Drunk blogging and a rant about Diva

...because that's always fun.

Had a bad day regarding Diva again. She's a pain in my ass. She called last night. Told Superman a story about being in some kind of sexual relationship (whether fully sexual or preliminarily sexual it's hard to know). So I called her therapist today. Therapist didn't know the first thing about this story. She called Diva to her office then called me back. We had a 15 minute meeting with me on speaker phone. Diva denied anything about the story she told her dad last night. Instead she had some different story about a relationship, the details of which were sketchy if I recall, and I can't remember much about it anyway. The point is that she's LYING! Again. Still. WTF? She's been in the RTF for a year now. And she still can't tell the truth. She hasn't accomplished diddly squat. Well, she isn't overtly murderous right now, so I suppose that's an accomplishment. I wonder, though, how quickly she could become murderous again. With her....

The point is that she is a lier. Lie-er. Lyer. Lieyer. There is no good way to spell that word. I've been corrected! It's Liar. Of course. I never claimed to be a good speller. Thanks, Scratch! But I digress. She lies. All the time. I can't deal with that, with her, not in the context of her possibly coming back here.

Shit. This is not her home anymore. I told the therapist that today. I've told this therapist that we didn't want her to come directly home, but that she needed to have some interim step. Today I told the therapist that we can't take her back at all. Ever. Shit. Ouch.

But after talking to the child, I'm just mad. I want to scream at her. If I could, if I would, this is what I'd tell her:

Do you have any idea what you're doing? This constant lying seals your fate. You're ruining your chance at anything like a normal life. You can't be trusted, which means you can't come home.

I was so mad when I finished talking to her. It was time for my art class about then, and I 'bout couldn't make it. I was a mess. I stayed, though, and sort of did what I wanted to. Didn't work on the assignments, but sat in my corner (I should take pictures of my little ceramics corner and show you) and built an interesting little thingie. I'm going to keep it, too. I like it. I'll fire it, maybe put some pretty glaze on it. It'll be my little comfort shell. Maybe I'll take a picture of that, too. Maybe I'll do a lot of things. I don't want to think about it, because it'll make me sad.

But listen to this. There's a young lady (same age as Light) in my class. She's adorable. I may have mentioned her before. She gave me a couple of hugs this afternoon. She sent me the sweetest text tonight. She said "I did not like seeing you like that. Not that I don't want you to share with me, just that I don't want you to be upset ever. " Isn't that precious? I'm usually the strong one, the shoulder that she cries on. Today was different.

I can't think of the other things I meant to say. My happy buzz is beginning to turn into a minor but annoying headache. Think I'll go take a shower and go to bed.

Now midweek

...and I feel a bit better, like perhaps I'm on the downside of a tiny nervous breakdown. Still emotionally fragile, but I don't feel like I'm on the edge any longer.

Though I still haven't had The Conversation with that case worker/supervisor person I'm supposed to inform about our decision.

Diva called again tonight. I talked to her on the phone two nights ago, and briefly again tonight. She had an interesting bit of information for me tonight. She says she was involved in a "sexual incident" with another resident yesterday evening. No detail, but she called from the phone in the public area of her dorm. I missed a call from her therapist this afternoon, and I bet that's what it was about.

Interestingly enough (ironic? stupid?) I also received the notes from the latest treatment team meeting for the child which was held late last week. Her tentative release date is 5/2/11, and the psychiatrist has removed "borderline personality traits" from her diagnosis. Hello?? Inappropriate sexual behavior with another resident isn't borderline behavior?? Wrong again. Of course this happened after the treatment team meeting. Though there were many entries on the shift notes that she exhibited inappropriate boundary infractions with peers and staff. Sounds like borderline behavior to me. The doctor seems not to be keeping the best interest of my child in mind. I think he is being swayed by political and financial influences.

I'm tired. Very, very tired. Need more sleep and tired of "it all." I'm going to take a shower and go to bed. Just wanted to give you an update. Thank you for all your encouraging comments. You have no idea how much that means to me.

This may take a while

26 March 2011

I'm more stressed than usual and having commensurate difficulty focusing on everything.

Light is home for spring break. Superman is on his way home with Twitch as I write this. They'll probably be back by the time I write the end of this post. As I said, this may take a while.

Two big complicated things: school and Diva.

School: I took on an overloaded schedule this semester. Theoretically I should be able to handle it. I did not account for the rest of my life being so complicated. I'm not sure what to do about it yet, but I will not be able to complete all the work I have before the end of the semester. Will keep you updated as I figure stuff out and actually write a post.

[Interlude: Superman and Twitch got home before the previous paragraph. Five minutes later Sproing came home from spending the day with the Wonderful Social Worker. C and N are hosting a gathering of half a dozen of our friends. Things are hectic and I need to have some deep conversation with my husband. I'll continue this dissertation probably tomorrow.]

27 March 2011

Man, I'm so unmotivated to do any school work. I have to write a resume (don't have one already) for tomorrow's senior seminar class. I so don't want to. I don't give a shit. Light told me that she has a resume builder program, or free access to a website or some such, and she'll help me put in the info. Yes, my daughter is helping me with my homework. I told her to do it for me because I don't give a shit, but she's so honest and noble and honorable she won't do it. I taught her well, didn't I? Because that's my philosophy on course work, homework, education in general. To students I say "It's your education. Correct answers aren't as important as you learning the material. I'd rather see your work with mistakes than someone else's perfect work." And usually I live by that ethic. But with this crock of bullshit, I don't even think it matters. Perhaps my standards are slipping. I blame the nervous breakdown. But I don't feel this way about my other classes, so I'm not too worried about it.

We were about to get into the second of my complicated things. Diva. Oh, shit. This is weighing very heavy on my soul.

Where to begin? Here's the post from a year ago that describes the events that finally sent her to the mental hospital. For further information read the rest of the March 2010 posts. But if you've been following this drama for a while, you know that the problems started long, long before last spring. The summer of 2009 was a living hell. I can't bring myself to look at those posts and I can't remember how much I chronicled. So take a look if you want. Long story short(er), she has been messed up in the head and a huge problem for many years. And she's only 13 years old now. Yep. Bad news.

I'm stalling. I need to write it out, but my fingers and my heart don't want to go there. Let's try again.

The residential treatment facility (RTF) where she is currently incarcerated/committed has done about as much as they can do for her. Or they are tired of having her around. Or the agency that placed her there (and I don't even remember which branch of mental health agency that was) is tired of paying for her to be there. (I honestly don't know how that works. Medicaid is paying for it, I think, but the costs might be accounted through the agency, which would be a large expense on their paperwork. But I might be wrong.) At any rate, Diva's current treatment plan has her leaving the RTF very soon. Next month, possibly.

I made it clear to Diva's case worker at the RTF at least six months ago that we would not be able to bring her back home from the RTF, that we needed some kind of transitional arrangement for her to go elsewhere before coming here. Now that the move is imminent, Superman and I are getting nervous. Because the state agency in control of her residence status is now trying to prepare everyone for her homecoming. As in coming to this house, to live under the roof where I live, where her Daddy lives. You have no idea how gut-wrenchingly frightening that is.

And we can't do it. Shit, this is hard. La-ti-da-ti-da. La-la-la-la-la-la I can't hear you! Java, honey, write it down. You need to get this out. It won't get better until you get through it, process it, come out the other side. You'll be OK. You're strong. Yes, this hurts. It's hard. But you have the strength to make it through.

OK, trying again... We can not bring her home. Ever. Damn you have no idea how hard this is to write. My fingers don't want to hit that key combination. My stomach physically hurts.

I want for her to get the best care possible under the circumstances. Oh HELL no, I know that isn't with me. Of that I am confident. Shit, she's such a trigger for me emotionally. I'm afraid that I would hurt her, and I don't want that for her. I want her to get the best care she can get. She is a very sick young lady and probably will never be quite right in the head. She can improve, be better than she otherwise might be, but she needs to have consistent and persistent therapy to guide her thoughts. The child has no natural ability for empathy, though the mental health professionals tell me that she can be taught to consider the feelings of others. Don't know if I believe them. It will be an intellectual exercise for her, with no real emotional component. The only thing she truly cares about is herself. If she wants something, she feels entitled to it no matter who else might have a claim to whatever it is. Yes, she is a psychopath. Or sociopath. Neither of those terms is used in modern psychology. Officially she has conduct disorder, early onset. Once she reaches the age of 18 she will qualify for a personality disorder diagnosis. There are a few that might apply. Borderline personality disorder, anti-social p.d., narcissistic p.d., etc. I'm getting technical in order to distance myself from the personal. 'Cause the personal hurts real bad.

I sort of love her. I care very much about her. I love who I hoped she would be. My heart is breaking. Can you hear it?

She doesn't connect to me emotionally. When we talk, either on the phone or in person, she is distant, almost mechanical. I feel as though she constantly tries to manipulate my emotions. She has none of her own (except to be angry and indignant) . And it seems as though playing with my emotions is a game for her. I'm very emotional, loving, caring, nurturing. I can't turn those things off. She exploits that.

I have put a lot of emotional energy into that child over the past 12 years. She was 14 months old when we got custody of her. Eleven months later the adoption was legally accomplished. We made a promise to love her and raise her as our own. Well, we did the best we could. She has never been an easy child. She has worked hard and consistently to break my trust in her. And I have none left. The only thing I can trust her to do is lie and manipulate. I can't be her mother, not in the traditional sense of motherhood. I can help manage her care, be a part of her treatment team. But I cannot give direct care to the child. It's too late. She's too far gone. I'm too far gone. Superman is too far gone. Her siblings have been over her for a while now.

Superman told me last night about dreams he's been having in which Diva comes into the house to kill us. After she threatened to do that very thing, I'm not surprised he has these dreams. Sometimes in the dreams she comes after Superman, or me, or another loved one. Sometimes Superman hunts her down to kill her in these dreams. He told me the scariest dream was one in which he actually did kill her. He's obviously been having these dreams for a while, but he only told me last night. He isn't nearly as troubled as I am about her never coming home.

OK. There it is. I did it. And now you know.

Don't feel obligated to leave a comment. This is big ugly stuff which is hard to respond to. If you have something to add, please do. But don't feel obligated.

Thank you for slogging through it all.

Conversations with myself

This is a sample of what's happening in my brain on this Sunday morning.

I didn't do any school work yesterday. There is so much to do!

I know. I'm so easily distracted.

That's a sorry excuse. I'm lazy and undisciplined.

And fat as a direct result.

Let's not go down that road. Think of something more positive.

[that's the influence of cognitive behavioral therapy]

When will people realize I'm a genius and not bother me with mundane things like laundry and housework?

There is value in the mundane. It helps balance you. That's what I've heard, anyway.

Yeah, I've also heard that exercise is fun, exhilarating even. I've never gotten that far even after sticking with an exercise program for months. Crock of shit in my experience. I believe it works for others.

Or perhaps I'm not doing it right. I certainly don't have a ...

I forgot what I was saying. Back to my genius. I want them to take care of the mundane so I can concentrate on ... whatever it is I do best. And they need to quit just quit making me feel guilty for being ... whatever it is that doesn't fit their design for me.

Who are "they" anyway?

They know who they are.

"They" are me. I accept guilt for things I don't do, ways I don't fit perfection. Ways I don't even come close to approaching perfection.

Eat the cookie crumbs from my shirt.

I need to find my ear plugs. Sproing is awake now, making noise, arguing with the players on his Xbox sports game. Distracting.

I'm easily distracted. I use it as an excuse.

Or maybe ... I forgot what I was going to say.

Get up, Java. Move your legs around, get the blood flowing, walk across the room and find the ear plugs in your desk drawer.

I hope they're in my desk drawer. I'm not sure where.. Wait, I know I have some in my toolbox.

Oh! I need to go to the hardware store today to get the supplies for the next art project.

I also need to elaborate on my sketches for that project.

[I'll tell you about the next sculpture project later. It involves sculpting cement. Mortar mix, actually]

I'm getting distracted even writing the side notes here.

And I still haven't gotten my ear plugs.

Hang on.

Back. Looked in 4, no 5, no 6 desk drawers (I have two desks) and got distracted by the stuff I found. Didn't find the earplugs. Smelled the incense (can't spell incense) in one of the drawers, had to light that.

Incense adds another dimension (can't spell dimension) to a space. Helps delineate (can spell delineate) one space from others.

Took 6 minutes to get my ear plugs. They weren't in any of the desk drawers, but I found them in my toolbox.

Also found other stuff in my toolbox. So that's where my other long-sleeved shirt is! I've been looking for it.

Still missing at least one long-sleeved shirt. The one with the most burn holes in it. Might be in my workspace at school.

The earplugs aren't working as well as I wish they would. Perhaps I'll find the noise-reducing ear muffs-that-look-like-headphones and wear those as well.

I can hear myself breathing when my ears are plugged. It's distracting.

Everything is distracting; get real.

Oh, Light has my Get Real DVD, and all my other gay movies. I need my gay movies back.

Perhaps I should wait util the end of the semester to get my gay movies back. I certainly don't have time to waste watching movies, dammit.

I want this semester to be over, except I don't. I want to have some time to waste. If I didn't have schoolwork to do I'd watch some movies, start another knitting project. I want to make that new hat pattern I bought. Have the yarn for it, too. I've never knitted a hat, and I like the style of that pattern.

Or I could quit typing here and get on with my school work.

What do I need to do today? Let's see, get stuff from the hardware store. Don't want to do that yet. Will go this afternoon, but before the sun gets low enough that it's in my eyes as I drive over there. Hate that.

Want more coffee. Where's Superman?

Also need to write that position paper for Dr. B's class. Dammit, I should have worked on that during spring break. Didn't do squat that whole week. What a waste of time. Lazy ass. Fat lazy ass.

That's where this discussion started. Done that already. Back to what I need to accomplish today.

OK, the position paper for Dr. B, Oh, and study for the test Tuesday in Dr. W's class! Shit. What an idiot

[Dr. W is an idiot, not me. Not that I'm not sometimes an idiot, too, but I'm referring to Dr. W this time. He's the same fool who taught the sexuality class last semester. This is the third class I've had with him. This time it's substance abuse. This is his specialty, what he does as a clinician. He should have more of a clue about this. He doesn't. He's an idiot. I need to have a discussion... oh, never mind.]

Once again, my asides get as rambling as my stream of consciousness bullshit.

Concentrate Java! I need to write the damned paper, study for the idiot's test, and pleasepleasepleaseplease read all the way through at least one of the articles for the research class.

Yeah, the research class. Was going to read a bunch of those articles over spring break.

Don't go there again. We've had that discussion.

Moving right along, have approximately 26 articles to read, and write a thingie (she called it an annotated bibliography) for every one of them. How many articles have I read? Zero. When is the semester over? Damn, about 5 or 6 weeks.

Don't want to take the time to count the weeks right now. Don't want to actually know how many. Can stay in denial better if I don't look at the calendar.

Damn, I have so much to do. Projects in two art classes. Want to play in the mud more, have the rest of one, then two more pieces to do in ceramics. Should have been completely finished with these vessels two weeks ago.

This isn't helping. I'm just making myself more stressed thinking about all the shit I have to do for school, much less for the rest of my life.

When will they realize ("they" know who they are) that I'm a genius, a mad genius maybe probably and let me concentrate on the important stuff?

[Have you ever seen a picture of Einstein's desk? Google it. Thomas Edison's too. Geniuses. That's what my whole fucking life looks like. Pain in the ass.]

But is that a good thing? Not necessarily. Can't find shit half the time. I want my life to be a bit more organized.

Is my brain capable of that? Am I so ADD that it's impossible for me to get my shit together?

[Did I mention that I actually do have ADD? My psychiatrist finally told me so. Then he moved away. Good enough. He was largely useless except for giving me drugs. But he didn't medicate me for the ADD. What's up with that?]

Yum. Coffee good. Fresh hot coffee good. The combination of bananas and pecans taste better than bananas with walnuts, IMHO. I'm not a huge fan of walnuts. Breakfast.

Where were we? Ah yes, back to the whole "spend the day studying" idea.

Writing this stream of consciousness bullshit has been a lovely way to distract myself from the real purpose of my day. Studying. Writing that damned paper. Reading the articles. Oh, and studying for that idiot's test. What a waste of time, that last one. I'll do it because I love getting good grades. But damn, what an idiot.

I said that already.

Shut up already! Can't I find a way to end this post?

Java, walk away from the blog. Hit "publish post" then close the browser.

Now, Java!

...

The road to hell is paved with good intentions of posting on my blog

Here are some pictures I've been meaning to post since Christmas. This first one is a new t-shirt that Light got for Christmas. She's a well-endowed young lady, much to her delight and consternation. She's ambi-sexual; sometimes she feels feminine, sometimes masculine. It's hard to be a boy with a rack like that. She has a few t-shirts that allude to what's underneath, and this is her newest.

And speaking of what's new with Light, she is dating! As you may or may not know, in addition to being ambi-sexual, she's also bi-sexual, so when she told me she was going on a date, I had to ask "boy or girl?" It's a girl. Not only did she go on a date, she now has a girlfriend. I'm thrilled. I've met the young lady in question, and find her to be a delightful specimen of the sex. *
This is N at his high school graduation. Yes! He graduated! We're all so proud of him. He graduated at the end of the first semester, in mid January. That was a while ago, and I've been meaning to tell you about it and provide a picture ever since then.

Yesterday N and I went to the local beauty college to see about getting him enrolled. He keeps calling but not getting anyone. But they were open yesterday so we went. He may be able to start as early as next Wednesday, depending on his Pell Grant application and what Vocational Rehabilitation (Voc Rehab) is able to do. The next thing on my agenda with him is to get him a driver's learner's permit. This fella needs to get off his ass and get busy with life.

And this is what I've been busy with in my sculpture class. Those are pieces of steel that I cut out, welded (yes, welded) together, and painted.
In three views, since it's a 3D piece of art.

After seeing the finished product painted and all, I now want to repaint it in darker colors. I like the colors, but they need to be darker. It looks too washed out the way it is now.

I am in the middle of my spring break this week. My intention (road-to-hell) was to do a lot of studying and get a lot of assignments done. However, my motivation got lost somewhere in the basement. I finally finished the first assignment on my list yesterday, after fooling around with it for three days. It's an easy assignment, too. I could have done it in less than 30 minutes if I'd been serious about it. There is a lot more work to do, and here I sit.

Since I'm not studying anyway, I decided to get my sewing stuff out yesterday. I have pretty much everything set out, finally. It took me a long time to find all that I need because my sewing stuff is so disorganized. OK, my whole house is disorganized if you want to know the truth. Didn't actually sew anything yesterday, though, because once I got it all together, I had to go run the errands with N.

My truck, Manny, is in the shop again. The brakes were acting wonky, catching and stopping me suddenly as I tried to gently slow down. The poor ol' boy is on his last bearings. We've put so much money into repairs, and Superman is more and more frustrated about that. I told the mechanic that if it's a cheap, easy fix, then fix it. If it's a major problem, lead the ol' boy around back and shoot him. I love my truck. He's a piece of junk, but I love him. He's not that safe anymore, and certainly not dependable, and I realize it's time to think about replacing him. It's sad, but necessary. He has been an important element in my life over the past four years or so.

Sproing is doing pretty well, all things considered. He's a whole lot better than he was the last time I posted. He has his days, his episodes, but he recovers better than he used to, and his outbursts are less frequent. Baby steps. It's progress; slow but good.

Diva is batshit crazy, but that's a well established fact. Superman and I had a good talk with one of her mental health service coordinators earlier this week. The upshot is that we love her, care about her, and want the best for her, but are not capable of providing the level of care and supervision she needs at home right now. The service coordinator is working to get her into a therapeutic foster home when she leaves the treatment facility she's in now. The child is making some progress, but it's slow and unsteady with lots of reversals. There is a general upward trend (improvement), but the slope is shallow, low, whatever. She's a very sick (mentally) girl.

And I'm taking Child Psychopathology this semester. Psycho-Child! In our last class we started talking about some of the more serious mental disorders, and covered Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD), which Sproing has, and Conduct Disorder which Diva has. It was a depressing class, really affected my emotional state. It was hard to sit there and have the major difficulties in my life discussed in all their gory glory. It's much easier to deal with it in smaller doses, a piece at a time. I survived. Didn't even cry or anything.

I think I was going to discuss something else, but I forget what, so I'll quit writing now and post this. Enjoy. Hopefully I'll post again soon, more sooner than the latest interval. If you don't hear from me again soon, it's because I'm inundated with school work. I graduate at the end of April. I might not post again until May. Hopefully sooner, but no promises.

*Yes, I really do talk like that sometimes. It delights some, and irritates others.