Daily Archives: May 10, 2015
Hardly. There are those who say, “Well, you’re managing so how bad off can you be.” Then those who say, “Wow, considering all you have to deal with, you’re doing great.”
There are days, like today, where she pushes the envelope so much it’s all I can do not to run screaming down the street. And if there’s a parent out there who says they’ve never had that fleeting thought when a kid misbehaves…They’re a fucking liar. Of course,you don’t abandon your kid(s). But the desire to do so when you’re struggling and drowning and they prove to be ungrateful rude little jerks…That’s natural and normal. No one wants to be treated like shit. When it’s your kid who does it in spite of you busting your ass to do good by them…
Filed under: Motherhood Tagged: Happy Mother's Day, Mother's Day
My kid has already requested Mr. Roboto as our wake up song. I’ve tainted her with my retroness. (Yeah, retroness is a new word, like pegacorn.) For me, I’ve gone with “Cell Block Tango” from Chicago. Can’t stand musicals but it’s about murdering men who deserved it, plus Catherine Zeta Jones is hotter than molten lava. It cheers me up.
(If you want cheered up a bit, check out my spawn performing the song while undergoing the mayo and shower cap lice treatment last fall. Spook.
Bizarre night. I hit the crypt as soon as my supper was done. The kid was bouncing off walls. I decided to distract her with playing Uno. Of course, she’s five and makes up her own rules so it’s less a game and more an exercise in frustration. It was interrupted by an evening visit from dad and stepmonster. I was irritated and came out of a darkened room into bright light which hurt my eyes and head and my dad yelled, “What the fuck are you glaring at me for?” Idget. I suffered through it resenting it the whole time. Call first, ffs. Of course, after he left, he called and offered to put gas in the car for my mother’s day gift if I’d meet them. I should have jumped on it, but I still have $12 so I’ll do it myself. Pride sucks. I’m my own worst enemy at times but then again, in my family, accepting acts of kindness comes with enough strings you could do a marionette show.
Played more Uno and the alphabet game with Spook, read to her, put her to bed, put on the cd I burned for her (the original of the Frozen theme makes me want to gouge my ears out) but she was out in 20 minutes. I thought I’d read or write. By then my head hurt and I was exhausted and irate so I turned out the light, put on some 48 Hours, and languished in bed tossing and turning. I was up (or at least awake and sitting up) at least six times. It was 10 pm, then 12 am, then 1am, then it was three a.m, and I’d wake each time in a panic thinking I overslept and Spook’s ride to Sunday school had come and gone…Not my normal level of panic for the event so I think it was sparked by the plethora of bizarre dreams I had.
Most dreams are fleeting, I don’t remember much. Usually those are the ones I WANT to remember (ya know, hot guy in eyeliner, long hair, mmmmmmmmmmmmmm). This time I had this fucked up dream about one of R’s friends finding out he was terminally ill so he arranged his own funeral and attended it before he died. And I was in this euthanasia zone where it made perfect sense for someone to attend their own funeral because we should all be allowed to die on our own terms rather than the law forcing us to wither and waste away.
I don’t even know why I’d dream such a thing. (Does Latuda cause bizarre dreams? I know the Trazadone and Serquel do.) And to dream about someone who is but a peripheral in your life (even if you like them very much) is weird. No idea. There were other weird dreams in there but I don’t remember details, just these bizarre lingering vibes.
My mood thus far is…Meh. Neither good nor bad. The anxiety is bubbling but an early morning call from my dad does that. I love him, I do, but he’s o insensitive it just grates. Fortunately, I spent most of the call talking to stepmonster. She got a used laptop at an auction yesterday and had spent hours trying to get it to connect to her internet. I walked her through it. Turns out, she was entering the WEPXXXXX, rather than just the numerical security code. It was done sixty seconds into the call and she declared me a godsend. Then she asked me to get on there next time I see them and use parental controls to block my 20 year old brother from porn sites.
True to my blunt nature I said, “Jebus, he’s 20 years old, are you trying to make him gay or asexual by teaching him sex is bad? Let him have the boobie porn, boys need their boobie porn.”
I’m not so much hedonistic as I am a realist. When I was 14 and Tipper Gore and her PMRC started labeling albums with the “explicit” content stickers…I skipped every album without them. I purposely went out to get the uncensored version. If it’s bad for me, I LOOOOVE it. Plus, I resent anyone who thinks they know what’s “offensive.” Personally, I’d like to slap a censored label on every hate spewing racist and homophobe because they offend me. Just my opinion.
Point being, making it forbidden fruit is what makes it more appealing. And even if his emotional IQ is a third of his chronological age, I still don’t think he should be banned from porn. If it’s free, let it be. Now a few years back when he and my nephew were into this Vore thing, where people got off on the idea of eating flesh or having their flesh eaten…I’d probably have slapped the parental lock on that. But tits and ass porn…Much as it’s not my thing (prefer erotica) I don’t begrudge others. Least you can’t impregnate your palm. Ha ha ha, my bluntness strikes again.
I think the biggest irksome thing is, my dad goes and makes this kid with a woman younger than me, and he’s always wanted a boy so the sun, moon, and stars set with this kid even if he’s dumb as a box of rocks (said with affection…) Yet once again, the tough parenting stuff is left to everyone else. He won’t have the sex talk with his son. He made stepmonster, me, my sister, the donor, anyone but him do it. Sorry, you don’t get to pick and choose the savory parts of parenthood. If it makes you uncomfortable it’s probably because someone explained it that way to you and you’re just passing it on. Educate. Encourage safe behavior. Explain. Don’t just act like it’s not an issue. That’s how kids get pregnant at 13 or end up with HIV by age 18. I take issue with this. My kid’s only five but I am already making a conscious effort to answer her questions honestly. Not graphically but honestly. I see no point in pretending there aren’t differences between male and female plumbing. R even chewed me out the other day because she said, “Boys have a penis, right mommy?” And I said, yes, they do. What’s the big fucking deal? It’s clinical. I’ve not once gotten hot and bothered by the term penis. In fact, if I did, I’d commit myself. It’s just…clinical.
I guess I am too open to ever qualify as a “good” mom. But I’m not going to teach my kid sex is bad blah blah blah just so I can be a “good” mom.
If ever there were an award for getting off topic as an artform,I’d win it for sure.
I’m just existing right now. It only hit me earlier just how bad the depression has been when I realized…All my favorite shows, the supernatural ones that are my escape, the ones that I love most…I’m like three months behind in watching Sleepy Hollow, The Orginals, The Vampire Diaries, Bitten…It’s not my norm, even in a depression, which should signify just how bad this one’s been. That and the fact I didn’t immediately buy the Wednesday 13 album or even listen to it…This is not who I ever wanted to be. Joyless. Cranky. Constantly stressed out. And prior to that reaction to the Nardil that landed me in the hospital for a week with brain damage…I wasn’t this bad off. Something happened that damaged the pleasure center of my brain, I swear, because nothing’s been the same since. Loss of pleasure in things previously enjoyed is the number one symptom of depression and yet, the doctors act like it’s a blip on the radar screen.
And so it starts. The dogs barking next door. The kid getting in my face and yelling at me. I quietly ask her, “Are you being respectful right now?” I am trying so hard to deal with her in a quiet calm fashion. She told me the other night (and she was manipulating because she doesn’t like boundaries) that when I talk it sounds like I hate her. So she guilted me out of firm voice and now I am trying mollycoddle and…Damn, this parenting thing is hard. But I figure no matter how well I do, I will be blamed for every problem she has anyway. Such is the way of the world. And knowing how my parents inadvertently screwed me up, it’s valid. Road to hell is paved with good intentions.
On a final note…Happy Mother’s Day. Whether you are a mom to a kid, cat, stuffed animal, or just a dad who acts in the capacity of a mom…Do something nice for yourself today and promise to feel zero guilt.
(scheduled post) A fast and fun version of a to z blogging challenges, that I nicked from Astrid. It’s supposed to be done with a word and it’s motivation for each letter. By now you know what me and memes are like.
ardent and sometimes arrogant in Africa, too often acerbic, frequently absurd.
badass, brave, boring butch in blue jeans and boots, oh yeah – bipolar.
cowardly, clever, cranky, cuntstruck, careful and careless; condemns the word crazy.
deeply shallow, demented, deranged, deluded, demanding, despairing dilettante.
empty eloquence, erudite entity, effusive, eh…
fine feathered fuckup and a fine, fine friend; says fuck frequently, fumbling fragility.
garrulous, gregarious grouchy girl-man; going, grieving, gone.
handsome humble hardass, horrible hipster, homesick hound.
intelligent idiot introvert with interesting ideas and impossible ideals.
jumpy jester, joker, jerk; jobless jack of too few trades.
kind of kindly, kind of a killer, king of kisses.
lovely and lonely lover of lesbians and laughter; a loser, a lifer, and loud.
moody, muddled, misfit meandering in middle aged mockery.
neck in a noose in the nonery, a noisy, nihilist nerd.
opionated, ordinary, odd; only onanist orgasms now.
playful pillaging, perverted plundering; prudish, polite and pompous.
queer, quiet, questioning, quick to quibble.
ruthlessly rude, reckless, ribald and rueful (regret, remorse, repeat).
strange seeker of serious sea salt skies; a solitary slave to sirens with sorcerer’s smiles.
tattooed, terrified, terrifying, trite; a teasing trickster alone tonight.
uber underdog in unfairly upscale underwear, unfortunately uptight.
very vain, vicious voice, values vaginas and violent views.
wondering wandering, whale watcher, wanker, whore, weaver of words.
“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.” – Walt Whitman
It’s amazing what a little money and the relief from worrying about survival can do for a person. This is perhaps the most relaxed I’ve been in my entire adult life; now that I’m free to move on with it, I can lay at least some of what has happened over the past several years to rest and see what’s around the corner.
The idea of being disabled enough to merit SSDI is taking some getting used to, even though the relief that comes with it is almost palpable. I wish I really didn’t need to be on disability, but the truth is I am functional only in this rather diminished role in life…..it’s what I can handle at this point in time, and I’m not going to worry about trying to change it and maybe falling down the rabbit-hole again. And that is very liberating!
It doesn’t hurt that this spring is the first in years when I haven’t gone off the deep end. Yes, I’ve been in an upswing for the past several weeks, but the weather and my normal, natural love for life are what’s driving it, not my bipolar. In fact, this has so little to do with bipolar I almost feel like I should change the name of my blog. But in the back of my mind I remember that as one cycles into mood states, so one also cycles out, and I know this isn’t the end of it. After all, it was only six months ago that I had just gotten out of a mental hospital, still depressed and facing homelessness, and I could very well end up in despair again. Or in a wild state of mania where I’m dancing on the mountains of the moon.
But for now, none of that is happening. My meds are working, my moods are steady, and I’m optimistic about the future. It feels so good not to dread it! It’s like a huge weight has dropped off my shoulders and I can breathe again. Now maybe I can think about volunteering, not where I’m locked into a schedule but something I can do when I’m feeling well. I would love to start a faith-based mental health support group at my church; the only issue with that would be the time commitment and what happens when the inevitable crash occurs. How do you lead if you can’t even manage your own life?
Ah, but that is a worry for another day. Something’s coming, something good…..I can feel it on the warm wind and hear it in the sweet music of Spring.
If your mother has passed, I am sorry. It must be a tough day.
If you are estranged from your mother, I’m sorry. It must be a tough day.
If your mother was abusive, I’m really sorry. It’s a tough day.
If you had the kind of mother that loved you and was there for you, I am happy for you.
If you are a mother and your kids will recognize the day in some way, good for you.
If you have lost a child, you have my sympathy and prayers.
If you have children that could seem to care less, I’m sorry.
I just couldn’t let Mother’s Day go by. Without raining on the parade, I think it is important to remember that it is a not a good day for everyone. Do you know someone who could use a hug or a prayer today?
I am lucky. Although my mother used a belt on me and burned me with cigarettes, she was kind enough to teach me one thing. How to be a mother. I simply did the opposite of what she did. And my kids turned out okay.
My kids and husband will be making scrambled eggs and bacon and pie (what a combo!) for my Mother’s Day dinner. They will likely have balloons, flowers, and cards. So I am one who is fortunate,
But you don’t forget. And you don’t celebrate. And when I hear someone speak lovingly about their mom, I am jealous. No matter how old I get, I doubt that will ever change.
hugs for all who need it today,