s kinda like the family was divided (even though it is a tiny family). One side was my sister’s “people” and one side was my “people”. And like kids do, my sister and I each played our role.

I was absolutely a chunky kid. No doubt about it. But when your older sister is a bean pole, even a slightly chunky younger sister sticks out like a sore thumb. I would say I was average through high school years, maybe a few pounds shy of above average. Remember, I’m talking the 80’s. Typically only the “druggies” were stick thin, or the “goths”, but that could have been from all the black they wore. In my circle of friends I was again, average. Our group of friends shared clothing, although my mom hated when I shared clothing because it would inevitably come back damaged in some way. But whatever!

I remember I always felt that I had to or at least wanted to have a boyfriend or someone that was interested. Didn’t matter who they were, what social group they were from, as long as I felt that someone……….accepted me. Yes, very pathetic. If I had all the time back that was spent trying to do things and look a certain way or act a certain way to get noticed, I could have been an all A student! Midway through my junior year in high school I met the boy that would become my husband and my soulmate. He actually liked ME, not a friend, not my sister, but ME. He was quite and shy, I was not. He was inexperienced, I was not. He was skinny, I was not. He made me happy, he still does most of the time. BUT, let’s not forget what my brain and happiness equals………….FOOD!

We had a totally fun filled dating life. Did all the stuff teenagers do. Went to the mall, we ate. Went to the movies, we ate. Went out with friends, we ate. We stayed home, we ate. He didn’t judge me, he didn’t mock me. He just loved me and we ate.

As the years went by, my weight steadily increased. I can’t sit here today and put my finger on exactly why it did, but it did. I was active, we were always doing something. I just don’t know.

We were married in 1991. I was 21, he was 22. First baby boy in 1993, second baby boy in 1996 and surprise baby girl in 2000. And yes, with each pregnancy came higher numbers on the scale. There was also TONS of family drama and fighting through those years. His family, my family. It was absolutely crazy. But we know what makes drama and fighting better (say it with me) FOOD! Yes, of course FOOD! The sweeter the better, the bigger the better!

I will say that through the late 1990’s and into the 2000’s I tried numerous different diets. I tried Weight Watchers, Deal-a-Meal, I went to Jazzercise classes. I would always manage to lose about 50 pounds and everything stopped dead. I would continue to try for a bit and then become hopeless and turn back to my good old friend – food.

Then I started to hear talk about weight loss surgery. I stuck my nose up at it; no way would I ever consider that. That’s for other people, not me. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

December 19, 2011, I had gastric bypass surgery. I went through the 6+ months of classes. Learned more than I could ever hope to learn about food and nutrition. I was so very fortunate to find a absolutely phenomenal weight loss group and surgeon. I followed every rule and guideline before and after surgery. I was proud of myself for a change, and that is very hard for me to say. But let’s talk numbers. That’s what we are all judge by – numbers. Our age, weight, clothing size, credit score, year of our car, cost of our house, etc.

When I actually had the surgery I was 305 pounds. I was morbidly obese. At my absolute lowest weight, I was 150. That was about 2-3 years after surgery. That was an impossible weight for me to maintain. I felt awful and did not look healthy. I know that’s a great excuse to gain weight, but it was true. I held fast at 165-175 for the next like 3 years. And then the numbers started climbing. I will not use my girl child problems as an excuse, I will say those issues certainly didn’t help. I stopped taking care of me and devoted time and energy to her. I will NOT ever regret doing that. I still don’t.

I am ultimately the only person that controls what goes into my body. I learned a new lifestyle in 2011 and I need to find it again and embrace it. I am currently holding around the 200 pound mark. It makes me cringe, it makes me feel like giving up, it makes me feel like a failure.

I have recently started to change some stuff. My husband and I got bikes, like the hybrid ones. There is a great rail-to-trail in our town. We went on three bike rides, increasing the distance a little each time. The third ride was 8 miles, we rode four miles out and turned around. One minor problem. Lady luck was not on my side. I honestly have the rhythm of the Jackson 5. I can dance, like really dance. My balance is another story. As we are turning around, we are also stopping for a water break. After all, we just rode 4 miles in the blazing sun and 90 degree heat! I have no clue what happened, but I am fairly sure my shoelace got stuck in the pedal and as I tried to get off the bike I kinda got thrown. Landed on both knees and my right elbow. I rolled to my back, arms up and told my hubby to help me up. He did. We had some water and I got back on the bike. He asked me about a million times if I was sure I wanted to continue, of course I didn’t want to continue but I NEEDED to continue! So I rode the 4 miles back to our car with blood running down both legs and my arm. I did notice my right shoulder getting stiff. I thought I might have jammed it or something and was seriously contemplating asking my hubby to give it a good yank to get it back in place. Glad I didn’t do that.

By the next morning I could barely move my arm. I was freaked. I drove to a local Orthopedic Urgent Care. X-rays were taken, physical exam completed. I have a fracture of some outer bone on my shoulder and the doc felt sure a “traumatic rotator cuff injury”. He never actually said the word surgery in my presence, but mentioned it would most likely need to be fixed. He ordered an MRI and set me up with an orthopedic doc in my town to follow up with. I go to my orthopedic doc tomorrow afternoon and got my MRI results today. I’m not a doctor, but words like “moderate full-size thickness tear” was used numerous times. I am assuming it is either the rotator cuff or other tendons. I decided not to be a Google doctor and wait until I see the professional tomorrow. Does my arm/shoulder hurt – YES. It is sore and feels heavy and gets very tired and achy. It sucks. Surgery will suck worse, but if it has to be, let’s get this shit going. I want to get back on the bike and feel proud for riding and not want to shove a donut in my face because I rode 8 miles!

Now, there is obviously stuff I let out. Not on purpose, just because gastric bypass surgery is very involved. During my recovery I started on liquids only and moved slowly through each phase of food. I exercised regularly. I will not say religiously because I think I had a good handle on what I could handle and what my body could handle. It had an effect on my relationships with friends and family. But please know that I am an open book when it comes to weight loss surgery. If you have questions, ask. I will answer honestly.

Thank you for reading. This is my therapy for the time being. Thinking about the possibility of surgery, recovery, not working and no paycheck, a new baby blessing our family in October, my girl child and her mental health journey (oh, she now has a dual diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar Disorder), the COVID crisis, the racial crisis, things are just so fucked up people! Where’s the food???????????????????????????? Just kidding, I hope.

I don’t know

I just don’t know anymore. I don’t want to stress anymore. I don’t want to worry anymore. I don’t want to care anymore. I just don’t want to anymore.

My girl went to her therapy yesterday. It was the first in-person session with her therapist since the virus. She also had her first group therapy. I will admit I was very worried that she would not go. I will also admit I was very scared that if she did not go, I would have to do something about it. I’m not sure what, but something would have had to happen. While my logical brain tells me it’s time for her to leave, my emotional mom mind tells me that is the worst possible thing at this point. And there really is no in-between, at least as I see it.

Back to the therapy. We, me and my husband, were sitting outside when our girl got home. It was later in the evening and she was hungry so she went in the house to get some food. She came back out and I began asking about how things went. It is a very slow process to get her to talk at times and I know I’m not always getting “the full story” so to speak. She didn’t seem overly thrilled about either the individual or the group therapy. She told me she promised her therapist she would commit to three months of the individual/group therapy. She promised not to go ghost. One thing that seemed to especially annoy her about the group part, is that the participants are not allowed to engage in any personal contact. She said it could create drama in the group and what if two people in the group are in crisis mode at the same? I won’t pretend to completely understand all of it. I get that they don’t want or need additional drama in a therapy setting. I don’t completely understand not being able to talk with someone that has been in the group therapy for support. But I’m not a therapist, so what do I know.

As we were talking drippy came up in conversation many times; many, many, many times. The short version is she wants us (mom & dad) to try again to have some type of relationship with drippy. According to my girl, drippy also wants this. Now, she also said she knows that he is not “ready” to try again at this point. I wish I could have recorded the conversation so I could go back and replay what was said. There was no fighting or arguing. I have said before that I refuse to do that with her, but she did not get mean, nasty and she didn’t shut down. Conversation went from therapy to drippy, back to therapy, to life in general.

My girl has a thought in her mind that since she is now 20 she should be at a different point in life. She should be independent, not relying on mom & dad for everything, have money for a car and an apartment and living expenses. I talked again about looking into in-patient places. Like actually look at them, not just talk about them. She gave the typical reasons why she didn’t think she wanted to do that. Family and missing the babies that we have been blessed with, leaving therapy and still having nothing because she can’t work and make money (still not sure where this money thing is coming from – but I have my ideas). I countered each reason the best why I could. I just really want her to consider it.

The conversations that dealt with drippy were the hardest. She wants our approval to be with him, she wants him to be included, she wants to talk about him with us. I don’t know how to deal with that. HE BEAT HER. She defends him and she admitted she knows she does. She said we only know the bad about him and their relationship because that is all she has shared. She wants to talk to us about the good parts, how he treats her (?), how he is what she needs right now and she wants him in her life. She reiterated these thoughts and feelings quite a few times and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it. Right now drippy is holding the trump card, and it’s a red ace of hearts – he has my girls heart whether we like it or not. I don’t mean to make it sound like this is a game and my girl is the prize. It’s just the best way I can explain a really shitty situation. I am scared what this will mean for the future. I am scared choices will have to be made and none of the choices are good. I am scared that the immediate family will pull away from her, more than they already are.

And this is why I just don’t know anymore.