Forcing myself out of the box . . . Entry for January 30, 2007

Going to the therapist last Friday and spilling my soul was pretty easy for me. I knew it was the first step in my getting better and throwing off this encompassing depression, so I spilled my guts. Well most of my guts anyways, I tried to cover as much emotional territory in the meager hour that was allotted to me. That therapy session allowed me to get an appointment to see a psychiatrist so I could get back on meds again.

As I’ve sifted though all my inner turmoil, one thing has become clear to me: my kids are driving me fucking nuts! I’m serious, they are the main source of all the negative emotions in my life. If my twin teenage sons represented a relationship I was having with someone, I would have kicked ‘em to the curb loooong before now.

I feel real bad sometimes that I’m starting to countdown to when my last child turns 18 and I am finally free of the yoke of Motherhood. By that time I will have been a mother for nearly 30 years. Since I was s16 years old I’ve had someone to take care of constantly and I’m tired. It’s a thankless job that is really starting to take it toll on me.

I started writing this post last week, but never finished, because at the time I was working on another post and really it was more like getting my feelings out in the open (for myself) and examining them honestly. Since then (this past weekend) my home life has gone straight to hell because of my 16-year-old twin boys.

I’ve mentioned the problems I’ve had with my teens several times in my blogs, and I’ve also written about the good times. This time I’m writing about the worst of times. I’ve had to do something I had hoped never to have to do again, find placement for my kids cause I refuse to tolerate ANYONE putting their hands on me, and both of them crossed that brightly glowing neon line.

My family life has gone to shit with these kids, and my “problem child” has medical issues for being the way he is (Tourette’s and ADHD). But now his blatant defiance to want to do anything that’s his responsibility has rubbed off on his twin brother. And I’m not talking about trying to make them do something horrendous or untoward, all I want is for them to do their chores COMPLETELY without me having to stand their and make them get it done.

It started actually Thursday night when my son Vaughan didn’t finish the dishes (2nd day in a row) after I’d gotten on him twice about it. Instead he said he was “too tired” and was dozing on the couch, and I got pissed off and told him just to go to bed, I wasn’t up to another round of fighting.

During the night one of my cats had jumped up on the counter and knocked over a Corning ware plate, which literally shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces. Well Vaughan started arguing that the broken plate (my favoite plate!) wasn’t his fault, and my younger son Steven should have used a foam disposable plate instead (which he did at first, but sliced through it when he was cutting up his pork chop, so grabbed a regular plate).

I argued back that he should have washed ALL the dishes in the first place, and it wouldn’t have happened. Of course he disagreed with me and I told him if he argued again, I’d give him the dishes for another week as punishment. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut and I told him that’s it, you got dishes again.

At that point he defied me and said he didn’t and I said “Yes you fucking do, you want em for the whole month? Just keep flapping them lips!” Well if looks could kill, I probably would have been dead and he answered me back with something like “The hell I am!” and went out the back door.

I had already taken away my twin’s shoes, jackets and glasses since they were being such assholes. So here I am, barefoot running out the back door after my son, and told him to get his ass back in the fucking house. Defiant still, he told me he wouldn’t until I calmed down. Unknown to him I had taken a Xanax so I was about as calm as I was going to get under the circumstances.

I told him I’d calm down (I wasn’t acting ballistic or enraged) once he got back in the house, and he still refused. So I gave him the old “I’m gonna count . . .” routine, and got as far as 2 when he mocked me with “3,4, 5” and that’s when I really got pissed. I went over to him and grabbed him by the nape of his neck (hair included) and told him he was coming back in the house.

I wasn’t trying to hit, hurt or abuse him, I just wanted him to comply with my wishes, but that’s when he decided to grab my upper arm and dig his fingers in hard. I still had him by the head and hair and laughed at him and said “So that’s the way you want to play? Dig harder then, I’ll have you on charges of assault!” and he did dig in harder.

I let go and told him to get his motherfucking ass in the house or he was going to make me do something I’d regret. I guess it finally hit him that I was NOT playing around and he went inside. I was holding myself together by the grace of god alone, and told him I was going down the street and the dishes better be done when I got back.

I jumped in my car and lost it comepletly. How could my “good twin” do this to me? Hysterical, I went to my friends house and attempted to get hold of my ex husband, because I refuse to have anyone lay their hands on me, whether it’s my own child or someone else. I left a message for him (mostly incoherent) to get a hold of me and that I wanted Vaughan to go live with him, I was tired of the shit.

I showed her the fresh bruise on my arm and we talked about my options. She was able to calm me down some, and I went home after a bit. I informed my son that I didn’t have to put up with that shit and he had several choices: 1) he could forfeit all his money (over 100$) and stay; 2) he could go into the Job Corps program; or 3) go live with his Dad. I told him he could let me know his decision the next day.

After all this shit, my youngest and my “evil twin” children started fighting again. During the course of the argument Shayne (my problem child) threw a piece of whittled stick at my youngest’s face (Steven just had ear surgery less than 2 weeks ago).

Shayne didn’t know I knew that little fact, so I asked him what happened, and he lied and stated “Nothing”. So I go “Really? So you didn’t throw that stick at Steven?” and he knew he had been caught. I was so fed up with all of Shayne’s lies by that time I told him the next time he lied to me, I was going to slap his face.

Well I went into my room and tried to “destress” but then I heard stuff being dragged into the living room from the boys’ room and went to see what was going on. Shayne was packing his things and putting them in there, so I asked “What the fuck are you doing?” He told me that since Vaughan got to go, he wanted to go too. I said “Uh uh, Vaughan doesn’t GET to go, he HAS to go”.

I told him that he’s got a medical reason why he’s an asshole, but his brother doesn’t. I also explained that Vaughan crossed a line when he put his hands on me, and that he can’t use that “self defense” bullshit cause I wasn’t trying to beat him up. I finally defused the situation and made everyone go to bed super early.

The next day came and I ordered Shayne and Steven to finish cleaning their room (again). I was still stockpiling their shoes and jackets in an attempt to foil their efforts of running away, just in case. Vaughan was quiet and somewhat subdued while continuing to clean the kitchen he never finished the day before when Shayne started arguing with his brother again

I can’t remember now what the fight was about, but he lied to me again, and I slapped his face like I promised. Now before you start freaking out, this was more of a “wake the fuck up I mean what I say” slap on his cheek rather than me trying to hurt him. It didn’t even leave a red mark, but what he did to me next did.

He struck my forearm hard enough to swell up a vein there and cause a 3-inch bruise. That was it, stick a fork in me I was DONE! He apparently hid a pair of holey sneakers and a jacket cause the next thing I know he’s sprinting out the back door and onto his bike. I was right on his heels and knocked him off the bike, so he took off running on foot.

I was only wearing flip flops so I ran back inside and grabbed my shoes, cell phone and car keys and said to hell with a jacket. I dialed my friend down the street and she didn’t see him running that way, but told me I needed to call 911 and they would get the Sheriff’s office for me, so I did. I drove down the road for about a mile in one direction, and then a mile in the other direction, but didn’t see him.

The Sheriff called my on my cell and after giving him the abridged version of what happened, he said he was on his way. I stopped at another neighbor’s house to ask if she had seen him running through their field when her husband drove up and said they had just spotted him down the road. The Sheriff called me back again and I updated him on Shayne’s whereabouts and he told me to wait right there for him.

He pulled up a couple minutes later and I had him follow me in his cruiser to the place where my son was seen, and there he was. The officer handcuffed him and put him in his patrol car and suggested we take him to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation, because the local children’s psychiatric hospital didn’t do intakes on the weekend.

So we go there and he gets checked out and the psyche nurse tells me they don’t admit juveniles there, but did recommend that we take him to the children’s psychiatric hospital for evaluation. I followed the officer in my car and we were shown into the intake office. As soon as the clerk comes in, she gives me this funny look and asks me “Do I know you?”

It was the same clerk that had done the intake paperwork on my son the last time I tried to get him admitted and was denied. Back then I asked the asshole Physician that said it was just a behavioral problem and not a medical issue “So what am I supposed to do?” and he replied “Bring him back in if it happens again.“ meaning his violent behavior.

I looked at her and said “Yea, we were turned away, remember? Well, he did it again, and this time to me” and I showed her the bruise. The paperwork seemed to take forever, and then it was still up in the air on wether or not he would be admitted, but I think the clerk said something to the attending, because they accepted him. I cried I was so happy, because my son needs help that I just can’t give him.

All this started about 1:30 pm and now it was after 9. I was emotionally and physically drained and still had problems to face once I got home. I decided to let my other son Vaughan sleep on his decision one more night, but he has chosen to live with his Dad. Now my only problem is getting my ex out here to come get him since his vehicle has been having problems.

Today I have started on my road to recovery. I managed to keep my psychiatrist appointment and he’s put me on several medications that have stabilized my mood (thank god!). Hopefully I won’t have to stay on them too long, but for now it’s such a relief to know the end of my depression is in sight.

The slideshow above is of me and my boys during happier times . . . why can’t they stay 5 forever?