I Love You, But I Don’t Like You Very Much Right Now

Reblogged from Nov. 14:

Here I am, writing about the same kid again this week. I’m exhausted. He is truly kinda being a giant butt face. I’ve touched on him in other blogs, like THE THERAPIST  and I’M NOT TIRED blog posts. He’s so back and forth, I cannot even describe my days with him, other than to say it is like a roller coaster that you can’t get off of. Like some weird thing out of those Final Fantasy movies, but my life. My crazy, up and down, fast, slow, upside down, sideways, scary ass, enthralling life. Ya’ll this is no thrill ride. It just isn’t.

Though we have been getting him treatment for about 7 years now, we have never been given a true diagnosis. He has just finished testing with a new facility and we are waiting for a finished report/diagnosis, etc. Over the years I have heard things that vary, from adhd, add, Aspergers, Autistic Spectrum, bipolar disorder, sensory processing disorder, etc. And it looks different everyday. And  when you don’t know, it is kinda hard to treat it. We fired our whole treatment team last spring, including our kids school, and started from scratch, which led to being told we needed a diagnosis. Now, we wait, though I am so very sure in my mama’s heart that bipolar will be the big winner. I know that disease, I know it is in my family line, and I know it always has to grab onto someone in the gene pool. It is what bipolar does. Bipolar is one crazy, insistent little bitch. I’ll give it to her, she is persistent and ain’t going anywhere. And that’s okay, because I can stand my ground and fight her, along with my kid, I’m one tough cookie. Bring it.

So, back to this week. We are cycling through crazy again, and I get to call it crazy, because I live it. It just is that- crazy. Stupid crazy. Crazy town. Crazy funny. Crazy scary. Crazy is as crazy does. Crazy as a fox. Crazy, crazy, crazy. And, you guys, it frightens me to see something have that tight of a hold on my kid. It just scares me. Because I can look in my child’s eyes and know that he’s in there and that he can’t help himself. He’s lost and drowning and when that happens, I have to just wait it out. I have to hear him say terrible things, things he doesn’t mean, and know that he won’t even remember it. He won’t. I know this, and he feels so bad later. And he knows it was wrong, and I just have to hug him and tell him I love him no matter what. I really, really do. But I don’t like it. I don’t like the “it” part. It is part of him, and it is who he is, and who he always will be. And I am being honest here, when he is like that, I don’t like it one little bit. I love him, but I don’t like it.

Will that make me unpopular in mama blog circles? Yep, probably. Guess what? I don’t care. I can’t sit here and listen to anyone tell me how to feel, if I did, or if I cared what you all thought about OUR lives, his and mine included, I would never write any of these things on any of my blogs. But this is my therapy and I have found that other people need to hear this stuff, because they think they are alone. Well, you aren’t.

I say a lot of things that make people really uncomfortable, but I say them only because I know someone needs to hear them. I can’t apologize for that. Life is real, struggle is too, and sometimes someone somewhere needs to hear that they are not the only ones who are having a tough day/week/month/life. Mental health issues are real, friends, and NOTHING to be ashamed of. If you struggle, or someone you love does, please know I can listen to you all day tell me how much you hurt. And I am a REAL good hugger. I can help you hug that shitty day away. Come show up on my doorstep and I will prove it. I hurt too, I cry too, and I fight for myself and my family. If you need to talk, call me or someone, find my blog, find any blog, and read. Know that you are not alone. Most just aren’t talking about it, because they think they need to be quiet and struggle quietly. Not me. I’m loud, even in words, and I want you to hear me: YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

One year later, I finally found my voice for this. I am mama bear, hear me roar. I love you all, no matter what. I may not like you at the moment, but the love will help it, help it heal, help soothe it.

I was told many times as a kid that I had a really big mouth “for a girl,” and that “no one wanted to hear a woman with a big mouth,” and that someday “your big mouth is going to get you in a lot of trouble.” Well, folks, I never went back to that Sunday school ever again, because a man in my Sunday school class told me that. And he was wrong. I have only ever received good, positive things from people who have read these kinds of words from me. Yes, I have a BIG mouth, but I am pretty smart about how I say it. I don’t harm any one with my words, but I do let others know that I know how much mental health can hurt us all. I have been searching for a year for my voice, ever since my other kid went into the hospital a year ago. I wasn’t as smart about it then, but I still said what was in my heart.

You know what’s in my heart? My heart says I cannot be quiet anymore. My heart says I can help someone. My heart says I can hep myself. My heart says I might feel better if I know someone is listening. Are you? Is anybody? It’s okay if you don’t even say anything. Getting the words out of my head are mostly enough for me daily, whether it is here, or on my food blog. I matter and so do my words. So do you.

I think we all have things to say, but maybe we can’t find them. Well, my friends, I found them online through others words. Can I help you find yours? Can I say something that will unlock your heart and let you cry it out? Can I tell you that I feel like it is hopeless sometimes, or that I will never get over something that happened in my house? Can I tell you that my mama bear heart can sometimes cry so much that I can’t even cry anymore? I scream sometimes, too. Just drive in my car, with the music up and scream, where no one can hear me. Do you? I just want to hear this: life is a bitch. What you see online isn’t true. Your friends lives may not be the same as yours, but they have some shitty things in their house, too. Kinda makes me feel better knowing that.

Remember the first time you had to get up in front of a crowd and speak, or present a project in class, and you were told to imagine everyone in their underwear. Well, I try to look at others and know that their Facebook posts and tweets just hide the fact that a kid in their house is failing a class, or has special needs, their marriage is struggling, or they are overweight because they eat their feelings, even though they only talk about special awards, soccer team awards, or that their kid made yet again another All Stars team. And here I am, just telling it like it is. I see you, and you don’t have to say it for me to know it is true. You have a secret, you just don’t know whom to tell, whom to trust, or how to say it.

Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah, this moment from last night.

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Super crappy pic, but that’s a pic of my 12 year old in the street with a police officer who is chewing him out. Sorry the pic is bad, but I just didn’t think I should ask a police officer to pose or stand in better light, but I did, however, think I should take a pic to “remember the moment” though I doubt I ever forget it.

Someone called 911 because my kid was screaming, ran outside, slammed the door, picked up my 5lb pumpkin, and threw it against my front door, then told the neighborhood that we were trying to kill him.

#$%^&*()_+!@#$%^&*()!!!!

That, my friends, is my life. That’s autism, Aspergers, adhd, a sensory processing disorder, and bipolar, and any other diagnosis I have been given for him since he was 5 years old, all rolled into a cute 12 year old package, getting reamed by a police officer in my front yard at 10pm, because he thinks he’s a 80lb thug who can disturb the peace, lie, scream, steal, hurt people, cuss, and disrespect his parents and get away with it.

This is honesty. This is real shit and it’s not a joke. My life, our lives, are a roller coaster. You wanna keep sweeping mental health issues under the rug? Don’t follow me. It’s about to get REAL again.

I hope you’ll stick around though. If I make you uncomfortable, then I bet you need to hear this. If you are sitting there saying, “I get it,” please stay. I need to hear your story. I kinda want you to hear mine, too. You guys, I am not going to shut up now. I am just getting my feet under me. I know this is what I am supposed to do. I have to say it all. I have to lay our story out there. I need to say these things. I hope you care. I hope my hurt helps you. Just know, I am trying to tell you my heart and I hope my heart is never wrong, because even if I don’t like you, or what you say, I love you.

I will be here, saying those things. Thanks for listening.

I love. I am love. I am loved. I love fiercely. I love firmly. I love you. And I will love you even if you don’t love what I have to say.

But I don’t have to like it.

 

Similar posts: https://yesireallydidjustsaythat.wordpress.com/2014/10/13/dont-cry-over-spilled-milk

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