So, I finally left the boyfriend around the end of September/beginning of October. There was a big ol’ fight and he was threatening to kill himself and I didn’t know how seriously to take it, so I called the cops because he was so out of control. (He didn’t remember anything he said or did the next day, so I rest my case.) Long story – I wrote something about it on paper. I might find it and post it here some time.

And yes, there wasn’t anywhere to go except to my parents. Which is where I am now. It’s been pretty ugly. I’ll get into that sometime too. I know that many people would feel like this is a change to start over or something. Those people do not know my mother. I love her, but I cannot be the one she takes all of her frustrations out on. I don’t have much self-esteem as it is; she just can’t keep chipping away at it. I know she thinks I am irresponsible, immature and stupid. Fine, whatever. Just don’t yell at me about it. And maybe give me a chance every now and then. Possibly, even listen to what I say when I try to explain instead of jumping right in with the insults.

Whatever.

I’d been staying at my parents’ for a few weeks when a very large tree in the backyard fell onto the house. A huge tree, let’s say. It happened about 8 a.m. one Sunday morning, when there was no wind or rain. Shook the entire house. I thought it was an earthquake. The house is still safe to inhabit, but there were several broken rafters and the deck was destroyed. Several holes in the roof, which is some kind of plastic that looks like tin. A chimney from an old wood-burning stove stopped the tree from falling any further. All the materials to get stuff fixed are on site, but we’re waiting for the construction guys to get to us and for the rain to stop.

I finally got through the first step in seeing a new therapist, since my health insurance won’t let me see the old one. (So I haven’t talked to anyone in that way since June.) There’s only one “practice” I’m allowed to go to, and it’s a huge mega-group that includes the county’s mental health services. There’s a tremendous barrier to entry for this group - Before you can even make an appointment, you must attend an orientation that takes place at 8 a.m. When I called to register for a session in July, the first available one was last week. Of course, I now live about 90 minutes away from the office – 90 minutes in light traffic, that is. So to get there at 8 a.m. I had to leave here around 6, which sucked. Sat there for a whopping 15 minutes, and it was over. Couldn’t get an appointment with a doctor until tomorrow, then who knows how long it will take to get set up with a therapist.  I hope I can make it.

Which brings up a question I want to give some consideration to here at some point: What constitutes a “mental breakdown” and what does one look like? Not today, though.

I’m thinking about going back to school soon. The original thought was to become a physical therapy assistant, which is a two-year program at a local community college. They boast of 100% employment for their graduates, and it does seem to be a growing field. Application process is rather intensive, though. It’s all due in mid January, and I’ve still got quite a few pieces of it to go, like an aptitude test, an interview with a working PT or PTA, and getting my transcript officially evaluated. Oh, and a reading test, and I’ll eventually have to test out of the mandated computer class. (Which, frankly, I could teach. They could also require me to take a public speaking class, since I don’t officially have one on my transcript, but which is another class I could potentially teach. In fact, if I go into this program I’m hoping to teach, as in addition to the pay you get a free parking pass, which is $200 a semester.)

Anyway, I’ve already done an 8-hour observation in a nursing home/rehab facility where a friend works. When doing so, I realized I probably hadn’t given enough consideration to PT versus OT (occupational therapy, which focuses primarily on the arms and hands). After some research into characteristics and personality traits that are best suited to each discipline, I decided that I really am more suited to OT. Personal relationships with the patients tend to be a bigger part of OT for one thing.

There is an OT program in the area, but it’s not at a community college. It’s a rather pricey private school. Instead of an associate’s degree, this program awards a master’s degree, and instead of a PTA, I would be a full-fledged OT. There is a considerable difference in cost, but there is also a considerable difference in pay. That program is a little more involved, as you would guess. It’s two years plus two summer semesters, and there are 24 credit hours worth of classes that must be taken in the last five years to gain admission. Since I took my college classes 15-20 years ago, there will also be a year of classes at a community college before I can even apply. I don’t much like the idea of taking on student debt at 45, which will be my age at graduation, but I figure I won’t be able to retire until I’m at least 75 anyway, so that’s 30 years worth of work I’m preparing myself for. (Yes, this is one of those ideas my mother declares is stupid and irresponsible.) I need to set up an appointment to go talk with the financial aid and OT departments to get their take on things. I paid for undergrad and grad school with scholarships, so I don’t even know how financial aid works. I’m also not sure how I’ll support myself once unemployment runs out in August, since the program won’t start until the following June. Retail job? Will I continue to live with my parents while I get the 24 credit hours in, or try to find an apartment locally? (If I do, I could have an indoor pet.) These are all things I want to run by a therapist too. I’m going to need a full day just to get a therapist up to speed, much less to talk about planning the future, which is what I really need help with.

So all that was enough to be dealing with, but then last week happened.

Thursday, I had to go have a sonogram as a follow-up to my first mammogram. There is a small lump in my right breast, almost under the nipple. The doctor who read the sonogram sounded completely sure it’s benign, and he told me the type of lump it was but I didn’t write it down and it was a long word. Ladies, a warning – at least in this case, this lump doesn’t feel like I thought a lump would feel. It feels more like a pocket of fluid, actually. I’m honestly not worried about the lump itself, but now lucky me gets to have a needle biopsy next Monday, and I’m horrifically worried about that. Well, not worried. Apprehensive, I guess. Filled with dread of the ouchie. I had intended to keep all this from my mother so she wouldn’t worry needlessly, but I wound up blabbing it to her; concealing it was another “stupid, irresponsible” thing, apparently.

Then on Friday morning, my stepdad had a heart attack. Not completely out of the blue, because several years ago he had a cath scan done that revealed two partially blocked arteries. In fact, he already had a cardiologist appointment sometime next week. Anway, one of those two arteries had closed off; the other is now 80% occluded. He was at the hospital in the cath lab having stents put in within 90 minutes of first feeling pain, so that’s good. The real problem looks to be the other blockage. Every doctor who has weighed in so far has been more concerned about than the attack that already happened. It’s in a bad spot, where other arteries branch off. It probably cannot be solved with stents because of that, so we’re bracing for open heart surgery right around Christmas. He’ll have an IV for five days prior to the surgery, although he can probably be at home during the wait, to flush out the Plavix so his blood will clot. Then the surgery is usually followed by a 10-day hospital stay and cardiac rehab.

Here’s another warning: Heart attacks can be viciously sudden. My stepdad was actually driving home from the doctor’s office, where he had a routine physical with good BP and pulse rate, when he started having pains. (He was about halfway home, so he came on here and called EMS.) The point is that not half an hour before the attack, his vitals all looked great.

I have a very strange (strained?) relationship with my stepdad. Since my father has been gone since I was 8, I never really knew how to interact with a father-figure. And my stepdad isn’t very demonstrative either. He’s scared right now, and I have no idea what to say or do. He’s been in the hospital since Friday and although I was there all day Friday, I didn’t go Saturday or today. I was there for an hour or so yesterday. I hope it doesn’t look uncaring. There’s nothing I can do there, really. Friday I sat in a waiting room all day, because he was in ICU. Plus, his daughter’s husband’s father – in other words, my stepsister’s father-in-law – died about a month ago from his fourth or fifth heart attack, in the same hospital, so she’s really freaked out, quite understandably. She’s been there quite a lot. My mom is there constantly, so it’s not like I’m needed to sit with him. In fact, he’s doing well and doesn’t really need anyone to sit with him at all, because he’s perfectly capable of getting what he needs from the hospital staff.

I had made somewhat tentative plans to return to the city I was in before, but they more or less fell apart last week – I was going to rent a place from a friend, but he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to bring the mortgage on the place current so it probably won’t happen. Which is probably for the best, since my mom still works so I may get to be a full-time nurse for a while. Maybe I should just become a CNA while I’m at it; I think it would help with my OT school admission. At least if I know I’m staying here I can do stuff like joining the YMCA and looking for bellydance classes and other things I was reluctant to do before. I guess I might as well go ahead and switch my car registration and pharmacy and primary care physician and all that too. I was so afraid this would happen if I came here, although it’s very possible I would have come here while my stepdad recovers anyway.

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So, I meant to sit down and write a list of things we need to figure out since the little girl who stayed here with me last summer will be coming back starting next week. It turned into some kind of strange letter to my boyfriend.

I’ve said before that I’ve lost perspective on what’s reasonable and what isn’t. This time I feel pretty sure that’s not the case. Not quite sure why I’m sharing this with you, just that I haven’t written here in a while and it feels like the thing to do.

I don’t actually expect anything to change from what I’ve written, of course. At least I’ve learned that lesson. I just hope that I can keep my cool about what a shambles this household is until I can afford to get out of it – which, frankly, may be never given my job situation. I did finally have an interview last week, but the pay, should I get the job, will be about what I made 15 years ago when I first started a professional career. I couldn’t live on that then, I certainly can’t live on it now with the increased cost of living.

Anyway, on to my note/letter, which I will endeavor to reproduce word for word without any amplification or explanation, to keep it fairly short.

1. Food—What’s for S.? What’s for V.? Who gets to cook when?
2. Cleaning kitchen—If he’s going to cook this much, he’s going to have to clean up completely—that means loading the dishwasher, running it, unloading it, putting things back neatly, the whole deal.
3. It’s not right for S. to get the impression that V. is living here. She needs to leave before midnight. It’s not right for her to see them spend so much time in his room with the door shut either.
4. The outer door to the laundry room is going to need to be and stay open. I will not be willing to treat the “ante-room” as part of his “private area” in the house. It is a store room and a hallway to the laundry room. My laundry room, with my washer and dryer.
5. I’m really, really not certain it is appropriate for S. to stay here at all, given the general situation. We had this discussion while O. was “away” for 15 days. Things were “going to be different,” remember? Well, things are different alright. Once again, going to jail has made his life better.
6. This isn’t some kind of library. This isn’t some young friend. This is your son and you are going to have to step up and be the “bad guy” here. If you’re willing to let him start his adult life – or hell, start 9th grade again – without having learned something about far-reaching consequences, so be it, but make sure you understand what you’re doing, okay?
7. It is also your responsibility to work with his p.o., school, etc. Don’t whine or make excuses to them. If you call somewhere to make an appointment and have to leave a message, fine, do it. But if they don’t call you back by the next day at noon, call them again. It is not their “turn.” This is real life, not a board game.
8. Obviously, I know you work nights. Obviously, you need some sleep. You also need to be in control of your home. You need to know what goes on in it. When someone oversteps his or her bounds, you need to be aware of it. In other words, you need to be a part of home life. I know, or at least I hope, you don’t feel this way, but the impression I get is that you can’t stand to be around us so you always have to be on the go. If that’s true, re-examine your life. If it’s not, act like it. Come home without standing around talking after work. Don’t go out on the evenings you have off. Get some sleep, yes, but set an alarm so that you get 8 or 9 hours a day, not 10 or 11. We need you here, awake, interacting. O. and I don’t even know how to talk to each other.
9. I know that without medical insurance you’re in a precarious spot. I know you work for a company that is too small to offer it. Think about that as making about $200 less every pay period.
10. From the Dept. of Labor website: “Time spent traveling during normal work hours is considered compensable work time.” In other words, if you must drive from their office to your work location, you should be paid from the time you arrive at the office and transfer to their vehicle. I know you swear otherwise, but you need to check with an employment lawyer. Same if you travel from [one location] to [another location] on Friday or Saturday night.
11. I bring up medical insurance because as the person who lives with you, as the person most affected by your moods and activity levels, I feel like I am morally obligated to tell you that your medication needs adjusting. (I know sometimes you don’t take it if you aren’t going to work. That sucks, but it’s not what I’m talking about right now. We’ve had that discussion.) I’m talking about how uneven you are during the day, how you go from asleep to wired with very little in between – which is why I think I had to make point #8 at all. Being that uneven is not normal.
12. Please take responsibility for a few things.
• The dog. His vet care is your responsibility, but I’m the one who arranges his appointments and generally pays for them. He needs regular checkups. He needs monthly heartworm and flea medication. And right now he needs a shot. It is your responsibility to get these things for him. Put on your big boy pants and do it.
• O. See #6 and #7.
• Your own health. Again, I know you have no insurance. Do the smart thing, at least, and stop smoking. (Maybe then your sons will drop back on their pack in a day-and-a-half habits.)
• The house and yard. You are responsible for their maintenance. Do some. The yards is genuinely an embarrassment to me. At least show me how to use a lawnmower and how not to hurt myself, and I’ll do it, allergies or not.
• You, I and the justice system talk about how O. has to take responsibility for his criminal actions. How can you expect him to do that if you won’t take responsibility for anything?
13. And while we’re at it, let me just throw out a few more statements.

• Many months ago in an argument you yelled at me that I’d “already taken away” your social life. How? What have I done to do that? That wasn’t me. What, by not being willing t be home with your kids so you could go out and play? I really don’t know what you meant, but you sounded quite resentful, and I’d like to know why.
• Quit talking about [his second wife] as a “toy” you are finished with. It makes me feel degraded and it sounds overtly sexual – like she was a toy in your bed and you got bored with her. Let me also remind you that for unknown reason you are still lawfully married to her.
• Please remember to communication with me if O. tells you something about his plans for the weekend, for dinner, for when he’s coming in – for Christ’s sake, tell me. Otherwise I don’t know, and I’m the one here when most of these things finally happen.
• Have you done anything about trying to get him into a different high school? He needs a new start.
• Have you talked to your dad? Please. Even you said he would have good advice.

So there it is, with no embellishment, only names changed. Do you know how hard it was for me not to edit it as I typed it? That was just about impossible, especially when my instinct was to explain things better – like the fact – No, wait, I’m not doing it here either.

I’m sorry for what follows. I want to erase it or leave it unposted, but at the same time I want to say it, because maybe it will help just to have it out. Ah, the problems of the First World.

So my plan is really what it’s been all along, which sucks. I have to keep calm, ignore as much as I can, and um, you know, carry on. I don’t know what else to do. Despite having a master’s degree I don’t have a career path that will see me through to independent living, and without the ability to actually leave if things don’t change, I don’t know how to make any demands.

Part of it is indeed a self-esteem/depression thing, because when I look at the job ads and see that they aren’t paying what I consider a living-independently wage, even for jobs I would only qualify for with a few years of some kind of supervisory experience under my belt, even for jobs in different fields that I could conceivably see myself going back to school for,  I just feel hopeless and like I might as well give up and go beg for a job at Target. I really don’t see any reason to try for anything else, if I can’t earn enough money for the lifestyle I expected to have by now, especially with my age working against me. (Hey! I don’t feel that old.) Then that hopelessness mushrooms out into a general hopelessness about my childless state, my lack of a meaningful relationship, even my lack of being able to have a breed of dog I’m not terribly allergic to, and I get in such a funk that I don’t know what to do. (I really mean that. I’ve always been a “work the plan” kind of person, but right now I can’t figure out a worthwhile plan.)

So I go play Bejeweled and stop thinking about it, but I can’t do that for the rest of my life. The unemployment checks will stop soon, and what do I do then? I wish I could recapture some of my former enthusiasm for life in general and work in particular, but the thought of going anywhere and giving away my right to my own time just disgusts me – maybe because my ability to chose what to do with my own time is about all I have left. I don’t know. It’s a good thing I’m too much of a coward and too interested in the world out there for suicide.

I wish there were some way to get the people around me to understand how lost and bewildered I am, how I never expected to wind up here, how much force I have to use to pull myself together and get out of bed on any given day. I feel like I did years ago, when I was buried in debt and knew I couldn’t keep paying so much, but because I wasn’t delinquent on my bills I couldn’t find anyone interested in talking to me about debt reduction plans or bankruptcy. I wanted to prevent a crisis, but as it turned out I had to force the crisis instead. Just like then, I can’t stand this any more, this waiting for something to change and knowing that the change is not likely to be for the better, but I don’t know how to make it go away. Or to sum up, WTF?

Let me just add that Father’s Day has been damned awkward since I was eight years old, and in all the intervening years it hasn’t gotten any better. Then again, Mother’s Day was so much fun this year, why should I expect anything different?

I’ve lost myself. I’ve lost every little shred of who I am and who I wanted to be. Help! Just, help! Because it’s all so bad I just don’t even know where to start talking about it, much less making any changes.

Maybe this is a mid-life crisis kind of thing, since I turned 40 last fall. Maybe it’s a my-grandfather-died-in-October thing. Maybe it’s a got-laid-off-a-year-ago (and haven’t even gotten an interview) thing. Or maybe it’s causing that last thing, instead of being caused by.
All I know is that I am not, not, not where I thought I would be in life – in any scenario. I’ve gone from making $54k a year to unemployment, and because I spent 10 years in a unique job situation, jobs that would get me back into my actual field are looking like they’ll pay about $37k at the most. I’ve already had to ask my mother for help paying COBRA health insurance premiums. I’m living in a rental house with my alleged boyfriend, who I do have feelings for but who apparently doesn’t believe in yard maintenance or even making his teenage son stop throwing bottles and cans all over the back yard. Said son, the only one of my boyfriend’s three kids who lives with us, is a real winner of a lad who just today finished up a 15-day stint in juvenile detention for fighting and possession. Well, 10 days for that, five more for loudly suggesting the judge do something anatomically impossible to herself. I’m usually on the side of the underdog, usually the bleeding heart, but this kid has a real problem of some sort, and his father refuses to discipline him. No matter what his actions, there are no consequences at home. The last time he was sent away, for three days, he came home to fewer chores and less pressure to get his ass out of bed and go to school every day.

Before you say it, I don’t have anywhere else to go or I would already not be living in this situation. My parents’ is not really an option for many reasons: too rural, too small, too much of my mother, who I fear is not emotionally well at all. My grandfather’s house is empty, but I cannot bring myself to contemplate being alone in the house which all my life was a center of family and always seemed full of people. Already I feel very fragile, and I cannot contemplate living somewhere without, frankly, independence and internet access, the latter being about the only thing I can manage on my worst days.

So that’s a quick snapshot of where I am. I’m only telling you about it so you can contrast it with where I thought I’d be – not where I wanted to be, mind you, just where I realistically thought I’d be. There was the career route, which at one time I had made a good start on, with a good entry-level job, a nice starter house, a CPA husband who made three times (almost to the penny) what I did. Then I left him for something better, I hoped. Not that I had anything lined up at the time, but the husband was never home, and when he was, he did things like wake me up at 1 a.m. and demand to know the balance of my checking account (which he had full access to online).

The final straw, the final thing that became the deal breaker, was his reaction to the idea of having kids – a reaction which only hit him when I had been off the pill for at least six months and thought “we” were actively trying to get pregnant. I thought we had discussed this! It was the typical “It’s not a good time. We need to wait until we have more money in the bank” kind of thing, which had actually worked on me when it was “until we have a house instead of an apartment,” but which at this point – I was already over 30 – rang false. Marriage counselors and I sat there together, trying to explain that you couldn’t wait until the time is perfect, that I was aging, that I had already been told five years previously that because of my pre-birth exposure to DES I would have a hard time getting pregnant and a hard time staying that way, and the odds would worsen as I aged. Nothing moved him.

So instead, I moved me. I fail to see how I thought that was going to help the situation. I want a kid, so let me get divorced – yeah, that makes perfect sense.  I guess I was just disgusted with him, and thought I could easily find someone else. But then when I was single again, I found out that real life isn’t like college, where there are new people to meet around every corner. I’ve never been the type to go out and start talking to strangers in a bar or whatever, and by that point most of my coworkers were about 20 years older than me and didn’t even know anyone to suggest, had I asked them. There were some dates, a few short-term relationships, but nothing until the guy I’m with now. With three kids that he struggles to support already – it seems he’s always in court about child support payments that he either owes or are owed to him, or both at once – he’s not inclined to have any more children. And the longer I am with him, the more I realize that there is something wrong with him, emotionally. Some kind of anger management issues, some self-esteem issues, some “failure to start” issues, all of which are there to some extent in his kids. Even if he weren’t against it, even if he were eager for a new baby, I’m not sure I would be eager to raise a child who would face these issues and my quirks and hang-ups. And I’ve seen the way he is with his kids – put simply, he’s not a good parent, and I’m not inclined to believe that he even does his best.

So every signal in the world says “get on the damn bus, chick, and leave him yesterday.” And I will, I would, if I had any means of paying more rent than I do now – real estate prices remain high in my city, and there’s just nowhere to rent an apartment in a safe neighborhood for less than about double what I now pay. That’s why I moved in here in the first place, against my better emotional judgment but in line with my financial requirements, and it’s still true, only more so since I lost my job (after declaring bankruptcy about two years ago) and probably could not find anywhere that would rent to me anyway.

Another way to put it maybe – I am not, at this late stage, financially independent. I cannot afford to live on my own. I’m 40 fucking years old, I’m tired, and I don’t think I can go back to working two jobs just to keep afloat, or living in an environment of questionable safety. Plus I have a masters degree – I did my time in college, I shouldn’t have to work two jobs now. (Yes, I know it doesn’t really work that way, but that was the bill of goods I was sold, damnit.) And I’m only getting older, and I never, ever, never thought I’d be here. 

I don’t even know what to do this weekend – his daughter wants to come visit for Father’s Day, but after she made threats against me and said things I don’t even remember but that left me reeling on Mother’s Day, I don’t even want to speak to or about her, much less be in the same house with her or be expected to feed/entertain her while her father is at work. The easy answer is for me just to leave for the weekend, but where the hell am I going to go? I’ve tried several times to spend even just the weekend at my parents’, but find it impossible to stay more than one night because like the old lady I am, I can only sleep when I’m at “home” now. Do I really think I can go there for three nights so the lazy, freeloading 19-year-old can stay here instead, especially given that her father isn’t even off work on Sunday, and generally sleeps until it’s time for him to get up and get ready for work? Am I really going to be able to do that? My boyfriend says, “We’re going to have to work out something here.” But I’m not interested in being “the adult” here and letting go of the grievance. I’m not sure I could. I was deeply offended and hurt, and I simply cannot let those feelings go, no matter how hard I might try. (A fucking apology might help, though.) I don’t want to keep her from her father, and had in fact sworn that I would move out by July 1, but I just don’t know how to make that happen.

I wish I could just run, physically. Run and never stop, I guess like Forrest Gump did in the movie. If I had more than $61.50 in my bank account I might at least drive somewhere calming or take a yoga class or something, anything, but I’m already going to be stretching it to get through the week(end) on that.

I still haven’t gotten to my point. Maybe my point is that when it rains it pours. But what I want you to see is that I’ve lost everything that was me. I always saw myself as the good girl who loved babies and puppies, the caring, kind, smart one who was so nice and everybody’s friend and knew just how to act and took good care of herself – her skin, her health, her figure even. Now I’m at least 50 pounds overweight, feel like I’m emotionally about to fall apart, haven’t worn makeup for well over three months, barely remember to slap moisturizer on my face once a week, routinely stay up until 4 or 5 a.m., and go for days at a time without a shower or even brushing my teeth.

Yes, I’m depressed, but this isn’t just depression. I’ve coped with that all my life and learned how to distinguish what it is and what it’s not. I don’t just feel stuck, I am stuck. I cannot think of my way out of this. I can’t see how any of the mess I’ve gotten myself into is going to get any better, even if I do get one of these $37k jobs (which would be a minor miracle, since as I said I have yet to get a single interview, and which wouldn’t pay all that much more than unemployment anyway). The threads that hold me together are getting more and more taut, and one day I’m afraid they’re just going to snap like rotten rubber bands. Except I honestly have no idea what’s going to change once they do, except that I’d probably wind up adding some sky-high medical bills to the list of my problems.

Oh my God, I still haven’t said what makes me the most upset. When I was three, when most kids have imaginary friends, I had imaginary grand-children. My grandmother was my primary babysitter, and I adored her. And I guess I thought she had a lot of fun with me as well, because to me the best thing, even better than having a friend my age to play with, would be having a whole bunch of grandchildren to organize games and activities for, to watch out for, to tease and love. By the time I was in college – say 20 or 21 – my arms almost without my intending to move them reached for every baby or toddler I saw. I have always been baby obsessed, and I simply cannot believe that I’m going to end up childless. I wanted it all, even the uncomfortable parts. I wanted to be pregnant, I wanted to give birth, I wanted the sleepless nights and the tiring days.

I tried to divert my maternal feelings into dog ownership instead, but the dogs got old and died (as they do) and I can’t afford either the purchase or the proper care of a new one. (My boyfriend has a dog, and if I leave here of course I have to leave him too. Mind you, I’m allergic to this dog, but he is devoted to me, and I would worry about him if I go.) But as much as I loved them, dogs aren’t babies.

I am so deeply not me that I really don’t know what to do or where to go. Nothing about where I am is where I want to be or expected to be. No matter what, I always knew there would be children. How can there not be children? What happened, please?

There are so many esoteric events in my life that my therapist and I never even get around to talking about these big over-all issues, in between talking about the delinquent kid and how much I want to leave but can’t and job prospects and so on. My dose of antidepressants was already upped quite a bit. No matter how much I take, pills aren’t going to make my circumstances change anyway. When I try to describe the person I am, I realize that not one single thing I think is important is represented in my life. Maybe this is my final struggle against giving up and not bothering to think about that anymore, ever. Of course I’m looking for the light at the end of the tunnel, but I’m also trying to figure out how the hell I got into the tunnel and how to tell if I’m going in the wrong direction. Or maybe it’s not a tunnel after all, just a dark cave, and the only way out it to go back.

I think it’s taking all of my control and the last shred of my self-discipline and sense of dignity not to turn into a drooling mess, and there’s none left over for anything else. Something has to change, but I don’t know what and I don’t know how and I seem incapable of doing anything anyway, just like I don’t know how to turn back the clock and redo my life.

I can’t believe that this is really my real life. It can’t be. It must be a dream, or a big joke, right? Because this a big fucking nightmare. But ignoring that question, ignoring the bigger issues, is how I wound up here in the first place.

And God help me, but what am I going to do this weekend? I don’t want to leave my home, but I don’t want to feel uncomfortable in it either and I will not sit here and be afraid of this girl.

Meanwhile back at the redneck ranch, his mother reports that she drove up yesterday after work and The Boy’s twin was standing outside drinking a Four Loko, making no attempt to hide it from her. She is allegedly calling his PO this afternoon. I guess we’ll know if she actually did it or not tomorrow, because after the day in court here, Bf gets to drive down to her neck of the woods for a child support hearing tomorrow. (I thought they had banned Four Loko in this state, but I guess they changed the formula instead.)

The judge made it a point to tell Bf today, “You’ve got to understand, your son is an addict.” Yes, we are aware of that. What can we do about it, your honor, m’am? He has no insurance, so we’ve got to depend on state resources, and going through the court system is just about the only way we’ve found to access those. Bf also found out the high school truancy officer is at least thinking of pursuing him because The Boy missed so much school – whereas the judge (reportedly – I wasn’t there) made the point several times that The Boy is a fine, strapping young man who is now required to step up and be responsible for himself, adding that if there is no one at home to take him to the Youth Treatment Court activities and the mandated therapy/rehab facility he is expected to walk his happy self to the bus stop and get there on his own.

After the 15 days are up, he will go into the YTC program right away. The therapy/rehab may take a few more days to get started, because Bf is having trouble getting an appointment scheduled for his actual mental and emotional health evaluation. I kinda think they knew he was going to get more than three days and didn’t see any reason to set up a time until he’s back out.

As part of the YTC, The Boy will appear before the judge he cussed at today every two weeks. They would normally require 90 days of perfect school attendance, but obviously school isn’t in session over the summer. In exchange, he must attend every therapy/rehab session and every YTC activity.

If he screws up, the YTC group and the judge will decide on an appropriate punishment. I wish I could say I had faith that he would make it, but I have every belief that he will be kicked out of the program by the middle of July. Only thing is, I don’t know what he’ll be kicked out to.

I’m not complaining about the juvenile justice system at all, but I do have some questions. The Boy has problems and issues and addictions out the wahzoo, and there’s no doubt that he’s into a lot of stuff he shouldn’t be. But he wasn’t one of the kids uptown this past Saturday night in our fair city throwing gang signs and blocking streets and fighting with police and shooting at each other. (Not to say he wouldn’t have been, if we lived close enough for him to walk there. And not to say that it was mostly kids under 18 who were involved.) I think that what The Boy is getting is fairly stiff punishment. So what do they give the kids who were involved in that mess? What do they give the kids who are openly dealing drugs or caught carrying weapons? How does the system differentiate between someone who is angry and screwed up and budding career criminals? (Guesses as to what they do with kids who deal drugs, carry guns, and so on: Longer jail times, house arrest for up to a year, permanent expulsion from school system, try them as an adult if it’s a repeat offence.)

Anyway, it’s freaking hot outside, I haven’t been sleeping well when Bf is at work at night – although with The Boy gone for 15 days maybe that will improve, since I won’t stress about what time he comes in, when he goes to bed, who else is here, etc. Yay!

A lot has happened. Really a lot. But I haven’t written about it, because sometimes I think that by writing about it, I dwell on it, and that’s no good for me.

Besides, Dr. Oz told me this morning that if you’re cranky you should take omega 3 supplements, so maybe that’s all I need to do.

But really, so much has happened that I’ll have trouble figuring out where to start when I do write again. Mostly I know that for right now, right this minute, I don’t see a way out until I have a job, and even then I’m not sure.

I’ve been writing to all of you, actually, just on paper … and about something else, I just don’t know what yet. When you look at what I’ve written, it’s not even my handwriting. Well, it is mine, just the way I wrote 25 years ago, in high school. Something’s coming out that needs to be said, I’m just not sure if it ever needs to be read by anyone. We’ll see. (Of course it’s about me. Miss Self-Centered here, you know?)

So this morning – whoops, this afternoon – I’m putting off writing a cover letter for a job that I really, really want but am afraid I will desperately whine for.

I also want to share a passage from a book I finished last night, Lidia Yuknavitch‘s The Chronology of Water. Someone asked me what it was about the other day, and I couldn’t answer. I guess the simple answer is that it’s a memoir, but that doesn’t really describe it. The Rumpus was really hot on the book a few months ago, and I finally broke down and bought it as an ebook.

I don’t want to review it here (or anywhere) because I’m still a little unsure about it. The first part – maybe even the first 80% – was interesting but I kept waiting for something to make me say, “This is great.” But at the end, somewhere around the final 10 pages (I think. No pages in an ebook), something happened all right. I started crying – crying so hard I couldn’t read the screen for long moments at a time – and I cried until about an hour after I finished reading. I don’t know why. I don’t know what started the tears, or why they kept coming.

The paragraphs I’m going to quote, well, I think they’re pretty moving and emotional for anybody, but in a good way, I guess. They are incredibly well-written, but Yuknavitch’s use of grammer and punctuation is unconventional. I’ve typed it exactly as it is in the book. (Except for the … s, of course.) If I’d tried to put (sic) everywhere it belongs, it would have been overwhelming.

Hmm. Don’t know exactly how to cite an ebook either. Final chapter, towards the end of the whole thing is about the most I can give you.

So here’s the deal. About family, you have to make it up. 

…

If your marriage goes busto, make up a different you. If the family you came from sucked, make up a new one. Look at all the people there are to choose from. If the family you are in hurts, get on the bus. Like now.

…

Anyway. The key is, make up shit.

Make up stories until you find one you can live with.

I learned it through writing.

Writing can be that.

Writing to bring the delicate dream to the tips of words, to kiss them, to rest your cheek on them, to open your mouth and breathe body to body to resuscitate a self.

Make up stories until you find one you can live with.

Make up stories as if life depended on it. 

and a page or so later:

So yes, I know how angry, or naïve, or self destructive, or messed up, or even deluded I sound weaving my way through these life stories at times. But beautiful things. Graceful things. Hopeful things can sometimes appear in dark places. Besides, I’m trying to tell you the “truth” of a woman like me.  

…

Listen I can see you. If you are like me. You do not deserve most of what has happened or will. But there is something I can offer you. Whoever you are. Out there. As lonely as it gets, you are not alone.

I found the image on the illustrator’s Wordpress blog, but I think it is out of date. His new website seems to be here, and his new weblog here.

Met Bf for dinner to really talk about things, and he surprised me by being very reasonable about it. Given that all my attempts to leave abruptly  have come to naught, I’m going to try something different this time, and we’re jointly making plans to separate by July 1. (That’s how I ended my marriage, and it worked then, so there’s some precedence.) More on the plans later on in this post, and then even more once we finalize them, because if I share them you can hold me accountable.

I’m sharing these details about O. because they impact those plans

O. had another court date this afternoon. But because his last name is so far down the freaking alphabet, his case was held over until June 1. Just for fun, I’ve included the important part of the court papers here.

O.’s mom had to bring him to court, since he didn’t come home with us on Sunday night. She had apparently spoken to his probation officer on Monday trying to get him permission to move back to her house – something O. doesn’t actually want to do. The probation officer said no, and later told Bf that Mom is O.’s main enabler. (I really do like her. Sadly, we’re losing her as she is due to deliver twins – a girl and a boy – in a few months and will be going on leave sooner rather than later.)

In fact, in postponing the hearing the judge ordered that O. cannot visit Mom or even the county she lives in between now and June 1. (Technically, I think she may have said that he can’t go outside of our county, which would mean he couldn’t go visit his girlfriend, but Bf says he’s sure that she only meant he couldn’t go to Mom’s. Not my problem.)

While Mom was here, she decided to go ahead and pay off his community service fees. She seems to expect full restitution from him in the form of lawn maintenance this summer, but I think that may be presuming a lot, namely that the judge allows him to go to her residence after the next court date. But at least she is thinking along the lines of making him pay her back in some way.

Turns out O. put a rather sizable dent in Bf‘s car the other night with his fist, and I am encouraging him to seek the same kind of restitution. (Bf took pictures and showed the probation officer, who said that if he wanted to make something of it, they could. I don’t think he’s going to do anything about it right now, in case it’s needed later – kind of like when they try the serial killer for all but one of the murders so they can retry him if necessary, I guess.)

Is this positive news?

I think Bf and the juvenile CJ system might finally be on the right track with O. On Wednesday of last week, he had an appointment with a group that will do a complete psychological workup. (I wish I knew their name. It would make writing this section a whole lot easier.) Last week they did family history and all the health insurance junk. The next appointment will be the psych evaluation and beginning to find the reason for his drug abuse, attitude problems and so on.

I don’t know why it’s taken so long to get this, when Bf was assured by the school system when all this mess started that they would do it right away. Budget cuts, probably. But at least this group is paying attention now. Apparently if O. complies fully with their program and the judge’s orders, after four months his record will be wiped clean. It’s a great deal, and he knows it and wants to take advantage of it, but that doesn’t mean he will prove capable of doing so. (Although he’s got a decent shot. If the organization is doing what they say they will do, they should be able to figure out what’s going on and help him stick to it.)

On a related note, his twin, U., has been diagnosed with ODD, or Oppositional Defiant Disorder. It sounds like a clinical term for being a teenager, but taken to another level and first showing up in younger kids. Either of the boys could be the poster child. In my layman’s guesstimate, O. is probably diagnosable with the more extreme Conduct Disorder, although I wouldn’t be surprised to be told he’s bipolar/multiphasic or something else fairly serious.

But back to me!

So yeah, I wound up coming home. I talked to my mother again and she sounded a bit more welcoming – there were supposed to be bad thunderstorms in the area and I think she might have been worried about my driving in them when I was obviously already pretty upset. But so far – and it’s after 11 p.m. – no storms. Not even any rain.

I haven’t really talked about my mother much, but I suppose I will if I move home. I love her, very much, but she has some psychological issues she ought to deal with that have a pretty big impact on me and loom large in my decision making right now.

If she lived in a city there might be some hope of getting her to go to a good psychiatrist and therapist, but it would take her over a hour to drive to one, which she has tried several times over the past 30 years, and I don’t hold out much hope that it’s going to happen again. I wish I could fix things for her, but I just can’t.

Quick example – she no longer says “I love you” to anyone except her grandchildren, and I’m not positive about them. You know, I end a phone convo with her, “I love you. Bye.” She just says “Bye” and click. That started maybe 10 years ago? I’m sure I was supposed to ask why, but I wasn’t go to rise to that kind of (I guess) passive aggressive move. In addition, she lives in a very, very rural setting – the road has been paved since I left home, thank God, and with Dish TV a good selection of TV channels is finally available, but it’s still very isolated. And she’s still reeling from her father’s death last fall. Altogether, not a good situation for her.

Making a plan

Anyway, I met Bf at a restaurant for dinner and so we could talk and hopefully remain more calm. He showed up with a little notebook in hand, and we were actually able to do what we set out to. I told him that I need to make a plan to leave, instead of just jumping up and running off, because I simply can’t do it in one big leap like that. (Good Lord, there is an absolutely giant big fat fly buzzing around me. Disgusting.) It will also make things easier on him, because he can make plans and consider alternatives for his future living arrangements.

Right now, the plan is to be out of this house by July 1. I would have liked, perhaps, to do it earlier, but we need to give 30 days notice to the landlord, and it will be a lot easier for Bf to make decisions after the June 1 hearing, so I’m willing to give him the time. If I can get out earlier and still help him with the rent for June, I will do so; that way I feel like it’s fair to him because he at least knows what to expect. After all that’s happened, I probably shouldn’t worry about what’s fair to him, but I need to be able to say I didn’t screw him over, when all is said and done.

I’ve also agreed to provide transportation for O. to the pysch place until July 1, when I am available and in town, because I want to support this move as much as possible. I told Bf that it’s going to be like a bus stop – the car leaves at such and such a time, and if you’re not in it, the driver is not responsible. (I suggested that Bf or his best friend might be able to get the kid moving better than I can, either because they are both more forceful individuals or because they were both once teenage boys.)

So that’s the main goal, but we’re going to work on small ones before then. First, I’m going to do something about O.’s phone. I want the boy to see that there are consequences to his actions, and by attacking me he gets something I am providing for him taken away. Bf could even take the phone, tell O. it’s been cut off, and hold onto it until July 1 if he plans to pay for it himself. (I also want O. to see that there are more serious consequences too, and without making him think it’s his fault I do want him to know that his obnoxious behavior is part of the reason I am leaving. But I’m not sure how to accomplish that just yet.)

I need to sit down and construct a list of things that need to happen for me to feel “right” about leaving – to satisfy myself that I’ve encouraged Bf to do what needs to be done or at least haven’t made it any worse, and, my personal hang-up, that I don’t leave him in a suicidal mood. (My dad. ‘Nuff said?) Any suggestions for what else should be on it would be welcomed, BTW

Most importantly, I want Bf to come clean with his dad about the entire situation. He says they already know about the probation, but I’m not sure about that. I want him to explain the whole bloody mess, from the slutty girlfriend and her pimp of a mother to the possession charges to the psychological implications, because I think his father will be able to give him support and solid advice. His dad is a man of action, which might encourage Bf to take more action too.

And I think he deserves to know. I was all for doing it tomorrow, but Bf finally goes back to work tomorrow night, and he said it would be better to wait until the psych eval has taken place and we have heard some results from it, so that there are fewer unknowns. Personally, I’ve found that the unknowns just keep coming in this situation, but maybe it will be different. So we’ll wait a few weeks, but I won’t forget.

Bf would like there to be a possibility that we could still date, even if we don’t live together. For that to happen, there are a few more requirements, for me and for him.

Number one for me will be that I keep my money separate from his money, and don’t pay for stuff for him or the kids. All a part of the bigger issue of responsibility. Man up, bro, and find a way to either pay for it or go without it.

There will also be things I need to see happen between him and O. and the other kids, and I’m going to need to start seeing a whole lot more honesty between him and his family. (Because if he is untruthful with them, I figure he’s untruthful with me in about the same proportion.)

Maybe I should have taken this class. Maybe then I coulda aced this little life experience.

We’ll need to see a relationship counselor as well. There are too many expectations between us that aren’t being met, and too many things that need the opinion of a third, uninterested party. (I dread the thought of find a counselor. I went through two or three when my marriage ended, and in the end didn’t like any of them or find them at all helpful. I could have done exactly what they did, just on the basis of the sociology classes I took in college, Marriage & Family in particular. In fact, now that I think about it, at the time I actually hauled out my old textbook to show my ex how they were just ticking off questions on a well-established list.)

In other words, if we still see each other after July 1, I want it to be on my terms, and right now I’m trying to flesh out what those terms will be. I sincerely doubt it’s possible. There’s probably too much baggage already, but I need to be able to say I tried. And as long as he’s in my life, those horrible former in-laws are in my life, and frankly I don’t want them to ever even speak my name again. Ugh. I’m ashamed such people still exist in my state, much less in my life. While they have no shame whatsoever.

Ah-ha, major storm finally coming. No time for a nice conclusion tonight. Bye!

]]> http://suddenlyfamily.wordpress.com/2011/05/11/a-new-plan/feed/ 7 suddenfamily Making Plans to Leave the Doldrums Book cover http://suddenlyfamily.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/afternoon-update/ http://suddenlyfamily.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/afternoon-update/#comments Mon, 09 May 2011 20:32:37 +0000 suddenfamily http://suddenlyfamily.wordpress.com/?p=360 ]]> Still (physically) shaking from last night’s encounter. Trying to get some rest so I can think about this more clearly. Right now the only alternative I can see is trying to go to my grandfather’s house again, but I’m sill getting hung up on not being able to have a pet. I need some kind of company!

I just don’t know if I can do it, or if moving there will make whatever semi-breakdown thing I’ve got going on even worse.

Going to take some Advil and some Mucinex, try to catch a nap, hopefully wake up a little more steady and thinking more clearly.

Sis kept yelling about me not getting that her dad and the kids are a package deal. She doesn’t understand that what I’m struggling with is rejecting the entire package, and that her father tells me I don’t have to do that, but I don’t know if I believe him. (I think he probably means it, but I don’t know if he can stick to it for longer than a few weeks.) And if I do leave, it will be a shock to them all when they realize how much I contribute financially – you know, when there’s no cell phone service for them or their dad, no cable tv, no internet, and Bf and anyone living with him move to his parents instead of a nice big house. That’ll be a life changing event for sure.

Is the saddest part that this officially means I’m giving up on the kids? Or on Bf? Or on myself and my ability to improve the situation? I don’t know, but it’s a struggle.

At least two of his kids, and a cousin, would cheerfully slit my throat right now. Suffice it to say that after all the times I bit my tongue and let them get by with maligning me and acting like idiots, I was too tired to do so tonight. I am not being over dramatic. In fact, I am considering restraining orders against the eldest, at least.

Click below to read more about the greatest Mother’s Day ev-ah!

So this post isn’t going to be the post I’ve been writing in my head for several weeks. Well, it might be that post in part because some of what I’ve been thinking is relevant, but still …

This picture brings tears to my eyes, but it helps make my point

What’s astonishing is that the whole thing is about a puppy. Who in this family would like a puppy the most? Who in this family probably deserves a freakin’ puppy? A little white, fluffy one, in fact. Hint: Not the damn 15-year-old, not the cute little black thing that could be God only knows what breed, how old or how diseased, since nobody at that house is going to pay to take it to the vet to find out. Praise to Bf for realizing that we cannot get a new puppy because we already cannot afford to pay vet bills for the dog we have, and puppies are much more expensive.

(Getting the current dog up-to-date at the vet was the one thing I asked for at Christmas. I finally paid for all his medical work myself last week – $190, the last of my income tax refund – before we went on this road trip, since he would be exposed to God knows what at rest stops along the highway. Merry Christmas to me! And I still need to get him some medicine; I just couldn’t afford it all at once.)

We had already told the boy this on Thursday, but he brought the puppy out to the car to beg, and when Bf saw it, he jokingly (?) told the boy to show me the puppy, that I was the one he needed to talk to about that. While he was talking, I was already saying – to Bf, not the kid! – that we just couldn’t afford it. (Not in a “bitchy” tone either; I’m genuinely sad that we can’t keep the puppy. If anything, it was a whiny tone.)

The teenager’s response was, among other things, to stalk off yelling about how I was being a bitch, adding “Well if you can’t afford a puppy I guess you can’t afford me.”

I suppose we could afford a puppy if we fed it table scraps and never took it to the vet, but we aren’t going to do it that way. (Oh wait, I should explain that all this happened when we went by the kid’s mom to pick him up – about 2 hours out of the way – after he decided he didn’t want to go to The Shore with us.)

Anyway, I lost it and started yelling to Bf that I was done, I would no longer share my home with that boy, etc.

(It also shows how stupid he is. He ought to know by now that I love puppies, that I would do just about anything to rescue a puppy from a bad situation – which this little stray is certainly in – and that probably all he needed to do was hand me the dog and give me a minute to bond. At the very least, it probably would have had me in tears about having to leave her, and I sort of suspect we would have brought her home until I could find a safe place for her to go.)

Big Sis decided to get involved, basically saying I should “allow” the kid to take the dog. Now mind you, Bf and I have already talked through this and we completely agree about it. He deflected the boy’s question to me because he knew I would want to see the puppy.

Sis is making it into a “girlfriend versus the kids” thing, saying “we’re a package deal.” The thing I tried to tell her and that I think her father understood is that when I said yes to the package and let Bf move in with me, it was Bf and a puppy. Then her mother kicked her out, and that was okay. I took her into my home. At the time, she was a lost 15-year-old, not a pothead drop-out. Same in a few weeks with her brothers, who at that time were 12-year-olds, not juvenile delinquents who embarrass the hell out of me anytime we’re together in public.

In other words, I’ve always treated them as a package deal – and haven’t gotten a single word of thanks from them for taking them in, just a whole lot of attitude. I don’t have to do that anymore – I never had to, of course – and so I’m not going to. (Spend any money at all on them or share my home with them, I mean. Which means the “kids phone” probably gets cut off tomorrow, unless Bf wants to take it over.) Silly me, I actually thought I could help them.

I’m not certain I heard the girl threaten me, but I’m pretty sure she did even if I didn’t hear it, and yes, I am afraid she’ll do it. (I’m fairly sure she’ll make additional threats too. I’m hoping they are in the form of text messages so I have clear evidence for the police.) Complete disclosure: I added that her brother ought to go to jail and stay there for as long as it took for him to realize some things are serious and acting like a child about them doesn’t help, adding that I could say that because he isn’t my child, so I can see the situation a little more clearly.

Although if she does “come after me,” she’ll find that I’m the kind who fights back with a lawyer, not in kind. (I think her dad might already “have” something incriminating against her, because he said something about how her girlfriend was in jail – news to me, but not surprising – and she was going to find herself there soon too. Girlfriend likes to steal, and Bf has had calls from his friends on the force in Little Town on the Highway that Sis has been named by several witnesses as also being involved. But that might not be what he meant at all.)

I knew once I heard that the whole clan was at the house – there’s a passel of cousins, typical for outright rednecks – that trouble was coming. And yeah, one of the cousins was trying to be all up in my face too, telling Bf I “have a mental problem” – although exactly what she thinks it is I am actually curious to know. I freaking knew better than to get out of the car at that trailer/house. But I wanted to move to the back seat, beside the dog, where I could stretch out and maybe even put my head down since Bf woke me up with his snoring at 5:30 this morning. Two steps I needed to make. Just two steps.

Since the kid who lives here was so quick to point out that we couldn’t afford him, his father told him to stay at his mom’s. He has a court date on Tuesday afternoon, but Bf also told him that his mom could take him to that. (Can you tell that I don’t really expect Bf’s decision about this to stick?) Since Mom wasn’t at her own house when all this happened, I have no idea what her reaction is going to be. As of now, no decisions have really been made.

I wish – I sincerely wish – I had been able to keep my mouth shut and let it roll off me one more damn time, just to avoid all the drama when I’m already exhausted. (I would so much prefer to pick and choose the timing of the drama than just have it sprung upon me.) All the umpteen million times I’ve done that, why couldn’t I do it one more time? Bf says it’s because I’m so tired from the ride, and because puppies are a really sensitive subject for me anyway.

I had so hoped I could help, but instead I’ve destroyed myself. I have nothing left – nothing – of my former self and my old life. I was health conscious, active, had an excellent work ethic, soft-spoken, well-mannered – now I am none of those things. I’m unemployed, constantly on the very edge of a complete and total breakdown, and I don’t even know how much fucking money I’ve spent on these three kids over the years.

How much have I contributed to putting a roof over their heads and food in their bellies? I’m done, and I mean it. I don’t want to make Bf choose between me and them, but I will not share a home with any of the three again. (He keeps trying to tell Sis that he’s “the neutral mediator,” but the fact is that at least in her eyes, he’s the prize to be won, so he can’t possibly mediate anything.)

Which in effect means that Sis is right and I am asking him to choose – but I want him to understand that I am on the horns of a big dilemma too. If the four of them are a package deal, I have to reject the package. Even if Bf says that they aren’t a package deal, I have to be practical and consider rejecting the “package” anyway, because I don’t think they will ever be completely out of his life.

And I want him to understand that this is not solely my decision. If he feels like he must maintain his relationship with the kids, even if it does mean sending me away in the process, I will understand and I will not fight him about it. I will not make any attempt to change his mind, I will only ask for his help to pack up and leave.

Although I still don’t have anywhere to leave to. I feel like I have two things in my life – Bf and the dog. Obviously if I leave I can’t take Bf. And the dog is his dog, plus still the only place I can actually think of to live is still my grandfather’s house where my mother won’t let me have a pet.

(Isn’t it odd that I talk about “having” Bf now? Well, I do have him. I just have to share him with God knows who else. I suspect that what I “have” is actually a pretty reliable friend, just take out the romantic component. Despite it all, he’s very reliable when I’m in genuine trouble – like a dead car battery or something – and there’s really no one else I can count on for that who wouldn’t expect certain favors in return. Well, I mean, my mother would help me pay for something, but unlike Bf she can’t appear and change a flat tire for me.)

I can’t afford to let this get me down. I’m barely beginning to claw my way back up from whatever dark pit I’ve been in. (I said I was a heartbeat away from a breakdown. In actuality, I’m not certain that I didn’t cross that boundary somewhere back in November or December.) If I get knocked back again, I don’t know if I have the tenacity to start the climb again. Although I’m actually not sure what the alternative is. I’m certainly not directly suicidal, but if I spend a couple years not getting out of bed except to purchase and eat junk food and hiding my real emotions even from myself, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t last long. Couldn’t last long since I have no disability insurance since I’m not working, etc., etc., etc.

I keep thinking about that commercial that featured the therapist from The Sopranos, where she said “I spent a year of my life not moving forward.” Well lady, I’m struggling not to skyrocket backwards. (I’m not sure if I’m linking to the right commercial. I haven’t plugged my headphones back into the computer so I can’t hear it, and it’s hard to tell by just watching her mouth move what she says.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mFsPsVaEL0

In fact, I want to be able to turn the clock back four or five years. I want it so badly that I almost can’t believe it isn’t possible. I need to try again, but so many irreparable things have happened – the, um, social disease, my aging to the very verge of beyond childbearing years, the lasting emotional trauma from this shit, the financial fallout of it all – that I’m not sure I can try again without some of that getting erased, somehow.

There’s a lot more I want to write about, because I’m trying to write my way through to understanding what has happened to me, and when it really started and how I can fix it. And I’ll let you know any details “as they become available.” Bf went to deliver our rent check – due four days ago, has to be written by him after I give him my half of the money, which I did a week ago – almost two hours ago and isn’t back home yet. It should only have taken an hour, tops. Don’t know where he is, hope he’s talking to somebody in that Godforsaken corner of the state and/or making some tough decisions of his own.

Oh yeah, Happy Fucking Mother’s Day.

If you looked at the timeline I linked to early in the day, you might want to look again. It’s grown. I wish TimeToast allowed me to make entries by time of day as well, because I fear the timeline’s going to be really confusing when you get to today, because I can’t get the events into the order I want them.

So, now it’s amateur psychology hour!

I decided to try the one thing I’m not sure anyone has tried yet – addressing O as an adult. I tried to get him out of bed three times to go to rehab. But I don’t want a repeat of this performance this morning, so I’m treading carefully even with those three tries. (The second time, I actually opened the door. He ducked under the bed covers like if I couldn’t see his head I would think he wasn’t there. It was actually a bit endearing, or would have been on someone else.)

So I go into the doorway of his room, sort of prop up and say something like, “I’m not like your dad. I’m not going to yell at you or lecture you. I’m going to try to talk to you like and adult, and just level with you. I want to leave out all the crap people usually say to kids and just explain a few things about how the world works. But I’m going to talk, and you have to listen, because I’m standing right here.

“Yeah, you’re probably right that you’re wasting your time in school and at rehab. I mean, I was an excellent student in high school, but I was probably wasting my time. I don’t know that I’ve ever really used anything I learned there. And I’m sure rehab is the same way. And it sucks. But you have to do it.

“You have to play their game. You have to sit in school so many hours for so many years, and there may not be much point to it, but you have to. Then you probably have to go to college in the same way, and then if you’re lucky you can find someone willing to pay you to come waste your time at their place. Every minute I worked at the library, I felt like I was wasting my time. But I had to do it to put food in our mouths.

“The thing is, it doesn’t matter. It’s a game, and you have to play it, and they make the rules. You have to play it so you can put food in your mouth and not wind up on the street. And you have to play the game until you retire, I guess, and I suspect longer than that.

“You’ve put your dad in a really hard spot now, where if you don’t do this they will arrest him. And then what do you think’s going to happen to you? It won’t be good. It’ll be a group home at best, probably that juvenile prison again.

“You’re old enough to start making decisions like an adult, and this is the stuff we have to think about. I’m sorry the world sucks like this, but it does, and you’ve got to start thinking about that when you think about what you’re going to do.”

By the end of my little speech he looked so bleak, now I’m worried that maybe I’ve made him suicidal. Except I don’t actually think he has the energy for that, even.

Seriously, by the time I finished, I’m feeling pretty sure he’s having some kind of emotional or mental crisis. Bf talked to his rehab counselor about that, and he was supposed to try to get him referred to the right people to at least do some tests, but we backed off last week and I don’t know if it ever happened.

I’m an armchair psychologist like a lot of people, although I like to think that my BA in sociology wasn’t completely wasted, and I could have gone on to get my MSW except that I was more interested in the pure science of it at the time. (In other words, I wanted to figure out who “they” were in my little speech today, where “they” went wrong in their thinking, and what “we,” the bored and restless and poor, could do about it. I’m not a socialist, but I do think that a lot of Marx’s observations were dead on.)

There’s something deeply wrong here. I know that’s obvious, but it’s a different kind of wrong than I thought. This is not just a kid who has lived his whole life without any discipline, any order, any respect, any encouragement to make good decisions. There’s something wrong. There’s teenage hormones and angst, but this is more than that. I don’t know if it’s major depression or something more complex.

But I’m at a loss as to how to address this. If the rehab center didn’t pick up on it, I’m stuck. I guess they would have the resources to hook us up with an organization or agency or even a flipping doctor who could help, since they know the insurance situation. If the budget hadn’t already been ripped to shreds, Area Mental Health might be useful, but I know they have their hands full dealing with the absolute raving cases that come in via ambulance and police cruiser.

Or maybe he just needs … I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that he’s become very good about not thinking about the negative consequences of things until they hit him in the face. I see that in his dad, for sure. I see it in myself more and more the longer I stay here, although with me there’s more than a touch of magical thinking, some belief that it will all just turn out okay somehow, when it clearly won’t. (Oh, Wikipedia doesn’t agree with how I want to define “magical thinking.” It’s such a good term for what I mean, which is that idea that it’s okay to charge a $1,000 suit to my debit card because well, I’ll figure something out and by some miracle it will all be right in the end. Maybe I’m looking for the term “miraculous thinking”?)

That’s how I want to describe the problem I thought O was having. I thought it was pure magical thinking, some idea that if he just ignored it somehow someone would make it all go away. (Problems like this do go away for rap stars and other celebrities every day. Go ask Lindsay Lohan, if she’s coherent enough to give you any answer at all.) I thought if I could just make him see that there is no courtly rapper in shining Air Jordans who is going to swoop down and make it all better, we’d at least have made a step in the right direction.

But I don’t think so anymore. I think he’s caught in some nightmarish thinking that his brain won’t let him break out of. I daresay the marijuana isn’t helping – it’s probably not wise to mess with brain chemistry without the input of a doctor if your brain chemistry is already screwed up. (Wonder if part of his problem could be the result of all the pot his mother has allegedly smoked, presumably before his birth as well?) I suppose I could slip some Effexor into his juice in the morning … but I need it too badly myself. Missed a dose the other day and had horrible nightmares about zombies who, precisely unlike vampires, were “allergic” to the dark.

Oh, there’s still so much to tell from the big argument with Bf today. How he wants me to believe he was always faithful, that the nasty text messages were friends of his trying to play tricks on him, and so on. He’s really focusing on that as the problem, when it’s a bigger deal to me when he doesn’t tell me things he already knows, like if an extra kid is going to be around this weekend.

The real issue is that I am not accustomed to this kind of low-class lifestyle and am not willing to become accustomed to it, even if the middle class is being eliminated in this country. My grandparents worked hard for our family to become homeowners and college graduates, and although I understand that the economy is working against me, I’ll be damned if I’ll start to act uneducated and ignorant, and I’ll be damned if I’ll keep hanging out with people who do.

And pick up your damn trash out of the yard! Grr.

(I had fun in this post with the “recommended links” from WordPress, mostly to Wikipedia and Web MD. I apologize if they annoy you. They’d like for me to link to one about Lindsay Lohan now, but I shall refrain.)