My girl left. She packed her car Sunday and moved back to drippy dick. Back to the place I have been paying rent for. I’m guessing this has been going on for at least a month, if not longer. Did she go to therapy, ever? Will she continue? Will this be the end of her?
She did leave us a litter box full of cat piss and shit. So there’s that.
I can’t believe she did it to me again. I mean, I can. I suspected as much, or I wouldn’t have taken that drive yesterday. I had my suspicions; I didn’t want them to be true. But they are true. My girl is back with him. I probably started to get suspicious about a month ago. I am assuming she went to her therapy as she was supposed to, but I won’t be able to verify that until the health insurance claims start rolling in. And even then, I don’t know if I will be able to tell how many days she attended. I figured she was smart enough to not call him from the cell phone I pay for. I can, and do, check those records on a regular basis. But there are so many other ways for them to be in contact with each other.
She started to talk about old friends. Friends that I hadn’t heard about in at least a year or more. But I am trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. And I was happy she was hanging out with friends. She never brought the friends home, her excuse being the state of her room. Okay, I get that. But some of her old habits started to surface. Not calling or texting if she wasn’t coming home for the night. Not coming home after her therapy sessions were over. But, again, I wanted to support her. Make sure she knew how proud I was of her and that I knew she was struggling and hurting.
Her birthday was the end of June. I made sure everyone knew she needed gift cards. She has no job, her savings is depleted. Gift cards for gas, food, etc. Now I feel like I duped everyone. Did the gift cards get used on her or did they get used on him? Is she really that dumb? Not only that, but I have been paying half of her rent since May because she signed a lease with drippy dick and he threatened to sue her civilly if her half wasn’t paid. Four months of paying half his rent. Four months of paying her outrageously high car insurance (because she had so many violations.) Helping her with supplies for her cat, toiletries, the food she likes, a new mattress, new bedding. Putting things I wanted to do in my house on hold because she moved home and the room I was using as a storage room while renovating another room, she now occupies.
Oh, and I believe it was last week, she told me that one friend she talks about and supposedly was doing things with, had found an apartment with a boyfriend and they needed stuff for the apartment. When we moved her away from drippy dick, we took the plate set, pots/pans and microwave because I bought them. I scrubbed everything clean and packed them away in the event she ever needed them again. She asked if she could give the items to her friend because they were desperate for household items. Of course, I said yes. I’m now willing to bet my house that those items are back in the apartment with drippy dick.
And I can’t forget that I spent hours filling out her disability paperwork, because it was just so overwhelming for her. It is currently under medical review. I also applied for state health insurance for her. She told me that her therapist told her private insurance does not cover what state (basically welfare) health insurance covers. And, since I want her to stay in therapy and get all the help possible, I did all the work. She received her benefit card last week. She was supposed to take it along to therapy and find out what could be done. As of Friday, therapy was over for her.
I couldn’t sleep well Saturday into Sunday. I just had this feeling…………that feeling of something not being “right” with her. The feeling worked its way into every part of me. I decided mid-morning on Sunday that I needed to drive by the place drippy dick rents. I needed to see for myself. Was her car there, or wasn’t it? I realize there are many different scenarios that could have happened. But only one happened. Her car was there. AND IT FUCKING KILLED ME. I took a picture, so I had my proof. I felt like I was going to throw up. All the hope I had was gone for my girl. I am still numb. I still can’t believe it; I don’t want to believe it. I saw it. No matter what her excuse is, I saw it. I am starting to get pissed off and very angry.
Now the question is, what do I do? She came home Sunday early evening because the family was getting together for my mom’s (her grandmother’s) birthday Sunday evening. I was cool towards her, but we all know I can act like a Tony award winning actress. She tried to talk about therapy. She was very loud, and I think was doing it so everyone could hear her and maybe pity her or something. I told her to stop talking about it and it could be discussed later. She left earlier than anyone else with the excuse she was going to her friend’s house. She never came home last night, never sent a message or called. As of right now, she still isn’t home. She is once again treating my home like a Holiday Inn. She has the bathroom and her room destroyed, again.
It’s time. I know it’s time. It will probably be the single hardest thing I have done as a parent up until this point. I need to kick her out and that’s it. No more bills paid for her. I have to stop. She obviously didn’t hit rock bottom like I thought. I hate to see what rock bottom is for her.
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.
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.
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. 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.
A friend used the word torture to describe how I am letting my girls mental illness affect my life. It is true, so very true.
The torture starts when my alarm goes off. Did she hurt herself overnight? Is she dead or alive in her room? Do I go check or do I check to see the last time she was active on Facebook Messenger? I check her social media accounts that I can see and scan her posts. Is she depressed? Is she happy? Is she fighting with drippy? Does she hate me?
The torture continues at work. When the radio is keyed up and the dispatcher sends officers to a house because someone is suicidal, or someone just found a loved one dead, or someone is having a mental crisis. It all reminds me of my girl and what her illness has created in my life. I continue to check her social media throughout the day for hints of what my evening will bring. I wait for the cameras we installed to notify me that the dogs have been left out. That means she is alive and actually out of bed. Or the driveway camera captures her leaving. Where is she going? Who is she going to see? Will she come back? Why doesn’t she tell me where she is going? Would she even tell me the truth?
On the drive home the torture continues. What will I find when I get home? Will she be in her room? Will she be dead or alive in her room? Will there be dog pee on the floor because she couldn’t get out of her room to let them out? Will there be dirty dishes piled in the sink that she finally got out of her room? Will she be in a decent mood? Will I have to walk on egg shells? Why don’t I want to be in my own home with her there? Why don’t I have a save place? Will she show her face to eat dinner? Did she eat at all today? Did she drink anything today? Did she take her meds? I can’t ask her because it might set her off.
Late evening/overnight is much of the same torture. She says she is leaving to go to a friends house. Is she? Does she go to drippy? Will she crash because she is upset or high? Will she come home? I wait for the cameras to notify me that she pulled into the driveway. I wait and listen for her to come up the stairs and go into her room. I fall into a restless sleep.
The torture continues when my alarm goes off.
The stress makes me itchy. My hands itch, my face and head itch. I talked to my family doc. There is no physical reason for the itching. I feed my stress, which creates additional stress. I am not enjoying my life. I have wonderful friends who I love dearly. I am lucky to be sharing my life with my soulmate and I love him. I have two other kids who I think feel sorry for me and I see their relationships with my girl changing. I can’t blame them for that. They get caught in the wake of her illness. I have the most beautiful granddaughter. She brings me happiness. Her innocence, her laughter, her unconditional love. But I know I could give her more of me if things were different. I will soon have a grandson. I can’t wait to meet him and snuggle him. It will be another milestone in my life. But will it be overshadowed by my girl? Why do I have to worry that something will create friction during a time that should be full of love and happiness.
How do I stop the torture?
The last month has been challenging, to say the least. If I remember correctly, somewhere in my last post I mentioned a shoulder injury and that my girl had been diagnosed with bi-polar as well as BPD. I am going to do my best to to stick to a timeline of recent events, but I make no promises.
Late July, I had an appointment with a surgeon to review an MRI on my shoulder. I was told I had two different rotator cuff injuries and would need surgery as soon as possible. Surgery was scheduled for Monday, August 3rd, which gave me about five days to get my shit together before my dominant arm would be in a sling for six or more weeks. There was lots of cooking and freezing, cleaning, washing – all the stuff I felt had to be taken care of.
The Friday before surgery my girl was at work. She was supposed to be working 12PM-8PM. I remember she sent me lots of messages that day complaining about the job and how much she hated it, etc. I had honestly encouraged her to quit numerous times. My reasons being: 1) she was working at this job because drippy dick thought this is where she should work and I want her as far away from his control as possible 2) her mental status was not stable and the added pressure of the job was creating issues that she didn’t need. Anyway, she ended up coming home early. As soon as she came in the house I could tell she was upset. We actually sat and talked for probably close to an hour. She was upset about her relationship with drippy. She told me that she is scared of him. He has made threats towards her and our family if she left him. She admitted he controls her life and decisions. She also said he works at the same store she works at. This was NEVER mentioned before. He isn’t there every time she works because he is a “manager” and goes to various places. He does not support her efforts to try and better herself through therapy and medication. He even told her if she leaves him she owes him money for the food, gas, gifts and things he did for her during the relationship. Oh, and she also would owe him money for his legal costs, since his arrest for Terroristic Threats was all her fault. I did my best to gently explain that fear isn’t love, control isn’t love. I used as many examples as I could and felt like I had finally crossed the finish line. She knew she had to end it, she knew she would be supported by her family and if need be she could get a Protection From Abuse Order to keep him away. I told her I would be home for at least a month with her and it would be okay. She could do this. She can live without him. Her life would be better without him.
Monday, August 3rd, I had my surgery. It wasn’t/isn’t fun. Right arm is in a sling 24/7, except when I shower. I have to sleep in a recliner because it hurts to lay in a bed. I have one more week of the immobilizer sling (a sling that has a waist band to prevent the arm from being lifted away from your body), then two weeks of a regular sling and after that I can start therapy. I returned to work on Monday, August 31st. It was too soon. I am lucky to have disability insurance where I work, but it pays less than half of my actual salary. Let’s be honest. In this crazy world where prices of groceries, gas, basically all necessities are sky high – half my usual salary started to take it’s toll on the back account. So, I’m back to work in an office with one arm and it hurts.
Let’s now fast-forward, one week after surgery. At some point during this week I noticed a very fresh hickey on my girls neck. This meant she lied to us, again, about being with a friends and was with drippy. Drippy just loves to put his mark on her. It’s like a big fuck you to anyone who truly cares about my girl. It disgusts me. I asked my girl about it and got the silent treatment. I started noticing more and more irritability in my girl, more unstable behavior and actions. I talked to her about it. She was put on new meds when the bi-polar diagnosis was made and she felt the meds were making her worse and she felt extremely suicidal. She was very proactive in calling her psychiatrist and talking to him about it. She even made an appointment to go see him. He actually increased the frequency of the meds and asked her to give it another few weeks to work.
Two weeks after surgery – I’m going stir crazy being in the house, confined in a sling. I make plans with a couple to hang at their house on Friday night. Me & hubby are there, my girl is working a 12PM-8PM shift and will be stopping at their house after work. Around 6PM I get a call from my girl. She is crying. She said she is done, she can’t work there anymore and drippy just broke up with her. I try to convince her to stay there and we will get her, she said she needs to get away from him and she will drive to our friends house. She gets there and we talk and talk and talk. I am fortunate to have this friend. She has, unfortunately, been through a similar situation in a past relationship. She talked to my girl about the PFA, made a list of the good and bad parts of the relationship with drippy and just made sure my girl knew she wasn’t alone and it wasn’t her fault and she could get through this. We talk about the possibility of getting an emergency PFA. Because of my employment, I am all to familiar with the process and start making calls to put things in motion. After my girl is calmed down as much as possible, we leave our friends and go home. It’s decided we will talk about the PFA and other issues the next day.
The next day, Saturday. My girl decides she doesn’t want to do the emergency PFA and we will wait until Monday morning and file for a PFA at the courthouse. No one will be shocked to know when Monday comes she decides she doesn’t want to do it. She tells me she hasn’t heard from drippy at all and she has him blocked in every way possible.
The following week or last week. My girl was sad, but seemed to be kinda okay. She was supposedly with friends almost every evening. And then on Friday afternoon I saw the hickey. And of course when I called her out about it, it’s turned around on me. I don’t understand, I don’t get it, she has a mental illness, she is fucked up. The past week has been very hard for me and I try not to make it about me, I swear I don’t. I started back to work on Monday, and I hate being at work. I have been the recipient of my girls anger and hatred and resentment and everything for the past month. I have been lied to and deceived. I have been hurt.
Last night. Got home from work and could immediately tell my girl was in a downward spiral. We went to a local restaurant for a quick bite. We being me, my husband, my girl and a very dear friend who has seen the bad side of my girls illness. We order, my girl doesn’t order any food. My girl typically always drives herself when we go somewhere so she can leave if she feels overwhelmed. While we are sitting at the restaurant I can just feel my girl falling into her black hole. I try to get her to talk and she just gets teary eyed. She leaves, promising me that she will get food for herself at some point. Oh, I should have probably mentioned this earlier, but over the last month my girl rarely eats. She may eat every two days. I have to watch her and what she eats. She tries to eat and her mind/body fight her. She will get a few bites in and the nauseous feeling hits. Anyway, after we are finished we head home. My girl is sitting outside and we sit with her. Conversation starts and it’s not a good conversation. I lost count how many times she told us she doesn’t want to be alive, she doesn’t want to wake up anymore. She is tired of fighting and of everything. At one point my girl and I go inside and we continue to talk, like real feeling talk. I am trying desperately to get her to agree to finding more help, going in-patient somewhere. I felt raw and exhausted as we were talking. And then my husband comes inside and asks my girl why drippy is on a motorcycle in front of our house. My reaction was stunned silence. I had no reaction except to walk away from everyone. I went upstairs to my bedroom, but I couldn’t believe what I had heard and had to see it for myself. I walked out the front door and there he was on his new motorcycle. He stared me down. So many words were waiting to pour out of me. But I didn’t do it. I didn’t say anything. I turned around and went back inside leaving my husband and dear friend to watch over my girl. At some point my girl and drippy decided to go for a walk around our development. I went back to my room and crawled into bed and cried. After a short time my husband came into the room. I heard him rustling around and knew what he was doing. He was getting his gun. Drippy has a few guns, illegally of course, and has threatened our family. No, my husband didn’t go outside waving it around or threatening anyone. It was a precaution. But I couldn’t stand it. I went back outside and told my husband I couldn’t lose him because of something stupid drippy did. It was enough that I was going to lose my girl, I couldn’t lose them both. We decided enough was enough. We closed/locked up the house while my girl and drippy were on their walk. My girl knows how to get in the house if she decided to and she did come in about an hour later.
I don’t know when the last time I cried myself to sleep was, but I did last night. I am beyond drained and exhausted. I have nothing in me to give anymore. I can’t save my girl. I can’t make her want to live. I can’t keep taking on the weight of her illness, as well as all the other family drama. Some of the family have seen the ugly side of my girls illness, some haven’t. Until you see it and experience it first hand, you can’t understand it. It’s ugly and cruel. I need help in a way I have never felt I needed help before. Help deciding what to do from this point forward. Today is therapy day for my girl. I have no clue if she will go. She skipped her group therapy two weeks in a row, but did individual therapy. It’s just not enough. If I commit her based on her comments, she will play the system and be out within 3 days. How do I figure out how much guilt I can live with? If I kick her out and she kills herself, will I really be able to not blame myself? If I kick her out and she gets beat again, will I be okay with that?
I have nothing left. When I am home and my girl is home I don’t want to be there and I hate that. When my girl isn’t home, I feel I need to stay home because I don’t know what might happen. I am lost in a never ending cycle.
Where do I turn, what do I do? Is my girl alive right now? What will I find when I go home from work? Did she decide she can’t do it anymore? Every fucking minute of every fucking day these are the questions that loop in my brain. It never stops.
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.
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.
How do I...life? 