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…
I 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.
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.
Last week, I received another one of those insanely embarrassing manila envelopes in the mailbox; you know? – The kind that make all of your neighbors, as well as the postman dropping it off to you, start to wonder about your status as an upstanding, tax-paying citizen in the local community…
The sender of such an obnoxiously UN-funny joke in the form of ‘official court documents’ pertaining to my daughter’s very life and future; or more accurately: lack, thereof – could be none other than the Department of Family & Children’s Services, pretending to be busy.
These paper-wasting packages of meaningless legal jargon infuriate me without fail; I have gotten into the habit of putting them aside until a time when I already am in a fit over something, or at least – ready to be in a very bad mood for a while. These postal coverings of the social worker’s ass always feel similar to what receiving a “progress report” from Satan must feel like; upon reading them, I am systematically thrown into a frenzy of anger and disgust that become so all-enveloping and consuming to me, that I can sadly report to the regular experience of true WRATH and REVENGE, and all things that accompany such ugliness.
THIS IS WHAT’S LEFT OF MY “LIFE”……..
I haven’t shown up on time to a court date for over two years; I intentionally wear the most impossible ‘metal-detector-friendly’ clothing I can scare up without fail; I chain-smoke the entire way there in the car with my windows rolled up and Sepultura blasting as loud as my one functional ear can stand it – tears of frustration streaming down my expressionless face. I harbor a hatred for the so-called ‘professionals’ within this particular corner of the Juvenile Justice System that is like no other emotional low I have ever known or even imagined humanly possible. When I do get there, and finally make my way through the ever-teeming ocean of pond-scum in the lobby to the courtroom, I am intrinsically aware that it’s only a matter of moments before I will be in handcuffs, escorted to the Deputy’s cruiser out back – where I will wait for about an hour in the caged backseat until the session is over, and anyone else who’s been held in ‘contempt’ will have been led out to the car as well.
My life has been left in shambles of shambles, as a result of the JOKE of the legal process supposedly in place to protect my daughter from the harm and permanent traumas of her own growing mental illness. As her eighteenth birthday draws nearer; and I am nearly able to taste the bile that’s building in my esophagus for all of these years now – as I anxiously anticipate the God-forsaken day that the Department becomes legally “unbound” to her and in turn: throws her to the wolves to fend for herself in world only made uglier for her by its total lack of concern for her general well-being; my blood begins to boil combustibly under my crawling skin. The light left the tunnel years ago; and I gave up on holding out any hopes for a happy (or even, acceptable) outcome when it comes to Boo.
There’s a technique used by the Department (DFCS) to help its evil processes run smoothly: Parental Alienation.
By executing this long and emotionally torturous tactic within the context of a Juvenile Dependency or Delinquency case, the Department can typically estrange a child from his/her parent(s) permanently within a matter of months. The legal process designed to accompany this procedure on an “official” timeline is systematically applied to ensure the Department’s success in such destruction to a family unit. The children in the system are flat-out LIED TO by assigned case-workers; and the court-appointed attorneys are negligent as Hell, to say the very least.
I will NEVER understand exactly how and/or when the Department supposedly intended to respond on behalf of my daughter, upon her being sexually assaulted by a sub-contracted “counselor” at a court-appointed placement for her behavioral issues.
I will NEVER comprehend how the Department’s collective ignorance to the truth and avoidance of what’s right and just to a child’s welfare and future disposition has continued to go overlooked by all and any involved.
I will NEVER accept the fact that there are people being PAID for the despicable things that Boo continues to enabled to be akin with, to grow accustom to.
I will NEVER forget. Until I am cremated and thrown from an ugly urn somewhere – this REALITY will remain singed into the carbon of my DNA; and will not be painted over with fresh coats of comfort – not for me or anyone else – outside of the ONE AND ONLY relevant one involved: my Boo.
Americana and Boo
…that I went over the edge of madness today; after so many years of trying to hold it together and make sense out of the life that’s been deemed fitting for this huge heart and old soul of mine; if you’re reading this, it’s because the trail has led you back here to this piece- to this note of chalked lines of vengeance declared and scores settled into stone…
If you’ve found this, it’s because I have decided to act, in place of the pathetic, seething stagnancy that has grown so familiar with each new morning in my life – it’s because I’ve been driven over the edge and have been unsuccessful at retrieving my sanity in time to stop the laws of gravity from executing the proverbial drop in the bucket…if you’re reading this, Kiddo – it’s because I love you.
I realize now that I will never be able to change this, to finagle what’s been ignored and overlooked into a different scenario and outcome for you; and to be perfectly honest, that realization is slowly killing me these days, I think.
Ah, the far-fetched ideas that we cling to fiercely in times of desperation…
I guess the bottom line here is that I am crushed, squeezed by the knowledge that you have repeatedly chosen to leave a world of love and support and the closest thing to true acceptance that you’ll ever find – it’s like a marching band has ripped suddenly out of unrecognized scenery props all around me and taken to a heavily footed performance across the wastelands of my heart each time that I allow my thoughts to touch upon this reality. I can’t help but to allow my logical self to try and deduce the situation into basic terms; and this characteristic of mine only shines additional beams of artificial light down at you – skewing my view of your beloved face even further, likening you to a beast, bearing teeth.
What could possibly draw you to that place, that Hell on Earth you’ve voluntarily embedded yourself within? Is it even possible that I managed to raise you so horribly and unsuccessfully that you hold yourself to such dilapidated standards at age sixteen? It can’t be possible, Kiddo – I just don’t see how it happened, when it happened…and how I failed you like I have – so very totally and completely. As much as I can comprehend the reflection cast on me by your actions, I remain unable to connect the dots.
I am so deeply sorry and ashamed of myself for failing you so badly to have cultivated such self-demolition in you; and if you’re reading this, it’s because you must already have figured this out on your own. The depths of my misery and failure as your Mom are increasingly more crippling as time goes by; as you get worse in your drug addiction, self-destruction and alienation, I get worse in my collective state of mind.
If you’re reading this, it’s because the camel is down – back is broken – and I have passed the point of ever returning again – of having any interest in returning again. If you’re reading this, it’s finally going to be simple enough for you to decipher and comprehend. Maybe it will finally register in your burned out brain that you had things all wrong; that you’ve been manipulated and brainwashed and lied to and pawned by the very same people who allowed a pedophile to assault you and then called you a liar when you accidentally told on him…you were just a kid…you were under court order to be there for “treatment”…everything slipped from my grasp back then, when that predator ruined you; when nobody with the power to help you even took you seriously, when you were locked away in another state and swept beneath the Department’s carpet for years while the pedophile continued to hurt more little girls just he’d done to you. How many of you did it take for the fucks in charge to take you seriously? I forget…was it eleven of you? Four years later? Yeah, that was it. Sick bastards…
If you’re reading this, Boo…its because they’re all finally gonna get theirs for that heinousness, despite thinking they got away with ruining your life permanently and exploiting and victimizing and degrading you like have. I have always told you that life is not always swift in its recourse, and that I believe that what goes around comes back around without fail; I have sold my soul to the Devil in order to show you that this is true – in order to give you the most basic of justices due.
p style=”text-align:center;”>If you’re reading this, don’t ever read it again.
Thinking back on all the times we’ve had…
to the present moment, everything’s so fuckin bad;
My very existence has turned upside-down…
The road that I was on got sucked underground.
I know that so much of your anger and misery…
are associated directly with thoughts of me;
and there’s nothing I can do to take that away…
but you will see things for yourself, someday.
It used to seem possible, that you’d come back “home”…
but I woke up one day and I’m all alone;
and during the years that have slipped right on by…
The enemy has become your own perceived ally.
Professional schemes to mask the bottom line…
that they could’ve cared less about you – all this time;
I still fight for and against your honor, from years ago…
While you drift away from the only family you know.
I have tried tirelessly to win justice for you…
while The Department takes credit for what’s not real or true;
after years separated, days each spent half alive…
so much life still shines through those beautiful eyes.
A handful of years thrown away – that we won’t get back…
no amount of money in the world could make up for that;
I want you know that I carry a pain that is quite real…
it’s the only thing left that I’m able to feel.
It fills in the void of my resigned, bitter mind…
with memories and thoughts of a much brighter time;
So for a moment, you’re “home” with me again…
the windows are open, and the sunshine pours in.
What was inside my heart that left with you…
it takes away the sense of falling completely through;
It reminds me of those long-forgotten, better days…
when I could reach out my hand and touch your sweet face.
As temporary as it is- gone from this place and time…
without those moments, I’d surely lose my mind;
When I open my eyes, the fog has returned…
and I’m buried beneath all of the bridges you’ve burned.
The curtains drawn closed, the rain pours drown…
and the gurgling of my spirit becomes the only sound;
I wonder if you know that I never wanted it this way…
Where I’m eternally hoping to see you alive again someday;
A circumstance captivated and cultivated through sheer stupidity…
A situation of manipulation in which everyone wins but you or me;
I can’t tell you to forgive the forsaken things you perceive…
I can only tell you how wrong I am been to still believe.
My entire existence feels quite strained and stretched past its own ability; my thoughts and feelings have been going through a change that’s so unprecedented and foreign to me, and my objectives in life have seemed to alter themselves as a result. I am going to once more, try to explain, try to describe, to convey in accuracy, my current state of being – without the fear of what someone else might think about it…because the need that I harbor for support and guidance always outweighs the shame and embarrassment….my desire for sanity balances out my habit for unhealthiness.
My only child, my daughter, age 16.5, has returned again as of late last night; she was picked up by the local police and then taken to the Emergency Room, as usual – from which, her tragic pattern has proven, she will leave once more and return to the world of Roulette, where she has chosen to live an insane life on her own.
It’s happened – finally…my heart and soul has gone cold and totally robotic towards her now…from so many years of preparing myself to lose her in a horrible, murderous way to some psychopath she’s willingly running around with; all of my tears, enough to fill the driest basin – for naught in the end. She has been dead to me for a short time now, I recognize – hence my current mourning period and the loss that I feel in every ounce of who I ever was. A genetic loss, a loss deeper than anything possible. A beautiful, delicate legacy, lost to the darkness of drug addiction and exploitation, trafficking and human madness.
So many many instances in which I have been the captive – a hostage to the absolutely appalling decisions made by others. It’s time for me to write this out loud, after all these years of chaos, of chasing a normalcy that was elusive, of fighting tooth and nail against the puppets staged to fight me – all while the invisible opponent slashed and cut at my heart from my womb.
How many times did I save you? How many of your “wolf!” cries did I answer and walk you out of safely? Each time, only to be spat on by you in the end, when you grew bored of normalcy and made the sale. You continue to cry “wolf!” so regularly, even still…unable to see that the effectiveness of its meaning has long left the repetitive noise it creates. Ineffectiveness is a state that is lost on time and effort; and it is a concept that has sadly and tragically come to define our relationship.
I can’t keep swinging back and forth like this – it will drive me as insane as the retched people my daughter lives amongst in the Nether-wastelands she seems to love so much.
Its as if, after helplessly watching her drown, unable to save her, and then, after finally accepting the defeat of losing her – I’m walking away to grieve her loss, only to be shocked by her sudden resurface and renewed plea for my help – help that she doesn’t really want at all. So goes the gut-wrenching cycle that no sooner is she is fitfully dragged to shore and renewed breath, the girl unfailingly belly-crawls herself back into the depths and sinks without a fight. Over and over and over and over.
My own brothers tell me to let her sink and move on…my own brothers!…
my therapist tells me the same thing! A therapist!
p style=”text-align:center;”>My heart tells me I can’t win, and that I am better just mourning the loss as if its real, because it is.
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.
This morning I woke up to see a text message from a +1 phone number waiting on my cell phone’s screen for me…
When I open it, I see my only child’s face staring back at me through hollow and soulless eyes – a “selfie” she took and sent to me for whatever reason – no message, no text; just a reminder of her lasting beauty and dwindling potential. She’s been missing again for 5 days, today – after returning from what I believe had to have been her most near-fatal “adventure” on the streets of our over-populated and world-famous busy city. She was lucky to have made it back alive last time…
The number she text from traced back to an escort service about 30 minutes south from where we live – again. She holds no respect for herself at all; and always finds the most degrading and self-destructive circumstance available to her. She is perpetually on self-destruct mode.
PAIN = your only baby on earth, in whom you have poured every last drop of your being and energy – gradually growing older to defy the idea of nurture and sway to the side of nature – becoming someone too much like her father, who nearly killed you before your escape from him.
FAILURE = your only child, your “legacy” to the world: slowly fading away to the Dark Side of life happily and willingly. Your only child has no original ideas, dreams, goals, opinions or standards; her existence is the epitome of “simple”, requiring no morals or empathy as a human being to function properly. She is unable to even feel for her own mother for Christ Sake…she is lost and seeming to loving it. I try so hard to relate but can’t.
REGRET = your worst decision ever: the girl’s father, who you spend every day of your life regretting in every possible way – shining brightly through the smile and eyes of the daughter you had belonging to him. Despite the fact that he has never spent more than an hour with her as a young baby, she has grown up to resemble him uncannily. I must have been Hitler or Genghis Khan in a former lifetime…maybe a cruel slave owner or a Spanish Inquisitor…just fucking shoot me already please!