General update and a quote

This was the quote in today's A.Word.A.Day offering. Is this significant to my life today?

There is nothing so useless as doing efficiently that which should not be done at all. -Peter Drucker, management consultant, professor, and writer (1909-2005)

I discovered a website of gay stories. I was up until, um... (shhh - 5:00 this morning)(don't tell Superman) ... pretty late reading one of the stories. It was good, sure. But why do I do this to myself? Why do I sabotage my health and sanity with behaviors like this?

Superman and I were just talking about the stress in our lives. Their names are Sproing, Diva, and Money. Oh, and the repairs and remodel "we" (mostly he) is/are doing on the house and yard. We want to move, but the house and yard need a lot of work to get it into sellable condition.

I'm really too tired to think about it much. I'd get too upset if I tried, so I'm going to ignore it for now. And go to bed early tonight (I hope!).

Superman says he feels like he's on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I had me another mini-breakdown Sunday after Sproing acted like... well, Sproing. I'm worried about Superman, though.

My brain isn't working well. Too tired. I will go to my Art History class in an hour, then meet with my academic advisor about finishing up my research project. We might be going in a different direction now, actually. I want to tell you about it, but I'm too tired. Briefly (really this time!) I'm looking into the possibility of starting a gay-lesbian-bi-transgender support group and/or community center for my course project. This may just be an empty exercise for the experience and a grade, or perhaps I will find enough support for the thing to really get off the ground. At any rate I'd like to start a PFLAG chapter. Of course there isn't one in Greenwood. According to the PFLAG website, there are five chapters in South Carolina: Greenville, Spartanburg, Columbia, Myrtle Beach, and Charleston. The closest to us is Greenville, about an hour north of Greenwood. I've been to that one a few times, but the travel distance precludes much involvement. We need one in Greenwood, imho.

And I'm rambling again. It's what I do when I'm tired. Also what I do when I'm not tired, but more so when I'm tired. Like now. This is a perfect example of rambling.

Oh, shut up Java. Post this thing and go to school already.

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.

She's granting me perspective on the boy who goes out with a hole in his shirt

A hole in his shirt. Not so big a deal compared to an 11 year old girl who makes an obscene phone call to the school district-wide director of the arts program. 

And leaves the message in a voice mail.

With lots of foul words and insults. 

And gives her name and phone number in the message.

She's suspended from school for 3 days. She's in a lot bigger trouble than that, too. We're still working on the scope of the consequences for her. 

I'm not doing well.

How to survive a nervous breakdown, take two

My day is not this bad.

But it isn't too good, either. I felt so much better yesterday. I don't know what happened. Did I do too much? Or is this the nature of the beast?

Today is Light's 19th birthday. She is such an incredible young woman and a blessing to me. She is handling the household while I isolate myself. I want her to have a good day. I want to be able to carry my share of the burden and give her a break.

I slept through morning visiting hours this morning (7:30-8:30). When I got up at 8:30 I got dressed and went into the kitchen to make coffee and find some breakfast. I got the coffee started. That was my limit. Breakfast befuddled me. Dear darling Light toasted a bagel for me. I gave her my debit card and she went to the grocery store for some milk. Besides that and a small block of Havarti cheese I have no idea what else she got. The thing is, see, I trust her. I know I can send her to the store with my debit card and she won't buy 3 gallons of ice cream and the latest Playboy or Maxim magazine.

The younger ones have come in to hug me and whine at me. That challenges my stability but doesn't confuse me. I can very easily say "Tell your problems to Light or save them for Dad when he gets home." I give them hugs, scratch Sproing's back for a minute, then say "I'll see you later." This works. But I feel bad for not being able to do more, to help keep them out of Light's hair.

Here's a funny exchange from this morning. The setting: our kitchen. Players: Light, Sproing and Java.

Java to Light- Sproing asked me yesterday if I was going to bake a cake for your birthday today. Do you want one?

Light to Java- Only if you are up to it.

Java to Light- We'll see.

Sproing to Light- A white or a pink cake?? Do you want a pink cake?

Light to Sproing- Do I look like a pink cake kind of person??? (btw, she is definitely NOT a pink cake kind of person. She's a semi-butch bisexual who loves to wear black.)

Sproing- OK, a chocolate cake. But with white icing, OK?

Java to Sproing- It's her birthday. Don't you think she should have the kind of cake SHE wants?

The conversation broke down at this point. I suspect he isn't capable of considering anyone else's point of view. Either that or he got distracted by something shiny and/or had stood in one place as long as is possible for him. He's kinda frenetic.

Superman and I are taking Light out to eat this evening. She wants to go to the Crimson Crustacean. I might take my glasses off so I don't have to look at the clientele.

I was waiting in the drive-through line at the fast food place beside the Crimson Crustacean on Monday evening. From that vantage point I could clearly see the Crimson Crustacean parking lot. A rotund man who's age I approximate to be late 40s or early 50s left that fine establishment and waddled out to his car. He was wearing athletic shorts, a grungy t-shirt and a baseball cap. In this small town, that is one of our nicer restaurants. It disturbs me that people go in there dressed like that. I am fairly rotund myself, and am anything but a flashy dresser. But when I go out to a restaurant I clean up a bit. Maybe I'm being snobbish, but there you have it.

Think I'll go doodle for a while.

Have a nice day.

A brief history of my last 20 years book three

How we got here

Why we got here

What we're doing here

Book Three

When we last saw our heroine the horde of invaders had just left. She was standing amid the ruins with a shell-shocked look about her.

Have you seen the oft-Xeroxed quote that goes something like this?

As soon as the rush is over, I'm going to have a nervous breakdown...I owe it to myself, I worked for it, and nobody is going to deprive me of it!

That's sort of what happened. I didn't go all out crazy, but it was rough. It was springtime when they left for California, sometime in mid-March, actually, if I recall. I don't remember details about the next few months. Light could probably fill us in, but I doubt it matters much.

The next thing I recall is the beginning of the school year, mid August 2003. I enrolled Diva and Sproing in kindergarten. This was a big step for me, as I was still homeschooling Light and Twitch. It felt like I was giving up on myself. But I knew I couldn't continue to do justice to Light and Twitch's education with Thing One and Thing Two running rampant. Nor could I concentrate on their educational needs without ignoring Light and Twitch. So off to school they went. I was nervous about feeling relieved, but I did. J

School wasn't going well with the older two either. Light and I were looking into getting her started at the high school the following year, when she'd be a freshman. We learned that to enroll in high school directly from being homeschooled she'd need all manner of paper work and verification and assorted other bull shit red tape. But to enroll her in the middle school in the 8^th grade, and then have her graduate to high school was no big deal. By golly we did that! Twitch was restless and dissatisfied with homeschooling and desperately (thought he) wanted to go to Middle School. He was in 6^th grade at the time. Once we decided to send Light to school he wanted desperately to go too. We figured all this out sometime in late September or October, so we waited until the new semester began in January to send them to the middle school.

Twitch is a unique bird. Unique and Middle School do not mix. Oh, boy. He was so desperate to be like the other kids, to go to "real" school. I've been to middle/junior high school. It is hell. I knew nothing had changed significantly, but once he made up his mind there was no convincing him otherwise. I knew the only way for him to learn the horror that is middle school was to experience it for himself. This was so hard for me to do, because I knew my sweet naïve gentle boy was going to get the shock of his life. A mom hates to subject her child to that. He was totally unprepared, having never been in a traditional classroom in his life. But that was all we could do. That, and pray a lot. Which we did.

For the rest of that school year, from January to May I stayed home alone while all four kids were in school. It was bliss. I spent some time at the schools visiting classrooms, teachers, and generally being an involved parent. Especially with Twitch there were some issues that surfaced. He's ADHD and we'd just worked around his needs when at home. But classroom management is ever so much different from homeschooling, and he needed some intervention. I won't go into all that here, but suffice to say it took a lot of my energy.

Early in the summer of '04 I was toying with the idea of getting a "little job." I had in mind something part time, preferably flexible, that would allow me to be available as Mom for the kids, yet get me out of the house and bring in a bit of extra money. To that end I was perusing the classified ads in our newspaper. It was there I spotted notification that our school district was looking for bus drivers, training class to begin [near date], come to transportation office to apply. Cool! Driving a school bus! I've always wanted to drive a truck, and a school bus seemed the logical thing. So I followed through; went to the training, took the written test for my learner's permit, and spent long hot summer mornings in an un-air conditioned school bus driving or being driven around the county. I was finally ready for my road test to get the official Commercial Drivers' License. Drove that test; blew it away, baby! So all of a sudden I have a Class B CDL with passenger endorsement. And a job! And school starts in a week! Holy Shit! I need after school day care for my 1^st graders!!!

I got the kidlets enrolled in a local day care center where they would be picked up after school and taken to the center, fed a snack, and given opportunity to do homework. (It was beautiful in theory. The transportation from school to center worked well. Everything else was a bit sketchy. But everyone survived.) The older ones were properly supplied to begin a new year.

The first day of school was stressful, of course. The first day of work was OMG and Holy Shit not-what-I-naively-expected stressful. I wasn't actually driving yet, as there were no routes available at the time. I was riding on a route as a bus monitor. The boss put me on one of the toughest routes in the whole city. I wonder if he was trying to either scare me away or to see what I was made of. I'm still standin', as they say, so I guess I was made of tougher stock than either of us thought!! And I certainly learned a lot.

But back to the first day of school. We have established that there was mega-stress going on. But wait! There's more! When I got home I checked the mail. There was an envelope from our landlord which contained our official eviction notice. We had suspected that this might be in the works, but didn't know for sure, and didn't expect it so soon. My mind reeled. My knees gave way. I was not at peace. This was one of those days that will live in infamy as a Really Bad Day.

The house we were in was a rental. We'd gone into the deal as a rent-with-option-to-purchase. There were sloppy mistakes on both sides of the whole thing. One thing led to another, and the owner wanted to sell. We weren't in a position to purchase at that time, so we needed to move. It was a lot more complicated than that, and got really ugly. He threatened to sue, Superman bent over backwards to do what the landlord demanded, yet the $%&)# sued us anyway. A bad time was had by all. This was a slow and painful process that began the summer of 2004 and isn't quite finished even now. There are no "feel good" parts to that story. Another post for another time when I feel like reliving a trip through hell. Don't hold your breath. Kick the stress level up another notch. Exponentially.

What to do? Where to go? How best to adjust to this sudden upheaval in our lives? Stay tuned, citizens, for it does indeed get better. But for now this seems like a good place to stop.

(I thought I'd get to the end of the story in 3 easy installments, but it seems as though it will take at least one more. I had conveniently forgotten some of this heartache and underestimated the length of time/paragraphs it would take to bring us approximately up-to-date.)