Mental Anguish

At work last week I met two women very down on their luck. Both women are unemployed and trying to find work but other life things are making finding work hard. One woman explained to me she was homeless and living in a shelter.  She had been in an abusive relationship and her ex-boyfriend kicked her out when he went back to his ex-girlfriend. He took everything from her, including her car. She expressed feeling culture shock finding herself living in town, in a homeless shelter and trying to keep herself and her things in order. She also expressed feeling optimistic that things would soon change for the better; this too shall pass.

 

The second woman is dealing with neurological damage in her hips due to receiving radiation for cancer. She found out she was sick just before losing her job and is now having trouble finding a new job because her health condition does not allow for her to drive long distances nor sit or stand for long periods of time. She told me she was homeless before getting the job she most recently had. In conclusion to her story she said, “But, at least I’m alive.”

 

There have been three high-profile celebrity suicides this year; Avicii the popular, successful, talented and wealthy DJ, Kate Spade, the popular, successful, talented, wealthy designer, and Anthony Bourdain, the popular, successful, talented, and wealthy chef and food travel connoisseur. From a public perspective these individuals had it all. They were living their passions and making a good living doing so. They were also at the top of their game, still relevant and sought out in this fast-paced meme-filled world. But, the world did not know about their private struggles, the personal demons lurking in their own minds that eventually pushed them to take their own lives.  The contrast between the stories I shared and the celebrities is only to show how the mental health of an individual, and not their circumstances, can make the difference.    

 

I am always deeply saddened to hear someone has ended their own life and I think of what anguish they must have felt when contemplating that decision. If you have watched the Netflix show 13 Reasons Why, it attempts to show why a young person might choose to end their life, showing all the main character endured before the final scene in the first season. Being the mother of children who have personal histories of childhood trauma, family histories of mental health issues (including suicide) and substance abuse, with the added layer of foster care and adoption, I worry. Adoptees are four times more likely to attempt suicide than non-adoptees. That is a sobering statistic. Every parent should have periodic gut-checks to gauge how their children are doing, what is going on in their lives and what events might have affected them. Even more so for adoptive parents.

 

Primero’s siblings have cut themselves. His mother has had suicide threats and attempts. I talk with Primero about mental health, I let him know there is no shame, no issue at all, with seeing a therapist or talking to someone about mental health issues or struggles. I don’t know if it is enough, but I keep putting it out there, I keep talking. Chica Marie is diagnosed with ADHD and she probably has issues with anxiety. She is still pretty young, but she has had various levels of therapy and will most likely continue with some form of therapy for the foreseeable future. I am diligent about trying to find help for my kids because I know they need it.

 

I won’t pretend to understand depression. I won’t pretend I understand how it feels to think death is the answer. I know the pain in the wake of someone choosing to end their life. A close family friend overdosed just a few days shy of his twenty-second birthday and, although the family never admitted it, he knew he was flirting with the end. Could someone have done something to help him before that fateful night nearly 14 years ago? I don’t know. That is my honest answer. I know there is a lot of talk right now on social media about getting help, calling a suicide hotline, getting services for mental health, but if someone is in such mental/emotional anguish will they be able to get the help they need? At what point does the scale tip too far? The family friend was struggling with adjusting to life after serving in the Marines. He died with his entire family sleeping in their bedrooms above him. Why did he feel like he couldn’t go wake them up and talk to them? I don’t know. I have no answers, just sadness and wishing there was some way to reach that person who is thinking they don’t want to endure any more tomorrows. For me and my family, I do what I can to keep the lines of communication open without judgment or reservation. I hope that will mean something for my children. I wish it meant something for the others.

Worthless Crud

I’ve been in a funk lately. Everything is making me feel so overwhelmed. Things with Primero have improved slightly, but we are still experience these growing pains. Things with Chica Marie have ramped up again, with lying and doing things she shouldn’t be doing. Maybe because the school year has ended? I don’t know, but it hasn’t been easy. Love Bug has been having issues at the end of the day at daycare. If I am not there moments after leaving work (say I go to the bank first or get out of work a little late), I find him sobbing uncontrollably in his cubby. He can’t tell time looking at a clock, but somehow he knows what time I pick him up and he just can’t tolerate one moment more waiting for me. Work has been hard with my coworker out on a two week vacation to Italy, but also just adjusting to this new program that sucks the very soul from my body. I hate it. I went out with friends on Saturday and while I had a really nice time at dinner and really enjoyed the Escape Room, when we went out for drinks my mood took a nose-dive. We were in a pretty full outdoor spot but I felt so alone. And lonely. The other women would get up from our table and wander around and I just didn’t have the energy. I ended up calling Primero to come get me early because I had to keep fighting back tears. And then there’s my mom. I don’t know what I’ve done, but she is mad at me. I text her this morning asking how she was feeling and she responded with “Fine.” I pressed for more information and she retorted ,”Does it matter?” I responded that of course it matters but she never wrote back. We hadn’t spoken last week because I was busy and drained, but last time I checked the phone works both ways. And she didn’t reach out to me. In fact, she has no idea what is going on in my life. No idea at all.

 

I had been doing so good! I was managing to meet whatever imaginary expectation my mom had regarding what a daughter should do, but somehow I dropped the ball. And so now she hates me. I’m just a terrible daughter who doesn’t care about her own mother. I can’t do enough to satisfy her. Whatever gestures I make are rebuffed. She is still mad at me for not doing enough, for not being there enough for her when she was going through breast cancer. It’s a great big hole I cannot dig my way out of no matter how hard I try. I don’t even know what exactly she expected of me, I don’t understand how I messed up, but here we are. And I feel like worthless crud.

 

I feel like my life is out of control and I can’t get it back in order, I am hopeless and helpless. I feel like at any moment of the day I am on the brink of tears and I don’t know why. I don’t know how to pull myself out of this, how to right this sinking ship. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on. Maybe I should just let go? Nothing seems like the right answer, there is no clear path forward. I just keep bumbling along, making more of a mess of things. How can I fix it? Can someone help me?

Codependency

My previous job, before I started working for the state, was in a drug and alcohol rehab. I worked in the admissions department which included doing intake calls from individuals and families wishing to enter rehab. In addition to the 30 day addiction programs for various age groups, including teenagers, there was also a co-dependency workshop. A few months before I left for my current job, I was sent to the Codependency workshop to observe. Co-workers who previously attended the workshop warned me I would be confronted with my own emotional things. But, in hearing the stories of what the participants endured, I ended up feeling incredibly grateful for my childhood. My parents were not perfect, but my childhood was a good one. Things unraveled in my teenage years, but the beginning was ideal. I left the workshop feeling confident I could identify codependency when I saw it. Fast forward to my current life and only recently codependency has smacked me in the face. Primero and his Toxic Friend are a textbook example of a codependent relationship.

 

Wikipedia defines codependency as “a type of dysfunctional helping relationship where one person supports or enables another person's drug addiction, alcoholism, gambling addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement.” When I visited the website of my old employer they called codependency an attachment disorder. “Suffering from codependency involves habitual, self-destructive behaviors that arise from one’s need to be loved at all costs. This serious emotional and behavioral condition can apply to all types of relationships: family, work, friend, romantic, community and peer. Becoming codependent typically results from attachment disorder, due to the absence of trust-based relationships with caregivers during childhood. We often find codependency in families of addicts, where family members unknowingly interfere with recovery by enabling addiction.”

 

Primero supports his “friend” at all cost. His behaviors lately have been self-destructive. Last week we were shopping for an outfit Primero needed for the pre-prom party tonight. At one point Primero said ,”Old Primero would hate new Primero.” I found the proclamation disturbing but also revealing. Primero before Toxic Friend was healthier than current Primero because his codependency was not strangling him, causing issues with everyone in his life, and damaging every single relationship except the one with Toxic Friend. The scariest thing about codependency is the person suffering from the condition is totally blind to their plight. Primero would deny to the ends of the earth that he is codependent. I don’t know what it is about Toxic Friend that pulled out Primero’s attachment issues and I don’t know how to help Primero recognize it and seek help to get through it and be healthier. At one point recently, I asked Primero if he was using drugs because he was acting so different I thought perhaps chemicals were altering his brain chemistry. I went through the litany of signs to look out for, the things I would rattle off to family members unsure if their loved one had an addiction during the intake calls. I was scared to admit Primero was ticking off more boxes than not. I concluded he was addicted to his dysfunctional friendship. I wasn’t far off.

 

Giving name to what’s going on with Primero is only a fraction of the battle. The real war is trying to get Primero to recognize he needs help. He is adamant about never seeing a therapist again. He also doesn’t think he has a problem. I don’t know how to get him to see reality because he acknowledges his Toxic Friend uses him and isn’t a very good friend. He acknowledges his Toxic Friend only contacts him when he wants something or needs help with something. Primero has told me on occasion that his is not only ok with being used but he likes being able to “help” his friend. How do you help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves? The only thing I know to do is to keep talking to him, keep loving him, and pray for his change of heart….

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Negative Things

Earlier this week my mom posted on Facebook a very nice thank you to my aunt and cousin for coming over and cleaning her house. Sigh. I’m trying to not let it bother me, really I am, but it’s not working. I have offered many times to come help her, just text me or call me and I will be there. I did help clean out one of her flower beds earlier in the spring. That got zero Facebook posts. I don’t know what it is with my mom, but it seems I can never do enough or be enough for her. I’ve made a conscious effort to reach out to her more, but she doesn’t message me or call me. Things weren’t always like that between us, but ever since she went through the ordeal with her breast cancer and accused me (and my siblings) of not being there for her, she seems to look for passive-aggressive ways to put me (us) down. I’m sure, if you ask my mom, she would tell you I’m an awful daughter who does not care about her ailing mother. I don’t want to sit here and type out all of the things I have done, I don’t want to sit here and keep score. Suffice it to say, the damage done and continuously being done, to our relationship is massive. I used to share many things with my mom. Now, I don’t. When I was going through things with Primero it would have been nice to talk to my mom about it, but I didn’t say a word. When I get worked up by something the kids grandmother does, it would be nice to have an ally in my corner, but my mom doesn’t have a clue. I keep most things to myself. I especially keep any negative things about my kids to myself. (I do have a friend I can talk to, so it’s not like I’m keeping it all inside, I just don’t share it with my mom).

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

When my mom was talking to me about being scared with this latest cancer, she told me through tears that she wants to be around next year to see Primero graduate from high school. What? Really? I didn’t think she would care one way or the other if he graduated. Back when we first started the journey into adoption, back when I was a we, my mom seemed to want to have a part in all of it. Yet, when the finalizations of the adoptions finally came, she had an excuse to not attend. I didn’t even invite her to the second adoption because why? I read back on my blog about the times my mom and I went shopping for baby items. I remember how my parents came over when the first foster child was placed with us. But, when I got Love Bug my mom wouldn’t hold him, she wouldn’t even try. Most of the time, if we talk about my kids, she’s telling me how awful Chica Marie is and how no one likes her, not even my Nana. What do I do with this? I can’t just write her off, but I do limit time with my kids. I used to take my foster kids to the farm every Sunday to spend time with my parents and have a meal together. I stopped doing that when she got sick and never resumed the habit. My kids love the farm. They love going to see my parents. But, we don’t do it that often because it seems to be more of a liability and a positive family-building occasion.

 

I used to think my parents wanted to be as involved in my kids’ lives as my grandparents were for me and my siblings. I was wrong. Sure, distance plays a part, but only  a small part. My parents could spend time with their only grandchildren, if they chose to do so, but they choose the opposite. They have kept the kids over at their house once in almost 4 years. We used to spend the night with my grandparents all the time. It makes me so sad. But, I can’t do anything about it, so I just soldier on. It does make me feel lonely and sad. And I feel bad for my kids because I have a rocky relationship (at best) with their grandmother and my parents are simply not around. I had such a close relationship with my grandparents. I knew, if I couldn’t talk to my parents about something I could always go to my grandparents. Who do my kids have? Just me and each other, I guess. I think my sister would be willing to listen, if the kids were in a pickle and felt they couldn’t talk to me, but she’s far away so that makes it hard for them to get close to her. With so many of the expectations I had for my grown up life, I’m finding this is the hardest one to let go. It’s like I keep waiting for things to change, but I’m still here holding my breath. Time to let it go…

Forever Young

Is it a girl/boy thing or just a personality thing? This is a question I have been asking myself lately. Love Bug simply will not dress himself. It does not matter how he is chided, what preferred activity or object is taken from him, no amount of encouragement persuades him to undress and re-dress himself. Hard no. He wants someone else to help him with this basic function. His sister, when she was his age, was much more independent. She didn’t want help, she wanted to do it herself. Love Bug seems to have a lot more can’ts than his sister. Partially, this was because Chica Marie had to grow up quickly and defend for herself as a matter of survival, but I think it is also a testament to her strong personality. Love Bug relishes being babied, he strives to forge that dependency bond with any willing host. When he was still receiving early intervention services, his OT felt his neurological system that controls his emotions and reactions was immature, thus causing issues with outbursts and whatnot. I thought perhaps this would begin to shift as he got older, but apparently not. Fingers have been pointed at me by some family members insisting that I baby him and so I have created a mini monster. I don’t think I baby Love Bug and I have been trying really hard to push him to be more independent, but I don’t really want to do toe-to-toe in a battle of wills with a preschooler. To borrow a quote from The Princess Bride, “You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders - the most famous of which is "never get involved in a land war in Asia" - but only slightly less well-known is this: "Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!” This means most mornings I give Love Bug his outfit for the day and suggest he get changed, only to have a naked little boy come find me, telling me he can’t get dressed. Sigh.    

Murphy's Monday

I hate feeling like I have to hide my things in my own house. I don’t like living looking over my shoulder to make sure my things aren’t taken without my permission. Because Primero took the van without permission and lied about it (and still refuses to fess up), I hide the car keys at night. But, if I want my things to do unmolested in the bathroom, I’m going to have to come up with a better system than trusting my children will not take things that don’t belong to them. On Saturday I set a sample of a new face wash and various lotions on the sink in the bathroom. I wasn’t in the mood to try them yesterday, but wanted to give it a try this morning. Only, two of the four samples were missing. My things grow legs and just walk away on their own. They just get up and sneak into Chica Marie’s bedroom. Only…. That isn’t what happened. No, she took my things. Not for the first time or even the second time, but for the umpteenth time I was stupid enough to not keep my things under lock and key and so they are taken and used and I’m left wanting.

 

It was already an awful morning before I realized the product I wanted to use was not where I had left it.  In true Murphy's Law fashion, my morning started out with one misfortune following the next. The kids ate (and by ate, I mean took a bite and threw the rest away) all the bananas (there was about a half dozen) Sunday morning because I refused to get up before 8 am, leaving me with no bananas for my morning smoothie. I tried using an apple, but the blender protested and took an inordinate long time to blend the apple slices. While trying to retrieve the apple and my packed lunch from the refrigerator I accidentally dropped a container of chicken noodle soup my father had gifted us and of course the container broke and soup spilled all over the floor. I dropped half of the apple in the trash while trying to core it (I need one of the apple corer things my mom has…). After the blender finally managed to chop and blend the apple and other ingredients, I put it in the sink to rinse it and discovered it has a huge crack in the side, which I’m not sure was there before. It means I need a new blender because finding the right blender cup seems more daunting.   

 

The pattern of taking things and lying has been an issue for so long with Chica Marie and I am so tired of it. I do not know how to make it stop. I do not know how to help her understand it isn’t ok to take something that doesn’t belong to you, it isn’t ok to lie. I feel like we just keep re-living this same scene over and over and over again and we are both unable to stop it. I would like to get off this merry-go-round now. I would like to be able to trust the people I live with and not feel foolish for not hiding everything and keeping my room on lock-down. Is that too much to ask?  

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.     

Sharing with Strangers

“Are you currently a foster child or have you “aged out” of the foster care system?”

 

For reasons I don’t quite understand, the above question is on forms we have participants complete when attending a mandatory event to continue collecting their unemployment compensation benefits. I know, my job is so glamourous. I’ve had people ask me to translate the question and so my simplified version is, “Were you in foster care?” and the majority of the answers are “No” and we can move on the other perplexing questions. Yesterday, this was not the case. I was working with a gentleman and he answered affirmative to this question. So, since he was an adult over the age of 24 and thus ineligible for the young adult program concerned with this question, I tried to move on. But, he asked what it meant to “age out” and so I explained if he has been in foster care and turned 18 with no permanent home. “Oh,” he said. “Well, I was in foster care but I got adopted out.” Not long after this revelation he shared with me that he is in stage 5 renal failure and will most likely need dialysis soon. I’ve been thinking about him ever since, wondering about his story and wondering if this would be my oldest son in another decade or so (not having renal failure, but seemingly lost in the world telling a stranger he was in foster care and adopted). I wondered if he knew his biological family and, if he would need a kidney transplant, would there be anyone able to contact to see if they were a match? I hope he will be able to regain his health and never need to explore that option.