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.

Let’s play a game…

Everyone likes games, right? Play the what if game with me. It’s a game my mind likes to play at 2AM when I need sleep. A game that I play as I cry in the shower. A game that makes my heart race and my blood pressure rise. A game that I play everyday, whether I want to or not.

What if – my girl tells me she’s going to point A (a friends) but really goes to point D (drippy dick)? And I have no idea where she is or how to help her if she gets in trouble.

What if – I tell my girl that I feel very little joy in my life, and her disorder is to blame?

What if – I tell my girl I can’t stand being in the house with her?

What if – I tell my girl I feel I am walking on eggshells all the time?

What if – I tell my girl I want my life back?

What if – I tell my girl I’m allowed to feel happy, sometimes?

What if – I tell my girl that my world has to stop revolving around her?

What if – I tell my girl I am becoming sad and depressed, too?

What if – I tell my girl I am not looking forward to a week vacation with her along?

What if – my girl keeps lying?

What if – my girl never knows happiness in her life?

What if – the drug of choice gets stronger and scarier?

What if – I tell my girl she has to decide if she is living here or with drippy?

What if – my girl decides to live with drippy and gets beat, again?

What if – my girl doesn’t go to therapy tomorrow (for the third time in a row)?

What if – my girl continues to cut her arms and now her thighs?

What if – one of those cuts hits just the right spot?

What if – things never change?

What if – I finally unload all this on my girl and all my feelings and thoughts come pouring out of my mouth and I can’t stop them?

What if – my honesty pushes my girl over the edge?

What if – my girl can’t handle my truth?

What if – those are the last words I ever get to say to my girl?

What if, what if, what if, what if?

What if is a fucked up game to play.

Reality

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

Self harm and this was a mild one

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.

deja vu

It’s here again, the cycle. My girls never ending cycle of ups and downs, love and hate, happy and sad, but never safe.

Last week, drippy dick had a court appearance of some kind for the charges that were filed against him. As a reminder, after drippy beat my daughter he decided to drive her home out of the kindness of his heart. On the way they continued to verbally fight with each other and he stopped at a Burger King and told her to get out of his car. She got her shit out of the car and went into the restaurant. He ends up threatening the manager and stated something to the effect that he had a gun and is going to come back and shoot the place up. Threats continue to the manager and my girl, and she gets back in his car to stop the scene. Drippy was charged with Terroristic Threats, a felony 3 and Harassment, a misdemeanor 2. COVID-19 slowed everything court related until last week.

Last Tuesday my girl sent me a message that she had to go to court on Wednesday. I was confused because she was not subpoenaed. She said she had to be there to support him. Right.

She didn’t come home until Thursday evening and was very quiet. I knew questioning her would set her off so I decided to text her….I am the green box and please excuse the mistakes, I was not in the best frame of mind.

So, basically she is going to go and support the person who beat her prior to this incident. Will she be called to testify? I have no clue. Will she lie if she is called? Yes.

She has now missed two therapy appointments in a row. For some reason the missed appointment calls come to my cell phone. The appointments (which are still being handled over the phone) are scheduled for every Wednesday. I asked her the last two weeks how the appointments went and she said fine. Here comes the cycle.

Today, just about an hour ago, I am at work and I get a Facebook message…..I am pink, my girl has her face…

I leave work, drive home not knowing what will be waiting for me. He has access to her facebook messenger, again. Is it for real? Is he being an asshole? I have no way of knowing. My mind is crazy with thoughts of what I will find when I get home, will she be willing to get help this time, so many thoughts. She is in her room, tear stained face. She tells me she is fine. I ask to see her arms, she won’t show me. I ask what’s going on. She answers nothing. I ask again about her arms. She won’t show me. This back and forth goes on for about 10 minutes. She tells me to go back to work. She just stares at her laptop screen and pretends she is watching Netflix. I eventually walk out.

I am constantly worried. I worry constantly. I stress constantly. I think I can handle it. I think I can handle everything. I think I can be Wonder Woman. I pacify myself with food. Food makes it better. Food fixes everything. Food takes the pain away. I harm myself with food, my girl harms herself with razors and scissors.

There will be another bomb exploding soon. The bombs are coming closer together. Her bombs create craters that I am constantly stuck in. She’s fine, I’m fine, everything is fine.

Just a typical Saturday

Just another typical Saturday. I have the timer on my phone set so I can get the towels hung up on the wash-line as soon as they are finished. The sheets and blankets are already out and drying. Who doesn’t love the smell of sheets and towels that have been hanging outside for hours?

Just another typical Saturday. The sound of the neighborhood is the background noise. Lawn mowers, power washers (shit, I have to remember to get the power washer from my parents – note to self), darks barking, and kids laughing.

Just another typical Saturday. My girl child told me yesterday she doesn’t have the fight to live anymore. She wants to give back the life I gave her. She doesn’t want it. She is tired, so very tired of fighting. She is so very tired of pretending everyday is just another typical day.

I can’t explain what that does to me. She is sitting in front of me baring her soul to me. Telling me her truest feelings and emotions. And all I can do is sit and listen. We talk about options. The only real option is signing herself into the hospital, again. She decided to call her current therapist and talk to her about what some options might be or what the therapist might suggest. She called, the office is closed on Friday due to COVID-19. She doesn’t get a call back . We talk about the hospital still being an option or if she feels she will be safe at home, wait until Monday and see what the therapist has to say. We are open and honest with each other in the fact that if she goes into the hospital on a Friday night, nothing will be done or put into motion until Monday morning anyway. However, my concern is will she be safe. She told me she doesn’t have a plan to end her life and doesn’t feel like she will do anything stupid right now – but she feels it is coming to that. She admitted she is pushing us away because it would make it easier for her to leave. She wouldn’t feel as guilty if she didn’t think we cared or if she pushed hard enough for us to give up on her.

My girl feels lost and hopeless. I feel lost and hopeless. She told me the only reason she is still alive is because of me and her dad and her niece. She is not alive for herself. Wow. Think about that. Seriously, think about that. Not having anything within your self or joy in your life. Remember, as you begin to judge her – she is fighting an invisible monster NO ONE can see, NO ONE can feel, NO ONE can imagine fighting. This is not a phase, this is not a “get over it” kind of situation. This is real. It is very, very real.

Am I being selfish with my girls life? Of course I don’t want her to end her life and not be in my world. But how much can one person take? How much can one person fight? When is it enough?

My timer went off.

Just a typical Saturday.

Another jumbled mess – my apologies

Is it just me or does anyone else feel like the shower is the best place for thinking? Each morning when I am in standing in the beautifully hot water my mind becomes awakened. Thoughts and ideas are plentiful and I can’t wait to get to work to make notes and then write an amazing post that will draw in hundreds of readers and followers. In the shower I know it will epic and potent and raw and real. I KNOW IT!

Then I walk into work and the life force gets sucked out of me. I convince myself that my thoughts aren’t epic, my ideas aren’t potent and that the only raw and real part of my daily life is the feeling of – eh. I hate it. I despise it.

Someone asked me recently what is happening with the girl child. Well, nothing. She is working, which is good. She is doing phone therapy, which is bad. I know, after all the posts about needing therapy and I say it’s now bad. Let me explain. She was accepted into a DBT program – AWESOME! It includes individual and group therapies – AWESOME! She had two individual therapy sessions and was waiting for the group sessions to start; and then COVID-19 hit. Everything was cancelled, individual therapy became phone therapy. I ask how it’s going, she say’s fine. At one point she said she doesn’t know why she is bothering because the phone therapy is awful, she is getting nothing out of it, she needs the one on one. She is ready to give up on it completely. She knows if she does give up on it, there will be consequences.

Is she still seeing drippy dick? I don’t know. About a month ago she posted a picture of them with the caption “you and me against the world”. Wow, did that piss me off. Where has he been in the process of helping her get well? How is the person that beat you going to help you? Seriously, WTF? My girl is home more now than she had been in the last 5 months. Probably 3 times a week she leaves to stay over at a friends house. No, I’m not an idiot. Is she going to him? Probably, most likely, yes. Here is the part I hate to admit. When she is home, it is uncomfortable. She feels, we feel it. We are waiting for the next “thing” that sets her off and choose our words carefully – if we speak at all, and she is waiting for us to ask about drippy, which would cause the next episode. I don’t like being uncomfortable in my house. When she is in her room for hours on end, I feel guilty. Is she in her room because she wants to be or because she feels just as uncomfortable as we do? UGH. When she isn’t home, of course I worry, but it’s different some how. At the end of the day, it’s still emotionally draining and exhausting.

I did have my first therapy session. I found a psychologist that I felt comfortable with and felt I could be me. I found the doc through a friend/co-worker and was able to chat with the doc prior to my first appointment. It was nice because at the first official appointment we didn’t have to spend the entire hour on the background of my girl and what was happening. At the beginning of the appointment I was asked what I’m hoping to gain from therapy. Good question. I said I needed help dealing, I needed ideas to help me help her. We went through what we have done to help her so far, how we deal with her episodes, blah, blah, blah. At the end the doc looked at me and said, “You are doing all you can do. I don’t know what else I can tell you to do or try.” The doc had one suggestion to try to get my girl into a group home for mentally unstable people. Ummmm, no. I know what goes on in those places, especially homes that are run by the local county or state. Nope, not happening. No way in hell. So, I guess we wait. We wait for therapy to begin again, we wait for group therapy to begin and help her learn the life skills she needs. I’m tired of waiting.

I wanted to write about music

I wanted to write about sex

I wanted to write about dreaming

Maybe next time.

me

My girl was released last Monday (2/17). She was happy to be “out” and said it felt like she hadn’t been in the real world for months. Appointments for follow-up care were made through the facility. Today is her first appointment with a facility that provides the DBT treatment recommended for BPD. She will have two weeks of one-on-one therapy/counseling to assess if she is serious about therapy and learning new skills. If it is deemed she is not serious, we are back to square one. If she decides she doesn’t want to be in treatment, she is back to square one. At this point I have no clue if she will go to this first appointment or not. If she doesn’t, I don’t know what is next.

Her first night home she came to me later in the evening and asked if she could go to a friends house for the night that lives in our town. She doesn’t have to ask my permission, she is 19 years old. I asked all the questions, who, why, where, etc. She told me she was worried about being alone all day the following day and having nothing to keep her mind busy. So, she left for the night.

What pissed me off the most was the following day, she never bothers to contact me until late in the afternoon. But, I get over it (again). She was home Tuesday by early evening. Wednesday, she left for a friend that lives in the same town that drippy lives in. Now, supposedly this friend despises drippy and is very against my girl being involved with him. I tell her all my concerns and apprehensions. But she goes. She returns home Friday early afternoon. I had limited contact with her Wednesday – Friday, but did ask about drippy and if she was going to be seeing him. I was told she did not yet know what she was going to do, but if she did decide to see him her friend would be there so she was safe (picture me modding my head with a very disgusted look on my face). At some point Friday I asked her if she saw/talked to drippy. She said she talked to him on the phone. Later that evening I notice a mark on my girls neck. How I remained calm I do not know. It was a hickey. I called her out on it, to which she replied she only saw him for a few minutes…………at that point I could actually feel the tiny amount of hope I was holding onto seep from my body. I was a pile of sludge on the floor, no bones, no feelings – just sludge. I sent my girl a text late Friday night when I was tossing and turning. I just realized I deleted it, but basically said something like – He is claiming you by marking you with a hickey. He is showing us he is back in control. Dad and I don’t want to control you, we want to help you on your path to recovery.” I got no response.

This is now the me part. This may contain little bits of information about my past and my emotional hang-ups.

I haven’t slept an entire night for a long time. Since seeing the hickey on Friday, I feel more defeated than I have in a very long time. I tend to be a natural born caregiver. Growing up (and no I’m not complaining, just stating facts) I had to be the adult at times. At times I take on more than I should, but I want to be able to do it all for the people I love and care about. But, I also wish during times like these that the people around me understood how incredibly hard and draining this situation with my girl is. There are nights where I want to go to bed at 6PM and honestly I need to. I’m not good at raising my white flag and admitting I feel defeated. Right now I feel so completely selfish and I HATE THAT. I hate that I feel like I am sabotaging my health and other personal relationships to keep my girl safe. I don’t want to resent my girl and her mental health issues. I guess I wish more of the people around me understood that. I wish they could see me silently screaming from the inside. But I try to smile and keep up a fake front, so it’s really my flaw and issue to deal with.

I have a bay window in my dining room FILLED with glass balls, all different sizes, shapes and colors. I love that window. It makes me happy. I keep having a dream where all the balls start falling and breaking. It starts slowly and as I am running to the window to try and save them, they start falling faster and faster. I have no control or power to stop them from falling and breaking and I can never replace them. Of course I know what this means, I’m not a complete idiot.

As a society, there is so much information shoved down our throats about practicing self-care, putting yourself first. But is that really possible? To truly and honestly take care of myself, right now, the first thing I would need to do is quit my job. Why? Because five days a week, for nine hours a day I am surrounded by what my life is like at home with my girl. I may or may not have mentioned at one point that I work in a police department office. I’m currently in my 31st year. My hours at work are filled with reminders. The domestic calls. The little spats that after a few months turn into violent assaults. The mental health calls, people threatening suicide, attempting suicide, committing suicide. Every day it surrounds me – at home, and at work – all the time “it” is in my face and in my head. It’s too much and it’s overwhelming. What happens when I quit my job of 31 years and the salary and benefits that come with it stop? I create another stress. Money isn’t everything, but living in this world isn’t free. I need the health benefits. I don’t have a huge pension waiting for me when I can’t continue to work. I need to work or find a way to become independently wealthy. I don’t take tropical vacations, hell I don’t take vacations period. The leave time I have benefits not only me, but my family as well. I am permitted to use my time for family related issues. My girl currently being a family related issue that takes up quite a bit of my leave time. And of course the health benefits that help pay for all the various treatments, doctor appointments, and medications for my girl are invaluable at this time. So, what do I do?

I have not participated in any physical activity that is for my health in over a year. That is all on me and it makes me so fucking mad at myself. In December of 2011, I had gastric bypass surgery. At the time I was just a bit over the 300 pound mark. It was something that I did for me and it was a decision I have not regretted. It was hard, but I did it. At my lowest I was down to almost 140. But that was just not maintainable and I honestly did not like the way I looked. Yes, I could fit into a size I never was in before, but there is more to me than a size – right? I felt very comfortable with myself and my body around 170. I have exceeded that weight over the last 8 months.

One thing I found out about myself going through the gastric bypass journey, food is a comfort to me. It started as a kid. I’m not blaming anyone, that is just the way it was growing up. All emotions and feelings are wrapped around food, happiness, sadness, loss, pain – eat and it will be OK. I also grew up with a sister who always thin and beautiful. That is not her fault and I’m in no way blaming her for my issues, but my family had a way to constantly compare me to her – as far as our physical shape. Anyway, food has again become a comfort. I eat when I’m not hungry. I eat things I know I shouldn’t. I am the only one who can control what goes into my body and I’m failing myself.

As I fail myself in controlling my weight, I find myself revisiting the old feelings of body image issues. I already talked about one of my issues, that of constantly comparing myself to my sister. However, I know it goes deeper than that. Here is one of my dark little secrets.

I know it was a Saturday night in 1984, I was 14. I know it was a Saturday night because I was up late watching Saturday Night Live. If I close my eyes I can picture the living room. I can describe in detail where the sofa, TV, chairs, and plants were. I can see the pattern of the sofa and the color of the carpet. Anyway, a family friend stopped at the house. I was the only one awake, my mom was upstairs asleep and my sister was probably out with friends. I’m not sure exactly how the person became a family friend, but he was around quite a bit. He was 21 or 22 at the time. That would be 7 or 8 years older than me. I assume the door to the house was unlocked because my sister wasn’t home yet. At the time I don’t remember it seeming odd that he stopped by the house that late. Now, I find it very odd. This was someone I always felt very comfortable with. Never got a creepy vibe. Probably considered him like an older brother or uncle type person. I knew at that time that he had a thing for my sister, but she was in no way interested in him. Back to the story. I was laying down on the sofa watching SNL. He came in and sat down on the sofa, closest to my head (I was laying on my stomach). For a little while we just watched TV. At some point his arm/hand end up on my back area. And then he decided to show me his penis and what a penis does. While he is jerking off right in front of my face, his hand works down my back to my ass and under my PJ’s and he starts touching me in places he should never have touched. When he was “finished” he left. Why didn’t I jump up and scream, why did I let it happen, why didn’t I tell my mom? I was scared, I was confused, I was hurt.

Guess what the one thing my 14 year old brain took from that incident? I didn’t need to be skinny or beautiful to get attention. I found out I had other “things” that boys wanted and it didn’t matter if my “things” were covered in a layer or two of fat. This made the 14 year old feel wanted, needed and comforted. Fortunately, my soul mate came into my life a few years later and showed me he could love me for me and not my “things”. There are times I still struggle with body image. I think I felt more comfortable being naked at 300 pounds with my husband than I do now. But he knows that and loves me anyway.

I feel like I am now totally off topic! Sorry about that. I think the purpose of this post is just to give whoever is reading this a little background on me and how all that happens in our lives effects us forever and shapes us mentally, emotionally and physically. So while I face my everyday stresses and struggles, I tend to revert back to old practices of comfort. I am trying change. I will continue to try for all the people I love and care about. I need to be the best me I can be. I owe myself that.

control

Monday morning I got a call from my girl. She was in crisis mode. She didn’t want to live. She couldn’t take the mental pain of the last few days and she knew she needed help or she wouldn’t make it.

We took her to the same facility where she checked herself into almost a year ago. She went through the assessment and was deemed worthy of being a patient.

My girl called me a few times on Monday, but she also called drippy. Drippy told her he was at the courthouse for the charges filed against him and told her a few lies about the charges and what would be happening. He also blamed her for him having to now hire an attorney to help him fight the charges. I was not happy that she called him. The person who physically abused her and choked her. She asked me about the things he said and I cleared up what I could. I am familiar with the criminal justice system and most of what he told her were lies.

I didn’t hear from her at all on Tuesday during the day. This was very odd to me. Previously, she called me four or five times a day. By 7PM Tuesday evening I called the facility and spoke to her. She said she was busy all day and the phones were tied up, but she was doing alright. Not great, but alright. I accepted that. I was glad she was doing well enough and didn’t feel the need to call me as much.

This morning (Wednesday), I received a call from the social worker assigned to my girl. She happened to be the same one that my girl had the last time. She wanted to touch base about my concerns or questions about my girl. I obviously told her my biggest concern was drippy and the abuse situation. The social worker was aware of the situation, but my girl wasn’t willing to give her a lot of information and shut down when the topic was mentioned. The social worker told me that my girl would possibly be released on Friday and that we had to have plans in place for follow-up care and therapy. I told the social worker about the places I had researched, and unfortunately in this insurance/money based health care world, she is pushing a treatment facility that is affiliated with the short term care facility. It is not a good place, but there might not be other options.

Tonight was a visitation night. Myself, my husband, my son and daughter-in-law went to visit. Only two people are allowed to visit at one time so my son and daughter-in-law went in first and then my husband and I. When my son and daughter-in-law came out they said she seemed good. I was hopeful. When she saw me, she jumped in my arms and hugged me, really hugged me. Of course she did the same to her dad. We sat down to chat. I asked about her finger, told her she didn’t look quite as tired. She told us about a medication she was put on and how that was making her feel. We talked about the options of therapy when she is released. I asked the general question of how everything else is going and she immediately told us that she had to go to court for drippy. That she was going to be subpoenaed to testify on his behalf. I asked how she found that out and of course it’s because she is calling him from the facility. She is also apparently calling his mom, and his mom is telling my girl how drippy is going to get therapy and things will be perfect. I expressed, very calmly I might add, that I didn’t feel that it was a good plan to continue the contact with him while she is trying to mentally and physically heal. She then told me that someone that works at the facility also has BPD and my girl has talked to her about the drippy situation. According to my girl, this person said there is no reason that drippy can’t be in my girls life and they can continue their relationship……………..WTF? What am I not getting? Is my girl hearing what she wants to hear or is this actually being said. She was now going into shut down. She acknowledged that she doesn’t know what she should do and maybe she should just stay in “this fucking place forever.” That tells me she is no where close to being ready to be released for her own good. I asked her thoughts about going to a place out of state. Nope, she is not going out of state. However, after the abuse incident she wanted to get away. But he again has his fingers in her brain and is manipulating her once again. Is she allowing it? Yes, she is. Does she realize it? I don’t honestly know. He has her so brainwashed that I don’t know if it’s the disorder causing it or he is truly that talented at manipulation. It was time for visiting to end. She was upset and crying when we left and she promised me she would call me. No call as of yet. That was almost two hours ago.

I called her social worker and left a message about our visitation and all my concerns. I’m sure it sounds like a rambling bunch of nonsense, but that’s where I’m at. My ability to process much more is limited at best.

In my heart – at this time – I truly feel she will go back to him and either he will take her life or she will take her own life.

I will fight with all that I have to save my girl, my beautiful baby girl.

Shattered

I feel like I have been sitting here staring at the computer screen for hours. Trying to find the words to describe what I am feeling. I am at a loss. One of my worst fears has come true.

It all started Thursday afternoon. I was at work, actually in the middle of a webinar with my boss. The phone rang and it was my girl. I was immediately on high alert because I didn’t recognize the number showing on caller ID. She was crying and obviously upset. She asked if I could meet her at home in about an hour. Of course I said yes and I asked about the number she was calling from. She said she didn’t have her phone, but she would be home in an hour. She hung up.

I left work and headed home. My mind was racing. Now what? I got home and sent her a message on Facebook, not knowing if she had access to her messenger or not. I asked her if she was hurt. She sent a text message back saying “mentally”. A few minutes later she sent a text saying “physically”. I asked “did he lay his hands on you?” Her response “Not necessarily. I fell down the stops. My finger hurts. Might be jammed or something. I tripped over a bunch of crap trying to leave his room and fell over everything possible and fell into the wall and hit my eye.” Yes, I’m sure anyone reading had the same reaction as me – BULLSHIT.

My middle son happened to be home from work and came to the house to be there with me when she got home. My husband was not able to get to the house in time. I had no idea who was bringing her home. I assumed it would not be drippy dick since obviously they had some type of fight. I’ll be damned if it wasn’t him that drove up to the house. She was in the backseat, he was driving. My son went outside to make sure my girl got into the house safely. I saw her getting out of the back, red puffy eyes, crying, grabbing all her stuff. I saw drippy trying to get out of the car and my son holding the door shut so he couldn’t get out. I stepped outside to make sure nothing happened between my son and drippy. We eventually get my girl inside and drippy leaves.

My girl was just completely distraught. Sobbing, gasping for breath, basically a panic attack. When she could, she told us they had a fight, she tripped on stuff in his room, fell into a wall and then fell down the stairs. Her index finger on her left hand was swollen and black and blue. Her right eye was red and you could see the start of a bruising. I probed as gently as possible about the injuries and how they were sustained. She insisted drippy did not touch her. I had contacted a very close friend and someone I work with to talk to my girl. This person is familiar with domestic violence and I felt would give my girl some insight and be able to remain even tempered. My girl was very receptive to all that was said. She said she was at the point where she wanted help for her disorder and would like to go to a place I had found. It is in Boston, is only for women and is a two week in-patient treatment center for Borderline Personality Disorder. It helps patients regain control and gets them ready for the actual DBT treatment when they leave.

While we were talking, I noticed two police cruisers in front of our house. This was odd. They came to the door and asked to talk to my girl. She freaked. They said they were asked by another police department to stop by and make sure my girl was okay and get her contact information so an officer could call and talk to her. Come to find out that while drippy was driving my girl home, he pulled into a fast food place and told her to get out of his car. She did. She went inside with her stuff, sat down and asked the manager if she could charge her phone (he gave her the phone at some point) so she could call for a ride. The manager could obviously see she was upset and told her that was fine. Drippy comes into the place screaming and yelling at her, telling her to get in the car because he will take her home. The manager tells him to leave. I can only imagine how much of an ass drippy was. While drippy is outside the place he yells that he is going to come back later and shoot the place up. I am fairly certain there was more than just that said by drippy, but I don’t need to know. In order to diffuse the situation, my girl leaves the fast food place and gets back in the car. Drippy does bring her home. But now she is just over the edge. The sight of the officers threw her into a true panic attack. It took some time, but she eventually calmed down. I don’t think her body had the strength to continue.

My girl took a shower, and we got a small bit of food in her. This was in the midst of sobbing. I took her to get her finger checked. It was fractured and needed to be splinted. At some point we all went to bed, not that anyone really slept.

I stayed home Friday to be with my girl. We called the place in Boston to start the process, only to find out there is an 8 week waiting list. This sends her into a tailspin. She had her mind made up she wanted to go and she wanted to go now. I eventually get her to agree to see a general therapist for the time being and hope she will get in before 8 weeks.

We continued talking throughout the morning. Again, I can only push so hard and far or she will shut down. At one point she said “I might as well tell you what really happened. He did touch me.” I almost threw up. She said they had been fighting and she needed to leave. She was shoving stuff into her bag and was kneeling on the floor. He walked by her and basically hip-checked her, knocking her down. This infuriated her more and she continued to yell at him. At one point he pushed her into a wall, causing the black eye. He then sat on her chest (she is tiny), making it difficult for her to breath and then choked her until she was close to blacking out and kicked her while she was down on the floor. When she got him off of her, she grabbed her stuff and ran down the stairs. She said she did fall down the steps because she was going so fast. She got outside, had her bags, but not her phone. He wouldn’t give her the phone. So she approached some random stranger and asked to use his phone, which he allowed. This is the phone call I received at work. Why drippy ended up driving her home I don’t understand. I do know through talking to my girl, he was controlling every aspect of her life, he was manipulative and used her disorder against her.

Drippy started contacting her Friday. He told her he was being charged for the incident at the fast food place and it was all her fault. I checked court records and found he was charged with Terroristic Threats, a felony and a misdemeanor Disorderly Conduct charge. Oh, I almost forgot. My girl also told me drippy had a gun. That scares me more than I can tell you. As of this post, drippy has still not been picked up on the charges.

After finding out the information about drippy assaulting my girl, I started the conversation of filing charges and obtaining a Protection from Abuse order. She agreed. I got her in the car and headed to pick my husband up at work to go with us. While we were driving she answered a call from drippy. She kept saying what he did wasn’t right. You don’t choke someone you love. That he should turn himself in and face what he has coming. By the end of their conversation she had shut down. She said she couldn’t handle pressing charges or applying for the PFA and she just wanted to go home. So we turned around and came home. We are still trying to get her to reconsider.

My girl is still very confused and lost. But she is home. I will take that for the time being.

Struggling

Some days I can find a spot in my brain to tuck away all the emotional bullshit. Today is not that day.

Last night I had a dream that my girl was dead. I don’t know how she died, where she died or any other specifics. I just knew she was gone forever. I was in a car with my mom, an aunt and my grandmother who passed recently. They were all bad mouthing my girl and saying horrible things. I was so upset and I couldn’t get them to listen to me or hear me when I tried to explain that she was a beautiful and wonderful person who was afflicted with a horrible mental illness.

I am exhausted today. Drained and depleted of any and all positive or happy emotions.