Heads up
In case you didn't read the description here's your sign to do so, I hate repeating myself.
So, to start our first 3AM rant. How about a little back story? Well, I'm in my early thirties. I had my first child at the age of twenty. I'm opinionated, loud, and clinically bipolar. My own mother was a paranoid schizophrenic that I basically had to raise along with myself. It's easy to say that I've seen the inside of many different types of doctor offices, possibly more than my fair share.
I won't say that many will agree with the things I have to say. I'm sure most will find it offensive or experience pure disbelief and disgust that a parent could possibly feel these things but I'm only human. We all have our limits. What if I take this time to say it's all entirely fictional? Would you believe me?
My oldest child, my daughter. Yes, she was born female and will remain female. We don't subscribe to the particular brand of insanity required to be "politically correct". We have enough to deal with around here. But, my daughter, has reached her pre-teen phase. Offically twelve years old. She's had some testing done for this and that, the doctors have some theories but nothing is set in stone. The current going theory is that she has psuedo seizures, as she did once have generalized epileptic seizures they were brought under control with medication, she went almost three years without a seizure, then one day they were back. After a very long three days of being hooked to a monitor, turns out that these episodes weren't connecting to her brain even though her body was behaving as though she was having a seizure. Funnily enough, both types present as whats called gelastic and dacrystic seizures or the laughing and crying seizures but she's never had the one cause for this type of seizure. A hamartoma on the hypothalamus gland. She was tested academically, and for mental and emotional development. It's believed that shes currently resting at the average age of a first grader. There's also consideration that she inherited my mother's schizophrenia which may be playing a major part in all her other difficulties. Nothings set in stone though, as I already said.
Since she heard the long winded diagnosis and working theories as to why she behaves the way she does, she has taken it as her get out of jail free card and decided it gives her the freedom to do whatever the hell she feels like. She's always been a handful but in the four months since the diagnosis she has gone full tilt. Go big or go home. She went big. Very big. Now, there is no denying that this child has her difficulties and obsticles but she is by no means dumb. A dumbass but not dumb. She struggles with common reasoning and books, but hands on if she wants to know or understand she figures it out. And I'm sorry but I've never met a truly stupid person that was able to pull some of the shit she has. Example, she wanted candy one night after dinner, I said no because she'd been on my nerves and refusing to listen to me and my husband all day, this little shit goes into the pantry after everyones in bed and helps herself to an entire container of store bought cake icing then proceeds to hide the evidence under another container of icing and waiting for the right time to dispose of it. Didn't put it in the trash because we would have seen the empty container. Like I said, she's a dumbass but not dumb. You can't be that manipulative, sneaky, and conniving and be exceptionally stupid. It just doesn't work that way.
The past few months have been horrible. Worse than the eleven years and several months before. Things have never beean easy, when she was little I used to describe her as an octopus with kleptomania. You just pictured that. Yeah, can you imagine? I'm sure you can. Any ways. She was always all over the place. Fairly typical for most young children blah blah blah. It still sucks having to chase someone down that isn't even half your size. She was always sensitive to heat, if she started sweating she would almost instantly get these bacterial yeast infections between her baby fat folds. I used a lot of corn starch to keep her dry. We are from Florida so sweat is going to happen there is no preventing it. Any time she had to go for her immunizations she would have some kind of reaction or combination of reactions so there was always fighting with that. I remember I would get so frustrated that I couldn't fix it for her, then I would get frustrated that all she could do was cry and not communicate what the actual fucking problem was. I hated the guess work that went into those first few years. But then some how or some way I'd find the thing that brought her comfort and she would settle down. Finally resting and those adorable little cheeks all puffed out as she laid with the side of her little head smushed againt a pillow or stuffed animal. That feeling of "this is bullshit" how can something be so cute after torturing me for hours on end, never knowing if it'll stop. If there will be a bright light at the end of the tunnel. That feeling of not knowing what makes you want to smother her more. The screaming or the final quiet as if nothing ever happened. Parenting is the original form of stolkhom syndrom. As time goes on you learn what works for your child. And you can't gain that from a book, that's all from active parenting. Trauma and practice is what makes you into the parent you are.
See, my thought on it is this, those early years of sleep deprivation and endless crying are to test your nerve. Like how the miliatry tears you down to build you back up. Your child envokes some of the most precious feelings while simultaniously makes you question if becoming a serial killer is more of your calling. It's the pre-game before the test of puberty.
My daughter has never lost that five year old wander lust. She thinks everyone is her friend, and doesn't understand why people avoid her just because she's a little different. There have been many falling outs with friends and family who didn't understand her or why I did the things I do because of her. I know my kid. I know what works. It may not be the most ideal way handling things in some scenarios but it's not like I haven't tried other shit. Trust me those early years I took every bit of advice I could, used techniques from tv show parents, books, parenting videos, counseling, the works. Some of that shit seemed so superficial and fake to me. I didn't see how anyone would actually handle things so... plastically. That's probably not a word but hey it fits.
Those early years though. It was hard. I went from hating being pregnant. Being told what I could and couldn't do now that I had this alien growing inside me that prevented me from being the independant person I was used to being. I grew up doing shit for myself so when I couldn't do things because they were unsafe while pregnant or because I felt like a beached whale and this damn belly was in my way, it was awful. I had complications towards the end, things like placental abruption, which pissed me off because I had been going out of my way not to do anything strenuous or that required any effort because I was trying to "behave". Went in on a Thursday for my check up, doc said I should go into labor any time now and wanted to see me again on Monday, if I didn't go into labor over the weekend. Go in on Monday and come to find out I had been in labor the whole weekend and just didn't know it. I didn't feel anything. Got sent to the hospital and when they shot me up with that pitocin, I thought I was on the verge of death. It was the most pain I had ever been in. I wanted to just end it right there. I didn't know how that amount of pain was even possible and still be alive. Then the anesthesiologist was a rookie, new to the job, stuck my epidural in and had to fish around to get it "right". I still have nerve damage all down my right side. During delivery I broke my tail bone, which was never corrected so now I have the issues of dealing with that (twelve years later and going strong).
This is all a precedent for the fact that I'm stubborn and I don't back down from a challenge. And from day one with my oldest it has been a challenge. I love my daughter, I truly do, doesn't mean she's always my favorite person. She's getting older physically but meantally she's a bit behind. At times I look at her and see that twelve year old, that's stealing my clothes, wears a size eleven womens shoe, and is already two inches taller than me, I don't account for the mental issues. I get stuck on the visual aspects and get frustrated, thoughts like, "How can you be so tall and so clumsy?", "How are you twelve years old and still don't have the common reasoning skills to keep your mouth shut and stay out of adult conversations that are none of your business?", or even "Why can't you just follow the simplest rules. If it's not yours don't fucking touch it!".
That last one is a big one in our house. God love her, but that child cannot leave other peoples shit alone to save her life. It's gotten to the point that someone has to be awake at almost all times so that she has less chance to steal things or get into things that she has no business messing with in the first damn place.
Example, other peoples fucking snacks. We have a total of seven people in our home. Five adults and two children. Well, five and a half adults if you ask my eight year old who has taken up the responsibilty of being the older sister that my oldest child either refuses to be or is incapable of being (the jury is still out on that one). And every single one of us have our own little stash of personal treats that we don't share unless asked. Well my oldest child is food motivated. Not like a puppy that you're training with treats. More like a rabid shark. It doesn't matter who or what it is, it could be something she doesn't even like, but if she gets a wiff of food she appears next to you. Hovering like a damn drone trying to zero in on a terrorist. The precison she has with food would give some highly experienced snipers a run for their money. But she's always getting into shit. Stealing things and then looking at us like why would we ever think it was her. How could we possibly know anything was even missing. Well when there's only one left and you're holding the fucking wrapper, chewing a mouth full of food, the answer should be pretty fucking obvious. Atleast it would be to anyone else.
Almost on a daily basis I find myself repeating that Im tired of repeating myself. Something I'm sure a lot of parents deal with. Telling my kids that I'm tired of being tired. That the arguing and refusal to behave has just pushed me too far. Once or twice a week, having a high stress day due to over stimulation and what not would suck but be pretty understandable. Every. Fucking. Day. I don't know how I haven't walked out into the woods and voluntarily became a missing person. Like, shit, here's my phone. All the other shit. Password for their online homeschool crap. Peace. And just wander away, the clothes on my back and the little voice in my head to keep me company. Until I fall into a sink hole or play tag with a gator and lose.
Another issue that I face with my daughter is the fact that no matter how hard I try to be nice to her, cut her a break even when she's been especially difficult and not listening to a word I say, she turns around and throws it all away. It's as though she see's my attempt to not have to punish her as a challenge. Like she wasn't pushing me hard enough and needed to up her game. I spend more than enough time scolding, yelling, threatening, begging and pleading with her that I worry that's all our relationship is going to be. And that's not how I want things to be between us. I want to be able to have those fun times. Those moments of kindredness. Happy moments of laughter and jokes. The ones that form a lasting bond of trust and safety. But, it damn sure isn't easy. Instead I spend our days on the border between a mental break down from the stress and ready to go on a killing spree, ready to rock that jumpsuit and buy noodles off commisary. Times I even wonder if prison would be easier.
I hate the way our lives have turned out. I'm not the only one facing these difficulties with her either, but seeing as my husband is not her biological father I feel responsible for it all. I mean I'm the common denominator in all of it. So I have a lot of guilt and blame myself for everything she does. (I refuse to give her biological father credit for anything, he hasn't been in her life since she was a year and half old. He had some serious substance issues and was physically abusive but due to his own actions I take full responsibility for the good and the bad) I beat myself up constantly for her behavior, her obsticles, and then beat myself up for beating myself up. I try to remind myself that I didn't ask for her life to be so difficult. That I have always chosen her over everything and everyone else. That I have fought my own trauma and inner demons trying to be the best parent I could for her, and for a brief time when the seizures were first under control, when she finally learned how to read, and started making great strides in her development I thought I was finally getting something right, that maybe I hadn't fucked things up completely just by being the mother she got stuck with. Then the psuedo seizures started and it was almost as if we started over from square one. She retained everything she learned but her behavior hit rock bottom. I can't tell you how many times I've caught her doing something she knew she wasn't supposed to and her explanation for it being that she couldn't help it because she has problems, that I turned around and threw in her face that the doctor said she has the mentality of a five to seven year old and even they know not to fuck with shit that isn't theirs. And yes in those exact words, probably with a few more explatives. I cuss a lot. Sue me. It helps me express myself so that I don't completely lose my shit.
And it's easy for people on the outside who don't really know her or just how tedious she can be with refusing to listen to us, to try to make suggestions or judge us for the way we handle things. Asking questions about how can we think this or that is going to work for her if she's mentally disabled. Or how can we treat her that way when we have been told by the doctor that she can't help it. Because she's not fucking dumb. She knows what she's doing. She knows she's not supposed to do these things. But does them any ways. No, she can't help fidgeting or making little noises to entertain herself, that I can live with. That I can understand. But staring me straight in the eye and ignoring me as I tell her not do something, she can help that. She can help telling me lies. She can help stealing. She can help a lot of things. She chooses not to and that's the part that I hate. Now all children test their boundaires. Some more than others. Some children have extra needs to be met, or a lack of skills to accomplish certain goals or tasks. All kids struggle as they find their way in this world. Some parents struggle more than others. Cry more than others. Get angrier more than others. Smoke pot or drink more than others. Some parents just aren't ment to be parents. And in some cases discipline can cross the line into abuse. Self care can become neglect. No matter what there is always a fine line for both the parent and the child and there will always be some degree of tension and possibly even a thread of resentment. None of us are perfect, especially our children. And I try every day to guide her to be a better person but it's like trying to ice skate inside an active volcano. I have no plans of giving up, and hopefully anyone reading this has no plans to either. But it's nice when you know you aren't the only feeling these things. Struggling every day with your own mental and emotional health while trying to set the best example for your child that you can. Mean while the laundry is building up. The trash needs to be taken out. The dog hasn't been walked, your neighbor calls the cops every time they hear yelling or makes a false report that you have twenty-three different personalites, a fallen tree through the middle of your house, no food in your fridge and your animals are freely shitting where ever they please. Some of us may even have department of children and families case workers apprehensive to come to our homes because of shit that nosey mother fuckers like to take out of context and make reports about. (sips tea) But I wouldn't know anything about that, not at all. Fucking nosey alcoholic cunt. Any ways. The point is we as parents have a lot to manage that those around us don't account for they just see what they think we should be doing and then make it their mission to make shit harder than it already is. Like, fuck Lisa I got enough shit on my plate, go eat a dick.
On that note I think now is a good time to end this anxiety and anger ridden babbling spree and catch back up with you later.
