by Band Back Together | Mar 12, 2014 | Bipolar Disorder, Caregiver, Compassion, Hope, Love, Loving Someone With Bipolar Disorder, Marriage Problems, Single Parenting, Special Needs Parenting, Teen Bipolar Disorder, Therapy |
I admitted my 10 year old son to a psychiatric hospital Wednesday night.
My son is mentally ill.
For years, I have apologized to people for who my son is. His behaviors or quirks were something that were spoken about quietly, like they were something to be embarrassed of – Like WE were embarrassed of him.
For years, I have defended myself, made excuses for a multitude of things – his medications, the therapies he receives, the fight for Special Education services, the way I choose to parent and discipline him.
Today, all of this stops. My son D is who he is. My job as his mom is to provide the best care for him that I can, to the best of my knowledge. I am not a sheep – being blindly led by psychiatrists and therapists. I do my research, and I am well educated about his associated Alphabet Soup diagnoses. He HAS to have medicine to function. I don’t let the staff at his school run over me at his Individualized Education Program (IEP) meetings. I am on staff at his school, plus I know the laws regarding special education.
D got the shitty end of the deal when it came to genetics. See, I understand the raging in his mind, and the lows where all you want to do is hide from the world in a closet. I have Bipolar Disorder, Type 1. So does his birth father. I am compliant on my medications. It took me 8 years to finally get it right. There were times I almost lost everything – my family, my job, my mind. I am grateful for those who stuck with me through the good times and the really dark, ugly times.
Everyone knows at least one person who suffers from mental illness. One in FOUR people in America suffer from some sort of mental illness. Yet, there still is a stigma.
Today, for my D and me – this WILL STOP. No longer will I apologize for his behavior to strangers in public because he is on overload or having a meltdown. I will no longer listen to people tell me that my child is on too much medicine. I will not let people tell me I baby him when I choose to talk him down from a rage rather than “spank that ass.” I will keep fighting for his equal treatment at school. He has a mental illness, but he is a bright, smart boy. I will love my child for who he is, not for what others think he should be. I will not listen to negative ex-husbands telling me that I am doing it wrong, when he is only with D four days a month and only is “Dad” when he wants to be.
Today the stigma will stop. Follow me on my and my family’s journey.
Peace.
by Band Back Together | Sep 9, 2013 | Guilt, Parenting, Single Parenting, Stress, Talking To Teens About Sex |
It has become abundantly clear in my seven years as a parent that guilt is part of the role. We, as parents, are forced to fight that little voice that screams your child’s name into your head every time you’re forced to make a decision. That voice keeps us wishing we could throw our kids into a backpack and carry them with us where ever we want to go.
That damn voice has kept me from applying to my dream job in Sydney… but it’s also kept me from becoming bar fly. Which may have also once been a dream of mine, before I had a kid.
I was about to turn 19 years old and in the fog of the partying days of my freshman year of college. My parents were so pleased because I was on scholarship to go to a Catholic University (HA!).
Little did they know that their daughter was engulfed in a crowd of kids who’d been so disciplined all their lives that this was their opportunity to break free. I, on the other hand, had two older brothers and a lot of freedom growing up, so the drinking and partying was nothing new to me. I was the beer-wench for my brothers’ parties when I was ten, and tapped my first keg when I was twelve.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was.
January of 2003 brought with it a big surprise… a BABY in my tummy! It felt so great coming out of the fog of my partying days with a baby bump, only to hear semi-weary “congratulations” from passers by.
At 19, the only responsibility I’d ever had was to put clean underwear on and brush my teeth. I even failed at THAT sometimes! Please remind me of how this is a “congratulations” moment.
But alas, my child was born 9 months later after 20 grueling hours of labor. I wish I could say that it was the best day of my life, but I can’t. It was the weirdest day of my life. I’d just squeezed a child out of my fun-hole and it kept trying to suck on my nipples – wild. Needless to say, this day was certainly significant.
Here we are, seven years later. I’m stressed to the point that I’d love to disappear for a few months, but that green stuff that makes us happy and gets us places isn’t exactly abundant in my life.
No, not medical marijuana… I’m talking about money. Okay, medical marijuana isn’t exactly abundant, either, and it should be. I hear it takes the edge off (ahem).
I’ve made some sacrifices (read: rearranged my entire life) for my little guy. There are days I wish I could come and go as I please – and I’m not just talking about trips to the store. I’m talking about doing what my friends do, like deciding one day that they’re going to move to London to work for 6 months.
I can’t do that because I need my family to help me so I can go on to become the CEO of a major corporation one day, and flying 12 people to London sounds expensive.
I need my parents because they pick my son up from school. I need my brothers around because my kid is an only child and without my nephews, he’ll never learn the value of sharing or what it means to get into a fist fight and still be best friends 10 minutes later. He needs his family – I don’t, but I need him.
Soon he’ll be 18, my career will be well on it’s way, and I’ll regret ever wishing that things were different, so I try not to.
But I feel guilty because there’s so much time that needs to pass before I’m on my feet. Almost as though my son is going to have his career established before I do. Perhaps THIS is why people wait until they’re in their 30’s to have kids.
Excuse me. I have about 1000 Legos sitting in front of me that need to be pieced together to build an airport.
by Band Back Together | Nov 2, 2010 | Anger, Coping With Divorce, Divorce, Help With Relationships, Loneliness, Romantic Relationships, Single Parenting |
The life of a single mother is not all that glamorous. Sometimes I act like it is. Life is just great being alone and raising 3 kids.
Truth be told, it is hard! I don’t have someone to sit down with at night and talk to about problems I am having with the kids. I don’t have someone who is raising them right alongside of me, someone who knows everything I do. It is a very lonely life.
Pretty much I have been single for the last 2 years. There have been a few small relationships, though. I have watched my friends find men that love them unconditionally. I have watched them be happy and in love. I go to dinner or go to hang out and all of a sudden I am the odd one out. I am the fifth wheel. Bonfires where everyone is cuddling close to their significant other, I am sitting alone trying to keep warm and keep from crying all the lonely tears that are bottled inside of me.
I was hurt really bad. It did more damage than even I like to admit. I know I have faults, and I even know what they are. But I just don’t see a point in trying to fix them if I continually get judged based on them. I am a lot better than before. My faults aren’t nearly as large.
When someone loves you…aren’t they supposed to love you unconditionally? Despite your faults? Aren’t they supposed to help you to better yourself and not judge you and leave you? That can’t be true love can it?
I want someone to stand beside me. I want someone to love me for me. I am a good person. I am a good mother. I am a good friend. I am kind. I am caring. I am loving and trusting and trustworthy.
Can one trivial thing ruin that in every single relationship I try to make work? Is it really that bad? Is being unorganized, and maybe a little chaotic and messy really a reason to stop loving someone? I don’t think so but I guess I am wrong because I have lost the one thing I want most in this life because of it. And in trying to find it again I get told the same thing over and over.
by Band Back Together | Oct 19, 2010 | Emotional Abuse, Single Parenting |
People who know me refer to me as a single parent. I don’t really like that distinction because while I AM single and I AM a parent, the stigma attached to “single parent” is not a good one.
My Gigi is 5. She and I left her dad almost exactly five years ago when she was seven months old. He was mean and emotionally abusive. He seems to have changed a bit – or at least he loves his little girl more than he ever loved me.
He is involved. He sees her one evening a week, every other weekend and every other week he gets another shorter evening. It tears my heart out every single time she goes. Sometimes she cries and sometimes she runs away. Sometimes I tell her if she does either of those things she won’t be able to play with her friends in the neighborhood the next day because those things “hurt her daddy’s feelings.”
I’m sick of him and his feelings. My little girl wants to stay HOME. My house. Not his.
The other day a friend was talking about public schools in our area. She mentioned a school that is not particularly good and said, “well you know, all those poor kids have single moms and their test scores are horrendous.” Now, are there test scores horrendous because they have a single mom? Or what? The demographics of the school are not desirable due to the number of one parent homes.
Hmmmm…I’m a one-parent home. Does that mean my child will not be as smart? Or not do well on tests? Or will be a behavior issue or somehow not succeed because she lives in a single parent home? I choose not to believe that. You see, my daughter is MUCH better off with living in a single parent home. Her Mama may be messy and scatterbrained but she does not cry every day anymore or do things like look at her little girl and make the promise every single day that no one will ever hurt her.
I am a single parent. I did not choose this path, but I live this path. Would I like to have someone around to help pay the bills, cook the meals, clean up the kitchen and do a load of laundry? Yes. But I also would want to be in love with this person. And have that person love me back.
Another friend on Facebook had a status that said, “K is happy she doesn’t have to be a single parent anymore. Hubby will be home in three hours.”
You are not a single parent. You have a husband. Who works and makes money. He may be traveling for work or away from home but you are not a single parent. You don’t understand how much coordination it takes to figure out when and who will go to school conferences. Or what your child will be for Halloween or give her the choice of just having two Halloween costumes. You do not have to put a screaming, fighting, kicking child to bed when she has been up too late so she can have quality time with daddy. You don’t have to worry about your little girl looking at you and saying, “Mama, I love you the best. So much more than my daddy.”
I choose to not let the stigma of being a “single parent” define me. I try to wear the badge proudly and let my daughter know that we can do it ourselves. We are strong…Mama and Gigi against the world. I am raising her to be a strong woman who knows that her Mama can fix the sink or mount the shower head without the help of a man.
Don’t get me wrong…I’m not a man hater. I would love for Prince Charming to come in and sweep me off my feet. But at this point it would be a distraction from my most important job. My daughter. I can’t imagine having to share her with anyone else. I miss her when she’s gone. We have been apart so much I should be used to it. But sometimes I still cry because I miss her when she is gone for a weekend.
I am a single parent and I’m not ashamed.
by Band Back Together | Oct 12, 2010 | Brain Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Coping With Anxiety Disorders, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Helping Someone In An Abusive Relationship, Parent Loss, Pediatric Cancer, Postpartum Depression, Single Parenting, Things That Are Bullshit |
Cancer took my Daddy not even three months ago. The rest of the year hasn’t been much better.
2010 was supposed to be a fun year. A great vacation with my little girl – she was turning 5. We were so excited. First inkling that 2010 would NOT be cool? My 5-year olds dad would not allow me to get her a passport to take her on a cruise. The bastard didn’t think I’d bring her back! Wha? Obviously he knows me even less than he did when we were married. Idiot.
So my dreams of a Mama and Gigi vacation were put on the back burner.
February 2nd, I turned 32 and I wasn’t happy about it.
Where was my life? Not where I wanted it even though I did everything the right way. I graduated high school, went straight to college, graduated college, married college sweetheart and waited the right time after the wedding to have baby. We thought that three years was a good amount of time.
Uhhh…not so much.
Marriage was not a happy thing for me. Every day, I was put-down. My self-esteem shattered. I found out I was pregnant (because, you know, that’s what happens when you have sex and don’t use protection. After, all it was “cheaper” to use condoms instead of birth control pills. Or something like that).
All my life I wanted to be a mother. My pregnancy was awful. Not because I was sick or anything but because my husband was an asshole. He called fat and crazy, I started believing him while I wondered what the fuck I was doing with this bastard? Well, I needed to work things out because we were having a baby. And not just a baby…MY daughter, the one that I been waiting my whole life to have.
She was born on a freezing cold St. Patrick’s day. Came screaming into the world and was…perfect. This child was sent to save my life, I knew that the moment I saw her. We named her Grace (I call her Gigi online for “privacy”). I promised that little girl on the first night of her life that I would never let ANYTHING hurt her. ANYTHING or anyONE.
Life went on with a colicky, very super-attached-to Mama infant. That child cried more than I thought anyone could ever cry EVER. I wore holes in the carpet walking with her jiggling her and whispering “shhhhhhh shhhhhhh” to get her to sleep. We moved to a brand-new city when she was five months old. Because it’s REALLY a good thing to uproot a mom with severe postpartum anxiety and depression from her only support system (her family) and move her with her colicky infant to a new place where she has to “bring home the bacon” while he leaves at 6:00 am every day to get a fancy-schmancy MBA. I was in a really good place in life. /sarcasm
Two months into the hell that was this move, I was on the phone with my mother while I was pumping in a dark, cold, hidden office at my work. I told her how awful The Husband had been. I told her that he’d said he would “rather me be dead than be Grace’s mom.” (Now there was more that happened but I’ve blocked most of it out. Some broken closet doors, a night spent sleeping with 911 dialed on my phone in front of my daughters crib and some other stuff)
Somehow, this didn’t concern me for ME…but for her. My mom decided that she and my father would hook up their trailer that night and make the 3 1/2 hour trek and move us home the next day.
The next morning I got up and dutifully kissed my husband goodbye. I called my parents as soon as he was out and could no longer be seen on the road. By 12:30 we were headed “home.” I called The Husband and told him that we were gone and things needed to change before we came back.
I fully believed that we WOULD be going back. But then? Then my colicky cried-all-the-time-unless-she-was-attached-to-Mama’s-boob became Super Happy Confident 7-month old. What? My child was picking up on every single source of stress in me and reacting from that. Weird. I’ve always said she is my heart and she truly was…we have been cosmically connected from the moment of her conception.
Anyway…4 years and much angst, tears, anger, hurt, hearings, court sessions, lawyers and judges later – I was declared free and divorced from The Husband. Whoopee! But yet I still had to hand over a piece of me every other weekend and every Tuesday evening. Grrr. I still hate him even though he is now The Ex.
Anyway…2010 was a year of promise. It was going to be good. I had a job that was as close to my dream job as I could get (or at least as close to my dream salary being somewhat geographically challenged). This was going to be a GOOD YEAR.
And then? It wasn’t.
February 4th. My Mama took a slip on the ice. A couple of scary moments where we thought she was bleeding in her brain. BLEEDING in her brain. That was bad. I took off work and ran to rescue my child (whom my mother took care of and didn’t know if she was at school or not because she wasn’t quite sure when or where she fell – a severe concussion will do that to you).
February 5th. I got fired from my job. FIRED FROM MY JOB. I’m a single mom who bought her very first house not even 5 months before and my jackass bosses FIRED me. I won’t get into reasons but let’s just say they aren’t exactly all “legal.”
Then my Daddy starts having health issues while we are still dealing with my Mama’s issues. Now yes, I’m 32 years old but when I say I’m close with my family – I am CLOSEWITHMYFAMILY. Multiple conversations with each of them a day. These people are not only my blood relations but my best friends.
So…winter turns to spring, I may or may not be enjoying a bit of unemployment fun and playing the “stay at home mom” gig. Never thought it would happen as I’m a single mom and well, I have no sugar daddy.
April…my fabulous Daddy is diagnosed with fucking brain cancer. BRAIN CANCER. It seriously doesn’t get much worse than that. He died not even three months after diagnosis. Motherfucking cancer and the motherfucking staph infection that came with his surgeries. I am not prepared to be half an orphan. I’m too young for this crap.
Then my sister…ahhh…my sister. There are not enough words or space on this site to even get into her. I love her, she drives me crazy and I love her 4 children as my own. She moved them 3 hours away. 3 hours away! Not the best choice given everything going on (and by everything I mean that this storyline could rival any soap opera…I’m NOT KIDDING). So my dad dies, my sister moves, my daughter-my heart-my sidekick in everything starts real life school and I have NO FUCKING JOB.
Add onto this that my nephew (0ne of the 4 that my sister has birthed) has leukemia. Yeah…unfortunately after everything we’ve been through this year that is an afterthought now. Poor kid. But he is doing well so that’s always a positive.
So…that’s my story. I have no “home.” This story could go under abuse (which I grazed with my marriage to The Ex), Divorce, Cancer, Parent Loss, Grief, Economic Struggles, Infidelity if I got into my sisters story, chronic illness if I went into all of my back story (Ulcerative Colitis), Depression, Anxiety, Postpartum Depression, Family Relationships, Pediatric Illness and it could go on and on. So I just choose to categorize it as “Things That Are Bullshit.”
So my Band friends, this is a small piece of the fucked up-person that is me.
I’m in a full scale “life sucks” moment now and just hope eventually maybe I can shit rainbows and see unicorns again. Maybe after I kick this damn strep throat that I have right now. School cooties.
