All My Dirt.

I am randomly typpling (type babbling), yes, I know this… my personal Microsoft Word screen seriously could fuck me with all the secrets and truths it has seen at my hand, fuck it though…transparency is the new thing isn’t it?

I have given up my appearance altogether, I suppose…couldn’t tell you when the last time I looked in a mirror at myself…hmmmm…the possible causes behind this fact aren’t lost on me, either…
Something is happening inside of me again; although I couldn’t possibly describe any of what those “somethings” may actually be in the big picture of things; and I am not trying to find any way to describe it – there’s just a slew of mental data on upload at present; and my mental data down-link seems to be broken, too. There’s just a fuck-ton of shit coming in, and nothing moving aside to make room for it; if that even makes sense to anyone reading this.

Failure:
Failure is something has come to define my every moment of each passing day for me; it began slowly when Boo was put into “residential treatment” almost a decade ago and only snowballed from that point on. The many things that have subsequently gone horribly awry since then have accumulated into a vast and freezing cold tomb; each instance of my own perceived failings stacking up against the previous until the room shrinks. Failure has been something that I struggle with regularly, and I often lose the fight with it because of its overwhelming and constant presence. I go to a psychiatrist based on this failure (and its many facets and faces); he repeatedly instructs me to “just let it go”…
Abandonment:
Abandonment is another key element that is deeply embedded in my marred psychological profile; this element is born of my inability to “just let it go” when it came to my inter-personal relationships with parents during infancy and childhood (most notably a then ever-absent mother). It has mutated the human being that I was born as into a different version of who I might have been in a “healthy and/or intact family setting”; over time, it has warped my perception of others who I feel any closeness to – a mechanism of the emotionally fearful and unstable. I am extremely insecure inter-personally, and it only becomes an exacerbated symptom when I give two shits about the other person involved. I am afraid of people in general; not in a physically cowed way though…I am terrified of interacting with others because of the emotional traumas that inevitably attach themselves to each and every experience with closeness to another human being (or the socially mutated versions of one).

Truth:
Truth is another crucial piece of who I am from one moment to the next; it has come to burn in my veins like molten lava these days, and growing increasingly more important to every nano-thought in my head. Acceptance of truth is part of this element; and as painful as this aspect often is for me, in my own experiences, the truth carries weight that is undeniably addictive to my heart, spirit and mind somehow…
Perhaps after all, “the truth shall set me free”.

Sidenotes.

I’m talking with a boyfriend of hers,
he’s one I never liked…
but since she has self-destructed again,
he has fallen to despair,
unsure and confused of the “whys” and “how’s”,
shocked by the daring gamble she lives by,
“Why does she do this?”
“She hates herself underneath her stuck-up front, kid…
life has never given her a reason for anything more.”
sigh
sigh
why?
why?
Why?

We just don’t know.

My Heart Hurts.

ha

“Night Terrors”

Boo suffered Night Terrors since she was old enough to dream, I think…

Even before the attack on her mother – by her father, she always openly dreaded sleeping. She struggled mightily against the act of actually falling asleep since she was a newborn, seriously…she used to do regular face plants into her cereal bowl at night in her high chair at the kitchen table with her father and I. Even as an infant, her sleeping schedule was that of a middle-aged, workaholic adult.

I remember so many frustrating nights with her in her room, trying to lull her to sleep somehow: through traditional bedtime stories, songs, back and/or arm “tickles”, just my quiet presence in the bed beside her little, restless form. I remember how she used to draw invisible things on the wall with her tiny finger in the darkness, in total silence, thinking about Gods know what…I don’t know if Boo still has Night Terrors, but… I would venture to guess her Night Terror has likely evolved into something much more horrible than it ever could have been during her childhood. I wish I knew my Boo at all, anymore…

blueI can say that I now suffer from something similar to the psychological thing known as Night Terrors, as well. Oddly I didn’t experience anything like it throughout my surgeries and hospitalization period – maybe my brain just wasn’t capable of such things back then, who knows? It’s only getting worse as time goes by, too – it’s becoming kind of a problem for me as of late…I can’t really sleep anymore. I just semi-sleep on the tacky surface of this place called Slumber…I ‘dream’ in rapid succession non-stop from the time I sort of fall asleep until I finally “wake up” between 5 and 5:30am in a fucking layer of Jello-sweat and barely able to catch my breath. I usually can’t recall any details of my nightmares …I just know that whatever is happening in my dream-scape is stuff that leaves me feeling terrified and jumpy and paranoid as fuck for the first few hours of every day…no fun. My therapist always defaults everything that I go through during the Holiday Season back onto that factor in itself – especially these days, since I truly and genuinely HATE this season with all of my hollow heart. But I’m just not so sure that he gets me completely, so I continue to doubt his generalized and seemingly lazy opinions of me and my issues.

(They say that’s a red flag symptom of mental illness/instability: second-guessing your shrink like it’s a sport and you’re the Champion) …Fuck ’em….

I do not want to start having to take pills to sleep; I also don’t want to gradually become so delirious from lack of sleep that I lose it, altogether…I don’t want to face the Holidays all over again when I feel like I am still not even recovered from last year’s painful experiences with it…I wish it were different – I used to love the Holidays; I wish I weren’t stuck in this precariously teetering state on the ledge anymore – I wish I could just suck it up and BUST A GRAPE – good, bad, or life-sentence. There is no “better” in the future when it comes to Boo and me; and it hurts like Hell.

Just take it.

Tears.

 

I’m crying a lot again lately…the Holidays, I assume…

the point of my post is not to gain pity from anyone reading this, it’s simply an observation that I’ve made over the past week about my own tears and the way that they seem to work.

I blew my nose this morning after a disgusting sneezing/coughing fit (yes, I have the creep and bronchitis still…), and was somehow given the cursedly magical flashback of a time during Boo’s earliest years alive – she was probably around 3 or so; she inherited her mother’s schedule-bending allergies, and I flashed upon the time she was learning how to blow her nose. I was overcome by the memory of holding a wad of tissues to her little button nose and directing her to blow from her “booger holes” as hard as she could – and the experience that followed my instruction – the one in which I learned how well my only child can mimic me; she blew with all her might into the tissues and never had a runny nose again, to my recollection. People always used to trip out about the way my toddler regularly retrieved a tissue and blew her little faucet nose, without being told to do so.

She was such a miniature adult, always….

I cried for about an hour after I finished blowing my nose.

 

Next, were the stupid Candy Corn Rocks in the box of Halloween decorations that I begrudgingly pulled out at my roommate’s out-of-character request (wtf???)

The year before she left my life, Boo and I painted some river rocks that we had started collecting right after I came home from the hospital; the collection had grown over the handful of years, and we spent a lot of time and attention on finding rocks that were specifically reminiscent of Candy Corns, because when we started out with it, she was too young to differentiate shapes very well and it was one she could easily identify. It had been her random idea to paint them in time for what would become our very last Halloween at home together. When I see them, I feel both endearment and bitterness; one of my hands wants to throw each rock as far away from me as I can manage; the other hand wants to somehow wrap each one up and protect it from anything and everything because it’s Boo.

Samhuinn

As the “Dark Side of the Year” quickly approaches, my ‘psychological overdrive’ kicks into  ‘Beast Mode’ – every year now, without fail.The holidays are especially difficult for me these days – it was the holidays last year that prompted me to begin a blog here, as a matter of fact – the pain and emptiness has gotten nearly unbearable.

When I was still a Mom, I was no different from most: I obnoxiously over-decorated the house and dressed up in micro-detailed costumes for Halloween with Boo every year since I came home from the hospital when she was almost five. At Christmas, we ALWAYS went and picked out whichever tree she chose (even if it was terribly hard on the eyes for any being with aesthetic ability) before decking it out beyond recognition with the shiniest and near-blinding ornaments and tinsels…some of them even flashed or blinked, it was insane. I spent hours and hours each year wrapping up her fuckloads of presents and stocking stuffers with the girliest wrap I could find (typically, waaaay overpriced stuff that I had spent an arm and a leg on during one of her previous school fundraisers), and baked so many cookies and treats for class parties that I couldn’t even try to count all of the batches in and out of the oven.

Christmastime was when I would finally get to buy Boo things that I had socked cash away for since the prior holiday season; it was always a chance for me to see her happy, even if that happiness was in the temporary form of watching her gaggle over a gift she had opened, and loved. I don’t know…I guess the holidays were the only time that she and I were ever able to feel close enough to one another to let go of the trauma between us, that defined both of us somehow. She always openly missed her Father at Christmas; some of her ONLY existing memories of him are enveloped by the holiday season and everything that’s associated with it. I always told her stories about what he was doing where he was – the most despicable piles of bullshit that I have ever uttered to my daughter – I would tell her about the way “he missed her so much and planned to have her with him again for Christmas someday”, even if it was without me, I assured her that he wished she were there with him. I have no idea if she bought those stories or not, but at the time it was all I could come up with in response to her queries about him. I didn’t even know where he was for a few of those first conversations.

Anyway, yeah…well now days – I’m alone every year. My isolation over the holidays is mostly because I choose to be solo; I prefer to be alone in solitude for whatever reason to endure, as opposed to attending any of the meals or celebrations that I am invited to by various people who probably feel sorry for me. I won’t even spend my holidays with Jack the EMT anymore; I am the wettest of wet blankets during this season – can never wait for it to come and go so that I can begin to recover once more. It’s a recurring wound – a reinfection – a rip down the seam of my mending soul…I know the hollowness and sense of loss that bleeds the brightest, freshest blood from my heart this time of year will never cease to reappear with the Harvest Moon, despite my efforts to ignore Christmas lights and Halloween parties and New Year’s fireworks; I can lie to myself all I want and pretend those things don’t exist anymore, but that hasn’t worked thus far because here I am.

Alone.

Empty.

Embittered.

Spent.

 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Not-So-Spontaneous Combustion

 

Today I have felt like the biggest failure of a mother possible…because I’ve been reflecting on the continual tragedies that have plagued my experience of motherhood…

I have been going through the archives of my daughter and I’s life together (and apart) and trying in vain (the only thing that I know to do) to make sense of such senselessness; to reason with the unreasonable. I feel resigned to the permanence of desperation and devastation today – I haven’t felt resigned for a while – not to this reality, at least. Accepting a reality of the life and future existence belonging to somebody other than me doesn’t feel at all “right”.

I’m somebody’s Mom…

but I’m no longer a Mom to anyone…

so I walk around feeling half-ass finished with my tasks each and every day – I can’t braid my daughter’s hair or paint her nails; I can’t buy her clothes and shoes that fit her comfortably (with a little room to grow into); I can’t cook her a meal or go through her phone – I can’t be her Mom because she’s out there being something meaningless to some heartless, shameless and most likely dangerous grown man who is just as likely to end her life when he’s finished with her, as he is to drop her off naked and shivering in the rain at a public bus-stop, in a state of sleep-deprived confusion and drug-induced delirium.

These are the types of people with whom she repeatedly chooses to keep the company of – as opposed to a warm, safe, consistent and nurturing – even semi-normal – life with me.

So, I live in a mind-fuck paradox in the land of Cause and Effect – when it comes to my kid and my mental stability (or lack, thereof)…

When she is around and accounted for, I can move mountains if I need to; when Boo is safe (no matter how pissed off she may be about having to be), I am able to be more productive and to maintain momentum like I swallowed a bottle Dexedrine, just begging someone to step up and take a shot at the Title, to try and slow me down.

But when Boo is missing; when my heart is out there walking around outside of my body in places unacceptable to me, I am virtually paralyzed and non-functional in general. It is impossible for me to carry on with day to day shit like everything’s ok, when it’s about as far from ok as it could fucking be… I’m a train wreck – no clarity, no security, no direction – on the verge of not-so-spontaneous combustion.

 

 

Vicarious Sanity

I think that I am slowly going insane – or something like it – day by day.
I say this because things have gotten fuzzy around the once sharp edges of life for me; details of each day that would’ve once mattered are unimportant and irrelevant to my moments now;

and that is what I live inside of these days, are moments.

Just moments at a time because that’s about all the sanity I have left to deal with my reality as it stands…which is an exceptionally unpleasant place.

If I allow myself to be the Me that I have always been – well, more like used to be – I will default to a bigger picture…planning ahead…the maintenance of control over my life’s general course whenever possible…reliability…stability…motivations and goals, etc. The evolved Me is unable to look beyond the next few minutes in life past the immediate and present tense; the evolved me lives paralyzed inside of a bubble that will inevitably burst. My life has gotten this way because my heart has opted to crawl out of my body and go its own way, one unknown to me. I still hear its beat, feel its pumping pulse in my veins; but my heart has left my body and vanished into the night.

The evolved me has adapted to be able to swallow the tragedies that I have lived – am still living – through.

The evolved Me is stuck on stupid, like somebody pushed pause or something and life just hasn’t continued to play right ever since.

AUTO-PILOT FUNCTION (AKA GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS):

My laundry somehow gets removed from the dryer and folded/hung up/put away during these Pilot Performances of mine; I spend a disturbing amount of time in frustrated conniptions over “missing” tops and sweaters that my Auto Pilot has already put up, completely forgetting(?) that I had spent 35 minutes of the afternoon putting my clothes away…

The constant need for physically exhausting motion and extreme mental/psychological stimulation i.e. terrifyingly scary movies or swimming in the ocean during January (wtf?)

The detachment from all good and positive sources.

The chronic and debilitating malfunction of my ability to give a shit about much of anything besides what the fuck went so wrong with my daughter to cause her to CHOOSE such tragedy time and again…

The obsession with my failures and the rejection of my worth.

All in all, I guess I’m just very tired of being so afraid of my ringtone…

of waiting for the other shoe to drop on my head…

I just want my daughter safe; so badly do I want her to be okay that I’d give up either or both of my eyeballs to heal her and give her the security she needs, even if it’s not with me. I ‘d turn over every ounce of my own self-worth or self-esteem to her, gladly. It’s so hard for me to understand…it’s so hard to accept.

Helplessness

Image

Sadly, I would have to report that I experience the feelings and sensations of helplessness on a daily basis, and have for quite some time now – years in fact.

Ever since I realized how seriously fucked up my daughter’s situation was rapidly becoming and then was alienated from it through the manipulation and mendacious actions of the Social Services Caseworker, an evil and frigid creature…a creature who does not speak the local language comprehensively by any means, yet somehow maintains employment under the county government as a god damned SOCIAL worker!

My life has spun helplessly out of control in varying directions since my child was court-ordered to receive “residential treatment” as a means of controlling her wild behaviors. I was admittedly struggling with controlling her myself at home, as she was already sneaking out of her bedroom window at age 9 to run off into the night aimlessly out of sheer spite. Her running away and lying, stealing and creating unnecessary drama in the neighborhood amongst her peers.