Friday, an incredibly brave mother wrote a blog. A blog that has gone viral. A blog that has touched so many people, the emotions are overwhelming.
The Anarchist Soccer Mom http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/12/16/i-am-adam-lanzas-mother-mental-illness-conversation_n_2311009.html
This has struck quite a cord in me. As I opened up the link a friend had posted, I started to read. I began to sob. Just sob. It was as if I was reading my own words. It was so close to my own story.
My twins were born 2 months premature. They day they were born, my wasband was told not to expect twin A to be alive and there were complications with twin B. Both twins survived birth, a scant 2 lbs 15 oz and 4 lbs 1 oz, respectfully. They were tiny, but alive. Struggling, but hanging on. It turned out twin B had a grade three brain hemorrhage, in-utero. She was shunted at 5 weeks old (still 3 weeks before she was due) I was told, best case scenario, severe learning disabilities but they expected cerebral palsy and behavioral issues. These were the long term consequences of a bleed such as hers. I knew our lives would never be simple or easy, and I was hell bent on proving these doctors wrong.
Most the early childhood years were pretty normal, for us at least. Lots of doctors appointments. CAT scans every 6 months. Physical therapy, occupational and speech therapy. They were doing so well, they we progressing past the 'delayed' models and were actual excelling in comparison to 'normal' children. By the time we reached toddler age, the tantrums began, the aggression towards each other became a regular struggle. I was young, these were my first children, and you get no manual for children. You do what you think is best, what your doctors tell you and what you read in Parenting Magazine. You don't question the teeth marks that cover one child, after a brawl over a shaky toy. You follow the pediatricians suggestion and lock yourself in the bathroom with a child when the other is uncontrollably tantrumming and kicking and scratching and biting you and will not stop.
When you have kids like mine, you put that behavior aside and focus on the miracle that is THEM. By the time they were two years old, they could both recite and identify by sight the alphabet and numbers. My daughter, who we were told was going to have learning disabilities, was doing everything they said she never would. Her neurosurgeon called her a miracle.
I'll never forget this one appointment, We were in for our 6 month appointment and my sweet girl had an Etch-a-Sketch, she was 3. She had drawn a dinosaur, a brontosaurus. I thought is was an amazing drawing, but, hey. I am the dotting mother of my miracle baby! I am bragging about how great she is doing, and how artistic she is and about this dinosaur. He looks at the drawing, looks at me and said, she drew this? Yes. Yes she did. He was amazed. From that moment on, I focused on her miracles. Her milestones, that she was never expected to reach. I look at her sister, and focus on her miracle, she was not suppose to be born alive. I turned my back on the excessive aggression that occurred with both of my children. The fights that grew from black and blue teeth marks all over each other, to the deep and scarring scratch marks up and down their arms and legs. I had found several other inflicted wounds on them, on the chest and back. Deep and painful wounds. Call me young, call me naive, but I thought is was a twin thing. They were raised in a loving home. Yes, their father and I were divorced, but they wanted for nothing. They were happy.
Then the night terrors started. My daughter would be screaming and crying or yelling from her bed. When you would rush to her bed, she looked right through you. Eyes vacant and black. I am holding her body, but she is not here. There is no waking a person from this state, at least not suggested. So, you try to calm them down. Sing a song, tickle their back and try to soothe them. Love away some of the fear that was in their body. You think nothing of it, because the following day, her teachers pulls you aside to tell you your daughter got a perfect score on a standardized test. She normally doesn't share test scores, except it was the first perfect score she has ever seen. You focus on your miracle.
Then there was the stabbing incident at my step-mother's house. She stabbed her sister in the shoulder with a pencil. Stabbed, not hit, but with intent to harm. My step-mom tried to tell me then. I said, it's because of the stress (they were staying with my step-parents while I dealt with medical issues of my own). She just is acting out. Then the shoving incident while at the other grandparent's house. Again, I said she is acting out, her grandmother told my sister-in-law- she thought otherwise.
Then puberty really started and we entered a whole new world. A world that is, quite frankly, a blur. It's almost like looking back at a tornado you just walked out of. As the girls entered 6th grade, they were bright, sweet and adored by their teachers. They were so beautifully different, one very artistic and intelligent, despite all of the odds against her, and the other, a fighter from day one, who owned a room the minute she walked into it. They were kind and liked by all of their friends parents (and they still are) and were welcome back anyplace they went. Then they would come home and it was a war zone. Everything was a battle. From cleaning their room to doing chores to the classic nightmare of homework. There wasn't a night that went by where there wasn't an argument over a simple task. The nightly arguments became a vicious cycle. I got caught up in it. I did not know how to effectively shut them down. If I told them to go to their room, a fight would ensue between them in their room. I have locked myself in my own room, while my daughter banged, and kicked and screamed at my door for thrity plus minutes. Then a letter slipped underneath with an apology for her behavior. There were times when the kids would get physically aggressive towards me, swinging and kicking. And then there were times when my daughter would get mad because she wasn't getting her way and would snap. She would huff and puff. Her eyes the size of saucers, dark as night and wild. She would snort and shake and clench her fists. sometimes you had to physically pin her down to keep her from taking a swing at her. And I assure you, she has uber-strength when she is these states. Not many people sknow about this aspect of my life. They don't know the depths to which our lives went. You don't really speak about these things. You don't often bring this up with co-workers. Or with friends at a bar-b-que.
"How was your you?" Oh, fine, spent all of last night in the ER with my daughter, after she destroyed the house and threatened to kill us, kill our pets, then her sister, then herself. Then we had to wrestle her to the floor and drag her, kicking and screaming like she was going to be slaughtered. Fighting to get her into the car, (because we lived in Oakland and an ambulance would take longer then we thought we had. Plus, my child was going to children's hospital, where they have her CT scans and she won't be sent to some state funded psych ward and put on lithium and left). In the car she went through a roller coaster of "I'm sorry, I love you so much", to "You fucking fat cunt" I fucking hate you" You're gonna pay for this" to "I need to die, I deserve to die, why won't you just let me die. An hour later, she claims she remembers none of it. But we were too afraid to have her come home so we had to make the heart wrenching decision to have her committed.
Friendships don't last long with those kind of answers. Not really. At least you don't get invited to the next bbq. Who wants Debbie Downer around, right? And I don't mean that to insult any of my great close friends. But you don't start a conversation with hey, does your daughter threaten to hurt you? And let's be honest, how is someone suppose to react to someone telling them about the night we had to commit our daughter? There is no real way, except sorry to hear that. So I kept it inside. It became our little secret.
There is a great level of strain with this happening inside your home. And don't think life slowed down or gave a damn that you were dealing with this. Our stress levels wet at palpable levels. Things were in rapid decline in our house and with our children. Even with mandated counseling for our daughter, nothing seemed to be changing. She is so bright and has the sweetest, most innocent side to her. A child that just needs to be held and told she is loved. A child who wants to be loved, but can't let you in to really love her. She can't feel the love you have for her, or she won't. I don't know. Because that is all I ever did was loved her. Her and her sister.
When you live in a state of chaos, you become part of the chaos. I, we, had become part of the problem. They would argue, we would argue back. They yell, you yell back. It was the edge of the tornado and we were all falling in. My wife was forced out of her job and I went back to work full time and she was responsible for most of the "mom' duties. This went over like lamb chops at a vegan wedding. The wife was out of tolerance for bullshit behavior and the girls were just hitting their stride with teen age attitude and aggression. We reached a heated point where they left the house and refused to come home. We moved them to their father's a month later. We thought it was us, it was our move, it was the school we put them in. I blamed my wife, she blamed the school, we blamed ourselves, we cried and prayed this was the right move. We hoped this was the right decision and they would get back on track. At least, it removed them from the situation they were in here.
After two years, one daughter moved home. The following summer, my other daughter, my miracle baby, moved back too. We knew their were issues. When our first daughter came home, she went into therapy. She battles depression, just like me. When our second daughter moved home, we had a great summer, then school started. And soon she starting telling me she was not feeling well, her shunt was bothering her, stomach cramps, etc. She did not want to go to school. She didn't want to do homework. She didn't want to do chores. She had to obey none of these rules with her father. She pretty much did her own thing, at least according to her sister. Granted, I understand, its hard to come from a place of no rules to a house of rules, but they were basic rules. And the cycle had started again.
Things quickly shifted to chaos again. My business was insanely busy, I had to take her to multiple doctors appointments. Conflict started up again. We tried antidepressants, we started counseling, we switched schools when she was struggling....it didn't help. Soon, the threats started again. The threats to kill us in our sleep. the ominous dream of waking up and the dogs were slaughtered. The stories of paranoia and feeling like people were out to get her. Fearing for her life. She began to tell different people different things, none the same. She began to regress, quickly. She would tell me, "I feel like there are people who are out to get me."Then she would turn around and tell her sister, "If I keeps this up, they'll get rid of me." I didn't know which way was up. I didn't know who to believe or what to do.
Then that fateful Thanksgiving, there was a perfect storm. Tension, pressure and strain were too much and there was an emotional explosion that changed our family forever. Many people would like to play the blame game as to that fated night. I will not. Everyone has their own responsibility for their role. I have moved past it. But my daughter has not.
I write this, because like the women who wrote the blog, I fear for my child. My baby. She moved out of my house, out of my life, and hasn't communicated with me more than in a text in two years. She has not responded to my text in 7 months. But that doesn't mean I don't worry. I don't believe that she would never snap to the level of this horrible creature who shoot those children and teachers. But who does? Who wants to believe that about their child? I know she has a dark place in her, that when she reaches it, she becomes someone else. Someone she doesn't even know. I know she has a capacity to do what she needs to get what she wants, and is void of the consequence. I know she battles depression and is going untreated and I know she has a penchant for lying. A skill that never fares well for someone. I worry about her, is she okay, is she safe, is she taking care of herself? I prod her sister for information occasionally. I know a little about what is going on in her life. But not enough, not enough to be sure she is alright. I can't protect her anymore. I want her to let me love her, let me in, but she won't. I don't know if this is because she is unwell or she just doesn't want me in her life. I don't know, but I keep loving her. I keep praying she is well. I keep praying one day, she will seek counseling on her own. One day, I hope she realizes she IS a miracle, and any other issues are treatable. I hope she recognizes that she is still my sweet miracle baby, with the best giggle the world can offer. I hope she knows, no matter how hard she pushes me away, I am still here, still loving, still loving...hoping she knows she's not alone. As I know know, neither am I.
My thoughts and prayers go out to the families in this tragedy. Your babies are in the arms of an angel.
Oh, and my other daughter, she is a beautiful soul I am so very proud of <3
Peace
