The Oak

As the leaves float down
And Summer comes to a close,
I sit in silent contemplation.
Once a sign of death,
Signalling the coming rebirth,
Now filled with trepidation.

The world, my world,
The things that mean the most,
Crumbling at my feet.
The oaks I leaned on,
For strength and love
Rapidly retreat.

The solid roots
That support
Poisoned by mistake
The jagged wind
Carries toxic waste
Oh how my heart breaks

There is no oncoming spring,
No hope of to speak.
The darkness falls, the mighty oak cries
And the world, my world, is left bleak.

Tapped

Been awhile. Currently in the middle of the mother of all adult meltdowns. Once before in my life, have I ever said that I could not take anymore. Today, I said it again. I can't. Before you all freak out and worry about us, it has nothing to do with the kids. It's just a ton of personal crap and we can't catch a break. I feel like we are being pelted with hundreds of concrete bricks from every direction. NOTHING can go right.

Kids treatment: messed up due to circumstances beyond our current control.

Housing: Nobody knows if there is even a solution to that.

Friends: They all seem to be having the mother of bad moods, for various good reasons, but burdening them does nothing but add more to them.

Family: Kids are doing ok right now, but we had a death. My father is not doing well. My mother, as she should, is putting him first.

We have no time to breathe. There is no reprieve. We are in the middle of a meteor storm and there is nowhere to take cover. We need a safe place. We need some sort of security or sense of it right now and it is nowhere. People want to help, but they can't. We are just drowning in a sea of concrete. The ones we need to help: I am betting that won't happen.

We are facing a dark tunnel. A lot of stuff is about to go down for us and we have no footing. We are just teetering along and hoping it all goes well. Hope only goes so far. You have to take action and we have no course. Just, feeling really helpless right now.

I am not usually this down, but it's been a HELL of a month. It's been a hell of a year. I thought it would at least even out, but it just gets worse and more stressful. And it hurts. It hurts me to say I can't take anymore, because I am not a weak little thing. I have always been strong, but I am tapped.

Grief

I have been staring at this page for a good ten minutes. I don't even know where to start. My last post was about the health issues my father is facing. This post will be as well, but so much more. They say that cancer eats your body. What you don't hear as often is that it eats your soul, and the souls of those around you. I have spent a lot of time in the past few weeks in a pattern of acceptance. I don't accept that he is going to die, but I accept that I can't fix this. I have been fixing everything that I can fix, but this... I can't control it.

A month of chemo that didn't work. A month of toxic medications being pumped into my father like sewage, with no results. They think it has grown. He grows weaker with every day. Don't get me wrong, he still works most days, but he is pushing himself. They leave next week for a more extensive program, but the time is gone. The jump we had, vanished with first round.

My brother has moved back in. Once upon a time, I would have said it was because HE needed something, but he's changing. Something has grabbed hold of him and it's a blessing, whatever it is. He is helping around the house, doing what he can, and ultimately taking a weight off the shoulders of our dad. With that said, he's adding weight too. He's over 20 and can't hold a steady job. My dad is feeling like he failed him. My brother needs to get up and get a job, not only for him, but for his father too. Hope goes so far.

My mother has not healed from surgery yet, despite the time being well over recovery time. I imagine some of it is stress, but she also has multiple genuine issues of her own. She's the rock. She has always been solitary in dealing with her own emotions, or so she proclaims. In reality, I am a leveling stone for her. I always have been. It's unusual, but I accept it. She has been on disability for months. That is ending. She has some vacation, but her options are so limited at this point. She can't go on state disability because it is her insurance that is covering my father's medical costs. She is between a rock and a hard place. Even if her health was good and she could walk, mentally, she can't function. Yet, she has no choice. Her health versus his. For her, that isn't a choice. I don't disagree. If it was Puck, it wouldn't be a choice either.

I got a message today from a shared friend between my brother and I. He called and asked her to come get him because my mother broke down and he couldn't handle it. As is per usual, she did not call me, even if she should have. I called her and told her I was on my way. I got in my car without a second thought and made my way to settle my mother and comfort her.

I pulled up to the house to find my brother, lounging on his truck, at the top of the driveway. My mother's sudden rush of emotions startled him something good. At first, I lectured him about calling me if it happened again. We are a family. We are facing this together. Dad is being strong for us. We are being strong for him. However, my mother needs someone to lean on too. He understood, but there was a light in his eyes. I thought it was denial, but I was so wrong. I asked him if he knew what dad had. He said he knew it was stage four lung cancer and that it was terminal. He said he felt like they were giving up and that the house was depressing. He is trying so hard to fix things too. I asked what else he knew. He didn't. Either he is not listening or they did not tell him, but I did. I told him it has moved to his bones and lymph nodes. I told him that NOBODY is giving up, but that we have to face what they are saying too. Life generates paperwork. We have to get it all in order. We have to have hope, but we have to prepare too. I don't think I have ever seen my brother cry. Today, I did. I told him that if he needed to talk, to call me. He said he deals with his own things without talking. I looked at him, knowing not to push him, and told him I understand that, but there will come a time he needs to talk and that I am here, and proceeded to go face my mother.

She was bawling in the kitchen. I lectured her about how this family is going to have to function like a teepee. We are all going to have to lean on each other at different times. Her and I are cut of the same cloth. We always have to fix and deal with things ourselves. This time, we can't do that. We need to be supportive of each other. It's not time to deal on our own. It's time to band together and hold on, come hell and high water. I got her settled in and she started talking. Tears streaming down her face. The PET scan to determine how far it has spread is tomorrow. She is scripting all of the things going on, and suddenly, the reality bomb drops.

"He's the center of my universe. When I was 22, I prayed and prayed for the one and I didn't find him until after I was 40."

There it is. There is the root of this all. There is the fear. She has been holding that in for, who knows how long, and for just a split moment, she let it out. It was all I needed. I took my mom in my arms and let her cry. I told her that I know how hard it is to face the loss of something you have prayed so hard for. I took her by the hands and told her, "Your prayers were answered. Maybe it was only six or seven years, but they were answered. This man changed your world; our world. And if eight years is all we have, then we make the best of it. We can't change it, but if 6 months or a year is all we have left, we can make sure we remember it."

She thanked me for coming over, even though she originally told me not to. I told her to stop being so damn stubborn and to call me if she gets like that again. We are going to have our hard days, but we don't have to have them alone. We ARE here for each other. I put a load of darks in the dryer and left. On the way home, I thought.

Tomorrow is the beginning of May. Tomorrow is the start of the hardest month of the year for me. May is my month of grief. It's the one month I allow myself to fall apart when I need to. I allow myself to grieve for my daughter. I find it interesting that I am giving advice on grief with ease right now.

Grief is so different. It's so unpredictable. My mother is grieving. My brother is grieving. My father is grieving. I think I am mopping up. I'm dealing with it, but I have been on the grief roller coaster for the better part of 11 years. When the time comes that nobody needs me, I will grieve. When there is no more running to someone's side to comfort them, I will break down. I am needed here. I may not be a crying mess like my mother, in denial like my brother, or silently suffering like my father, but I am where I am supposed to be in this big family wheel.

I have not told my children the extent of the situation. Well, I have not explained fully the odds and time tables. Right now, it's time to celebrate this man. It's time to play board games and draw silly things. When he can't do that, then it's time for movies and silly YouTube videos. There is a time for everything. There are seasons of life. Many people say we are born dying. While that is true, that is not our purpose. We are born to live. Really live.

We may not have the luxury of time on our side. Our family is facing the loss of one of the greatest people I have ever had the chance to know. We are all facing it differently, but we are not alone. I know when I lost my daughter, I felt alone. I felt very alone. As we roll into this month, heavy with grief again, I am more clear headed. Yes, I have my own grief, but right now, our family's blood is coursing with it. The time is coming. Soon, we will bring the children into the know. It will get harder. Until then, I will continue to see my degree in personal grief as a blessing. Losing my daughter was and never will be a blessing, but the emotions I face and the way that I see things now... They will serve me well in being who I need to be through this.

I need to heal

Some nights I get on here and have no idea where I am going with things. My mind is a jumble of emotions and choices and I cannot make sense of them. Tonight is one of those. So much is going on in my life. I wish that I could say it was a ton of exciting or happy stuff, but really, it's a pile of crap. We knew around the beginning of last month that this year was just going to suck, but I don't think I was ready for how bad.

Facing sickness, death, and fear is never fun, but I am feeling so lost. I have all goals in mind. I know the outcomes that I need and want, but not how to get there. I feel like I am wandering around aimlessly again. My kids, my wife, my father, my life... All are so prominent in my mind right now that I cannot separate one from another. It's like a ball of yarn that has been tangled. I know it's not, but it feels like it's beyond rectification. So, for a change, I am going to write in a style I am much more at home with. If you know me, you know I have been doing this for years. If you don't, well, I hope it touches some part of you.

Blackness, thick as oil,
Sinking into my soul.
Life without purpose,
No ending, no goal.

World without wonder,
Robbed of the light,
Scared little girl,
Hidden in plain sight.

Never ending fear,
Coursing through the veins.
All blank faces,
Bodies without names.

Scattered pictures,
Trying to make sense.
Choices and regrets,
Future and past tense.

Noble intentions,
Life seeming brittle.
Showing strength,
Feeling so little.

Must find the path.
Need to find the way.
Blunder through the dark,
We all will pay.

One day life will collect,
The debts we owe.
The bargains we made,
Nothing to show.

Sunlight on my face,
Sea foam at my feet.
I will get through this darkness,
I will not retreat.

I don't know if that will make sense to anyone, but it is a clear reflection of my mind right now. There is chaos and darkness. There is love and hope. There is fear and justice. My world is full of all these things right now. I know the needed outcome, but I have no path. Maybe saying I am truly lost is not entirely true. I know the goals, but not the way. So, once again, I start down a dark path full of battles and fear. I do this for many reasons, but mostly, I do this for myself. I am tired of being brave because I am so scared. I need to heal.

It's not fair....

Recently, I wrote a post for a friend about someone who impacted my life. I don't think that I realized how much he did, until I wrote that, but it was very good for me. I need to do that again, for someone who means the world to me. Today, I am faced with an awful reality. I have been avoiding writing about this subject because this one will bring me to tears. I have ever tried to be the strong one and keep it together for everyone around me, but that means cutting off my emotions sometimes. I have been holding this one in for weeks now.  I think the best way to pay tribute and let myself feel, would be to start at the beginning.

My mother raised me alone. My father was never around. I grew up fatherless. My mother raised me on her own, never knowing her worth. She never felt worthy of love. We were the dynamic duo. We learned life together. We suffered together. We created this bond, that most see as unnatural, that is unbreakable. I know when she is in pain, even miles away. I just know. We have a theme song.

I grew up and moved away. I started my own life. I went through hell and back to find happiness. Through it all, my mother was my rock. She was my voice of reason. When my eyes and ears failed me, she would whisper what I did not see. I relied on her and she relied on me.

As I was forging myself into who I am today, my mother was doing the same. She was breaking out of the cocoon that had become raising me as a teen mom. She was going to parties and making friends. She even signed up for a dating site. That was so big. This woman that I idolized was finally seeing some of her worth. She was putting herself out there and taking risks.

About seven years ago, I called her house to see what she was up to. (I knew it was something.) My grandmother told me she was out on a date. As a matter of fact, she told me that my mother had been dating the same man for months. I was so thrilled. She was having the life that I felt I had stolen from her.

When she came to visit me after my divorce, she spoke about him. They were buying a house. They were making life plans. Her eyes lit up like diamonds and her voice softened to satin. She spoke of him with reverence and love I had only seen her speak about me. She would giggle on the phone with him. It was so amazing to see. I admit, a little jealousy crept in, but the look on my mother's face overrode everything.

She announced six months later they were getting married. I know what my mother thought of this man, but I had yet to meet him and I had my reservations. We packed up the family and headed out west. I was to give my mother away. I had some very mixed feelings about that. Not only was I giving her away to a man I had never met, but I was gaining a brother in the deal. My whole world was changing.

When we arrived at my mother's new home, I cautiously approached the door. I was so nervous. Then, that blue door opened up, a man with blonde receding hair and dork glasses came out, and wrapped me in the biggest hug. I looked him in the face, smiled sweetly, and told him, "If you hurt my mother, I will hunt you down and kill you." And so began a new chapter for us all.

I never imagined that giving my mother away, that I would be giving a piece of my heart away to this man. That was 5 years ago. I love this man. Since the wedding, he has taken my family into his home to help us get on our feet. He has been a rock for all of us. He has been the grandfather my children needed. He has been so much, but most important, he is the father I never had.

Three weeks ago, my mother texted me. She asked me to get in touch with her because it was important. I called. She was in tears. My father was being tested for cancer. He was just being tested. I asked the questions that needed to be asked and waited for the results. The first results, two weeks ago said lymphoma. The survival rate for that is high and I was awash with relief. He still had a few more tests to go, but this we could do. Then, it all changed.

This last Wednesday, while on my way home, I got devastating news. This man that I have come to love as my father has stage four lung cancer. It has spread to his bones. This is incurable. I have spent days looking for loopholes or alternate remedies to extend life, but prognosis is about 6 months. I cannot even begin to express how unfair this is.

I don't want him to die. I want to be hopeful, and part of me is, but the part of me that has to know all the statistics knows that he has a one percent chance of survival through the year. Those are horrible odds. I know that when I saw him two weeks ago, it was a far cry from what I saw two days ago. He is showing signs of pain and exhaustion. It hurts to see. It hurts to feel.

I don't think I am ready for another death so close to my heart. It's been ten years, but that isn't long enough. This is so incredibly unfair for everyone; me, my mother, my children, his son, his one year old grandson. I don't want this. I wanted him to see my son graduate high school and go to an amazing college. I wanted him to be here when my daughter starts dating to scare off the boys. I wanted him to be there when my children find the kind of love he provides. I want them to be old enough to remember all that this man is. I want them to remember the light he brings to the world. I want them to remember that he didn't have to love us, he CHOSE to love us. He chose to take us into his heart.

He chose to call my children his family. He takes them fishing and hiking. He picks flowers for my daughter and rescues the worms that might fall so she doesn't cry. He encourages my son to be a better man as he grows older. HE is the role model I would have chosen for them. He has given my mother unconditional love. He has shown her that she has worth. He has shown her that she can be loved and should be. He accepted my wife without even blinking. He took us all in. He made room for us all in his heart.

Now, we are faced with goodbye. I don't want this. I want to wave a magic wand and keep this man from leaving this world. I never knew what I was missing until I had it. I didn't take it for granted. I bathed in it. Now, it is being ripped away from me. Who is going to be the comedy relief at dinner? Who is going to understand my children and love them for who they are? Who is going to wrap my daughter in their favorite blanket and watch stupid Barbie movies with her? Who? Sure, these things could be done by anyone, but it really isn't the same.

I don't know what the world is going to look like when he is gone, but I know that it will not be as beautiful. The universe is not just robbing our family of someone we love, it is robbing the world of an amazing man. A man that can restore faith in daughters who had none for fathers. A man that has strong principles. A man that cares deeply, speaks little, and brightens the world. It's not fair.

It's too soon....

I have been brewing this one for a good two weeks. I don't even know where to start. There is so much turmoil and stress going on in my life right now, that sometimes, it is wicked hard to breathe. We went on a vacation for spring break. As is usual when you gather several ASD kids for a vacation, I returned needing a vacation from my vacation. The vacation I took from reality was just stressful in a different way. I did remember how to smile and I did have an amazing time, but it was so exhausting.

I returned home to two separate personal issues. The first is in regards to the fact that bio is in town. It's been a good long while since he graced my kids with his presence. It freaks me out more than a little bit. I cannot name a time that we really every agreed on anything regarding the children. The idea that he has them and I am not there to help them, is very disconcerting. What if they meltdown? What if my son has a panic attack? I am not there to talk them through it and he hasn't been around enough to know. He hasn't walked this path with us. He has fervently ignored it for a very long time. I don't know that he can ignore it anymore, but it still raises all my defenses that I am not there to help them with the things I do everyday, like button my daughter's pants or make sure my son wears underwear. It really is the little things.

I did get to talk to them tonight. It was through Facebook on his account, but that doesn't really matter to me. I don't really have anything to hide. If he wanted a bigger part in his children's lives, he would make a better effort. As it is, he makes, what feels like, a minimal effort. There are extenuating circumstances, but not enough to keep him away for as long as he was. I think a lot of my panic has nothing to do with them and everything to do with me. Well, that isn't entirely true, but I think the majority is. I need to get over that. They return after the weekend and we shall see.

The other issue I returned to face was the diagnosis of my step father with stage four lung cancer. There is no cure. It can be managed. He does have a small chance of survival and everyone is clinging to that right now. I am researching all over because, despite my hopes he will come out the other side, I am a realist. One percent is not a large percentage at all. Honestly, it really freaks me out. I have not processed it all yet, but I am sure it will hit me.

I have not told my daughter. I don't know how. I told my son because I know better than to try and hide things from him. I feel cheated. My own father is most frequently a non existent entity. This man came into our lives over 5 years ago. For the first time, I had a real dad. My mother had someone to love her like she deserved. We waited so long for that. Both of us waited. Miraculously, we were granted the chance at that. Now, the universe wants to take it away.

I don't want to lose the man I consider father. I don't want my kids to lose their grandpa. I don't want to face reality on this one. However, since nobody else will, I sort of have to. I have to prepare myself to be the rock. I have so many people to hold together. I am not responsible for the world, but I am responsible for my own little one. I don't like Death. I have been bedfellows with him before and it sucked royally.

I am starting to accept the hard reality that my life will never be easy. The days of smooth sailing are going to be few and far between for awhile. I don't know how to feel about that. Everyone keeps telling me to deal with one thing at a time, but that isn't particularly possible. They are both happening at the same time. I am running from one fear to the next and back. I am micromanaging myself to death. I would love to say that I will stop it, but I won't. I will continue to be the go to. I will be the get it done girl. I will be the rock, the shoulder, and the reasonable one. In between, I will be the girl who isn't sleeping, forgets to eat, and cries at midnight when nobody is around.

That is something I have been doing for a long time. I have been falling apart on my own time. It means no real down time, but everyone needs something all the time. I am strong enough to do it. I don't have to like it. My soul feels broken over my dad. Nobody will talk about it, so I had to look it all up and from what I can gather, median prognosis is just shy of six months. I am not ready to face that. I am about to lose the only father I have ever really known. Maybe one day, I will take the time to tell you about this man that changed my and my mother's world so profoundly. It's a beautiful tale. He is a beautiful person. The impacts he has made on me are profound.

I am on the hope bandwagon. I am hoping with everything in me. I am not ready for this. I am not ready to lose another person so close to my heart. It's been almost 11 years, but it's too soon.

How far....

So, life sped up, as life is prone to do. Things are good here, but busy as hell. We have IEP's and vacation. We have surprise visitors sprung on us. You know the kind. The ones where they aren't good surprises. They have the potential to stress you out. Then, they have the audacity to be right on top of the vacation you have been planning and looking forward to, giving them more chance to just ruin everything right out from under you. However, I am not going to let that happen.

It has been awhile since I got on here and let it all out. I know that. I don't know if you all noticed, but I did. I am getting tense again. I need to write, even if I don't know what to say, or how to get it out. I think I told you about the crap holidays we had, but if I didn't, they were crap. My mother had surgery. Everyone seems to need something from us and all we can do is count down the days until we are out of here for a week. Twelve...eleven...ten...

Then comes "The Email." Yup, here comes an unwanted guest. No, they are not staying here. I would end up in jail, if that were the case. They are coming however, with three weeks notice, I might add. My kids are flipping out at the news. There is a mix of happiness, fear, and trepidation in both. I am a ball of stress. I am running around trying to prepare for everything at once, despite that I have a week left before the train hits full speed.

The week we leave, we have back to back IEP meetings. Neither of which are going to be easily won, even with an advocate. We are meeting with good friends for vacation. Nothing will ruin that week. We are going and you can't stop us. If you know me, don't try to call. I am not answering the phone. The day we get back is when "they" arrive. I have twelve hours between when we get back until "they" intrude in our lives.

I want you all to take note of something here. My writing is not hurried or full of angst. It is just matter of fact. I don't know how many of you really understand what that means. Three years ago, under almost the same circumstances, I was in the corner of my living room, bawling my eyes out in terror. I was afraid of how things would go down. What were these people going to do to me this time? You know what? I am not like that anymore.

I am owning my shit. Yes, I will have fear and probably a few moments of weakness, but I have come so damn far. I was given a demand this time. I didn't cave. I responded with a respectful, "No." I will not be ruled by fear and intimidation anymore. I realize, that despite the fear and loathing I hold inside of me, it does not control me anymore. For that, I have a team of friends and an awesome DV therapist to thank. This journey is far from over for me, but the strides I have made are incredible.

I control the situation. I control me. As long as I feel together, the rest will fall into place. For me, I see this as having broken the bonds that kept me in fear. There will always BE fear, but I don't have to be a slave to it. So, the timing sucks. So, it means I have to do more in a shorter period of time, to cover all eventual outcomes, but so what!?! I will do them. However, I will not fear this. I will always fear how things affect my kids, but for me, I am so done being scared. I am facing those demons and kicking their asses. As far as my kids go, yeah, I will worry. That doesn't mean that I am still trapped by fear. It means that I have overcome it. I'm not afraid for me anymore. That feels so good.

Juanita knows better....

Some days, I don't know if writing it out will work. There are days that are so dark in my mind and I feel completely helpless. Today is one of those days. They don't happen often, but sometimes, a person has to break in order to put themselves back together. Seems that for me, today is that day. I should have seen it coming. For a month now, I have been running from one crisis to another. I told someone today, "I can't even afford to breathe, and that is supposed to be free."

That is how it feels. I nearly lost a family member just before Christmas, and again a few days after. I took in her child and got nothing but crap from him in return. I ran him all over kingdom come, tried to be an ally in a world he sees as an enemy, and tried to reason with him about pretty much everything. I know better than this, but the eternal optimist in me kept saying, "If you don't do this, who will?" So, I did. I got wrapped into a battle with everyone and ended up being therapist, firefighter, and doctor to all.

In the midst of this, my cat died. My son found her. It was awful. I cried the night it happened and have teared up here and there, but I have not had time to grieve for my cat. And she was MY cat. I forced myself to make merry and give my kids the best holiday I could under the circumstances. It was not easy, but I pulled it off. The kids had some major meltdowns and things were really ugly here for about two weeks, but we did it.

My mother injured herself. I am more than happy to help out with what she needs, but it is taking it's toll. I want to be there and help, but it always seems like something. Then, they had their own emergency, which has left me terrified for the well being of my step brother. This sort of thing could break someone's mind. I worry about him. I worry about the implications of the decisions he has been forced to make and the backlash that could occur. I know I can't do anything about it, but my heart aches for him.

My kids both had IEP meetings last week. Of course, they came back with the standard "your kids are smart and don't qualify." That kills me. Honestly, that is just another knife to the heart. This thing with SS and school was meant to be temporary because I knew she needed more. The options that the DOE are saying I have leaves one or both of us in a worse place than we are. I am hoping the advocate can help, but lately, hope seems so far away.

I have spent the entire week arguing with the ex over something totally inconsequential. I think it's just that time of year to pick a fight with me, but that sets of triggers and things that I don't like to think about. I handled myself well and that seems to have calmed for the moment, but with him, it's only a matter of time.

Through all of this darkness and just crap, I had one light. We were planning a vacation. We so need it. Now, there is still a small chance for this, but this was the straw that broke me. It turns out they changed policies at Puck's company on Friday. They force you to use PTO for FMLA, which we knew. Now, they are saying that you cannot request unpaid time off if you don't have any time. I see where this is logical for those going out for 12 weeks or even 2 and then requesting vacation, but for those on intermittent, that's like saying because you have a disability or a child with one that requires you to be home sometimes, you can't take vacation like everyone else, even unpaid.

I don't think it would hurt so bad if it didn't once again feel like a dig at my kids because they are different. This is not anyone's fault. The way I feel is my sole responsibility. I let myself get excited. I let myself look forward to something. I know better. It's never that easy. I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I feel like I am failing my kids because I can't get them what they need. I feel like it's all warped and backwards. I am constantly defending their disability because they need help, but then something like this happens. It's like they can't get help or a break. Neither can we. I am just so tired of it all.

I spend days on end arguing, bargaining, and running around for my kids. They endure more shit, testing, appointments, and car rides than any kid ever should. Do you think they get a break? No. No they don't. I was going to give that to them. However, due to their not being able to be perfect stepford kids through all that they go through, I am looking at that not happening. Let's be real here. Any child put through that kind of gauntlet is going to have trouble. Now, take away the "normal" neural pathways to express emotions. Yeah, we had more than our fair share of really bad meltdowns from both at the same time in the last month.

I am angry that people don't understand the strains on us daily, even those that are here. I am tired of the four of us having to do it all alone, even when it is near impossible. And I am heartbroken that because we try so hard for our kids to have normal lives, that they are denied normal things like vacations. It's not a final no, but today, it seems like it. Today is a hard day. Today is my breaking day. I don't like today. I do know that no matter how dark or hopeless it feels right now, it will feel better later. Yes, Juanita knows this, but right now, it doesn't matter.

I have to grieve. I have to deal. I have to sort through the ten mile high mound of shit on my back. I have to stop trying to plan things. I have to live in the moment. I need to stop making plans, or trying to. I have to cry. Most importantly, right now, I have to feel sorry for myself. That sounds so selfish, but if I live in the mindset that it can always get worse, then it quite possibly could. Real life is hard. Reality sucks a lot sometimes. I just hope that, by some miracle, this all pans out for the kids. They more than deserve a week to be themselves and to be kids.

Two hats, one head....

They say that autism parents have stress levels similar to combat soldiers. I do not doubt this. Some lives are easier than others, but in the long run, it really does take it's toll. There are doctors, specialists, and fights with the school. There are battles over schedules, food, and responsibility. There are a lot of battles. Most families seek out a local support system to help them survive the turmoil and stress that, just getting through some days requires. I envy those people. I don't envy many people. I am usually pretty content with our family and what we have been dealt. I am a strong and capable woman. I know this and find more strength in myself daily. It doesn't come without a price.

I may not have a strong support system, for what seems to everyone around me, to be things I should just figure out how to handle. However, I AM the support system for them. I am the baby of the children and eldest of the grandchildren. I am the only one with special needs kids, or kids between the ages of two and fifteen. I run myself ragged, day in and day out, just to get my own life to function. Still, most days, I am the only responsible adult around, other than my wife. When push comes to shove and tragedy rears it's very ugly head, we shoulder the brunt of the difficult stuff.

I won't go into detail, but this week, we had a very scary family emergency. I admit, my family is really good at running a telephone game, but action... It's not there. Someone very near to me came as close to deaths door as anyone can. When I received the call, nothing had been done about her son. Nobody had gone to get him. He's a teen and said some angry teen things when the family stepped up. His eyes saw the family taking his mom. Never mind that she was sick. He saw them taking her away. I get it.

Anyway, I flew into action. I immediately secured numbers and called around. I arranged for him to come here. I picked him up and sheltered and cared for him for three days. His mom is in the hospital. Someone needed to care for him. I honestly don't mind that. What really gets me, is this: With all the family here, how is it that I was the only one to go to the hospital everyday and take him back and forth an hour to his house and still keep my own schedules with my own kids?

The rest of the family gets time to process it all. They get to cry in the privacy of their homes at night and step away from it all. I brought it home. They call and tell me how or what to say to this boy because he is so angry. It is so important to them for him to understand everyone else's position. His emotions and processing don't seem to matter. They may have tried the blunt approach to get through his panic, but some of the things said to this child were terrible. Hell, some of the things they said to his mom were not so great, even if they were true.

The whole situation was badly handled. I spent three days talking and being there for a boy who nearly lost his mother and they did everything they could to make it as miserable as they could, for him. They dragged him into family discussions that NO child should be a part of. They included family members in those discussions that had no real place in them. They ostracized this child to the point that he blocked their numbers for a good two days. All the while, I am doing what I do around here with my own kids, plus taking care of his needs. That meant a lot of driving and a lot of putting out fires.

I see where the family wants him to see things correctly, but as long as he is burying the pain, he isn't going to see much of anything. I took him home yesterday. I am waiting to hear if he will be returning for a few days, during the holidays. He's a good kid. Today was really hard for me. (Here is where we come back around to that stress level.) I live with this heightened level of stress. I guess I just forget that I am the family firefighter too. While everyone decompressed and handled their grief and shock in their own way, I was holding it together and doing what I had to to make sure we didn't lose him.

In the quite of the morning and the uncertainty of the days to come, I had a little time to think. Yes, I have been protecting this boy and getting him through, but I almost lost her too. I can't fully come out of crisis mode because, honestly, this is far from over, but I need to let some of it out. I almost lost her. It was like a tidal wave of emotions. I pushed most of them back down, but it was enough.

I finally ate something. It seems that I forgot to do that. I was too worried about making sure he did. I have been plagued with nightmares, that until I really looked at them today, didn't make sense. I am afraid for me and my family. My wife is so capable, but to do this alone is a daunting thought. I have no doubt that my family would circle the wagons, but what happens when I am not there to put out the flames? What if it is me? Who is going to remain calm? Who is going to put my children ahead of any agenda and treat them with dignity and respect? I don't know. I really don't. I mean, I brought her underwear in the hospital. Somehow, I found time between school, stress, running the kids around, and family life, to go shopping for her and bring them down to her. Underwear. Simple thing. She was asking. Why did nobody do this for her?

I bet if I asked, they would tell me they didn't have time. Nobody ever has time. I needed time today. I needed somebody to look at what my family did this week and say, "You did so much. We appreciate it. You must be tired. Let me take the kids for an hour or two." Funny thing is, I haven't gotten a call all day. I did my job. Now, my family is shuffled back to the section everyone ignores. I am left to pull myself together and still function, when really, I just need one day or night to cry it out and deal with it all.

I would never change who I am at my core. I will always be there to help. I will never leave a child in the cold and I will always be there to help. Just, sometimes, I wish it was more of a two way street. I guess the point of this all is, don't overlook what others are doing for you. Don't underplay the acts or help. Appreciate what you have. It is hard to be an autism mom. It is infinitely harder to be an autism mom and the family firefighter. Hug your level headed family member. Be a shoulder to the one who didn't look inward and really put themselves out there as a stress sponge. Appreciate that. Not many people are like that.

I am not completely selfless, but I do value family and children. I hope that others do so as well.

Mommy Guilt

When you get pregnant, people tell you to rest up. You won't be getting sleep. Your parents tell you all your own baby stories. They tell you to buy diapers a size too big. They tell you you don't need all that fancy nonsense like diaper pails and wipe warmers. There is all this advice coming at you from every direction. Some of it is good, some of it is not so good, but it is a virtual treasure trove of advice.

When your kid turns two, they tell you that he will be into everything. She will hide all your stuff. He will throw temper tantrums. Just as they are about to turn three, they tell you that it isn't REALLY the terrible twos, but that three is worse. They tell you to expect it to get worse.

As the years go on, they tell you what milestones and things you can expect. They tell you how you should do or handle something. For a neuortypical child, this is stereotyping at it's best. For kids on the spectrum, it's like a big neon sign that says, "You are doing it wrong."

Thing is, despite the makeup of your neurology, us moms get mommy guilt. We really do. Why our parents or parents of older children don't tell us about this, I have no idea. It is awful. There is some sort of rite of passage amongst parents that says at one time or another, probably several times, you are going to feel like a failure. Somewhere in the secret mommy manual, which I ripped up and burned, we aren't supposed to talk about it.

Why does my kid talk to me like that? Why can't they keep their hands to themselves? Why is no not sufficient? Why are they so destructive? Why do they have to steal instead of ask for things? The list goes on and on. Where did I go wrong? What could I have done different? How did I NOT teach my child that is not alright? And here is the thing...

You did. Well, you most likely did. Most parents do. However, kids entering their teen years and beyond throw out all we taught them and try to find their way. Usually their way is full of really bad choices and behaviors. It isn't an indication of your skill as a parent, it means you did something right. Your kid is trying to find their way in the world instead of being a sheep amongst lions.

The fact that you are sitting there, crying your eyes out, about what you should have, could have done different, tells me something about you. It tells me something about me, when I clean the tear tracks and snot off my face. If I was a horrible parent that never taught my children these lessons, I wouldn't be so upset when they were not putting them to use. If you feel like you failed, then you tried. In today's society, that is more than a lot of parents do. It doesn't mean that you failed. It means you care enough to worry that you did. It means you are thinking about how to change the cycle or behavior. It means that you are being a good parent.

You see your child suffering and you just want to fix it, but they aren't babies anymore. Sometimes, they have to fix it themselves. Notice that your mommy guilt doesn't say what did THEY do wrong. It says what did *I* do wrong. That tells me that their suffering is impacting you, but the mommy in you wants to fix it. It's alright to be sad about the choices our children make, but as they get older, they do have to make them. No matter the lessons we impart, they will fall. They will make mistakes. That is part of life. It isn't what you could have done differently. For them, it is a learning experience. You taught them to behave, act, and speak a certain way. Now they want to know why the other way is not ok.

It's something we should be telling each other. Why we suffer through this guilt alone, is beyond me. We all share it. It's something we all go through. The fear and guilt of having a child grow up and test boundaries needs to be something people tell you.

Just know, you aren't alone. Millions of mommies out there share that guilt. We cry. We shout to the heavens. We hide our faces in fear that it is our fault. It's not. It's part of growing up. Not just for them, but for us too. We have to go through this. I don't know why yet. I am still in the middle of it, but maybe someday I will.

Bringing My Daughter Home

Some of you will understand this. Some of you have been where I have been, or seen what I have seen. Far too many of you have probably gone through something similar. Most of you will be able to relate this to someone in your life. Today I did something that was harder than I thought it would be. It's ironic to think that 8 years ago, I did the opposite but said the same thing. It was a solemn thing. The only one in the house that really took internal note of what I was doing was SS. Today, I brought my daughter home.

Ten years ago, as many of you know, I lost my first baby girl. It was a very dark time in my life. I had a very difficult time moving on. For years, I was lost in this haze that never seemed to go away. I lived my life, day in and day out. I had another child. Yet, I could never quite get there. I made a very difficult decision after 2 years of not feeling like I was making progress. I made the decision to bury my daughter's ashes. It was a finality for me that I thought I needed.

My grandmother stepped in while we were making the plans. She asked if she could hold onto my daughter's ashes until she passed away, in order for them to be buried together. I found that to be an amazing request from a woman I regarded as more my mother. I agreed, backed by my whole heart. What I didn't realize was, I think my grandmother knew that I needed the space to grieve, but I wasn't really ready to put her to rest. She is a wise woman. I have always known that, but today, I realized how intuitive she really is.

So, my daughter's little lavender box with her ashes went to live with my grandmother. She has been there for 8 long years. When I visit my grandmother, I always stop to say hello or tell her I love her. She was not forgotten, nor was she any less loved.

My grandmother went into surgery last week. During her recovery for the next few weeks, she is not staying at home. It bothered me that my daughter was alone in the house. There was nobody there. I asked my grandmother if she minded if I brought her home until she recovered. She smiled at me and asked me if it was that time. I didn't understand in the moment, but I do now.

My grandmother is getting on in life. Her health has been declining. Though she looks as hale as ever, the reports say different. She knows that. She knew I would need time to say goodbye. She knew before I did. I do need that little bit of time. She has been gone ten years now and it feels like yesterday. I need this time because in the end, it really will be a final goodbye for me.

I picked her up today. SS asked what it was I was carrying and I showed her. She looked at me with a solemn and sad face. I told her that it was alright. That we just needed to bring her home until grandma gets better. She was very quiet.

She said, "I never met her, but I feel like I know her. I miss her. She was my sister."

It doesn't get more real than that. We all need this time to come to terms with something that is a complex and emotional situation. They need to make peace with this sibling that they never knew. I need to take the time to say goodbye. I need to be ready to put her to rest for a final time. Even if she isn't here, her ashes are. That has always been the thing that held me from healing. I had something of her on this earth. It is time for me to make my peace with myself and with her.

I will always love her. She is always in my heart and moving around my soul, and now, she is in my home as long as we can hold on to her. Then, when it is time, maybe it will be easier to bury what I have left of her. It's nice to know that she will have my grandmother and my grandmother her, when that time comes. Until then, my daughter is home where she belongs.

Me

I have been sitting on this blog for two days. It's hard to pinpoint exactly why I can't seem to get it out there, but it really has been difficult. I thought that I was doing well. I have been doing everything I should. Things are coming together and it felt good. I was sort of brought up short yesterday by a judgement of my character that was so very wrong.

The thing about the comment was that it honestly could have been a compliment. It should have been. Yet, I felt like this person should have known me better. It made me wonder how well I put up a front. I thought it was time to be honest with myself. I needed to reflect. The awful thing about the reflection is that I still don't like what I see. Even with all the changes and steps forward, I don't see myself the way others obviously are. So, I thought if I got it out. Really talked about who I am and how I feel, it might help. This may never see print. It might. I guess it really depends on how well I express myself. I started in poetry, so this may go very metaphorically.

When I look in the mirror every day, I absolutely HATE the person looking back at me. I hate the weight gain and the feeling that I am just not remotely attractive anymore. I hate that I have bags under my eyes. I never really smile for the sake of it anymore. It's not that I am not happy. I am. I just don't deserve to be. That girl staring back at me, she's the one person I can honestly say I hate. I have a self loathing so deep, most people would probably be shocked to hear it. As my physical body falls prey to the darkness that is my perception of myself, it just gets worse. It's like a run away train, but it seems to have no plans of stopping anytime soon.

I grew up under the heading of "NOT GOOD ENOUGH." I have lived there my whole life. Nobody intended that for me, but it was how it was. I was too curious. I was too talkative. I was too forward. I needed to be more like a girl/less like a girl. All of this in childhood. I needed to watch my weight. I could not wear my hair that way because it looks like I didn't care. I had to wear this. I couldn't wear that. I was too slow. I was too fast. I cried all the time. I never showed emotion. All of this in my teens. The cycle kept going. I shouldn't date him. I should marry him. I should run from him. I should do this/that different in my marriage or with my kids. My kids are that way because I do this. I should grieve for my daughter as long as I need. I should just get over her. I should take my kids outside more often. I should protect their health and find indoor activities. It just goes on and on. I was never good enough. I have spent my life watching others and hoping I could catch on and find the "right" answer, but as soon as I did, I was wrong.

Since I took my life back and stopped listening to those people that did that, whether they knew it or not, I haven't seen so much of it. They have learned to accept that they couldn't do this. It doesn't change the damage done. No matter how good I get at something, someone is always going to question it. If they don't, because I was raised to feel inferior, I will. I will always question myself. I cannot name the times in a week that I say, "My head says..." because I know that how I feel and the reality can be different. This goes for all aspects of my life. I will always question my choices. If I am called out for something, I take it to heart because I know, whether they do or not, it's my fault. It always is.

As I grew into my own, people started realizing that I had grown up. They started to realize I was a grown up that was seen as responsible. With responsibility comes no little amount of expectations. Now, I am expected to do all manner of things, even when it means dropping important appointments or schedules in my own family to do them. I am expected to do them as an adult of the family, PTA, etc. Guess what? I never get those right either. As a matter of fact, when all that gets added into my already insane routine, I start getting my own stuff wrong.

Now, I know some of this is just that "not good enough" demon running around in me, but I screw up more than anyone I know. I forget dates, birthdays, appointments. If I don't forget them, I mix them up. I have tried date books, reminders, and other assorted things. They don't work. So, I throw myself into it harder and faster, trying desperately to prove I am not a screw up. I put in all I have to prove that I am good enough.

As I do this, I let my marriage slip. I am so concentrated on proving I can do something right, that I unknowingly step down there. So, my appointment life is going well, but my marriage is getting more tense. Alright, I need to find a balance. I reach for that balance, but ultimately, something falls through and I screwed up again. Sometimes it's small, but most of the time, it feels really big. I have so many things going on, most of which can't be put off or let go, and I am screwing them all up. Sometimes, I feel like the universe is playing an epic joke on me. I honestly feel like I can't win. Then, when something goes right, I question it because I know I don't deserve it. This is me.

I have no faith in myself. I don't feel strong. I feel like a grain of sand in a very large ocean. I swell out with the tide, only to be pummeled over and over by the ever rising and falling waves. I see my life in all it's colorful glory. Some of those colors are ugly as hell. Some choices I questioned at the time of making them, I have deemed the right choice. The thing is, I will always question my choices, even long after they are gone. If I always live in this cycle of feeling not good enough, I will always question where I went wrong. I love my life and the people in it, but I look at them and wonder, how in the hell do they love me. I sure as hell don't.

If I seem different, it is from a lifetime of learning to cover up my true feelings. The majority of anger and upset that people see, is directed at me. It is, yet another, clear reminder that I won't ever cut it. It's just a projection of how I feel about me. I don't question how I got lucky. I am afraid to. I have a wonderful wife and two beautiful kids. I do wonder what they see in me, but I don't question it. I think that they are why I have gotten as far as I have. They keep me sane.

I am getting better about all of it. I am learning to trust my wife, and a few others, as to when to question and when to simply let it be. They are teaching me how to at least be alright with myself. It's a long road. I have spent a very long time feeling worthless. I am slowly starting to see worth in myself, but sometimes I wonder if I will ever see myself the way others do. There are few things that I have accepted. I am a good mother. I love my kids. I will always fight for my kids. I will always do what is right for them. I know enough to know that is true. I love my wife. I could stand to be a better one to her, and I need to, but I am working on it. As far as loving myself, maybe some day. You all know I am a fighter. I will fight for it. Let's just hope I do it right. Let's hope I am good enough to get there. Some days I think I might, but most days...

Life's Not Fair....

If you have read my blog for any length of time, you know that once upon a time, I was the black sheep. I was the girl that would never grow up, the girl that got married too early and would fail, and the girl who wasn't considered responsible enough to have kids of her own. While, I concede that my marriage did not last, I can say that it lasted longer than most of my other family members' marriages, by a hell of a lot. I mean, my marriage to Puck has lasted longer than my own mother's. And yes, I was young when I first got married. When I had kids, I had a long road to really learn what being a mother was about. I got there, though. They will tell you. I got there. Somehow, I went from the black sheep to being the most commonly referred to as "responsible". Of all the aunts, cousins, and my own mother, Puck and I are considered to have the healthiest relationship. We are considered to be the most responsible, despite the living pay check to pay check. It took me until today to figure it out, though. I could not, for the life of me figure out why.

Today Puck had to go over to my grandmother's and do a few things. It wasn't anything much. She did a little shopping, washed the dishes, and made things more accessible for my grandmother. It was the first time either of us has done this for her, due to living the autism life. Apparently, my family has been "taking turns" to "care" for my grandmother. That sounds nice, doesn't it? If only it were the way it sounded. When they say taking turns, they mean that my mother goes over there four days a week and the rest of the family the other two. Now, before you feel bad for my mother, she IS the only one without children home and she does live closer than the rest of us, but come on! Both of my aunts have older teens. They should be able to carry something more than two days between them. Now, as you may recall, I stated this was our first time. That is true, but we have been told on numerous occasions that our children tire my grandmother out. We have been running all over kingdom come and, honestly, with this life, it is hard to add something extra in. We have been wanting to do more to help, but we were so completely unprepared for what they consider "care".

Puck did the shopping, to which we found out that the last time she went, was when I took her. She brought it into the house and chatted for a minute. Though my grandmother was obviously in pain, she stated she was fine. Yeah, my ass! Thankfully, Puck sees these things and knew she was hurting. My grandmother was insistent that the milk would not fit in the mini fridge, to which Puck told her that "she would make it." She did get it in there, but it got us thinking. Why did nobody else do this? She really can't walk, let alone be climbing stairs. Once the groceries were away, Puck grabbed the dirty dishes to take them upstairs, as my mother says she does every night, to wash them.

As she got up the stairs, she found dishes all over the counters, the stove, and in the sink. The dishwasher had not been run and was full. There were coffee and food stains all over the counter. How is this "taking care" of grandma? It took Puck 15 minutes to get this cleaned up and straightened out. It wasn't a one day mess. This was a culmination of dirty that was being ignored. Yet, someone in the family is there once a day. I don't understand. Puck was horrified. We then realized that they have been bringing her ONE meal every day. I don't eat much, but that is just ridiculous. This woman is the paramount female in our family. She not only raised her kids, but had a major hand in raising their kids' too. A dismissal like this, no, a disregard for this woman and her home is terrible. Now, we only have one car. We live on a limited income. Yet, if we had the key and the means, we both have said we would be there everyday as a silent entity. We wouldn't want the family to know because, let's be realistic, they would stop coming. They would assume we would just do it, except they aren't really doing it.

Now, here Puck and I stand in judgement of those that have spent a lifetime telling us that we aren't doing it right. They all agree that we have grown up and are the most responsible family, but it is now clear to me why. While they have been repeating their mistakes, living in their bubbles, and judging every move that we make, we have been raising two children with autism. As time goes by, we get better at time keeping, appointments, hectic routines, and life in general. We try really hard not to repeat mistakes because, in all honesty, we learned long ago that if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. Yes, we have done some unconventional things. We don't always do it the way others would, but it works. We found a way to make it work. When it stops working, we find a different way. We don't go back. They have all slipped into bottles of one sort or another, to stew in the troubles they have and how hard life has gotten with this extra chore. my mother has been stressed to her max with getting a room ready for my grandmother after her surgery. Yet, in two weeks, I haven't spoken to her after five that she wasn't at least tipsy.

We don't drink. We don't take vacations. We don't have that luxury. We are going from midnight to midnight. There is always someone awake here. We run from start to forever, because there is no finish. We would love a vacation. We would love to go visit family on the opposite coast. We would love to have a weekend getaway, just us. Every member of my family has done that this year. We don't get to. We are in the trenches of this life. It is hard, but we are content. Maybe instead of drowning everyday in substances and bitching that they can't do it, they should look at those around you that you admire. They say that we are so responsible, but our lives are busier than we let on. They don't hear about the fights for pants or teeth brushing. They don't know about the routine appointments to different therapists. They never hear me bitching that Puck works nights and we don't see each other often. Yet, they envy our lives. They don't know what we do. They really don't. We have the healthiest relationship, according to them. Could it be that we are the way we are because, despite how hard it is and the things we have to give up, we accepted the responsibility? The last time Puck saw her family, was when we left them. Yet, they can't manage a simple task like wash one person's dishes and wipe the counters without whining that they need a vacation. They are "too stressed out."

As far as caring for those whom they love, they should be putting in more of an effort. You don't know how long you have with them. To my family, who feels they do so much and can't possibly do more....We know grandma doesn't have long. So, stop putting in a half assed effort and give with your whole heart. You taught me that life isn't fair. It's not, but you play what is dealt to you. Follow your own advice. Despite the fact that our life doesn't really allow for the extra's, we manage it. So I suggest you figure it out. Otherwise, don't bitch at me that YOU can't do it. We do it every damn day!

My Homework...

So, I am going to try and do what they suggested I do and just run a stream of thoughts out here without stopping. It was a good suggestion, as my life seems to be jumbled together, much like my thoughts. I feel sort of stupid doing it, especially in a blog, but I don't really write much anymore do to an injury, so you all get the benefit of this piece of advice. I have been attending therapy, both group and singular for parts of the crazy that is my life. I have tried to stay positive. Mostly, I have been able to do that, but some days are really so much harder than others. I am trying to deal with so many things at once. Due to the public nature of my blog, I will be likely editing some of what I write out, thus keeping my anonymity, but hopefully it still flows in a readable manner. Alright, so here goes.

Lately, the world has been spinning. I have been living in that person I was years ago, that can't do anything right. It is making the things I am trying to accomplish very hard. I am wanting desperately to grab hold of my life, but find that it is not something I have been able to do. I am dealing with my own personal demons, many of which are the reasons behind the counseling, but I have been dealing with stuff for the kids too. Both kids have hit that puberty stage, where they have suddenly gotten harder. Their meds are not working as they should and I have lost complete control. I am not sure how to gain it back. JJ has been stealing almost daily. It doesn't even seem to matter what it is anymore. It is like it has become a habit. Where he used to give excuses or try to hide it, he is now just throwing the word "whatever" around and genuinely seems to not care what it is doing to us all. I feel completely disregarded. On the best day, I feel like I am struggling to regain control. On the worst, I wonder why I even try. His attitude has gotten so terrible that I have entertained the idea of a home. Logistically, I can't do that, for many reasons, but it has crossed my mind.

I am so angry at myself for missing the psychiatrists' appointment today for the kids. I can't say for sure that it was my mistake, but it feels like it. I have been running and running and things are starting to fall through. I realize that. I also realize that I need to take better care of myself, though haven't figured out how best to do that. I am not eating right. I am not sleeping. I am just go, go, go. I need to stop for a minute and breathe. I need to look around and realize that I am not alone. I do have help in Puck. I just feel like sometimes, she does so much. I wonder if I asked too much of her when she signed on to help me raise these two. I know she would object, but I can't help but question it.

I meet with the advocate tomorrow. I am terrified to do that. It's like a last line of defense in this long ass battle with the district. I don't understand why it is so hard to get help for your kid, when it is obvious they need it. Even when presented with unfailing evidence, they turn a blind eye. What happens if my son does something that is jail worthy? What then? They don't know. They know it's possible, but they choose to ignore it and pursue the idea that it is all rainbows and sunshine. It's crap. I know they don't really realize what we do at home, but even when presented with a clear picture, they choose to interpret it as "my problem" instead of ours. We are raising these children together. How is it we can't find a common ground?

Like with SS and her teachers. I have been told she doesn't "look autistic". The teacher could not tell me what autism actually looked like, nor should she have been able to, because it never looks the same. Add in the fact that she is a girl, and there is a world of things these teachers don't know. SS has been up EVERY night in the kitchen. Her tests show that she has not metabolic issue, but she is up at 3 or 4 AM gathering food and hoarding it in her room. Often times, it is not something I would give her. Honestly, I worry that some night she is going to eat something she shouldn't and get sick. She has been blatantly ignoring us. When I say that, I mean we will tell her no and she will do it anyway, right there in front of us, all the why arguing why she should. Again, puberty and a med imbalance is likely to blame. I think that is why I cried this morning in the office. How could I screw up the most important appointment for them? It's still a blow.

Her teachers are stark raving mad.  They refuse to acknowledge her autism and have been less than accommodating in all aspects of schooling. They make me feel two feet tall. I am the one teaching most of the subjects, but in their eyes, I know nothing of my child. She walked out of class the other day and handed me a five dollar bill. I asked the teacher where she got it. She said she didn't know. This woman has ten children in her two hour class. How does she not know? I asked her to give the money back to the student, if she found out which child it was. I then asked her what the deal with this "contest" my daughter keeps bringing up. Again, she didn't know. I wonder what she really does, if she can't keep tabs on ten kids in two hours. I could do that in my sleep. She is the "accredited" teacher, but I do all the teaching. I know my kid. Don't look at me like I shoved a pencil in your eye, when I ask you a question or tell you about something that may affect you.

The insistence that there be dates on every scrap of paper she turns in, absolutely irritates me. You see that the work is there. You, as a school, are adamant that it is not the day, but the weekly hours, that count. So, tell me why you require a date on everything. You said the date didn't matter. Now, I have to go back through over 40 school papers and date them, all because you are too lazy to look at the lesson plan that you made for me. I don't have anything else to do, really.

And don't even get me STARTED on the situation with my mother and grandmother. I don't even have words.

See what I mean. I ran all over with that. It's a pretty good look at where my thoughts are and where I have been lately. Add in my personal stuff, and you have one hell of a mess. I am pretty positive. I know that I have to go through these things to get to a settling place in my life, but damn the ride is bumpy. I will continue with all I have to do. I will attempt to remain positive. As far as caring for myself, well, I do have a concert coming up. I think I deserve that. I think we both deserve that. I need to be more mindful of the fact that what I go through, affects those around me. Puck is feeling it too. Years of feeling alone are hard to break, but I need to. So, we are going to this concert. We deserve it. It will be a good time to step back, breathe, and do something completely selfish for once. It will be good. I will be good. It will all be ok.

Here We Are Again...

Sitting in the dark of, yet another, stale hospital room. It makes me think. Life started this way for SS too. From day one, it was hospitals, doctors, and tests. I remember needing an x-ray on my foot and them forcing me to take a pregnancy test. I remember nearly fainting in fear when the doctor told me I was pregnant again. I remember the hushed and hurried calls to the OB, requesting me to be seen the next day. I remember the OB rushing me off to the perinatologist for in depth ultrasounds at 10 weeks. I remember the whispers and request that I return in 4 weeks for more tests. I remember the night I went into preterm labor and the subsequent nights spent up every 4 hours taking medication. There were tons of hospital visits and even more doctors visits, even before she was born. Before there was autism, there was ALWAYS something with her.

Here we are again. Leads and wires sticking out all over the place to monitor her every move and breath. This is the second time this year she has been hooked into a computer like an extra mainframe, but it won't be the last.

I look at her innocent little face, all covered in wires and tape, and think, "Does it end? Will there ever be answers for her?"

She is nine years old now. In nine years, we have seen more specialists for her than I have ever seen in my life. Yet, we have less answers than we did. How is that?

First, there was PDD-NOS and Sensory Processing Disorder. I was alright with that. It hit home hard, her being the second child diagnosed with ASD in a year, but we rolled with it.

Then the seizures started. She was diagnosed with Childhood Seizure Disorder. That was like a knife to the eye. It was so terrifying and unexpected that as her mother, I was certain it couldn't get worse. That was her first round of wires. We went two years with medications, and when she seemed to be growing out of them, we took her off.

Not six months later, came the ADHD diagnosis. We expected that. We waited to see if we could find an alternative to medication, but nothing worked, so on the medicine she went. Six months after that, she started having seizures again and was found wandering in school alone. That kicked off round two of the testing and monitoring. EEG's and other such tests were ordered. We were in the hospital for 2 days for them. Nothing was ever found and they subsided to about one every 3 months. They were diagnosed as absence seizures and we opted to keep her off medication since they were so infrequent.

Nine months later, she had a cancer scare. The left side of her neck and face swelled to the size of a golf ball. The tests that went into diagnosing what it was were numerous. Blood tests, urine tests, and x-rays. When they found it was not cancer, but a rare form of cat scratch fever that was resistant to medication as a solitary treatment, there was a CT ordered. Then the poor dear ended up with a needle in her lymph node to drain it. She had to remain awake for the procedure and was so brave.

A few months ago, the seizures started up again. We switched pediatricians due to insurance issues at that time. We ended up with new everything, including a new neurologist. This neurologist decided to throw out the seizure diagnosis as definite because the EEG's never showed anything. She ordered more tests to be done. She asked me to keep a journal. I did so and with astounding results. I even got an episode on tape. The neurologist said it didn't look like anything she had seen. She said to go through with all the tests and if they reveal nothing, she will refer her to yet another specialist.

Another set of wires later, we had MRI results stating there was a small mass, likely uneventful, in her pituitary gland. Another MRI was ordered for 6 months later and a referral to the neurosurgeon was ordered.

And here we sit. More wires. More monitoring. This is just a sleep study and really a non-event, but in the dark, I can't help but wonder. We have another EEG scheduled for next month sometime, a psychiatrist appointment, and a neuropsychiatrist appointment all coming up before the end of the year. Those are just the ones we are absolutely sure of. How many more? Where are those answers?

We started with a straight forward diagnosis and a reasonable expectation. Today, I sit in this unyielding chair watching my baby girl, realizing we are further away than we were. Where there were answers, there are now questions. Where she has ASD and CSD, she now has a big question mark. Yeah, they know it's ASD, but as for the other things, they have no answers. They don't even know how much her ASD is affecting her functioning. They don't know what is affecting anything at any given time. What does that mean? It means I have no answers.

This is one of those days where I wish life were different. Not because it's hard, or because it's frustrating, but simply for her. It hurts my soul to see her so comfortable with wires and staying overnight in the hospital. It makes my heart bleed for her when she recalls with vivid detail, all of the things she has been through, and doesn't show fear or apprehension. She shows to the nurses and doctors that this is normal. It is a part of her life. That kills me. I wish it wasn't. I wish she didn't have that ease and familiarity with all of this. No child asks for this. No parent should go through it. Yet, here we are, again.

Screaming Myself Hoarse.....

I am so angry right now. I just literally screamed myself hoarse and threw my computer (which thankfully isn't broken now). I don't even know what to do anymore. I have done everything and more to see my son succeed in school and we are STILL running into the same shit we run into every year. He forgets to turn in his homework, or won't turn in partial for partial credit because it isn't to his standards. I know, logically, that I have done and am doing all I can, but sometimes, it feels like he is just kicking me. I hate that I can't make him understand. I know that there is a communication issue, due mostly to our differing ways of thinking. It doesn't stop me from wondering if I am doing something wrong.

I tried to get him that IEP and they shot him down without even testing him. They left me with a badly done denial, with no basis in fact. Sure, I have an appointment with an advocate, but is it going to come too late? My kid's grades are dropping rapidly and he is getting nailed at school and at home from all of us. I don't know how to not be mad. I have bent over backwards to try and help him get this system and to get him the help he needs in this system and it just falls flat. Everything just falls flat.

I am going through my own crap and don't know how much I can take on top of everything. I feel like a failure when my son, whom is acing tests, is failing because he isn't turning in work. Despite the fact that I specifically requested an FBA for this specific issue, I was denied. How do I help this kid? I can't. He needs help. I need help. We need help. There is no help. I hope the advocate can fix this, because he needs that help. I am at a loss. I supposed I could try and walk him to every class, but alienating the child who is already different, doesn't seem like a good idea.

I'm so tired of crying. I'm tired that my pleas for help fall on deaf ears. How much is my son supposed to actually fail, before they show him compassion and help him where he needs it? How am I supposed to just accept that he IS failing because it is a functional issue that I know mostly stems from the structure of his neurology? I feel like I have been through all the volumes, from polite to this. I feel like my throat is bleeding and my tears are dry because I have been standing SCREAMING for someone to help my kid. Nobody ever does. When he was little, it didn't matter so much because we knew he was learning. Now, it matters. His grades matter. He matters. Yet, I'm still screeching myself hoarse for something that is blatantly obviously a need for him.

I got angry and yes, I yelled at my son. I want to apologize and at the same time, I know I can't. To apologize means that you are sorry you said what you did. I meant every word. If there is only us and him, then he has to pull some of that weight. What isn't fair is that all of us are completely losing it over this. He needs help and reminders and Puck and I can't do that all the time. We can't be the little people on his shoulder, telling him what to do. We need the school to step up and do it. He is learning and scoring his tests perfectly, but he is failing because he doesn't remember to turn his work in. So, what we have here, is a failure on the district's part, for failing to heed my advice and really listen to my request. Now, even if we get them to rescind their denial and test him, the damage is done. His grades are failing. So, because he is not getting what he needs, he pays the price for their denial. He has to rebuild his grades when they would never have gotten there with the help he should be getting. It makes me so sick to think about it.

Sleep in Peace...

Here I am, up at midnight, as usual. Night terrors, broken ears, and shenanigans abound this evening. I often write at night because that is when it is most peaceful, but tonight, I feel anything but that. I have this vast stream of consciousness just rolling through my head and it is keeping me awake and full of anxiety. I don't have a particular point to make this evening, as I usually do, but I have a few confessions to make. Being that I am essentially sitting on the eve of a new beginning, I should probably receive my last rights and make my final confessions on this part of life I am leaving behind. (No, I am not catholic, but sometimes, a confession is worth more to the soul than one realizes.)

I am tired. I am so exhausted and, honestly, not sure how to deal with that. I have always been the strong one. I show no weakness because it can be used against me. I face the world head on. If I get knocked down, I get up. Sometimes, though, I don't want to. There are days when the world knocks me down and I think it just might be better to lie there and take it. I have spent the better part of 10 years, fighting for one thing or another. I am so tired of fighting. I am tired of fighting with the system and society. I am tired of fighting with my loved ones, both past and present. I am just tired.

I love my children with all my heart and soul, but there are days, when I wonder what life would be like if they didn't have autism. Would they still struggle with the compulsion that nearly rules our life? Would I be so secretly angry all the time? If I am being truthful with myself, I AM angry. I am angry that I can't help or understand my kids. I am pissed to hell that these issues are causing a ripple effect that is weakening the fabric of our family. We are a strong family, but lately, it is getting hard. I love the quirks that come with my kids. They teach me things daily. That doesn't mean that there aren't days where I absolutely HATE autism. Today, I hate autism. I hate compulsive disorder. I hate learning disorders. I am so damned frustrated trying to teach my daughter, that sometimes, stabbing myself in the eye sounds wonderful. I am so tired of the cycle of compulsive activities that run rampant in this house. They take it, hide it, lie about it, get caught, and melt down because they realize they don't completely control it, and now think they are the worst kid in the world. I am not saying they aren't responsible, but dammit, it isn't all their fault. I am tired of having to pick and choose my battles with autism. I feel like somewhere I went wrong, even though I know I didn't. It's so incredibly screwed up. The children's autism has me so torn on how to feel. I want them to understand what they are doing, but don't want to make the situation worse. I want to rail at their father for passing it on. I want to just beat his chest and cry. Yeah, today, I really hate autism. Regardless, show no weakness. Every fiber of my being is saying, "Hold your head high. Don't let them see you cry. You cannot afford to show weakness."

I know I mentioned having made an appointment with DV for this Monday. I wonder how many people realize how much just walking in there, is going to cost me. It is like a full on admission that I HAVE a weakness. What's worse, is it is an admission that someone holds dominion over me without my consent. Through fear, emotional, and mental abuse, somebody is able to make me feel weak. I have to walk in there and admit that. I have to ask for help. I cannot remember the last time I asked for serious help. I'm not even sure that there ever was a time that I did. I have always been the grown up. I have always been the one that helped others find their strength. Now, I am about to walk into a building full of strangers, and admit that when it comes to a certain person, I don't have that strength. A PERSON!

The really screwed up thing is that, somewhere, I have had my mind warped so badly, that I feel like I am committing a massive betrayal. My head is so foggy regarding the whole situation, that it feels wrong to seek help for this. How dare I admit this? How mad is the person going to be? Pretty freaking mad. I know that. I also know that if I don't do this, I am displaying an even bigger weakness, in allowing the manipulation and fear tactics continue. This is what has been playing through my head as the day approaches. The head games were so bad that I am questioning whether it is all just a matter of perception. I know it's not. I know that the level of anxiety, to the point of panic attacks, at just the thought of this person, is not normal. I know that it is getting worse and that I have to do something about it. I need help. It feels wrong to even say that, but it is true.

It all circles around to being tired of the way I have been feeling. I have been living in abject fear for years. I am so tired of fighting. I am so tired of being accused of this or that, when in reality, all I am doing is trying to make life easier on my children. I have had enough. I will do this because I no longer feel I have a choice, but I don't know what this is going to do to me. The move is a good one, but how many old wounds can one open without bleeding to death? I wonder that. I am not a one antic at a time person. If I am going to do this, I am going to do it with all of me. That means admitting I am weak in this area. It means that I am going to rip everything wide open. I am going to grieve for myself. I am going to grieve for the girl that is now gone. I know this. I am not sure that I am ready for it, but ready or not, it is no longer something I can avoid.

I don't know how to do this. I know that I need to tell the absolute truth, no matter how damning it is for the other person, or how painful it is for me. I know that I am opening a proverbial Pandora's box. I am strong enough to pry open that box, but I also know that it contains my own kryptonite. Facing the ghosts of my past is not something I am looking forward to. I talk here and there of little things. I wrote a blog about the stuff I don't talk about, but it honestly, was mild. I don't think one person in this universe knows the whole scope of what I endured. I wonder how much I really remember and how much I have buried. I guess I can wonder all I want, because I am going to find out.

They say the more water that pours through a crack, the wider it gets. I think I am about to unleash a torrential river of emotions and memories. Some of which I remember and have shared. Some of them, I remember, but have never shared. More comes to me everyday this appointment gets closer, but I know there is so much more that I have pushed back so far, because it just hurts too much. I think that I have to hurt to heal. I have to be weak to gain strength. In doing so, I will learn something about myself, but more importantly, I will finally take my life back. I am so tired of walking on eggshells and living in fear. So tired of fighting. I am just so done.

Well, as per usual, the midnight musings of the sleep deprived have taken a more direct approach, but I stand by what I have said. I don't know how to show weakness. I am going to learn that. I am going to face my own fear and show it. I am not so patiently waiting for the new psychiatrist for the children, in hopes that we can at least curb some of the behaviors that are ripping into us. I am going to get them what they need. I cannot do that alone either. I will be asking for help there too. I am going to seek out healing for myself, despite feeling vulnerable in every way. Asking for help and showing weakness is something that I am not accustomed to, but it's not wrong. It's human. I have all these things running around in my head that are making me uneasy and I can't sleep. Maybe it really is time for me to admit my own shortcomings and seek help. Maybe then, I can sleep in peace, without fear.

Patience and Acceptance.....

When I was younger, my mother always told me that patience and acceptance were a virtue. I grew up with this little gem in my head, and never once thought about it. As I hit my teen years, and even early adulthood, I was full of both, even when it killed me. Yeah, I was a typical teen girl that did stupid stuff, but for the most part, I was a good girl. I had a year or two where I wasn't so good, but I just waited and rolled with the punches. Somehow, I ended up in hell. I climbed out of that pit, covered in my own blood, sweat, and tears, with my children on my back and realized something. Patience and acceptance being a virtue is like saying, "Sit and wait for satisfactory." I deserve more and my kids sure as hell do too.

These last few weeks have been one pit of hell after another. As soon as I stand on my own feet, hands and nails scratched and torn from the fight, I fall into another one. I am not a quitter, so I bandage, fall, and repeat with every pit I stumble into, but there are days where I feel like I'm in the Fire Swamps. Some days I don't know if I am going to fall into another fiery pit or just get eaten alive by a nasty big rat. Those are the days where it is always something.

My kid has something in her brain. Sure, it is supposed to be harmless, but what it really is supposed to be, is NOT THERE! The neurologist has calmly told me several times that she is just a walking puzzle and that if she could diagnose my daughter as such, she would. The school is now REFUSING to test either child for an IEP. We didn't even get out the door with that one. We met with the county psychiatrist for intake, they talked with me (my children's teacher) for maybe an hour, and back to his stupid cubicle he went. He went over grades and state scores. He looked and saw that in two weeks, it would be three years since the last request to test. He then typed up a nice little letter and sent it to me, refusing testing based on their academic scoring. Wow! I have never seen someone discriminated for their intelligence. It's new. I'm adjusting (while loading my proverbial guns). Apparently, only children who don't academically hit the "smart marker" are considered.

It was noted that they spoke to my daughter's teacher and that she stated there were no problems she sees. I was certain I was homeschooling, but maybe that is in that other reality. I'm not sure. It was also noted that her previous testing for IEP (done in her "bonus year" of kindergarten, after they dropped her IEP illegally) was just fine, so she is doing well. So, basically, the test they administered for her on a beginning kindergarten level, after a year of preschool and a previous year of kindergarten, were just fine. Her grades until now have been on standards. Her state test scores are averaging above average (Even if her writing skills are below the 50th percentile, she can READ! YAY!). They are walking a line with me on this one. All I have to do is request in two weeks and they MUST test her. Waiting was not their smartest idea, as I have already set an advocate meeting in motion. Obviously, my daughter stating that her pencil writes something different than what is in her head is not a problem. According to the district, it is NORMAL. So, following that line of logic, it is normal for her to have so much anxiety at the THOUGHT of writing that her heart races and tears form. The fact that she is 3 weeks behind in Literature because of this is normal. Oh, also, did you know that it is perfectly fine for a parent to transcribe for a child in school without an IEP? I did not. (It's not. I just love that they tried to tell me it is.) This is just her.

I got the same letter for my son. His was almost better. They sited the same reasoning, but also said that he does not engage in behaviors that hinder his or others' studies. So, it was someone else's kid that stole a laptop from school the day he was unmedicated? Good to know! It was noted that "he got a D in math last year for missing assignments, but it should be noted that he was a 6th grader in an 8th grade algebra class." What it really should be noted, is that the same student, is now a 7th grader in a 9th grade geometry class getting an A. So, the idea that he doesn't need help with executive functioning is just my imagination. Interesting. I guess the fact that I can access his work from home and ride his ass is good enough. He doesn't need help to learn how to do things on his own. As far as speech goes, they "don't give children speech services for pragmatics." Really? That is funny, I could swear the IEP he had when he came into the state was almost exclusively FOR pragmatics. Are we looking at the same paper? I do not think you see, what I think you are seeing.

I am in the process of throwing this all back in their faces. I do have an appointment with an advocate coming up in two weeks. As a matter of fact, I have a lot of appointments in the next two weeks. I meet Monday to deal with my own personal demons, which are actually starting to attack, being that it is Friday night. My daughter has a sleep study in two weeks. Both kids go to the psychiatrist for the big bad med shuffle the first week of October. The neurologist called to confirm a referral for the surgeon (just in case) and to tell me that my daughter has now been put at the TOP of the busy neuropsych's scheduling list. They also confirmed an overnight EEG next month. I have more appointments than I am honestly ready to take on. I have more fights than I am ready for. Be patient. NO! I have called all these people various times, due to being patient long enough. Those are my children. I am done waiting for them to do something, so I forced the issue. Accept. NO! I refuse to accept that you know who my kids are or what they do and do not need based on scanning some pieces of paper. No behavioral issues?!?! Would you like a list? I have one for both home and school.

I think the thing that pushed me to the point of seeking out the advocate before the letter was the ease of which that man dropped the letters A D H D. My children are well controlled on their medications. I mean, if they can guarantee they won't be expelled or fail all their classes, I would be happy to take them off their medication for a week and let them observe, but they can't. Then, when the letter reached me and my son's was all about no detrimental behavior, that was it. They used the term "stealing" on a county document, instead of the correct diagnosed term for what my son deals with, compulsion. This is gonna get ugly folks. My life is about to slip into the mud, and you know what, I don't mind.

Yeah, it's scary to look forward and see the piles of shit you have to wade through to get to that point you need to be. I'm terrified. Some nights I shake so hard, from the stress of it all. I am still trying to figure out how they switched me at birth, but I am not built or equipped to be the person I was raised to be. I cannot be patient when it is my or my children's livelihood at stake. I refuse to accept second best for me or them. I can't do it. So, yeah, I'm about to get a little dirty. Ok, so I am about to get a LOT dirty, but it is of my choosing and design. I can't name the times that I have stated that my life starts here. However, maybe I am using that term as a way to say, "I choose this path. I choose the hard path because it is the right one."

That is what I am doing again. This is another crossroads in my life. I can be patient and hope that everything turns out ok. I could except the outcome and go with the system, but I won't. I CHOOSE this path full of potholes, dirt, fights, and personal anguish. I CHOOSE it. It is the right path. I can see that with 100% clarity. It's going to be really hard. I am going to cry. I am going to hurt. I am probably going to be begging myself for a little mercy, but in the end, it will be worth it. Besides, that mud might feel kind of nice after getting my ass burned so many times these last few weeks.....

Making the Hard Choices Isn't Easy....

As humans, we deal with stress, almost daily. As special needs parents, we deal with more on top of that. As me, I am dealing with more than I have ever shouldered before. I have been told in the past, on a good day, that I deal with enough stress to kill a "normal" person. I have been told by this person or that one, that someday, it will kill me. Some days, it feels like that. Sometimes, I go for days without sleeping. This time, I believe I can officially say that I have outdone myself. I find myself in a world I don't recognize. It isn't anything I can't particularly handle, but it is far more than I have ever tried to handle before. The irony of this, is that it came about by doing the right and strong thing.

I stood up this week and said, "Enough is enough." I made moves I have avoided for years. I faced the reality that I had to face reality. I won't go into detail, but suffice to say, I did what had to be done. I started something in motion that needed to get rolling. I know that it needed to be done. I know that it is something that, as it rolls progressively forward, is just going to get harder. However, it had to be done. I had to do something.

I have had this fire building in me for some time. The fire of anxiety and panic. That ignition when fear meets necessity is a very scary place to be. For months, the fears have gotten stronger. The anxiety has increased in frequency. Things I dreaded at the moment they were happening, have been extended to days, even weeks before, but never to this extent.

I can't sleep. I can't eat. I am living in a constant state of fear. My body is almost constantly burning in that cold fire that means I am on the verge of a panic attack. Nothing is working to keep me calm anymore. I feel like I cannot even relax for a few hours. I feel like I am dragging everyone into these pits of hell with me and I can't stop it. I try to back off. I try to not talk about it, but it's all I think about; this oncoming storm. This storm that I know is coming. The one that I put into motion.

Do not get me wrong. I needed to do what I did. It was absolutely necessary for me to move forward and heal, but dammit it is scary. I am one to shoulder the weight of everything that I possibly can, but when I can readily admit to myself that enough is enough, it's a sort of breaking point. I KNOW I need help. I am seeking it and will be getting it, but I am not sure it will come fast enough. I will make some calls Monday to see if I can get the help I need faster, but I am afraid of the escalation rate that is going on. I can't live in this constant fear and anxiety. It's a situation that, honestly, nobody can help me with. It is my own path that I need to take.

Being strong has always been my strong suit. I cannot remember a time where I was not strong when I needed to be. This is a first for me. I feel very vulnerable and weak. I am not used to that. I learned the hard way, a long time ago, that being strong has it's consequences. They pale in comparison to the absolute benefits of doing the right thing. Making the hard choices, are just that, hard. Life wasn't made to be a cake walk and I know that. It's the fear that you made it at all, that makes it hard. When you are me, you have spent your whole life fighting everyone's else's criticism. You question your every move. Even when you step back and look objectively, which I can do, and see that it is the right choice, your head still wonders.

I know that in the light of the tragedy that happened this week, that this may raise red flags, but please don't let it. I write to get it out. In a way, it is just another way to deal with the anxiety and panic that is raging through me. I made the right choice. Yes, I am summoning a storm, probably worse than I have ever seen. Yes, I am looking into the future and I am scared, but I am not alone. I have a support group that I love and a family that does their best to hold me together. However, if I fly apart at the seams for awhile, don't be surprised. Yes, I am afraid. I am a walking panic attack full of fear. I am having trouble with functioning and answering questions. Truth is, I am stronger than this fear. I may not feel that way, but I am. It's just another lesson learned in life. Making the hard choices comes with both good and bad. I am just currently experiencing the bad.