Let's try to catch up

Once I go for so long without posting it's hard to know how or where to begin again.

The sun continues to rise and set every day, indicating that the earth is still turning. I am still here.

There is no plan for this post. Looks like more stream-of-consciousness ahead, though hopefully a bit more coherent than the last stream-o'-consciousness mess I wrote.

Most recently I spent three days in training to be a Hospice volunteer. That was interesting and gave me something to do with my time. And I met some new people, though very superficially. I will go for a one-on-one interview with the volunteer coordinator next week to discuss in what capacity I will volunteer. For direct patient involvement I could work in our Hospice House or go to the homes of Hospice patients. For home visits, the volunteer mainly sits with the patient and is there for companionship, and/or respite for the (usually family member) regular caregiver for up to four hours. Those who do it say it's wonderful. I could also work in the thrift store or do miscellaneous clerical duties in the office. I prefer direct interaction with patients. I'm leaning toward working at the in-patient Hospice House facility. We shall see. Updates as the situation warrants or I get my ass in gear to tell you.

I'm sure you are eager to hear about Diva and Sproing. Things are limping merrily along. No, of course not "merry." There seem to be fewer outbursts between them. She's settling in fairly well. Complains of being bored. Looks bored. We suggest activities which she rejects. I am not her entertainment coordinator. Ya' know, I remember doing the same thing to my Mama. "I'm bored. There's nothing to do." and she'd say "why don't you vacuum the floors or clean up your room?" (She hates to vacuum. My room was almost always a mess.) I'd whine at her and not do anything she suggested. The very fact that she suggested it made me not want to do it. Though I continued to complain to her about being bored. Damn, adolescents are annoying.

The Sproing is troublesome. He got sent home from school twice this week. Or maybe it was once this week and once last week. For bad behavior, of course. Being disruptive, disrespectful, hitting another student ("but I didn't hit him very hard!"). And according to him it's never his fault. His version of events does not match the teacher's or principal's line. He claims they are lying. He's a pain in the ass. And oh, how he argues! "I'm not arguing!" It drains all my energy.

Went on a date with Superman Thursday evening. I drank beer. It was OK. There is an independent pizza place that recently opened downtown. They have a fire-heated stone/brick oven and a large selection of craft beers. That's the only place I get beer, because I generally don't like beer. I'm trying to develop a taste for it. I like parts of the beers. Some of the beers. It's complicated. Anyway, the pizza was delicious as always, and the one beer I had relaxed me ever so slightly. The company was fantastic.

Light is home now, supposedly looking for a job. She pounded the pavement for a couple of days, but isn't doing much now. Guess I should light a fire under her lazy ass. Twitch is over half way finished with his school term. He'll be home for a couple of weeks, then go back for his summer term. Not sure when that will happen.

Both Light and Twitch got cars last weekend. Superman took them to an auto auction not far from where Twitch lives. Light got a 2000 Ford Windstar. It's gray and dumpy, and the a/c doesn't work. It's not in good shape, but not too bad either. It's currently in the shop. We shall see. The one they got for Twitch was a very bad move. It's a 97 Malibu. It barely runs. When it does, it belches black smoke. They should not have gotten him a car in the first place. He doesn't even have his drivers license, and no job, so no income to pay for insurance, car repairs, or gas and such. Superman regrets the decision. Twitch is now trying to sell it, though I don't know how well that will work. I'm trying to stay out of it. I don't know anything.

I went to the public library and got On Death and Dying by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. It is a classic on the subject. She was a pioneer in modern treatment of terminal patients. I have wanted to read it for years. It was published a few years after I was born. Man oh man, is it ever dated! So much has improved since she did her initial research. She has written more recent books, but I haven't read those.

I finally finished a book this week. The Five Children and It by Edith Nesbit. It is a cute old children's story about "it," a psammead (made up creature, I think) who grants wishes to the children. Things always go wrong with the wishes. It isn't a particularly good or well-written story, but I read it completely because I am frustrated about the number of books I've started and not finished. So I finished that one, dammit. I don't know if I'll finish On Death and Dying, but that will be a conscious choice rather than laziness or whatever. It's such dated material and I can get the gist of her whole theory from any number of websites. I already know a lot of it anyway.

Last day of school for the kidlets is next Thursday, June 2nd. It's also C's birthday. I'm looking forward to C's birthday. I dread the younguns being out of school. I have a list of community resources for keeping them busy. There's a day camp on the other end of town that meets for about 6 hours every weekday throughout most of the summer, and entertains kids from age 9 or 10 to age 15. A lot of the summer day camp activities around here are for kids up to age 12, and both of my kids are 13. There are some interesting week long activities here and there. Some of this stuff is kinda pricey, but not too bad. The all summer thing is very reasonably priced, I think $40 per kid per week.

My butt is getting numb sitting here, so I'm gonna post this and go on.

Quote of the day

"Do not let yourselves be discouraged or embittered by the smallness of the success you are likely to achieve in trying to make life better. You certainly would not be able, in a single generation, to create an earthly paradise. Who could expect that? But, if you make life ever so little better, you will have done splendidly, and your lives will have been worthwhile."

-- Arnold Toynbee

Well, this is unexpected

Things with Diva are working out much better than I feared. So far. It is hard to trust her for the long term. She's been here just over a week, and since about Tuesday has been pretty normal. She wanted to ride the school bus on Monday, and I didn't think that was a good idea. We argued. Superman and I discussed it and decided to give her enough rope to hang herself. It actually turned out fine. She's been riding the bus morning and afternoon, and so far all is well.

Sproing always rides to school with Superman. The school and Superman's place of business are only a few tenths of a mile from each other. Last week Superman drove Manny (my beloved pickup truck) which bugs Sproing. He's 13, thus very image conscious. Manny is a hunk of junk and an embarrassment to the child. It amuses me. Anyhoo, with Diva on the bus and Sproing in the car, it gives each of them some time away from each other.

The worst part of Diva's homecoming so far (one of two, actually) is the way the two children get along with each other. They don't. He's having a real hard time with her being here. He's spoiled, I admit. That's part of the problem, but there's a lot more to it. He has been the only child in the household for a year now. He's inherently jealous and selfish, probably more so than most normal adolescents. The two of them have a stormy history. Many of the misdeeds that sent her to the psychiatric residential treatment facility (RTF) either directly affected Sproing or included him as co-perpetrator. He has some pretty serious psychological/emotional problems, as does she, but the two are different. It has been a challenge.

The other bad thing about Diva being here is her nocturnal enuresis. Bedwetting. At 13 years old, by god! I don't know if she does it on purpose or not. I don't know what the problem is. Does she just not care? Sometimes it seems so. I asked her if she wet the bed at the RTF, and she said not very often. What did they do? They woke her up a couple of times a night for her to use the bathroom. "They" with their 24 hour staff. Well, shit. Or perhaps she has some physical problem, or it's tied to her emotional disabilities. I don't know. She's going to our family physician for a check-up tomorrow (Monday) morning, and I intend to ask him about it. It's probably time to take her to the urologist again. We did that when she was about 5 or 6 years old. At the time, the urologist found nothing physically amiss. We shall see.

In other news, last week was crazy. Light had the opening reception for her senior art exhibit last Sunday afternoon. She graduates in six days!!! with a bachelor of fine arts in studio art, and this exhibit is a really big deal and a major requirement for graduation. She invited the family: my dad and stepmom, my mom, Superman's mom and dad, and Superman's brother and his wife. That's who all showed up. My parents-in-law didn't get here until Sunday evening, and Superman took Monday off from work and took them to the gallery at Light's college. They missed the opening reception (thank the gods!!) but saw the exhibit. We of course had Sproing and Diva with us, which was uncomfortable but nothing tragic. My dad kept Sproing pretty busy and away from Diva. My dad and Sproing get along well.

I had final exams early in the previous week, which week culminated in Diva coming home and my dad and stepmom coming to town on Friday. Saturday Superman, Diva and I went to Light's college for an award ceremony in which Light was honored with an award for completing the honors program. There was a lot more to the ceremony, but that was the only interesting part, of course. :) Then Superman, Light, and a few of her friends worked their collective butts off setting up her show. We came back to Greenwood, only to turn around the next morning and go back, this time with Sproing in tow. When we came back home Sunday evening we had my Mama with us. She had stayed in college town for a few days before, to be with Light and all, then came home with us to visit for a few days. She was in South Carolina for a week, flying in and out on consecutive Thursdays.

My dad and stepmom, particularly my stepmom, were annoying and rude. Not the whole time, especially not when they were with me. But they spent a lot of the day Saturday at our house with Sproing while the rest of us were with Light. My house is an awful mess, I admit, and I have some issues that need to be addressed. My stepmom was judgmental and obnoxious about the house, from what I heard. She didn't say anything to me, which makes it worse in a way. C and N were here, of course, because they live here. She was extremely rude to them, ignoring them when she wasn't giving them contemptuous stares. C tried to be polite to her, but she shunned him. Ooooooo!!! It makes me mad!

I mentioned it to my Mama, and she said they didn't like it that C and N live here, and she agrees with them. WTF? In the first place, what business is it of yours so fuck off. I kept my tone civil and asked why they felt that way. Mama said that part of it has to do with them taking up space in the house, and we don't have room for our own children because they are here. Oh, give me a break. My two youngest children each have a bedroom, and my college student children share the bedroom with their same-sex sibling on the few occasions when they are home. It's crowded, but it works.

I'm not sure what their other objections are to C and N being here, and I don't really care. I had a talk with Mama about a few things on Monday night, after I had a mini-breakdown. Monday was hard for me, but the discussion was good. It cleared the air. Among other things, I told her about how important C and N are to me, particularly C. We've been a part of each other's lives for five years now, and are very close. He understands me in ways that my husband doesn't. (Of course, my husband understands me in many ways that C doesn't!) Likewise, I know him very well. We speak the same emotional language, or something like that. Hell, his mother kicked him to the street when he came out, and I took him in. We have had many long intense discussions about deep stuff. He and I are each other's friend-therapists. He's my best girlfriend. It's a complicated relationship and difficult to define.

Anyway, when I explained to Mama that he is a source of comfort and otherwise very important to me, she understood a little bit better and wasn't as negative. Either that or she was humoring me, and I don't care which. She was, however, very nice to C and N the rest of the time she was here. She actually likes C. He's a likable guy.

Speaking of C and N, they gave me a Mother's Day card today. It was one of two cards I received. Sproing's social worker took him out to buy me a card last week, and that was sweet. C and N got me a nice card and wrote some very touching things to me. It even made Superman tear up a bit. (He's a big softy, though, so that's not a stretch.) Of the things I got, that was the most meaningful.

The rest of the Mother's Day report: I got a call from Twitch this morning. He was nice, we talked a bit, it was a good conversation, and it was short. These are the best kinds of phone conversations to have with Twitch. He's difficult to understand over the phone. He's a good guy. He's 20 years old now, and though a bit slow with the growing-up stuff, he is making excellent progress. He's OK.

I got a text message from Light. That amuses me. This is her week of final exams. She has a major paper due Monday afternoon. I was in the same situation two weeks ago, and I know the stress. I saw her Thursday afternoon (went to see her after I took Mama to the airport), and in casual conversation she told me how much she loves and appreciates me. It was special. And it wasn't on a greeting card or said on one particular day, so that makes it more meaningful in my estimation. Obligatory greetings are less so.

Sproing said nothing. He did the Mother's Day thing last week, so he was good. That also amuses me. He's a good kid.

Diva went with her daddy to the store this noon and got me a baby doll. Sounds kind of silly, perhaps, but it is meaningful to me. I like baby dolls, and she knows that, remembered that, and had a desire to get me something she knows I like. All in all it's pretty significant coming from her. She's the one who used to target the things I like in order to destroy them and hurt me. (Notice I said "used to." I hope that's all in the past. This is my worry, the thing about her which I don't quite trust.)

Oh, and I called my Mama. I bought her a few little practical gifts when she was here, nothing particularly special, but it was something. She likes gifts. And I called her around 11:00, after Twitch called me. Yes, his call reminded me that I needed to call my mother. This evening Light called Superman and reminded him to call his mother. Amusing, perhaps. Don't tell our mothers! Back on topic: I was the first of the siblings to call Mama. My two brothers and I have a running competition to see who calls her first on special days, or otherwise does the best tribute to her. Her birthday was last month. My brother Mike visited her and took her to lunch. I sent flowers. He was with her when she received the flowers, so I looked pretty good. He, however, was there in the flesh, took her to lunch, and spent time with her. He won the Good Son award for her birthday. I called first today, so I win today. He's going to do a late Mother's Day thing with her in two weeks, though, which will be better than my first call. I have lots of fun with this. Mike and I are in the running for Good Child more often than Jim is. He's not much of a talker, likes to keep to himself especially when he is under stress. He's a really good man, and has a lot of stress in his life. We love him just the same.

Lordy it's late! It is good to get back here and blather on about what has happened in my life recently. Now that the rush is over I hope to be back more frequently, both posting here and reading my favorite blogs. Since school started in January I haven't had much time for that. I miss you all. But now I'm going to bed.

A few thoughts on Mother's Day

Before I became a mother I desperately wanted to be a mother and receive all the praise and adoration (or whatever) that Hallmark advertises. When my children were younger Mother's Day was filled with horrible guilt about how I didn't measure up to the motherhood ideal. Those were bad times. Now it's just another day on the calendar. I don't really care. I appreciate my children's expressions of love, etc., but don't need it. I suspect my older son will forget to call me, and I'm OK with that. My younger son got me a card because his social worker took him to get one. My girls may or may not mark the occasion and I'm cool with that. My oldest daughter expresses her love and appreciation frequently throughout the year whenever it occurs to her to do so. My youngest daughter is caught up in being 13 years old and emotionally disturbed. I don't expect much.

I will try to remember to call my mother, but she was just here earlier this week and I bought her a few little practical gifts and made much about this being her Mother's Day celebration, all very tongue-in-cheek. We had fun with it.

All in all, I'm good.

And I owe this blog a big, long, rambling exposition of recent events. That is forthcoming, but I don't know when.

Is it still April?

Almost the end of April, but still here.

I am finished with classes for the semester. I have an independent study course I need to do over the summer, and then I should be finished with the psychology degree. Booyah.

In other news, Diva will be released from the residential treatment facility (RTF) on Friday. Two days away. We have no where else for her to go yet, so she's going to have to come here unless by some miracle something else opens up between now and then.

And I'm not dealing with this very well. OK, I'm not on the ceiling right now, so it could be worse. I'm numb. I'm scared. I do not want to do this!

It will be temporary anyway. We're still looking for a group home for her. There's a good one about half an hour northeast of here. I picked up the application today. The process takes a couple of weeks or more, though. Oh my god, can I make it? Will Superman be able to sleep? He's not been sleeping well lately anyway. I worry about him. I worry about all of us.

I just want to hide. I don't want to do this. I have strong feelings of depression creeping into my soul.

I can't write any more now. No words will come.

I'll try to be brief,

...but there's so much to say.

I have an exam this afternoon and a paper due tomorrow. It's a paper I have to actually think about. I have three papers due sometime this week (last week? A month ago?) that won't tax the brain, but I must do them. This is the last week of classes, and next week is final exams. Most of my exams are this week, actually, and I have projects due next week.

But that's not what I came to tell you about.

When we last saw our heroine she was pulling her hair out over Diva. Still. Since then it's gotten worse. Diva has progressed as far as she's going to at the treatment facility (RTF). They need to release her to make room for other clients whom they can help. So where does that leave Diva? The agency (The Agency) that's managing her care (not the RTF) wants to send her back home. We have told them that we aren't ready for that. So they want to put her into a therapeutic foster home for a short while (2 months? 3? I dunno) and transition her back into our home. Oh HELL no! We made it clear that we can't take her now nor in the foreseeable future (3 years? 4? I dunno).

The goal of this care management agency (The Agency) is to keep families together, to provide services for emotionally disturbed children in the least restrictive environment possible and in their own communities. A noble goal, no question. But not always applicable. They're working with us to help Sproing, too, and that is working beautifully. Diva is a different creature.

Here's the thing (one of the things, anyway): she hasn't risen past level 2 of the RTF's 5 level system in the year she's been there. The kids are supposed to reach level 5 and maintain that for a certain length of time to prove their readiness to leave the controlled environment of the RTF. I brought that up to the lady from The Agency. She said the levels were more what you call a guideline, really.

She says Diva's release date is the 30th of April. If we don't take her then, or make other arrangements by then, we will be legally charged with criminal child abandonment. That, of course, goes on our permanent record. With a criminal record of that nature, I will likely never be able to work in the mental health care field. I'm in school getting a psychology degree so I can go on to grad school for a masters in social work or some such so that I can be a counselor. But not if I have a criminal record of child abandonment. And yes, they really will charge us. I've checked.

"But wait," you say. "Diva is mentally ill and not safe to bring home." Bingo. The Agency doesn't care. They finally located a therapeutic foster home for her, but a few homes refused her based on her history and/or diagnosis. Hmmm, does that maybe indicate she isn't safe to bring home? Superman and I have discussed with The Agency the possibility of privately placing her in an extended stay group home type institution. The Agency lady cautioned us to emphasize the progress Diva has made when we talk to these places, and that some places won't take her based on her history. Hello! Does this indicate perhaps she isn't safe to bring home? And yet The Agency is ignoring this obvious contradiction.

We still have the option of letting her go to the therapeutic foster home, but part of the contract for that is that we have to bring her home for overnight visits. Have I mentioned "oh HELL no?"

And let me tell you about the timeline for this. Today is Tuesday the 19th of April. (One of my bestest friends in the whole world has his birthday tomorrow. I should call him. Once again I digress.) I have exams and papers and projects due (which I should be working on right now instead of writing this) from now until next Wednesday, the 27th of April. The RTF is supposed to be kicking Diva out on Saturday the 30th of April. (I'm not certain how set-in-stone that date is.) At 9:00 a.m. on 4/30 I'm supposed to be in Spartanburg for an awards ceremony at Light's college at which Light will receive an award. On Sunday May 1st Light has the opening of her senior art show, a really big deal for her, the culmination of four years of work toward her bachelor of fine arts degree. It's a bigger deal than graduation. And my mother will be in town, as will (I think) my father and step-mother, and various and sundry in-laws. (Not the parents-in-law, though. They come in the day after.) My mother will be in town until Thursday May 5th.

I hardly have time to breathe much less find a place for the child to live, except for maybe two or three days right before she gets kicked out.

Damn. Talking about it raises my blood pressure. We aren't sure what to do (obviously). And I have so much other stuff to worry about.

So I'm going to go eat lunch, look over my notes for the exam I have at 3:00 today, and go to class. As Scarlett O'Hara said, "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow." I'll think about it tomorrow.

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!

...