by Band Back Together | Mar 18, 2016 | Asperger's Syndrome, Autism, Loneliness, Social Isolation |
I work in therapy and I can’t even spell Asperger’s. I had to google that in fact because I spell it so poorly spell check can’t even help it. Jenny McCarthy would be so pissed. But now that we are on just the “spectrum” crap, Blair is just flat out considered mildly autistic. I personally think they dumped Asperger’s because it’s so hard to spell. But enough about that.
I have a beautiful, loving, I can’t say enough great things about him 4 year old named Blair.
Truth is, I’ve always thought Blair was different. Well, not always. I guess around 18 months is when I started my “something is different” speech. Truth is, my speech was sometimes a rage because I couldn’t believe no one saw what I was seeing. There were meltdowns. Oh the Blair melt downs. And then the Blair moods, as I called them. You could tell what kind of day it was going to be within 5 minutes of him waking up. Of course now I go back and look at videos of him as a like 8 month old and can see differences between him and Jules, for example. Not just simple differences because they are different kids. But different because Blair is…different. Blair didn’t engage with you. Blair looked at you. He looked content, but wasn’t happy all the time. He didn’t copy you. He was quiet, he was…there.
Blair’s moods and outburst over the most asinine things have caused conflict between everyone involved in his care. My dad has become so frustrated he started blaming us having dogs for Blair’s stress. My mom flat out once said she was scared that we were “losing him mentally.”
I, of course, have cried more than anyone thought possible. I’ve yelled at Adam countless times for his “oh, he’s just shy” bullshit when Blair would walk away from kids trying to play at the park or when he’d blow me off about how awful taking him to preschool was because he’d scream and growl and hold onto things to avoid other kids or leaving his regular schedule.
I thought once there was a diagnosis I’d feel relief, but that’s not true.
I answer shopped; at least that’s what it felt like. I’ve found the good news locally is that no one wants to label a child autistic. The bad news is that no one wants to label a child autistic.
by Band Back Together | Mar 16, 2016 | Abuse, Adult Children of Narcissistic Parents, Anger, Compassion, Economic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Narcissistic Personality Disorder |
Discovered, after 40+ years that I am an ACON (Adult Child of Narcissistic Parent). I guess I knew along that something was wrong with our family growing up, at least, with my relationship with my father, I just never knew what it was. I guess I just never knew that my “normal” was not normal.
Happily married for 12 years with 2 wonderful children, there were so many episodes with father in my adult life. Episodes between him and my wife, episodes between him and me and then the deal breaker, the last and final episode when he started on my 10 year old son. It was like something inside of me let go, something changed. I was furious at him, I was enraged like I had never been before. I thrust myself into a quest for answers, to answer the ultimate question as to why, why is my relationship with my father a complete disaster, why can’t I have a normal relationship with him?
In my search I stumbled, by accident, across narcissism. As I read the definition and characteristics of a narcissist it was like I was reading about my father. The more I read, the more I was blown away about what I had discovered. It was all there, every bit of it, all the criticisms, the one-upping, the belittling, the obsession with money, the gambling, the down-talking, the tone of his voice, the disregard for boundaries, the fits of rage, the inability to take criticism, the ego-driven decisions, the lack of common sense, the lack of empathy, the threats, triangulation, the control of information, all of it was there…. and so, my journey to recovery began. I have much more to say, much, much, more….
by Band Back Together | Mar 14, 2016 | Adult Child Loss, Anger, Depression, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loving An Addict, Prescription Drug Abuse |
There are days when I sit and think about my son’s addiction. I think about everything I did do, didn’t do or should have done. I start to disassemble his entire journey in my mind trying to find the missing piece. That piece that somehow I overlooked during our struggle for recovery. You see, my son had the worst outcome. The one every parent dreads but would never allow the thought to even cross their lips. My son overdosed and died of the very pills he was given to manage his post op pain.
His addiction snuck up on us like a thief in the night. Carefully and quietly taking us by surprise. Like the elephant in the room, we all knew there was a problem but no one had the guts to say the words. I called it our dirty little secret. Keeping it safe and sound between me and my addict son. Protecting both of us from the ugliness of the stigma attached to this most misunderstood disease. We had brief periods when we were given a glimpse of normal, tricking us into believing the demons had lost their grip and moved on. Then reality would hit as my son returned to his world of darkness and chaos dragging me along for the ride of my life.
His addiction consumed me as I struggled to find places where he would stay safe and I would get a much needed break from the endless worry constantly dancing in my mind. Finding the right fit of rehab was like finding a rose in six feet of snow. I fought to get him in and he fought to get out. Never feeling like the help and support he needed was available wherever he was staying at the time. I’ve learned that helping the addict is like matching fingerprints. Almost impossible. Hindsight is such a great gift if only it arrived before things were said and done, people were trusted and money was wasted on places that made promises that could never be kept.
There are days I feel like I failed him. After all as mothers our job is to keep our children safe. I have a double whammy. I’m not just a mom but also a nurse, a fixer. The very idea that I could not fix my son horrifies me. I allowed myself the sick illusion that I was in control of his addiction and I had the power to fix him. Even when that little voice of reason resonated through my brain, and was echoed by close friends and family, “you didn’t cause it and you can’t cure it” I still continued to beat myself up dissecting every fight, every rehab, tough love, no love or tons of love that we lived during his battle. Being the lone survivor of my sons addiction is a life sentence. I’m still shocked that he is gone. It feels like the beginning of my end. I have become my own personal punching bag. I have a million reasons why his death is my fault. I should have… begins my sentence when close friends try to set me straight.
There is nothing that can change my mind. I should have been able to save him. I had years of practice. So now my painful reality is every parents nightmare. Now, I must figure out a way to go on without him. I have become a sounding board for other mothers living the nightmare of addiction. In the midst of my struggle for survival and my fighting back at the broken system, I have made many contacts. By channeling my anger to make a difference I have stumbled upon people who have started the walk of grief before I joined this club. Together we find strength and hope that the bigger we grow and the louder we become the harder we will be to ignore. Parents whose prior struggle was to save their children. Working together to fix the breaks in the system we have come to know too well. A system that fought us when we were begging for help, a system that turned its back on a generation of addicts pleading for their lives. My son’s struggle has ended. Mine has begun. Everyday is a struggle. Trying to ease the pain that grips my heart and fighting to find joy in a world that has turned upside down. My new normal is just that, so new that even I have trouble adjusting. I pray for acceptance. I pray for peace. Until then I survive one day at a time.
by Band Back Together | Mar 2, 2016 | Date/Acquaintance Rape, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault, Sadness, Sexual Harassment |
I was friendly. That’s all.
He was my friend.
He asked me to go with him to feed his rabbits. How could I say no? I love rabbits. So we went.
They were trying to nibble at my fingers when I felt him come up behind me. I asked him what he was trying. He didn’t even say a word before he turned me around and forced his lips on mine. I pulled back…or tried to. In a second, his hands had already torn my bra off. Believe me, I was fighting. I mean, I liked him, but not that way. I kicked, I punched, I begged… We were up against a wall when he tried to rip my pants off. I was trying desperately to reason with him. Nothing could fend him off. He lifted and started carrying me to his quarters. I couldn’t even move one of his fingers away. He was too strong. He put me down to open the door and there I strangled him. He was laughing. How?
He relented for a second, and I ran. I climbed the gate and ran home.
I’ve been crying.
I can’t stop.
He texted me the next morning saying I was a good kisser.
I want to kill him.
I was once in a similar situation. Called the cops. But now, do I send this man to prison? Again, we were friends.
What if I see him again? Will I run? We’re almost neighbors.
He didn’t rape me. But he was going to. Was he?
Am I just a walking vagina?
by Band Back Together | Mar 1, 2016 | Compulsive Lying, Depression, Fear, Psychological Manipulation, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Therapy |
Well…at least I thought I was the normal one.
The thing is, I’m a nice guy. A great guy. Everyone loves to tell me so. The big 300 lbs gorilla in the room is that fact that I am deeply NOT OK. I don’t really know if I can remember ever being ok. I just fake it. I lie. I tell everyone, everything is just fine. And then I lie about myself….my self-esteem is so low that its a new degree of low. Low’s lower cousin…
And then…when confronted by anger, or judgement or fear, I lie about STUPID stuff. Defense mechanisms at work here…move along.
It didn’t really hit me between the eyes till my relationships started falling apart. Badly. And now I’m at the point where I feel the rug being pulled from under me and am starting to have severe panic attacks. Like…I’m realizing my whole world is a lie
and it is.
So today….I decided to start step 1
I looked at myself…after getting caught in yet another bad…STUPID AND MEANINGLESS lie. I realize that I have a problem. Not like I have a problem that can easily be fixed, NO, I have a serious condition and I need help.
and…I started step 2
I called my health insurance and made a call to a therapist. They had to do the whole insurance dance and told me they would get back to me after they talked with my insurance…yadda yadda yadda.
But at least I called. I have a list of doctors if the one I called doesn’t get back to me
Its not just that I want to change.
I need to.
I want to get off this roller coaster called MY PATHETIC life.
Either my significant other is going to join with me on my journey or cast me aside like the garbage I feel like right now.
That will be up to her.
I’m not doing this for her.
I’m not doing this for anyone but me.
I’m not going to blame her, my parents or anyone else for this genetic mental mistake I call my head
This one’s on me. But if it IS on me….then its up to me to get off my arse and fix it (if i can). I’ve taken the first step.
(raising my right hand) I (state your name) am a compulsive liar. I don’t do this to manipulate others, to hurt others or to be dominate to others. I do this because of low self-esteem and to avoid conflict. I don’t do it with any thought involved…and it is akin to a self-defense mechanism for protection.
I beg your forgiveness, and hope that with therapy I can not only get to a point where I do not lie anymore…but that I become a better person who feels as though I can finally be myself and be accepted as such.
I hope to someday be at the end of this journey and have acceptance
Right now all I have is a big ol’ bucket of depression, sadness and fear
But tomorrow is another day
I hope this new therapist calls me soon
I have to promise myself is he/she does not that I will call the next one on the list
And that even if my significant other decides to give up on me….that I will NOT
Because just as I stated at the beginning of this. I am a good person. A nice guy.
That’s gotta mean something…
by Band Back Together | Feb 29, 2016 | Dermatillomania, Self Loathing, Shame |
I’m 21 years old with dermatillomania. I’ve had the habit for as long as I can remember, and it was when I was around 16 that it began to get severe. Since then my life has been a roller coaster because of my skin picking. I am thankful for the times when my problem has been under control and manageable. But the good times seem to always come to an end when I let myself down again and again by covering my face, arms, back, chest, and shoulders with sores, scabs, and scars.
I love the beach. I love to surf, and play around in the sun and salt water. I’ve lived half my life in Hawaii and now I live in California. But I’m so disgusted with myself most the time that I can’t even look at my back in the mirror, let alone wear a bikini in public. I wish I could do what I love without having this burden…
I’m running out of excuses to friends and boyfriends of why I can’t hang out, go surfing, or hookup, and I know I’m losing most, if not all of them because of it. It’s so frustrating, time after time… I wish I could just hibernate until my skin heals. It’s really causing me to hate life right now when I should be enjoying it like a normal 21 year old.
It’s really my one and only problem.. Besides dermatillomania, I have a lot going for me. I’m young, pretty, athletic, loving parents, a dog, friends and cute boys that like me (for now until we drift apart), school, a good job, but this problem is SO prominent that it is destroying every single aspect of my life. I really want to overcome this, but each time I relapse into picking again I lose more and more hope that I ever will.
