Mymotherschild's Blog

Dpression

08.17.06 (8:07 am)   [edit]

I have been back on meds 2 weeks now, and while certain symptoms are better others seem worse, at least I go for a follow up today.

 My Boss is an idiot, I want out of here. I applied for a new job this week. Closer to home. that would be I don't have to come to the city every day. I hate the city now, I want to stay out in the country. But unless I find a good job I hav e to come to the city every day... BLEH

 Later

T

Depression

08.10.06 (8:17 am)   [edit]

I went to my doctor thinking my hormones were out of whack and he thinks I am depressed again. So back on meds, but they seem to limit my ability / need to write. I can't seem to focus long enough to write. I just feel blah, I will try to write every day... Might not be meaningful but I need to try.

 

6

08.02.06 (1:50 pm)   [edit]

 

Well I wish I could say I have had an epiphany, I wish I could say I know why I was stuck on the one nightmare for so long. But as usual I feel completely out of control. The further I dig the more questions I have. Will there ever be answers? Or perpetually more questions?

 

 

I wish I could write everything I think, and feel, but it is so overwhelming. I start to write and then I get flustered and quit. I am trying to push through it but it is tough.

 

5

08.01.06 (8:16 am)   [edit]

 

 I wish I could go back to oblivion, to not really remembering the things my mother did to me, I wish I could reclaim the innocence I knew even before I faced this nightmare. I am so envious of people who have “normal” families. Even people who fight with their parents all the time at least they have that. I can not bring my self to phone her, even to yell at her. The thought of hearing her voice makes my skin crawl and my stomach flip.

 

 

The incident of abuse that is stuck on replay in my mind and in my nightmares is a random night, not the first time or anything remarkable. I remember her drinking, and our neighbor coming over, drinking with her. I came in from playing to go to the washroom and as soon as I saw them I wanted to run back outside. I was kicking myself for not going to a friend’s house. I took a deep breath and walked in; as soon as her eyes lit on me they brightened. I walked past her to the washroom and as I was peeing she pushes open the door and they are both standing there, I know what is coming and I want to throw up.

 

 

She tells me the same thing every time; make sure you wash that dirty thing. You are the most disgusting child ever created. She slaps my face and I can see him breathe faster, for he knows what is coming to. She bends me over the bathroom sink running the hottest water she can, scrubbing my genitals. Then she drags me to her bedroom, forcing me face down on her bed, I can hear them kissing and undressing. I know not to cry or move. I just let my mind wander, but the pain of penetration shakes my core. I want to scream and run but he has my hips in his hands and she is standing in the door way watching him and me in the mirror.

 

 

Finally I feel him move off of me and walk away. By the time I clean myself up and head to go back out side they are back drinking and laughing like nothing happened. But as I walk past to go outside he hands me something I don’t even look at it until I am outside, then I see it is $5.00. I run to the bushes and throw up, crumpling the money into my pocket. I no longer feel like playing with my friends and head to my tree house. Where I finally break down and cry. I know it is all my fault, she tells me every day. If only you were a nice girl and not so filthy.

 

 

The assaults happened irregularly, but at least weekly. There were other incidents as well, different but still the same. This is just the one currently running in my head; I can even remember what I was wearing, what they wore, and the smell of beer on their breaths. The day is frozen in my mind. I cannot figure out why that one day is stuck there, it was not remarkable in any way I can. But it seems it will not leave my mind until I figure something out.

 

 

Sidebar 2

07.31.06 (12:19 pm)   [edit]

Well this weekend was one of the ones I want to erase from my memory. I let my cat and kitten out inot my yard Friday morning and went back to sleep. I woke up and neither cat came when I called them, but we were in a hurry to get to a meeting. When we got home we found my Cat at the door and my kttens dead body in the back yard. He was attacked by one of the stray dogs that plague our rural small town.

I lost it when i saw him, he was only 6 months old, so tiny, he couldn't even meow properly yet. I was a wreck the greaf and guilt were overwhelming, why did I let him out that morning? Why him he was such a great kitten with the potential to be an awesome cat. I sobbed hysterically for over an hour. I have never greived my son, and since I don't live with my daughters I poour my self into my pets. And the loss of him tore open all of my pain.

We buried him in the far corner of the yard. I made a plain white cross for him but we are going to find a nice large stone and I will paint it as a memorial to him.

Am I crazy, is it really weird to love an animal as I would a child? Should I just suck it up and accept it as a part of life?

4

07.26.06 (8:22 am)   [edit]

My love, I will call him “M” has been at my side for the last 8 years, how we met, I was in the midst of my cocaine addiction I think it was just after I started heroin. I went to a friends place, I was taking their teenage kids to the local pool and there sitting on the sofa was this stranger, long blonde hair, jean jacket, sexy blue eyes, my friend told me this was her husbands high school friend, freshly out from Alberta but from Ontario.

I shook his hand and took the kids out. Eventually M and my ex “S” became friends, addiction can make strange bedfellows and we were 3 of them. Our addiction drove our lives, but no matter how bad things were M always had a sense of decency around him. S had no decent bone in his body, he would berate me, hit me, insult me. Yet even though I had left him before my addictions, to him and drugs tied me to him. But then one day my phone rang, and on the other end was my mother, she wanted to come see me, to arrange a visit with the girls. She knew things were bad but had no clue as to how far things had spiraled out of control. She was arriving on a Thursday or Friday, and the night before she arrived S & I were arrested for shoplifting, I was released the next day but S was held over longer. I was released hours after she arrived; my landlord had let her into my apartment.

She tried to grill me but my withdrawal blocked her out I went to bed and slept for a few hours, We had a normal evening, but shortly after she went to bed a quiet rap on my door, a fiend friend, wanting to know if I had any points, (clean needles) we had been to the exchange the day we were arrested and so we did, he said they had a major score and invited me over. I sat with them hitting cocaine all night, knowing full well they were both HIV positive, half way hoping to overdose and end it all, for I knew it was just a chicken shit suicide attempt every hit I took. But somehow I was still breathing as the sun came up and I realized my mother would be up again soon I snuck home, then showering I felt I could be “normal” for a few hours, and for some reason never even thought as I pulled on a sleeveless shirt. All that my mother saw as I walked into the room was the bruises and track marks running the length of both arms. She freaked, she ranted she raved, I held my hands over my ears, as flickers of something darker played over the backs of my eyelids.

She finally ran out of steam and I collapsed. She told me then she was taking me home getting me away from S and drugs, and seemingly powerless I acquiesced. But this was just the start of the weekend there was no way I could kick alone with my mother, then like an answer from heaven, a knock on my door, and there is M. I sob telling him everything, he says he will be right back and less then 15 minutes later he is back, he rolls a joint and sits with me, we sat up almost the whole weekend smoking pot and kicking together, my mother tried to complain and I told her I was doing what she wanted but could not handle withdrawals and then see my kids, for Monday was my daughters 5th Birthday party at the social workers office. We went, I hugged my kids a million times, we laughed, we played, and we ate cake and had a great time. I explained to the social workers that I had to leave to save myself, but that if it would hurt my kids I would figure out a way to stay and do better, they told me to go and do what I had to do, But more about that later.

So I went home, packed a few things, and M waited with me until it was time for the bus, a friend had told me that S had been released on Saturday well this was Monday where the hell was he. The taxi pulled up out front as I slammed the truck there he was sauntering up the road, I asked him where he had been he said he hadn’t wanted to deal with my mother, I said thanks for leaving me alone to do it. He begged me to stay, he railed at me, he sobbed, I opened the taxi door, hugged M and got in and drove away. As the cab pulled away I started to cry and my mother thought it was for S but in my heart I knew M was someone special and I would never see him again. I left but I can’t say I never looked back, temptation was around every turn, even when I thought clean meant drinking was ok, my friend “C” took me to the bar, there were people doing lines of coke at a booth and I lost it, I made her leave with me.

I missed my kids, I missed S, I tried not to think about M. And then one day after I was back at my mothers, really getting clean, she told me to hit the speed dial for the radio station, I did and I won a Sunset Boulevard CD and stuff and was entered in the grand prize a trip for 2 on the train to Vancouver. 2 weeks later they called me and told me I had won the grand prize, all I could think was I can see my kids. We were so broke that getting to the town to catch the train meant borrowing money. But once we were on the train it was the high life, 5 star dining, and our own suite.

We arrived at the train station and standing there, holding a single white rose was S, he said he just wanted to see me, and to come to the visit with the girls. While my heart raced my head screamed and some where in between I said that would be fine but not to expect anything else. Well this that and the other, we had the visit with the girls and I some home maintained composure through it, but the second the elevator doors closed when they left I collapsed, S actually had to carry me to my room. My Mom left us alone for a minute and just as my hysterical sobbing was abating he actually tried to put sexual moves on me. I slapped him across the face, and he instantly apologized. Which was weird for him, and since I had to get out of the room for a while, I suggested a walk. My Mom came back and I told her we were going for a walk and to talk.

I packed my bags and made arrangements for her to meet me at the train station for the trip home. We walked around all the old haunts, and the stark dram of the addicts was shocking to me. Somehow seeing how I had lived in a sober light was the wake up call I needed, he showed me the room he was living in, and the walls didn’t even go to the roof, so the smells and sounds of all the other rooms wafted through.

I couldn’t breath and said I wanted to keep walking, he mentioned that M and another friend were at detox and maybe we could get a visit. I agreed immediately hoping I didn’t sound too anxious. We walked in and there was M, his long hair clean and gorgeous, his face sallow and al most green. I wanted to scoop him up and take him home with me. We talked through the hour like there was no one else in the world. S talked with our other friend and when it was time to go I hugged M so hard, I thought truly I would never see him again he seemed so bent on self destruction.

But then, a few months after my trip, a letter from England, S had gone home with his mother, when she came to visit, and he was writing me regularly now. But this letter said M was in a treatment centre, and really trying to get clean. I didn’t even read the rest of the letter. I pulled out a note pad and wrote to M, told him about my apartment and my job, and that we had an empty bedroom if he wanted to come see Calgary when he was ready to leave treatment and I signed it Love T and ran to mail it.

The time seemed to crawl by, praying that he would remember me and write me back, and then it came, 14 pages with hearts around the numbers. How he was serious about getting clean and how he had always had a crush on me but since I was married would not act on his feelings. But now that not only was I single but S was out of the country he felt he could tell me. It was the sweetest letter I have ever received. He also told me he intended to stay in treatment for 6 months not he recommended 3.

I wrote him back telling him how much I had thought of him over the years and we wrote back and forth the remainder of his time in treatment. We talked on the phone for hours on end. And then one day he told me his 6 months was almost up, and that the mother of one of the house mates was going to help him get a welfare cheque to come and see me if I wanted. I wanted him to come but was so scared I almost said no, well if I thought time crawled between letters, the time between then and his arrival date were even worse.

Then there it was, the day. I asked a friend to drive to the bus station to pick him up and when we got there, I hugged him so hard, he was not green any more, had gained back all the weight he had lost, and then a little extra, his hair shone like I had never seen it and his eyes sparkled. All my fears and doubts left me, we had to wait in the car while my friend picked up a package at the airport, and that is where we had our first kiss, and thinking about it now still makes my heart race. I won’t say and we lived happily ever after, for we have had some rocky places. I was so terrified of being hurt I tried to push him away several times.

But he never let me. Thankfully.

3

07.25.06 (10:40 am)   [edit]
My addictions are still with me, just over 10 years later. I just realized in the chaos of the last few weeks I never ever acknowledged my anniversary. I don’t know what that means. I just finished my 4^th pack of cigarettes in the last month. I have promised that it will be my last, as we quit just over a year ago, but the stress of buying the house, the landladies b.s. and then the move, pushed me over the edge. It started with me bumming one cigarette from a friend, to buying a pack and then to smoking full time. But my love asked me to please quit after this pack now that we are moved and the chaos is over. But the ease with which I slipped back into smoking scares the hell out of me. It highlights how easy it would be to slip back into any of my addictions.

 

 

I remember my first cigarette I was 11, my friend stole a pack from her Mom and we, about 6 of us, met in her tent trailer and we each lit one, I remember the burn of the smoke in my throat and the pain in my lungs. But what I remember the most was the feeling in my mind, the relaxation, the calm. I was a half pack a day smoker by 13, and a pack a day by 15. And at 13 I had my first drink and was soon spiking my drinks that I took to school. By 15 I was trying pot, hash and oil and drinking all I could steal.

 

 

My mind has always sought escape, books, movies, cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs. I never really thought about it until I was getting clean and I mean really getting clean. When I finally faced the reality of my addiction and started to look at this need to escape. I looked to my past for reasons, and denial and doubt reigned supreme. I could not open the door in my mind that led me down the path of addiction. I blamed genetics and that my parents drank and did drugs. I just could not look in the dark places.

 

Sidebar

07.19.06 (1:06 pm)   [edit]

Well I just had the privledge to read the most touching website, I am sitting in my office crying. I can feel this womans pain as I could my own. Her elegant website speaks to what being a parent is, the joy, the pain and the heartache. I want to share her website with you,

http://home.comcast.net/" title="http://home.comcast.net/" target="_blank"http://home.comcast.net/~g.marshall25/Our_Baby_Girls .html

My sons was born on September 14th, 1992. His name is Scott Onxy James Wallace. He was born 19 weeks premature, weighed 1lb 1oz, he was 10.5 inches long, and looked perfect. 10 fingers, 10 toes, perfection miniaturized, except for his lungs were not formed propery and he was missing organs. The Dr's told me he would never breathe on his own as they handed him to me, he moved and took a breath. They took him from me then, rushed to do some tests, but brought him back to me after the ulta sound showed his missing organs. They told me to hold him, love him and say good bye. And for 2 hours I did just that, and then his tiny breaths just stopped. I had not cried but as his little body shuddered then stopped. I lost my mind. I have a vaugue memory of the nurse wrapping him up in a blanket, of screaming and grabing him back kissing his face and hands and feet, then a small pain in my shoulder and oblivion took hold. My husband filled in the paperwork and took me home. It was days before I got out off bed. My daughter was just 1 and she finally broke the spell, refusing to leave my side. About a week went by and then my husband said we had to go somewhere, but he pulled into the cemetary, he took me to the tiny grave and held me as I cried. I celebrate his birthday every year and tell my daughters about him. They have told their friends they have a brother who is an angel and that is fine with me. I often picture him, how I think he might look, how old he is, and I always feel like he is watching over me and my daughters.

 

2

07.19.06 (12:37 pm)   [edit]

I was sitting on the sofa, watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on TV, a cigarette in my lips a bottle of rye between my legs and tears running down my face. I have been “clean” for 6 months; I have not been sober 5 days in that time. I have not seen my children, I have not heard from them, their foster parents, or the social worker. Her promises when I left that she would move the kids to Alberta to be near me are crumbling like all the other lies in my life.  My mother calls me almost daily, crying trying to get me to come home, at least for the holidays.

The phone rings and as I lift my head I realize it is 10am and I have not slept in days, existing on alcohol and cigarettes. I answer the phone slowly it is the social worker; she tells me she has a family who wants to adopt my youngest daughter, but not my oldest. She tells me that she has also spoken to my father and that he is flying to BC to see my kids. She tells me I have 2 choices and that is I can let my baby be adopted, ripped away from her sister or I can allow my Father and Step Mother to be their foster parents. I gag, kneeling on the floor, shaking I ask her if I can call her back. I hang up the phone and vomit all over the floor. I slowly pull my self up the stairs to the bathroom; I see my roommates’ bottle of sleeping pills on the counter and a box of new razors. I swallow as many pills as I can and then sit in the tub to slit my wrists, a creepy quiet calm settles over me as I run the blade down my arms.
I wake suddenly as if from a bad dream, dried blood runs down my clothes and vomit speckled with pills covers my clothes. I reach up and turn on the water and finally the tears come. I clean myself and the house up, write a note to my roommate, pack my few things and hitchhike to my mothers’ house. The eerie calm still surrounds me, like a resignation that I will either live or die but I will not go down without a fight.

I made the second hardest decision of my life that night, I called the social worker and said my kids could go with my father and step mother if they qualified to be foster parents.

 I knocked my mothers’ door; I told her I was not there because she asked but because I had to be in my home town to start over. I told her I would sleep on the couch, I would pay half the bills and buy groceries, but there would be ground rules. She was never to invade my space, my bags etc.
I got up the next morning and went to my first Narcotics Anonymous meeting.

 

1

07.18.06 (11:39 am)   [edit]
I remember sitting in my mothers’ bedroom, vomiting in a bucket at the side of the bed. Hallucinations wrack my mind, my body shakes with cold, then sweats, my skin crawls. She comes in and wipes my brow with a cool cloth, my mind slides away from her touch, takes me back to a time long ago. I was sick then too, a high fever raced through my chicken pock covered body, and she wiped me with a cool cloth then too, then the nausea pulls my mind away, I spew vomit into the bucket and she leaves the room. My drug addled brain convinces me that the memory is not really mine, a hallucination, any thing but real. For as the nausea pulled me away the feeling of the cool cloth was running away from my face and down my body, becoming something other then the gentle nurturing of a caring mother and between my legs into a feeling of terror.
The headache rips through my body and I can not think on the past any more. I slipped deeper into the bed and clutched the blankets, surely it is the withdrawals.
I think then on more recent history. Getting in the taxi with my mother, the door closing, people fighting, my daughters birthday party, my last fix, my last trick, a rumbled mess of thoughts feelings and fears. I finally slipped into a deep dreamless sleep and let all my worries wash away.
My eyes opened, confusion, where am I, I look around, I see my mothers things, and terror seizes my heart, I look down at my naked body under the sweat soaked sheet and I am shaking as I look up I see my clothes, clean and folded on the chair, I dress as quickly as I can and look up as my mother walks in carrying a tray with a basin and towel on it. I see disappointment as she sees me dressed and I suddenly have never needed a shower more. She says something, but the blood pounding in my ears drowns her out, she hands me the towel and leads me to the bathroom.
I lock the door, knowing that is not enough I slide the vanity chair under the handle. I start the shower, slowly stripping off my clothes I see myself in the mirror, my hair is cut shorter then I remember, barely touching my shoulders, my eyes are sunken, dark circles hang under my eyes,  my chest is a mass of bruises and as I reach to touch one I see the track marks tracing up my arms. Suddenly my eyes open wide and I realize I am back home, my children are miles away living with strangers in foster care, my husband is likely getting high in a back alley and my friends probably think I am just lost in a drug addicts haze. If any one even realizes I am gone.
I step into the shower and wash my fears away. When I am done I dress again, brush my hair and walk out into the kitchen, my mother, oh god, she hands my a cup of coffee and I can barely drink it knowing her hands touched that cup. I drink it quickly and tell her I need to stretch my legs and when she offers to go with me I tell her I need some time alone. I ask her for money for cigarettes and walk out the door into the blazing sun.
I get to the store, get my smokes and lighting one I see the pay phone. A plan to get away form my mother seizes me, I dial the number from memory, my friend, likely my only real friend, says to stay away from my mother for as long as I can, that she will be here in about 2 hours to pick me up. I walk to the playground, smoking and for the first time smiling. She pulls up to the park and I am half asleep laying on the slide watching the clouds roll by. We go to my mothers’ house, shock then resignation cross her face and I load my stuff in the car she tries to kiss my cheek and I slam the door.
 
We peel away from the curb and I finally feel like I can breathe again.