There is nothing poetic about this post,
hardly any prose, just the retelling of Friday’s events.
Funny how life just keeps
avalanching and knocking down trees
in its path until the whole
mountaintop rolls off the cliff.
ES Reverie, won five honorable mentions
for his participation in the Scholastic
Art competition, Friday. His reaction to
it was closer to the polar opposite of
what I expected, but what else is new.
MOOD STABILIZERS ARE NECESSARY!
I suppose mood wise he is like an
anorexic person who sees an obese person
in the mirror no matter how much bone
is showing through the skin.
Body Dysmorphic Disorder
I was in a rush,
I talked to parents and some teachers,
I may have gotten a job for the Silent Sentinel
for the summer, I picked up ES’s considerable load of artwork,
I was nervous about spending the afternoon with my ex at the mediator’s for some post divorce organizational fun,
I really didn’t understand that I was the stupid one (sucker)
left to figure out what to do with the seventeen year old after the ceremony. His father high tailed it out of there at 11:30.
ES and I kept missing each other in the hallway and I went to where he said he would go. They were dismissed for the day at noon.
Awwww hell. It really didn’t make any sense to me.
I made it to mediation only ten minutes late
and had a migraine by the time I left
three and a half hours later.
IF these sessions make me feel anything,
its that my ex is ill equipped to really
deal with life, death and taxes.
NO longer my problem.
Somehow, in his eyes it is still my
fault and the accountant is also to blame.
Not the old one he fired, but the new one
he had hired who did the taxes wrong…
I’m just not that dumb.
My divorce decree was burning a hole in
my computer (so to speak.)
I have so much of it memorized, unfortunately.
There is so much of it that
he has not complied with yet.
I do not believe that he is as poor as he lets on.
The thing is, I don’t want his money.
I want to be fiscally disentangled from this idiot.
He misuses terms like bankrupt and broke
as if he doesn’t have the money to pay his bills.
I was advised to file for bankruptcy,
but I didn’t have the money to file.
Sounds stupid right?
He still has the $400 plus /month car note.
The kids got all sorts of expensive gifts
when he was supposed to be paying taxes.
He said he was just scraping by.
He only earned three times my yearly income.
We’re in America, children are supposed to have
video game systems, electronics, cell phones
and mp3 players to inflate their feelings of self worth and
dispose of when they have temper tantrums. Right?
(You do catch the sarcasm I hope.)
I have no doubt that the missing money
(there is no missing money)
that he accuses me of stealing
went straight to the amusement park,
the music lessons, the martial arts lessons
(because a violent child released from a detention center
should have the tools to kill me,)
instruments they don’t play and swords
(real honest to god steel swords and knives.)
There is a reason I drop the kids off
at the street one house away.
I don’t know what’s in the house
and I don’t take the baby with me when I go there.
I am expendable, Girly is not.
Sure, call me paranoid.
I’ve been through enough to seem like I make it up.
I get accused of many things at these sessions,
from the man who can’t seem to parent these boys.
The house is filled with anger, competition and animosity.
It makes me shudder. I’d rather sit in my basement,
bent over double and clean out the sump pump well.
In fact, I might just do that today.
No time like the present.
I came back to town and went straight
to a therapisty/type person.
She had five minutes, I talked for ten,
then I picked some kale and mint,
I picked up a job application for ES,
then went to get more boxes.
Time to get the hell out.
Its whether I can take the
younger boys with me that really matters.
Further deepening the scars, or saving myself.
Yeah, here goes.
By the time I got back to the house,
the gang was all here.
Three boys, a girl and bear and then arrived the therapist.
Thank God! She was an impartial witness to the crazy,
I call my children, though I love them so.
My Child just wanted to run, jump and play at the dance,
he doesn’t understand enlarged heart.
He says he had the same feelings during the day at school,
though he didn’t bother to tell the gym teacher that just standing up gives him the same feelings of his heart being squeezed.
Trying to talk sense into the child, made no sense.
Does he have to have a heart attack, to get it?
Why? WHY? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM?
He had his session and the therapist agrees he doesn’t get it.
He walked to the dance.
ES was in a mood. That turned ugly.
I got called so many things, by my Eldest Surly offspring,
because I made him stay at home while I got to go out.
When he gets like this, he resents being a child and blames
the nearest adult. Oh, shit!
“Danger. Warning, warning, Will Robinson,”
remember the Lost in Space show from the 1970’s?
Remember the robot with the crazy arms waving.
I should have seen the signs, but there were
so many bodies and electronics beeping and
whirring and if I had payed attention closely,
I would have seen the speedy texting fingers of ES
calling for escape from the torturous day of video games,
movies and food that he had to endure. (Yes, more sarcasm.)
A girl (woman) arrived to drive him somewhere.
By the time I made it outside,
he was in the front seat of her car
getting ready to leave, she had the engine running.
I asked him to get out of the car and go inside to talk
to his therapist, “no, nope, nada, what don’t you understand,
you never listen to me, you’re wasting my time…”
It just went on and on. In front of his friend girl.
I asked him if he though he was embarrassing her?
He was on a loop of insults and accusations
and anger and hurt and NO MOOD STABILIZER.
Rapid cycling. Hurt/Anger/Rage/Crying/Screaming/Rage
I had stopped him from doing what he wanted
so he wanted to make me pay. I told him
he was physically and verbally abusive and
he needed to deal with that. He kept
reason he was so screwed up and didn’t have a job.
I told him I didn’t expect him to get a job until
he stabilized and graduated FIRST.
I was not his father.
Like I said he was stuck in a loop,
yelling at the wrong person.
I do have limits. I didn’t yell much,
he wasn’t really in there, in his body.
I was worried for the girl in the car.
I told her, “I’m sorry to put you in the middle, but”
if she left with him I would call the police.”
He is still underage. She was part of his entourage.
She is not 17, 18 or 19.
I don’t believe that he fell asleep in the park,
or that he wandered around town after curfew
without getting picked up by the police when he
disappeared earlier in the week twice. TWICE!!!
His goal was to be so much of an ass
that I would let him leave.
I had had enough abuse for the day.
My limits are pretty high for abuse
these days, but he pushed too many of my
buttons. In front of a stranger.
I threw my hands up and walked away.
I made it to the back porch.
I did not know that he would move that fast
or follow me to the house. He got in my face.
He demanded his artwork. I told him to back down,
I was not the same mom he beat the shit out of in 2011.
I was afraid of what he would do
since I was not backing down.
He is so much larger that he was at 13.
I am so much thinner.
He out weighs me by 20 pounds.
He is taller than me by about an inch.
I told him to move, I planned to shut the door.
He shifted slightly so the door didn’t hit him
as I closed it and locked it.
I opened the window and told him to take
his artwork from me there. (He later told my mom
that I threw his artwork out the window.) I held it
for an appropriate amount of time, then said fine,
if you wont take it, I’ll drop it here in the
dry spot next below the window.
(I felt like throwing it and dinging
all the corners, but I know how
important this work would be later.)
I could only imagine the neighbors
staring out the window watching me
drop his work into a stack.
I’m so glad the therapist and
his brother were both in the
house when this happened.
My life seems to require witnesses
with the courage to speak up.
My bear took Girly for a walk in the stroller.
My Child, left the house before the
detonation of his brother occurred.
The Silent Sentinel offered to stand up for me
if his brother had actually hit me.
I told him to just call the police if that happened.
He understands that he is much larger than his older
brother, but they should not fight.
Others should not have to resort to violence
because ES has been allowed to be out of control for the past four years.
He was released to his grandmother after more boy man histrionics.
ES just needed to make it one week to graduation.
What a scared child. What a foul mouth.
What a brat. With or without meds he had some
control over his actions and he chose to
eff with my day, that already sucked slop buckets.
Grandma came to save the day, release the girl
and take the boy/man, while making me feel
as if I had caused this mess.
Well yes, I did give birth to him.
That I will accept the blame for.
I also told him that he needed to
accept or acknowledge his previous behavior
because he was physically and verbally abusive.
I reminded him that he was not the center of the universe
and if he continued to swear so loudly, the neighbors
were liable to call the police.
If I must accept blame for telling a child
to be responsible for his actions, then so be it.
That’s my friggin’ job as a parent.
It became clear, clear as a bell through the fog,
that ES is angry because he is almost a man,
scared because he is still a child and
so desperately wants a sex life with these
women he picks up, who will drive to
rescue him from his “evil mother” or “evil father.”
One, I question the relationship he has with
these women he meets on these teen dating
sites on the internet. Their motives are pretty shaky,
but if the boy is disappearing for a day
here or there and lies about where he has been –
he cannot be trusted in my house with Girly.