by Band Back Together | Oct 12, 2015 | Anger, Anxiety, Coping With Depression, Guilt, Jealousy, Loneliness, Major Depressive Disorder, Mental Illness Stigma, Mood Disorder, Shame |
It’s that deep, dark place I visit after spending days or weeks traveling into. The place where I’ve found myself dejected, sad, rejected, angry, jealous.
Angry at the world for not giving me what others have received.
Tears falling as I realize I’m in the place where I don’t deserve to be. I have no reason for being here. Nothing concrete has put me here.
Only in my mind have I traveled here.
The dark hallows of my mind have brought me to this place where I don’t belong.
Even in my depths, I’m outcasted.
Other people belong here. Other people who have suffered, who have been brought here not by their own mind, but by outside forces beyond their control.
Death. Disease. Sickness. Suffering.
Those people, affected by depressing situations, belong here if they happen to arrive.
Not me.
I have no reason for being here.
Yet here I am.
Sad. Jealous. Angry. Crying.
As with everything, and with every time, it will pass.
And it will not look to be this bad from the other side.
by Band Back Together | Oct 10, 2015 | Anger, Anxiety, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Denial, Developmental Milestones, Family, Feelings, Help with Parenting, How To Help A Parent With a Special Needs Child, Impulse Control Disorders, Individualized Education Plan, Parenting, Special Needs Parenting |
In kindergarten, my daughter was singled out by her “crazy old lady/about to retire” teacher who said Maddie was “very inattentive and probably needed to be evaluated for ADD.”
I was all, “this women has a whole SEVEN kids to look after with a damn assistant! She obviously is lacking and totally sucks at life to not be able to handle SEVEN kids and she’s the one who needs to be evaluated. “
Unable to even fathom such a thing for my perfect little princess, I took her out of the expensive private school and started first grade in the public school. The local school a few blocks away is really new and great and shiny!
First grade began, and she seemed to be doing well until our first Parent/Teacher conference. Once again, ADD was brought up by her very young, energetic teacher.
Again, I couldn’t wrap my brain around this possibility. My daughter was so caring and sweet and there was no way in living hell there was something wrong with her!
But I relented, and took her to see the pediatrician armed with a heavy dose of internet literature regarding the scary ADD possibility. What I didn’t expect was to identify with most of the symptoms listed on the checklist.
So, with a heavy heart, I accepted that yes, my little angel was indeed struggling in school. She was beginning to show signs of a low self-esteem as a result of her poor behavior. She was showing the insensitiveness that comes with a child with ADD. She was unable to see how others may feel. She was pretty self-centered.
I waved my White Flag and tried to stop feeling sorry for myself or guilty for something I could have done to prevent this from happening. I gave up the idea that my daughter would be a stellar student and be the top of her class. I mourned (seriously GRIEVED) the possibilities I had built up all through her early years of how magnificent she would surely be. I shed real tears and experienced a heartbreak that I didn’t think was possible.
I felt extremely defeated until I buckled down and became her advocate. I fought long and hard to get her school to become involved in her special education program that would work for her. I went full speed ahead with every behavior modification the school could provide that might make a sliver of a difference.
Over the years, she was given an Individualized Education Plan (IEP) with in-school modifications for test-taking and a more thorough explanation for her assignments. Her seat was moved in order to minimize distractions and although she continued to struggle, she was really improving.
Along with the modifications, we began trying medication. I was overjoyed when we finally found one that really helped her without the harsh side effects. This process was heartbreaking, but we found the one that works for her and for this I am grateful.
So now, here we are in the fifth grade. Report card comes home and finally there are mostly B’s on it. There are two C’s, but compared to last year when she was mostly C’s and D’s this was such an amazing moment for me and her to see everything we were doing was paying off!
I was so excited that I wanted to dance around the room; this was not something that I am used to. This was something that has taken so long. I didn’t even it was possible to see a report card such as the one she got today.
After saying all of this, maybe you can understand why, after sharing with you my pure bliss, I would be upset when you complain to me, a whopping two minutes later, about the one B your daughter received on her report card when every other grade was an A. How I got frustrated, left the room and didn’t want to show you my daughter’s report card.
I do not make this a competition, as you so rudely accused me of. I would never have those sort of expectations for my daughter after every hurdle we have been through to get her to this point. That would just be unrealistic.
I know that your daughter is two years younger than mine and is enrolled in all advanced math and reading classes. I know that she is a very bright little girl and I would never ever try to diminish that! But I had a happy moment and you just don’t understand how complaining about that one B would make me feel. Here I was rejoicing all the B’s that were on Maddie’s report card and you were looking down on that very same grade; the one flaw on your daughter’s perfect grades.
So, just when I think we know everything about each other I suppose you don’t really know the entire story of the ADD path. And I don’t even know how to make you understand.
When you told me I was turning it in to a competition, it felt like a slap in my face. It showed me that your perception of me is way off. So now what? How do I make this better? After three and half years together, I love you. But I need you to be on my team with this. Not accuse me of a competition.
I wanted you to jump up and down with me and celebrate this victory.
by Band Back Together | Oct 8, 2015 | Abuse, Bullying, Fear, Loneliness, Self Loathing |
First, let me share some things I’ve learned from several sources.
According to some sources, as children, our brains are extraordinary at forming new connections. We are more able to learn any number of skills as children than as adults. We retain a certain amount of neuroplasticity into adulthood, but most of our neural circuitry becomes fixed.
According to some sources, in childhood we are mirrors. That is, especially in childhood, we are prone to taking what others give us in regard to our self-image. This may explain why some of us grow up with decent self-esteem levels and others have little to none. Certainly, we still are mirrors as adults, but we don’t usually morph ourselves to conform to what others say or do as often.
Bullied kids tend to take on the names that their bullies give them.
Children who encounter abuse of any kind tend to shape themselves according to that abuse. We become the”‘ugly” or the “stupid” or the unwanted” that we’re told we are. We become desperate ones, seeking the approval or protection we never got as kids.
So, I must ask the question if it is truly possible to recover from childhood trauma and abuse?
How do we replace the experiences we were deprived of as children when we become adults? It’s not possible to delete our bad memories like some corrupted file and replace it with an error-free one. This is something our machines have the advantage in; when their parts and pieces break or fail, they are easy to replace. The myriad experiences that make up an individual personality are unique and irreplaceable.
But how many people wish that certain things would have been different?
In my own life, I wish that my childhood was different. That certain things never happened. I have no idea this would differ among us. What would that man be like? Would things have been the same yet better?
I can’t have an affectionate father. I can’t have a healthy mother.
I live in another town, away from the abuse. I can’t have it any other way than it is now. It is what it is.
How do I heal this gaping hole in my heart where self-confidence is supposed to be, when the experiences are long gone?
Self-care goes a long way.
Flipping all the negative over and telling yourself good things can go a long way.
But there are times that all of it seems so hollow. That little boy can’t be protected. The damage was done long ago. The boy is now a man, all the wounds are scarred over. Permanently.
When I imagine the future, it’s one in which I’m alone, friendless, without comfort. I feel like a dumbass when I daydream a better future. Companions and friends who actually visit. Maybe even a significant other.
I KNOW it’s because I had shitty experiences growing up. People who have had a healthy childhood EXPECT more of the same from the future. They have no problem imagining nice futures.
After all, their inner children feel happy and safe. They aren’t disbelieving when someone misses them or expresses their admiration. They probably think “Yeah, I am pretty great!” I don’t believe compliments. I attribute them as ignorance or politeness. I’ve made a conscious effort to be gracious when I receive a compliment lately, but my initial reaction, is always, at the core, negative.
So, since these experiences are fixed, can we ameliorate the past by adding new experiences? I don’t know.
At the end of even a great day, I still feel ready for the other shoe to drop. The few fun dates I’ve had as a single man don’t engender any hopeful attitude for me. I just give up on these relationships, believing I’m just getting to the inevitable conclusion. These past few years have been hard.
I’m alone half the time. I don’t have a ‘circle.’ The friends I had are no more. They have lives. I don’t have anywhere to fit in. Everywhere I go, I feel like an interloper. Permanently sidelined. Wallflower. I want to move, yet I cannot imagine what would be different. After all, no matter where you go, there YOU are.
Sometimes I fantasize about a new life. Friends who visit and invite me to things, self-confidence, a real relationship with someone who is my best friend AND lover. I want so desperately to have this new life, where I’m not ashamed of myself in public. Where I make eye contact with people and put my best foot forward. Where I’m not embarrassed by ME. In this new life, I’m not scared of rejection. After all, in this fantasy, I actually love myself, so rejection doesn’t affect me as much as in real life. In this fantasy, I live in a place where I have lots of friends who share my interests. We go out and play music on weekends. We talk about the books we’re reading and the ideas we’re thinking of. We have FUN.
Then I wake up. Yep. Still the same life. No friends. Little fun.
I give people great advice that I cannot follow. I’m quite sure that everyone except me has a great future ahead of them. I try to get them to see if they don’t like their situation, they can change it. I tell them that there isn’t anything they cannot have if they are willing to work toward it. Why in the hell can’t I believe that for myself?! It’s that little boy, cringing away from a world that didn’t accept him for who he was. The world that took his innocence and left only self-loathing behind. The little boy who escapes into books to hide his big, goofy teeth and glasses. The little boy who was told by his peers how geeky, nerdy and weird he was till the little boy wouldn’t even make eye contact with them any more. The young man who played hundreds (probably thousands) of hours of video games to escape from a world that seemed to have no place for him. The little boy who would become the man that now wishes everything were different.
I’m so careful with my children’s self-image. I don’t allow name-calling, even in jest. I don’t allow angry harsh tones of voice. I don’t allow them to call themselves names. I make sure that they treat others with respect. I play with them and make sure they get to do the things they want to do. I suppose, in the end, they deserve to have what I could not. Compared to them, my matters don’t add up to much.
I’m dead scared of what I’m going to do when they’re adults. I know I need to get something going for myself, but I have no idea where to begin. Bars and churches hold no hope for me. I cannot imagine any possiblities for the man I am. I don’t mean to sound like a complete downer, it’s just how I feel.
I know! Those blokes in bowflex ads seem to have it figured out. Just get in shape and your world will right itself! That’s what I should do, right? A tight bod and a convertible will fix everything! Sarcasm off… I’m not at all ignorant to the fact that I just need to take my own advice and pursue my desires. I just can’t really believe in a good life. It may seem like very small potatoes but I can’t summon the effort to try because I don’t believe it will do any good!
This is what I mean about these formative experiences: they have me so quagmired that I all I can do is maintain some kind of routine. The positives I’ve accumulated in my life fade into the darkness that I’ve carried from childhood. All that’s left is….nothing. No hope, no reason to plan more than a couple days to a week ahead other than for the kids. I don’t even know what it means to be excited anymore. The only kind of anticipation I know about lately is anxiety. The skills I do have for coping only do so much. The past is still there, just around the corner, shading and tainting everything in the present. All because of a crappy childhood. All because of events that occurred more than twenty years ago.
by Band Back Together | Oct 8, 2015 | Breakups, Depression, Help With Relationships, Poverty, Economic Struggles and Hardship |
I haven’t written on here for a long time and I realized that I should have. I consider it my therapy since it’s free.
Life has been such a roller coaster. I had a relationship a year ago but that completely ended on a rather embarrassing turn of events which I’ll share another time. Followed by that I was in a huge financial situation I began to wonder if everything would ever be better.
I’ve been battling depression silently (only one close friend knows). It’s kept me from doing things I love like working out (it’s my other form of therapy). It also kept me from attending school again. Finally after pushing myself I got back into school to become a personal trainer while working a full time job overnights and going to school for four hours four days a week. However I am struggling in one of the classes I’ve failed each test given so far, I cry on my drives home after that class feeling like I’m a total failure.
My job has been stressful too I work solo on my jobs so I get the back lash of the drama that goes on I feel like I’m back in high school.
I know I need help with school but I need to get home (it’s a 45-mintue drive) to sleep so I can go to work at 11pm. I wish I could quit my job to focus on school or find one with suitable hours that I could still find time to make things work out.
That’s the problem with being a 30 something single girl. I have nobody to support me but myself, so quitting is not an option. My apartment looks like a tornado hit it and the dishes pile up. I keep asking myself is it worth it?
My depression looms higher as I see all my friends happy in their lives and I’m still not happy. I used to have such a positive attitude, but somehow after my relationship ended I lost that. I don’t recognize the girl I was (yes even though I’m in my 30’s, I still refer myself to a girl) she was so happy and full of life. I struggle to smile or to laugh now.
I need to get that happiness back, but I don’t know how. I need to find some balance between life, work school and trying to better myself that isn’t so overwhelming, but I don’t even know where to begin.
by Band Back Together | Oct 8, 2015 | Anniversary Reactions, Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child, Family, Feelings, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss, Loved and Lost, Stress, Trauma |
First, people are afraid of what to say, and often say nothing. This is a mistake. Many people are afraid to bring up the deceased child, fearing it will open wounds and raw feelings. But in my opinion the hardest thing is when people don’t talk about Maddie. It feels like she was never here, and this is what is heartbreaking. It is nice when people say, “I thought of Maddie today,” of “I saw a kid in a dress like the one Maddie wore at whatever today.” Or “I miss Maddie.” These things help, not hurt. Make us feel she is not forgotten. Sending a keepsake with the child’s photo or name, things that help her be tangibly remembered are nice. We have received AMAZING things and we cherish everything.
Six years ago, one of my friends lost her father. I was living across the country from her, and I was terrified. I felt guilty that I had my dad and she didn’t. So I didn’t say anything, and I ruined our friendship for a while. I am very lucky she gave me another chance. She has been there for me since Maddie passed away. I have horrible regret about the whole thing – all I had to do was call her and say, “I’m so sorry.”
Religion is a potentially explosive way to comfort. Unless you absolutely know 100% percent the person will be comforted by mentions of faith, don’t go there. Religion is a very complicated thing in the wake of a child’s death, and they may be angry at God or confused as to how to incorporate the death of a child into the religion that they have known to have their best interests in mind. Even someone you know to be intensely religious may be having a crisis of faith in the wake of a child’s death, and could be angered/saddened by mention of religion. Especially stay away from, “God wanted her more than you,” or “God needed her more,” etc.
I don’t care if it is the all powerful creator of the universe, you don’t tell any Mama that anyone wants her baby more than she does.
So many people hate seeing their loved one in such pain and want to fix it. Consequentially, they start talking about how you have to move on, that you will see them again, the child is with God, it will get better in time, etc. All things they think will “fix it.” Don’t try to do this. Follow the lead of the parents. Discuss what they want…if they go to those places you can discuss those things, but don’t try to steer it there. Sometimes I want to talk about Maddie and the unfairness of it all, and other times I want to hear funny stories or talk about reality TV.
Don’t be afraid to show emotion. Many people feel they have to be strong for their friends, that they can’t cry or show emotion. I don’t think that is true. You can be strong AND be emotional. If tears come, don’t fight them. This shows your friends that you, too, are crushed and sad and lost.
Address the horror. People often worry about addressing how awful the situation is, but the parents want to hear that people get the hell they are in. The parents feel alone when they don’t think people understand how awful this is. Saying things like, “This is the worst thing. I am so sorry and sad that it had to happen to you and your child,” helps.
Food is very helpful. The last thing you want to do when mourning is worry about eating. There are always people around after a death, and the last thing you want to think about is feeding them. Mike and I never would have eaten if food hadn’t been sent to us. A gift of food also tells the parents they are loved.
Say or express something you never have before. If you have never told the person that you love them, come right out and tell them that you love them. If you’ve never held their hand, hold their hand. Give hugs. These expressions mean a lot.
Finally, my biggest advice is to not be afraid to take initiative. We often say, “let me know what I can do,” in a situation like this. Well, I can tell you that Mike and I had no idea what we needed. We were so lucky that we had friends and family rally together and just take care of things. A few came to town to help out. One friend organized food, another cleaned my house, two bought the clothes Mike and I wore to the funeral, one put together Maddie’s slide show, a few organized the reception after her service. I could go on and on. I didn’t have to worry about anything because I knew my friends and family would handle it.
Be there for your friends. Call, email, text. Tell them they don’t have to respond. Let them know you are thinking of them, and their child, all the time. Don’t drop away after the funeral – that’s when they’ll need you the most. Be the kind of friend that you would want to have.
