triggered

When we got home

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The last person I was expecting to see was the first person I saw when I got home. Will came over early in the morning to throw in some laundry for Arabella. He was too late as I already had a load going from our trip after leaving the luggage outside the night before to freeze any bug that may have come back with us on our trip.

I was worried about Will while on our trip. He with a broken hand and her with a bruised up face that didn’t come from his hand. It looked bad for him and I heard talk of some of the guys wanting to beat him up for what they thought he did. I blame my daughter for a lot of what happened, although Will was not completely innocent either. She treated him like garbage but was treated like the victim and him the aggressor. Almost everyone I talked to called him an asshole, piece of shit, and/or wanted to beat him up. But more violence wasn’t going to solve anything. I feel a lot of grief things worked out as poorly as they did. Now my daughter wants to move back home after their lease is up and I don’t know if I can go through that again but feel like I don’t have a choice.

Wednesday was a rough day having a lot to do when we got home and feeling an unexpected amount of jet lag. My brother and his family were coming over for the weekend for his daughter’s swim meet nearby. My brother called me that night. He already knew Arabella and Will went to jail. My mom called him to talk about it right away but she never called me. What a fool I am to think and hope my mom, my parents, would offer me support.

We had a nice Saturday at my niece’s swim meet. It was my dad’s birthday that Saturday. I didn’t call him or send him a card. I was planning on talking to him with my brother Luke but it didn’t work out that way. I didn’t know when Luke was talking to him and I fell asleep on the couch. Sunday we had plans to go out to eat with Paul’s step-dad Darryl who turned 70. His fiancé said to invite our kids. I didn’t want to invite Arabella. Was her face still bruised? Did she still have a black eye? Would she bring Will? Would she cause a scene? But everything went fine and her face was healed.

On Sunday afternoon I called my parents, and wished my dad a happy birthday. My mom told me how she made my dad all his favorite foods. His friends stopped by and gave him a funny card and how other family remembered his birthday. I was the only one who acknowledged his birthday from my household and I got the guilt trip. I felt traitorous for getting everyone together for Darryl’s birthday while ignoring my own dad. It was an awful feeling but I have to remember he caused his family to be estranged from him by his own actions. I am not responsible for the messes everyone gets into but yet sometimes I feel like I am.

Later that afternoon, Paul and I were trying to relax after the long weekend by having a few drinks and playing cards when the doorbell rang. Hardly anyone rings the doorbell and we weren’t expecting anyone. The police were at the door. I almost had a heart attack, or a panic attack, or whatever. Seeing a cop at your door is never a good thing when you have a suicidal daughter. For a brief moment fear coursed through my veins and I thought I was going to pass out.

The officer was looking for my son’s roommate. Someone called the police on him because they said he was driving erratically, not stopping fully at stop signs, and was possibly drunk. They followed him home and sent the police to our house. The officer asked if I noticed anything unusual. I said I noticed he went for a walk which seemed kind of strange. Paul went looking for our son’s roommate next door and couldn’t find him which lead the officer to think he was avoiding him because he was drunk. I said I would find him and he was in the apartment kitchen putting something in the microwave. He was totally sober and said there was a lady riding his ass all the way home. The officer talked to him a few minutes and was on his way.

I was pretty upset for the rest of the evening. We live in a hoity-toity neighborhood. There is a Facebook page dedicated to moms who have nothing better to do besides posting pictures of young guys driving through with loud mufflers. We are the Beverly Hillbillies. My husband drives a 10 year old truck and I drive a Kia, not a Lexus or BMW. My son’s roommate drives a junker that is probably older than he is. Some Karen probably got her panties in a bunch and called the police. It’s ridiculous. And here I thought somebody died. I am afraid of that though. I don’t know if my husband and I are going to be able to handle our daughter moving back home again. Just the thought of it is overwhelmingly stressful.

Nothing normal about something routine

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Arabella had her wisdom teeth removed yesterday. Although it’s a relatively normal routine experience for someone of her age, there was nothing normal about her experience.

Will and I went with Arabella for her appointment. The paperwork part seemed to take forever. Maybe because she lost the paperwork they sent her so she had to fill it out there. The forms asked for all of her medications and dosage which we didn’t have with us.

Arabella asked Will and I to come in with her for the surgery consult. The nurse asked questions about her forms. She also asked when was the last time Arabella smoked marijuana to which she replied last night. The nurse left the room then Arabella and Will started arguing rather loudly. Will said she wasn’t supposed to smoke and Arabella said it didn’t matter. She was screaming and swearing at him asking how he would know he never had his wisdom teeth out. I told my daughter to stop, she did.

Then the dentist came in. He told my daughter he was refusing to sedate her because he wouldn’t sedate anyone who smoked in less than 24 hours, preferably 48, because he said there is an increased risk of cardiac arrest with anesthesia. Then she said it was probably 24 hours and Will said it was definitely not which started another round of screaming. The dentist said she could stay awake during the procedure or reschedule for two months from now. My daughter freaked out in a full blown panic.

By this time the nurse was also getting upset saying she could drug test my daughter and told her they had other patients scheduled for surgery after hers and they were behind now. They did thank her for being honest but said she had to hurry up and make up her mind whether she was going to do the surgery or not. She decided to go ahead with it. Will and I quickly left the room. I saw the dentist in the hallway and apologized for my daughter’s behavior stating mental health issues blah blah blah. She was quite agitated when we left her in the room. The dentist said he could stop the surgery at anytime if it wasn’t going well. She did have the option of laughing gas.

Meanwhile out in the lobby I told Will I didn’t like how my daughter was treating him. I told him I was going to tell her that her behavior towards him was totally unacceptable. He asked me not to because it would only make things worse. I asked him why he puts up with it and he sadly said because he loves her. I truly believe he does. I think he is good for her but I can’t say the same for her. For the longest time I’ve been her scapegoat for her rages and mood swings. Now it is him. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him yet relief it is no longer me and I don’t have to live with her anymore.

I was in fight or flight mode pretty much the whole consult and when she first went into surgery. It was very triggering. It also brought back feelings of going with my mom to take Matt to doctor appointments when he could attack people. My new therapist said triggers are good because they show areas that still need some work. But I wonder what she would say if I told her I get triggered every day multiple times a day. I don’t think that is quite normal. Maybe I’m a long way from being healthy. It’s such a depressing thought that it could be an unattainable goal.

Every time the door would open and a nurse would come out I thought they might be coming for me with something wrong. Plus I don’t numb to local anesthesia so I worried she could have problems with that too. Instead they were calling in other mom’s with their teenagers for a consult. I envied them for their normal routine wisdom teeth extraction mother/daughter moment.

Will told me not to worry everything was fine. Arabella sent him a message that she loves surgery shortly after they started the laughing gas. It reminded me of the time I took my MIL in for a breast biopsy that gave her the diagnosis of breast cancer. Arabella is a lot like her. Once medicated my MIL said she loves biopsies and how she could go in and have a biopsy every day. I was finally able to relax a little with that thought.

After another hour of waiting, they called us back in. The surgery went great, better than expected. I’m sure their expectations, along with mine, were pretty low. I wondered how often they see someone with mental health issues like my daughter’s. They sometimes need routine surgeries too. Maybe that is the only thing normal about it.

Too late

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Last week was a hard week for me. Although I’ve been toying with the idea for years, I think I’ve finally accepted the fact that my mom is a narcissist. It threw me into a PTSD loop of nightmares, insomnia, panic, hopelessness, and despair. My normally high hypervigilance skyrocketed. One night I even awoke in terror because the furnace was making a different humming noise in the vent of my bedroom. I had to constantly tell myself I wasn’t in danger and I felt frequent paranoia I was.

I had plans with my mom on Wednesday which she cancelled and pushed back until Thursday because she heard the weather might be bad. It wasn’t all that bad, schools weren’t cancelled and my son wasn’t called in to work. So I made other plans for Wednesday. I had a lot of errands to run and was getting ready to go when my mom texted me saying she changed her mind and wanted to come over on Wednesday instead. I told her it wouldn’t work out and she said maybe Thursday which I replied okay.

Thursday morning came and went without a peep from my mom. Then she texted me saying she was going to come over after lunch. I told her it wouldn’t work because Arabella called and asked me if I could take her to her doctor appointment since she didn’t have a car. The morning would’ve worked but the afternoon didn’t. Then my mom asked me what time the appointment was and said she would come over an hour before I had to leave to go for a walk with me. I told her it wouldn’t work because an hour before I had to leave just wasn’t going to work for me.

Then I asked my mom if she wanted to go along with me on Sunday afternoon to do some volunteer work. She said she had other plans which was fine. Then she asked me when we could get together instead. I replied I had a really busy week but could get together on Friday, tomorrow. Then she asked me if there was any way I could make room for her in my very busy week. Again, I replied yes on Friday I have the whole day open.

On Saturday night I planned a birthday party for my best friend with our husbands and another couple. We had reservations to go out to eat and to a comedy show. Shortly before leaving my mom tried calling and I didn’t answer. While out with friends I got a barrage of texts from her. Are you mad at me? Why are you avoiding me? She asked if I was angry because she gave Angel a hard time. Lately my mom has been getting a rise out of me by targeting my daughter. My mom said everything was fine because she apologized to my daughter and I shouldn’t be angry with her about that. I ignored the texts because I was out with friends and wanted to be in the moment with them. But it was very upsetting to me.

On Sunday morning I texted my mom back telling her that she cancelled out on me and I had made other plans. I told her I tried to get together with her on Sunday but she had plans. She did not acknowledge anything I said and asked me again if I was mad. Then she wanted to know what I was so busy doing I couldn’t get together earlier. Well, yes, I am feeling quite pissed now. I hope tomorrow I get COVID or the stomach flu. Her controlling and manipulative behavior was very triggering to me.

I never considered until this past week that I endured a lifetime of narcissistic abuse from her. It was so subtle. She wanted to force a life for me I never wanted. She picked out the clothes she wanted me to wear. For example, for junior prom one day she came home with a prom dress for me to wear. I hated it but wore it anyway. She tried to dictate the music I listened to and even my relationships with other people. I was her best friend and she openly disapproved of everything I wanted that she didn’t want for me. She guilted me by always being the victim. I had to comfort her but she was incapable of comforting me. She is never happy for me. She never wanted me to leave her and live my own life. She always had her best interests in mind front and foremost. I never really looked at that fully until now.

Now as I look back at my life I feel this overwhelming grief. I lost my childhood. There was never peace and joy in my household just pain and suffering. Why do I expect to experience something now I’ve never experienced before? I have no idea how it works. Something as simple as peace.

I should have left a long long time ago. I grew up with my dad being emotionally/verbally abusive. He constantly told us we were stupid and his favorite thing to do as a dad was to terrorize us by the things we were most afraid of. Then there was Matt, my autistic brother who physically abused us. It was pretty bad. Then my mom with her narcissistic abuse. I am angry at myself for not walking away. I put my life on hold because I was the dutiful daughter always ready to help. My mom needed me. I went to the college closest to home. I went to college with dreams of being a counselor because I felt pretty confident I could do that. Then I could take everything I learned and fix my dysfunctional family.

The problem was that I cared too much. I got suckered and fell into the manipulation and control. I thought I could change things but instead over time there was new and creative ways my family of origin caused pain and suffering. If I could go back in time I would leave home and go to college in a place far away. I would’ve went to school for microbiology or God forbid be an English major working as an editor or writer. I didn’t even start writing until I was in my 40’s. (I did have diaries as a teen but my mom read them and got angry for what I wrote). I would’ve joined the college choir. But I wasn’t good enough. I was too stupid. An idiot who didn’t know how to do anything right.

I want to leave, I really do. What’s worse is that my son’s girlfriend comes from a family like mine. Because she is kind and compassionate I see them doing to her what my family did to me. When I hear about the things they do that hurt her I want to tell her to leave because it is never going to change or get better no matter how hard she tries. I want her to leave her abusive relationship with her parents. But how can I tell her that when I won’t leave mine? My therapist said it’s not too late to leave but I don’t really know how. At this point I feel like it’s too late.

The blame

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This past week I finished reading A Father’s Story, a memoir written by Lionel Dahmer the father of notorious serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. I found a renewed interest in the story after watching the Dahmer Netflix series. I remember the story unfolding as a teenager in the early 90’s. At the time I tried to find out everything I could about the case which wasn’t much because…well…pre-internet and 4 TV channels. I did read a couple books back in the 90’s but nothing like this.

I gave the book 5 stars. The memoir was very emotional, dark, and painful to read. I could find myself relating to Lionel. I have to think that every good parent tries to seek the answers deep down within themselves as to why their child went astray. What did I do or not do that could’ve caused this? What part of me do I see in them? Why do we have this need to know or blame ourselves or others?? It was very clear to me that he was reaching at every little straw to blame himself for what his son did. He could’ve trashed his ex-wife but he didn’t. He blamed himself for his traits he saw in his son. He talked about the hopes and dreams he had for his son before he knew he was a killer. He wrote about thoughts and feelings every parent has.

At times while reading this, I found myself in tears. I could relate to Lionel’s analytical mind and his tendency to throw himself into work as a way to cope. Although I can’t relate to what it is like to have a child who is a killer, I can relate to how he felt. The book was challenging and triggering to me at times. It’s impossible to not blame yourself as a parent. I still struggle with that as a parent of a child with mental illness. I had big dreams for her before this all happened. We were going to go on college tours. But instead of going off to college, my daughter spent the end of her senior year in a residential mental health facility after multiple hospitalizations, threats of suicide, and an outpatient program.

My dreams of her living a normal life were gone. Just seeing her is a painful reminder of that. Her body covered with hundreds of self-harm scars so deep they will never fully heal. I feel somehow that some of it was my fault. I remember at one of her earlier hospitalizations one of her doctors blamed me for her condition. The research says that Borderline Personality Disorder is a trauma based disorder a majority of the time. But not always? I don’t want this kind of life for my child. She has a hard time taking care of herself and holding down a job. Nobody cares. The system doesn’t care. The dozen therapists she burned through don’t care. The multiple doctors and health care systems don’t care either.

It falls back to us as parents. Investing our time and resources trying our best to help her help herself. That’s not the life I wanted for her or myself. It’s painful especially after my daughter accused me of abuse and neglect, others thought poorly of me, and I’ve blamed myself. I can relate to trying my best and sometimes it is just not good enough. There is grief in letting your dreams for your child die. It’s so painful that at times I deceive myself with false hope. It’s awful having a child who wants to kill themselves. I can’t imagine the weight of having a child who kills other people.

The other day my son walked in while I was crying for one of the first times. I didn’t want him to see me like that. He choked up with tears in his own eyes telling me he felt sad by my pain. He tried to comfort me in the moment. He was calm, kind, and empathetic. I showed him a side of myself he doesn’t usually see and in return I saw likewise. It feels good to have the support of my spouse and other adult children for the times I blame myself for having a child who is not everything I dreamed of her being.

This week I’m reading I’m Glad My Mom Died, a memoir by childhood actress Jennette McCurdy. Oh boy, it might be a long week…

The little things…

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Sometimes the little things add up and just snowball. The last several days my anxiety and depression has been quite high and that has been making me crabby.

I think it started on Christmas Eve when my son Alex and his girlfriend were in a car accident after someone blew a red light. I am very grateful no one was hurt in the accident. But I am worried that his car may be totaled. He’s only had the car for a month. Finally he has a reliable vehicle to drive to work and then this happens. It’s just so frustrating. The collision center is closed this week…so we have to wait another week until we find anything out.

Meanwhile, we are getting antsy to get Alex’s old car out of our driveway. It has not been up and running since this summer. It’s not worth fixing but my son’s friend wants to buy it from us. I will be seeing him tonight and am going to try to set up a time for him to get it out of here. I’m not even sure it’s possible.

Arabella and Will still don’t have a car. I’m thinking of letting my daughter borrow my car over the holiday weekend so she can make some money doing deliveries to pay her rent. Between Arabella and Will, they totaled three cars since May. I’m a little worried about them borrowing my car, but it has full coverage if they total it. It’s been hard to find a reliable affordable car anywhere.

Christmas day all my kids came home for Christmas. Arabella came home sick with a fever and now Angel is sick. I can’t remember a time when everyone with the exception of my husband has been so sick. It’s been almost a constant thing for my friend and family circle over the last two months.

The day after Christmas my mom came over to do some volunteer work with Angel and I. It was very tense because my mom attacked my daughter via text. She said my brother Luke and I texted her merry Christmas and my brother Mark called. But Arabella was the only grandchild who called her on Christmas day. None of her other grandchildren care about her. When I texted my mom or anyone to wish them a happy holiday, that counts for my whole family. Part of the reason she feels this way is her own fault. None of her five grandchildren besides Arabella even go visit her at her house because of my dad and she chose to stay with him.

My mom likes to play the victim. When she started to play the victim with me, I called her out on it. I told her the phone works both ways. She said she didn’t want to bother anyone since she knew all of her grandchildren were celebrating on Christmas day with other family. I also said that my children and their significant others spent two weekend celebrating with her taking off work and getting gifts. Doesn’t that count? The time together was tense.

When my mom was here we stopped for lunch at Qdoba. My mom asked for a small amount of rice on her burrito. She told the guy he put too much rice on it and had to put some back. Then she also gave too much money to pay for the meal by a dollar. I think the guy thought she was giving him a tip but she asked for the money back. Sometimes my mom is rude to service people and I find it embarrassing. I’m not sure why she is acting the way she is and I find it to be stressful. I hate confronting my mom, but I’m not going to allow her to attack my kids.

Then yesterday my son said he was having problems with the bathroom in the garage apartment next door. With all the cold temperatures the water pipes froze and water from the toilet and shower are backing up from the drain on the floor. My husband has been trying to pour some warm water down the drain and it seems to trickle through. The problems with a large old house seem to be endless.

Last night the nightmares started up again and I was on an endless loop. If I left the house I was trapped in, I would be murdered. Everyone on the outside thought I was fine which made it impossible to leave because no one could see I needed help so I was stuck.

Nothing major is happening. It’s all these little things starting to snowball. It also seems I get triggered more during the holiday season. I’m not sure what to do about it. My parents and daughter Arabella are toxic people, and I just can’t seem to cut them out of my life. Sometimes their negative energy rubs off on me.

I’ve also been struggling more with aging. I don’t feel young, attractive, or energetic anymore. Yesterday I went snowshoeing and couldn’t get the clasps open on the snowshoes or tighten the poles. I struggled to get them on. My range of motion has diminished considerably. Afterwards I felt stiff and sore doing something I did easily before. I have problems opening jars and now I even struggle opening the child resistant medicine cap for my pills. My husband has been trying to talk me into a gym membership again. But I’ve been responding negatively to the idea. I don’t want to go to the gym and watch other people run when that is all I want to be able to do again. No thank you. I don’t even want to exercise anymore. It’s painful emotionally and physically.

I even got scammed by an ad on Facebook. I bought a jumbo sized mystery box that was supposed to be full of electronics. I was excited because the items in the box were going to be extra Christmas gifts for my family. I ended up getting a small box with a massage gun in it. Nothing says old like falling for scams.

Tomorrow I will try to be less crabby. #goals

5 days

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My dress doesn’t fit. When I first tried the dress on at the bridal store it was a good fit albeit a little snug in some places. I decided to order the size up just to be on the safe side. If anything it seemed like I was more apt to gain weight than lose it. The dress I ordered was a little too big. It was also too long, but I was expecting that. The dress has small sleeves off the shoulder. It was too big in that area so Angel’s future MIL did alterations for a tighter fit in the shoulder area. In doing so she also brought up the chest and now the cups are way too high. I’m hoping it will be an easy fix.

Needless to say, Angel and I are both going back this evening for alterations. Angel is a nervous wreck. I have been anxious too, but it doesn’t even compare to my daughter’s anxiety over the upcoming wedding. I’ve had some rather strange worries too. I’ve been worried about my brother Matt. The other day I even asked my mom if he was okay. It just came out of the blue a premonition he was sick and going to die. I wonder if my daughter’s upcoming wedding triggered in me some memories from my own wedding when we feared my brother could die because he was really sick. That’s the only thing I can think of. I can’t recall feeling this way towards him since I got married. How utterly bizarre.

Other than that, I feel good today. I feel confident in how I look. I have confidence in my immune system. I reminded myself that I was only sick once this year (with COVID) even after being around other sick people. I reminded myself that before I got COVID, I can’t even remember the last time I was really sick. I think it was 8 years ago when I had walking pneumonia. I exercise, eat healthy, take vitamins, drink a lot of water, and don’t do anything fun. I’ve been avoiding groups of people. I’ve taken precautions and the extra steps to strengthen my immune system to the best of my ability. What more can I do? Angel is doing the same yet she worries. Maybe she is more like me than I even thought.

One good thing is I will have a preview of Angel in her dress tonight. I really don’t want to cry at the wedding when I see her in her dress and be a big pile of snot with raccoon eyes. Angel said she wrote me a letter to be read right before the ceremony with the photographer taking my picture. Why?? Oh, why?

I can’t believe we only have 5 days left.

Dreary days

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Today is the fourth dreary and rainy (or some form of precipitation) day in a row. I’m feeling it to the deepest part of my core; the cold, the dark, being locked inside not able to get out and find the light. There is so much trouble in the world, so much trouble in the people that surround me. It never seems to end. It is heavy, denser than the fog.

Yesterday Paul and I stopped at my parent’s house before going out to eat with Matt for his birthday. It is something I have to prepare myself for like wearing a winter coat on a cold day even if it looks like it could be sunny and warm. I will be triggered. It will be hard. Sometimes I ask Arabella what it is like living with my parents. From the sounds of it, not much has changed. My dad roams the house in his underwear. My mom cleans up his messes.

Then there is Matt. Matt can not do complex tasks like washing the dishes, but he can do simple tasks. When Matt is home, my dad has Matt wait on him hand and foot. Matt go get me a cookie. Matt get me some water. Matt hand me my remote. My mom tells my dad that Matt is not his servant. Then mom gives Matt permission to wait on my dad to feel like she is in control. I don’t miss the games, the power struggle between my parents.

The visit home was uncomfortable. Paul said he really doesn’t want to go back again. I don’t either. My parents complain Arabella is messy. She is, yet they fail to notice the own mess they live in. My mom wants Arabella to leave, even if it means moving to an apartment with a boyfriend she has been dating a few months. Before my dad’s crime, my mom would’ve been aghast to the idea. But now there aren’t any morals anymore.

They are all hard to live with. But what’s even harder is to see some of their very own struggles manifested within my children.

That’s one thing we never thought of before having kids. I just looked at the autism in my brother; the violence, the voices in his head telling him to hurt someone. Maybe we didn’t examine our parents enough; their relationships, their modeling, their own mental health. Then add a random bio dad to the smorgasbord of genetic maelstrom. All I can say, as if it’s any consolation, at least what we are seeing passed down is not entirely foreign to us.

It is sad. Sometimes I feel like crying with the rain as it pours down.

One of the most important things I’ve learned over the last couple of years is acceptance. That doesn’t mean I will accept poor behavior. It means it is what it is. I am not going to be able to change things. An apple is an apple even if I want it to be an orange. It also means being mindful of triggers. A visit to my parents house may cause me to feel depressed, anxious, or even angry. If I can prepare myself in advance for the possibility of those feelings, it doesn’t hit me so hard.

Today, though, I just feel tired and blah. Under the weather I guess. It seems hard to focus and form thoughts into words that make any sense right now. This post did not go where I was expecting it to go, but that is okay. I can accept that as well, I guess.

There is no warm up in sight. The weather forecasters are saying it should be warm and sunny, spring like on April 1st. What a joke!

Kicking off the new year

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I finally was able to fall asleep after the cops left almost 24 hours after I awoke. It wasn’t a great start to the new year. Sometimes I have to wonder why these kind of things always happen to me.

I was starting to feel stressed about New Year’s Eve. I mean, why not?? I was planning on having a few people over. Then I got the call from Arabella that she was planning on coming home which stressed me out even more. Apparently Will’s mom kicked them out and they wore out their stay in Kansas. I had no idea why.

On New Year’s Eve, I awoke to find out Dan started feeling sick the night before. Angel was around him a few days before. We both became extremely anxious. Maybe we were getting sick too. Was the sneeze just a tree allergy or something more sinister this time? We were tired and must’ve taken our temperature a half a dozen times and it was always within the range of normal. Then Dan tested positive for COVID.

I called all the people who were coming to let them know. Basically it was just my best friend Cindy’s family and my own. Cindy just recovered from COVID the week before. Since all of the guests recently had COVID and Arabella still wanted to come home, the party was still on. By this time, I put everything on hold and was now behind on the cooking and getting ready for the party.

The party itself was fine and relatively uneventful. I talked to Arabella more about her boyfriend Will. She said he was a Y2k baby. The world was ending the next day might as well hook up with a random stranger, then 9 months later a baby without a daddy. His mom ended up marrying someone later and had 3 more kids. The step-dad didn’t get along with Will so when he was in middle school they shipped him out of state to live with his grandma. Every Christmas he goes home to visit his mom. Apparently when he goes home there is a lot of screaming and yelling. Then all of a sudden they show up here and I am the world’s greatest mom. I am going to enjoy it while it lasts.

The party wound down at 1:30 AM and I was off to bed. My son was also having a party in the garage apartment. From the sounds of it, his party was still going because I could hear the bass drum beating from my bedroom. Paul put his earbuds in and was soon snoring while I laid there awake. An hour later, still awake, I heard noises and a car alarm going off. I got up to look out the window as a car took off swerving around the driveway almost hitting another car. Then the car came back.

Outside it sounded like fighting and someone was honking their horn over and over. I looked over at Paul who was still asleep as I put on my robe. I opened the front door to listen. There seemed to be a problem and I was getting upset. How inconsiderate to the neighbors to have all that noise at 2:30 in the morning. I put on my boots and stormed outside.

There were two guys yelling at a girl I didn’t know who was screaming and crying behind the wheel of the car. Next to those two guys were 5 more guys. I only knew my son and his roommate. I asked them what the hell was going on. They didn’t know. They just said the girl was upset and wanted to leave. The car was running and she was ready to drive off in her boyfriend’s car. No one really knew what to do. The boyfriend was yelling that she was too drunk.

I decided to talk to the girl. She was crying saying she just wanted to go home. She said her boyfriend was mad and accused her of talking to other guys. She said he was in jail before for beating her. I tried asking her questions which she didn’t respond to in order to decide for myself if she was capable of driving or not. She seemed pretty incoherent and I thought she was drunk, on something, or both. She was in no position to be driving.

Everyone just stood there as I was talking to her not sure what to do. I told her boyfriend that he needed to reach into the car and take the keys out of the ignition which he did. It was freezing outside and I was still afraid all the ruckus would wake up the neighbors, so I shooed everyone back into the garage. I was hoping things would calm down, but they didn’t. The woman was still screaming and now flailing her arms at her boyfriend who was yelling back. He was a pretty big guy, bigger than most of the guys there. But he didn’t put his hands on his girlfriend, it was more the other way around.

Then the girl took off screaming and sat back in the car again. It seemed like she was on her phone and I was hoping she would find a ride home. By then it was 3 AM. I decided to try to go back to bed, but laid there staring at the ceiling listening to my husband snore. I worried about the girl. I worried about Dan.

At 3:30 AM, I heard sirens and saw a police car outside of my house. I just about died. I had to run to the bathroom because I felt sick. I called my son who said the girl called the police and he was going to talk to them. The police were there about 20 minutes.

At this time I was in full PTSD flashback mode. When Matt would be physically aggressive towards strangers we tried to get him out of there right away. Mom said the police could arrest him and he would get locked up for the rest of his life wearing a straightjacket and having people hurt him. I had to run to the bathroom again. I was so horrified.

After the police left, I called my son and he didn’t answer. A million scenarios flashed through my mind. What if my son was arrested? What if this girl was drinking underage? What was going on?

It seemed like an eternity later when my son called back. He said he talked to the police and told them what was going on. He said the girl had too much to drink (thankfully she was 22) and they stopped her from trying to leave but she was upset. They talked to the boyfriend and ended up arresting the girl. It was probably for the best. What if she tried walking home or passed out outside and froze to death? Those things have been known to happen around here when people drink too much when it is freezing outside.

Everything was done and I could finally sleep. I looked over at the clock, it was 4:15 AM. I had been up since 5 AM the day before, almost 24 hours. My husband and I woke up at 7 AM. He asked how I slept. I told him pretty good after the cops left. WHAT???!? He slept through the whole thing.

So, yeah, my new year started out a little rough…

Fortune cookie wisdom #39

/ Outrunning my demons / 2 Comments

Dwelling on the negative simply contributes to its power.

I think the key word here is dwelling. I recently heard on the radio that negative experiences are more memorable than positive ones. I think that is true.

Yesterday I spent 3 1/2 hours writing. A small portion was writing on my blog and the rest I spent writing my book. I added a journal entry written by my mom to the book describing Matt hitting my brother Mark and also hitting and kicking me. I wrote about my brother attacking me from my mom’s point of view. I can’t even describe what that feels like. In some ways I felt totally detached since the journal entry was almost 30 years old. Mainly I felt sad for the little girl that was me.

Then I wrote another entry remembering a time my mom asked my dad to help her by watching my brothers and I swim in the lake up north while she made supper. Any time my mom asked my dad for help he did things aggressively or half assed. Let’s just say I didn’t have the dad who would sweep me onto his lap and read books to me on the couch.

This is what happened that day when my mom asked for help. My dad came in the water with us. When Mark and Luke were swimming my dad would grab them by their feet and yank them backwards. My brothers would choke and sputter swallowing water and getting it up their noses. Then they would cry and dad would laugh saying they were just playing a game.

I was terrified of the weeds so my dad grabbed me and forced me to stand in the weeds and muck. He laughed at me while I cried and called me names. When he let me go, he threw weeds and a dead fish at me. It didn’t take long for my brothers and I to be done swimming. My dad got out of doing something he didn’t want to do. He got his jollies by making us cry, calling us names, mocking and humiliating us.

That pretty much sums up my childhood. My brother Matt frequently attacked us with no consequence because there was something wrong with him. I wouldn’t consider my dad to be physically abusive per se. There were times he hit and manhandled us, but he seemed to enjoy terrorizing us more. He liked taking what we were afraid of the most and taunting us with it like my fear of weeds. When we would cry he would laugh in our face and call us babies. He often called us stupid.

If my dad was taunting a sibling it was best to ignore him or better yet to join him because that would ensure your safety. Comforting a sibling often meant your next. Pretend not to care. Pretend nothing scares you. Show no vulnerability or weakness where he could worm in.

I spent several hours writing about the physical abuse from my brother and the psychological abuse from my dad. By the end of the afternoon I was spent. I was feeling depressed and wanted to just emotional detach from everyone. Thinking about the negative things that happened to me really wasn’t doing me any good.

My husband said maybe I shouldn’t continue writing the book or just do it in small segments of time. I told him writing this book gives my life purpose and meaning. The question is how can I write about painful experiences without dwelling on the negative? I end up spending a lot of time in a place I no longer want to be.

I do think writing my story is very therapeutic and healing, but I can’t deny there is a dark side to it as well.

Sad, angry, and less than perfect

/ Outrunning my demons / 6 Comments

I’m not going to lie, the last couple of days have been rough. It’s been hard to muster up the Christmas spirit.

Yesterday I was feeling triggered by so many different things it was hard to figure out what was bothering me. I think what has been the most upsetting is that our dog is dying. He has been getting worse since our vet visit last week. Besides arthritis and now congestive heart failure, the vet thinks the mass near his stomach could be cancerous as his appetite has not been the best. It’s hard to watch him decline and I’m afraid we might be faced with some tough decisions soon.

I remember when my husband brought our dog home to surprise our children with an early Christmas gift the December of 2007. He quickly became a member of our family. Every morning he would walk the children out to the school bus and wait for their return. He would run with Paul and I. Everyone he met just loved him. This will be his last Christmas if he holds on that long. Thinking about this makes me cry.

I feel a great amount of loss. My children are not children anymore. Angel will be moving into her own house next month. Arabella already left and she doesn’t want a close relationship with me. I feel abandoned by my extended family. At this point, I don’t even want to invite them to my daughter’s wedding.

I am pretty certain we are going to be leaving our church. I will miss some of the people we got to know. What also hurts is we spent a lot of time getting to know the pastor’s parents and they moved away without telling us they were leaving. We didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.

I miss my life pre-COVID before everything happened with my dad and before my daughter started showing signs of being seriously mentally ill. I miss when my grandma was alive and threw us the best Christmases to help us forget for one day of the year that our childhood sucked. My grandparents, Aunt Grace, and Uncle Harold all have been gone over a decade now. I miss them and the sense of family I had with them. Nothing would stop me from spending time with them if they were still alive. My family is gone but they gave me a great example of how to be that family for my own children and grandchildren someday.

Recently I posted something on Facebook saying we shouldn’t let fear stop us from getting together with family for the holidays because who knows how long any of us has left. Just something simple like that sparked a debate which caused me to be unfriended by a pastor we had a few years back. As if I am some sort of satanist or something for wanting family to be together. My bad!

He is the same pastor we invited over for Thanksgiving when he didn’t have any family in the area. His family of 5 stood us up. I cooked all this extra food and they didn’t show. Apparently someone gave him tickets to the Packer game. I never cared for the pastor after that. Good riddance!

I admit I was feeling angry and vindictive. I rarely want to cut a bitch, but man when I do. So last night I spent the evening having a couple of drinks, listening to my angry music, and doing some jagged crying. I did some slobbery sobbing that no one cares about me to the few people who actually do. They were worried about my sanity. (Long gone, people, long gone)… My best friend gave a check in call on the way home from work. I do know I have some really awesome people who care about me, even if some people who I thought cared don’t.

One of the best things COVID did do is weed the people out of my life who don’t care. I don’t have to waste my time on them. On Christmas Eve, Paul and I are spending the evening with my best friend and her family. I can do what I want without caring what others think of me. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. That is so freeing. I don’t have to try hard to please people who don’t give a shit about me. I can be myself around my friends.

One thing I can tell you is that I had a hell of a lot more fun with Tom and Lisa than I probably would’ve at the extended family Christmas party. Remember if your family sucks, friends are the family you choose. My best friends know my kids better than most of my family ever will.

Being triggered by all the loss, I really had to ask myself what was bothering me to get me so bent out of shape. What is upsetting me the most right now is that my dog is dying and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. Maybe I should grant myself the freedom to be sad, angry, and less than perfect.