Well, it's been three weeks that I've been at my Mother's house. It hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be, I've achieved early on a lot of the things that I needed to do in order to get the necessary assistance to keep Steven's therapy going, us fed, and the other things in order that we will need. Eventually we will probably need to go into a shelter, but that is further down the line, and I will know more of what the Lord expects of me at that time. I try not to let the fear of the future eat me alive; I pray when I get anxious.
Perhaps it's not the best quality to have, perhaps it will end up causing me a lot of grief, but I honestly try to be a fair woman. Despite my differences with Steve, and even my fear of the man, I sense somewhere deep inside me that he does love his son, and have let him keep him the past two weekends with the condition that he would not drink. As of this moment, after looking at what was our bank account (I still have access), I'm not sure if he kept his promise. I have to admit that I'm very disappointed at that, but at the same time resigned. If this man has indeed lied to me, and if all that he has been telling me about wanting to heal has simply been words to lure me, then he is indeed as sick and demented as I have feared, and I must let him go. I trust that God will provide me with the strength to raise my son alone, He has already provided me with many resources to help Steven with his developmental delays, and for these things and people I am grateful. They are a huge help. This week I have felt an increase in my strength, and perhaps that is due to the lessening of stress in my life. Perhaps I won't have to go on disability, perhaps I will be able to work. Who knows? We shall see. Whatever the situation, I know it will work out.
Steve is vacating our old apartment and moving home to his parents. They now hate me, as does his wife (he's STILL not divorced, the date that he was to have his final decree was the date I had a seizure and had to go to the hospital...and he hasn't bothered to schedule another...or even save for the fee), and probably his daughters do too. Outside of the abuse that I've had to endure due to his frustration over his life and issues, the fact that these people show me such animosity over things that I just got caught up in but did not cause is a huge reason why I cannot continue a relationship with Steve. It doesn't matter how much we could be in love, I'd still have to deal with all of them. And their poison would spill over into our home life. I cannot do that to my son.
I know that when Steve moves home to his parents, his sense of worthlessness and victimization will increase, and his mother (who is his enabler) will help to exacerbate that, but she doesn't want to admit that she is the main reason why her son started drinking at 15. Rather, she will continue to blame the black women that her son is attracted to (the opposite of her). I told him to remember that the main reason why we moved in together in such haste (despite my misgivings) was because she was going to "drive him to the shelter" 3-and-a-half years ago. I told him to keep that in mind when she was trashing me over dinner. And to remember that my son would never set foot in that house again. I wouldn't put kidnapping past that old biddy.
I don't know what the future holds for him, I don't know what the future holds for me. But what I do know, is that while the seas may get rough for me and Little Man, I have my faith to steer my ship. Steve has no such thing and no willingness to develop such a thing. He has no desire to change his thought patterns, no desire to examine his life. I fear that in a year's time, he will either be in jail because he failed to complete the terms of his probation (and that will be my fault...after all I should never have called the cops after the first death threat, how dare I?), or he will be barely hanging on, drinking himself numb at night. Either way, I cannot expose my son to that. I will not.
I know his illustrious mother will not understand this, but if she pushes me, I will make her understand that her son is the monster that she made, and that my son will grow up to be no such thing.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
It's Over/New Beginnings
I would say that I'm a single mother, but I think that I've been one for quite a long time now...at least since my son was two months old, and his father thought it was time for him to start sleeping through the night again.
Well, the fight that occurred over two weeks ago was the last one for me, and Fairfax County Police have failed to do their job for the last time, so Steven and I are refugees. I'm at my Mom's house, which is not where I want to be, but it's a necessary evil for now. Big Steve and I are on speaking terms, but that's just because I despise his wife and refuse to be like her, and am determined to be the bigger person, the Christian Woman that I've been suppressing through all of this, and a thorn in his mother's side (cow...excuse me, Lord...but she is a cow).
I warned Steve when he was pursuing me that I didn't think it wise to date because of my health, and he assured me that he would care for me. I was so lonely and scared that I fell for it. My family has not been there for me throughout any of this in any way, and I find my health faltering more and more as the years pass. Now I find out that I have a seizure disorder, just hauling my butt up and down the steps is hard, and I have to file for disability. I pray every day that it goes through this time. Please pray with me...if you pray. If not, just send some good vibes my way. I've been to the ER upwards of 100 times over the past four years, and it turns out every one of those visits minus about five were due to seizures. I've been hospitalized twice in the past two months alone because of it, this past month having blacked out for 3.5 hours straight. I can't keep going through this with a toddler.
I think all the lights went out in the proverbial house when Steve told me I was incapable. Hell no, I'm not. I'm stronger than people think I am. I showed my vulnerability because I thought it was okay to do so, but I've spent my entire life holding back tears, because I was raised around a person who beat weakness. She still feels that her problems are supreme, and though I don't take any more mess from her, I don't let her see my pain. I take my issues to God, and it's much more effective anyway. But he plucked my pride that day, standing there drunk telling me that the reason why he was throwing at tantrum was because he was so worried about me. Yeah. Whatever.
But honestly...I pity him. I may not have my life together the way I want it to, but at least I have the faith that I can get it there. I know things are going to work out. Steve does not have faith in anything. He speaks negativity into his life constantly, and doesn't understand why things suck so much for him. Not to mention his mom, she has contributed so much to his downfall. Yes, his wife cheated on him, stole his identity and brainwashed his kids, but join the single dad's club, dude! Men across America are going through the same thing, and they don't just lay down and take it. I'll never forget the night that Steve "told" me about his situation when we were first dating. We were in Outback Steakhouse. He said to me that he had daughters and asked me if I could handle that. It was 1.5 years into this mess before just about everything spilled out, and with each new revelation, more and more of his anger revealed itself too.
In all of my relationships with men, there has been some element of neglect, and recently abuse. I can't stand for that anymore. My dad didn't feel that it was necessary to be accountable to me, to show up when he said he would, to be honest with me, and ultimately to be there for me. I thought in my youth that I had to use my body to make a man love me. I had one man tell me that he couldn't be with me because I wasn't where he thought I should be in my career (ah, the look on his face when he saw me pregnant with my son...that was hilarious). And to be told by Steve that all I wanted to do was control him, and that to treat me decently would be to unman him. Well keep your manhood, dude.
I have a very long and difficult road ahead of me. I didn't want to come to my mother's house. But apparently in Fairfax County, the shelters have hours of operation, not to mention the cops are effing inept. And I told them that to their faces as they ejected me from MY HOUSE. "We can't make him leave because he's on the lease, but we would advise you to go, ma'am. For your safety." As I left, I told the cops that they were damn good at giving tickets, but absolutely useless at protecting women and children. And every time I see one of those blue cop cars with one of their arrogant occupants, I throw up in my mouth a little bit. I honestly do. From here, I will have to go into a shelter in order to get housing, because I will most likely be on disability before the end of the year. I simply cannot work right now. I am in constant pain, and have no energy whatsoever. My neurologist is tweaking my anti-seizure medication, and I have to get another MRI to determine whether or not I have a lesion on my brain. I shudder to think about the possibility of surgery.
Steven's life is a whole other story. He starts school in September to help him with his development. He won't even have turned three yet. He's talking a little bit more, but he's hesitant with it. He told me he loved me the other day, it had me on cloud nine all day. He has speech therapy now, and I have the county all in my business at this point with all the help I'm going to need to get on my own and keep services going for him. But for him I'd do anything.
Like I said earlier, his father and I are on speaking terms. I think deep inside Steve realizes that he and I are not compatible. He also realizes that he has problems. He also realizes that his life is messed up and needs fixing. I am hesitant, but I let him see his son. Partially because I need a break from time to time, but partially because I know that child is a lifeline for him. But I've made it clear that if he drinks around him I'll paint the walls of that apartment with his blood. I think he believes me. Steve accepts that I will call several times a day and that I demand pictures and updates by text until my trust is established, and it does help that the baby is five minutes away. Still, this past weekend was the first weekend Steve kept him, and I cried and prayed the whole time. But baby came home happy and none the worse for wear. When I dropped him off, he ran into the house, the place he's known as home since birth and didn't even notice me leave. When Steve dropped him off he squealed at delight over seeing me. I feel like Little Man's parents need to love him more than they may dislike each other, and distance definitely deflates animosity. Actually, I pity Steve when I don't have to live with him. Living with him breeds hatred. Probably on both sides.
Living with Steve I had expectations, and Steve probably felt like he could never meet them. Not to mention, we had nothing in common, and I'm sure Steve felt intimidated by my intellect. Most people do, and I refuse to "dumb down" to make someone feel comfortable. I'm not arrogant, but forgive me if I like Tudor history, it's what I like. Leave me to my Renaissance fair, and you stick to TruTV. You like what you like, and I like what I like. Whatever.
It was honestly getting to the point where I was thinking that the only thing we had going for ourselves was that we could settle our debt, have a small wedding, and buy a house so he could be on one level, I could be on another, and our son could float between. What type of life is that? And every time we argued, Steven would start stimming so badly. He doesn't do that so much anymore, he's so happy. The joy of my son is the greatest reward of the past few weeks, no matter how afraid I may feel.
One immediate benefit of all of this is that I gain my spiritual life back. I don't intend to jump back into dating any time soon, but I've learned a lot in the past three years. I see now why you seek out people who share your beliefs and outlook on life. I found myself making so many concessions over the years until I suddenly didn't know who I was, I was angry and had lost track of all my interests and dreams. Strangely enough, I had written a song (first time since my father had died) that turned out to be prophetic in nature. Just a few days before my split with Steve. I thought it had nothing to do with us, but the lyrics rang true. It's called "Why Are You Hanging Around?" I was so thrilled that my muse had returned, not knowing what else was coming.
I look forward to the future. Of course I'm scared, but I want to return to who I was before all this happened. I want to be the mother my son deserves, and I want to be true to myself as well. I know that everything will work out, and though sometimes the feelings of fear and loneliness may overwhelm, I know they are temporary. I just pray on it and move on. Because nothing is worse than being stuck in that situation. I thought I was supposed to stay for my son, I went back for my son, after climbing out of the bedroom window at midnight with him in my arms. I think part of Steve thinks that this whole situation is just a repetition of last year, but he is wrong. I am done. I hope it sinks in gently for him, because one slip up and he will never see his son again. I don't want to be harsh, but I must protect my boy. HE is the most important thing now. I have to preserve my life and health for him, but it is his future that matters.
Well, the fight that occurred over two weeks ago was the last one for me, and Fairfax County Police have failed to do their job for the last time, so Steven and I are refugees. I'm at my Mom's house, which is not where I want to be, but it's a necessary evil for now. Big Steve and I are on speaking terms, but that's just because I despise his wife and refuse to be like her, and am determined to be the bigger person, the Christian Woman that I've been suppressing through all of this, and a thorn in his mother's side (cow...excuse me, Lord...but she is a cow).
I warned Steve when he was pursuing me that I didn't think it wise to date because of my health, and he assured me that he would care for me. I was so lonely and scared that I fell for it. My family has not been there for me throughout any of this in any way, and I find my health faltering more and more as the years pass. Now I find out that I have a seizure disorder, just hauling my butt up and down the steps is hard, and I have to file for disability. I pray every day that it goes through this time. Please pray with me...if you pray. If not, just send some good vibes my way. I've been to the ER upwards of 100 times over the past four years, and it turns out every one of those visits minus about five were due to seizures. I've been hospitalized twice in the past two months alone because of it, this past month having blacked out for 3.5 hours straight. I can't keep going through this with a toddler.
I think all the lights went out in the proverbial house when Steve told me I was incapable. Hell no, I'm not. I'm stronger than people think I am. I showed my vulnerability because I thought it was okay to do so, but I've spent my entire life holding back tears, because I was raised around a person who beat weakness. She still feels that her problems are supreme, and though I don't take any more mess from her, I don't let her see my pain. I take my issues to God, and it's much more effective anyway. But he plucked my pride that day, standing there drunk telling me that the reason why he was throwing at tantrum was because he was so worried about me. Yeah. Whatever.
But honestly...I pity him. I may not have my life together the way I want it to, but at least I have the faith that I can get it there. I know things are going to work out. Steve does not have faith in anything. He speaks negativity into his life constantly, and doesn't understand why things suck so much for him. Not to mention his mom, she has contributed so much to his downfall. Yes, his wife cheated on him, stole his identity and brainwashed his kids, but join the single dad's club, dude! Men across America are going through the same thing, and they don't just lay down and take it. I'll never forget the night that Steve "told" me about his situation when we were first dating. We were in Outback Steakhouse. He said to me that he had daughters and asked me if I could handle that. It was 1.5 years into this mess before just about everything spilled out, and with each new revelation, more and more of his anger revealed itself too.
In all of my relationships with men, there has been some element of neglect, and recently abuse. I can't stand for that anymore. My dad didn't feel that it was necessary to be accountable to me, to show up when he said he would, to be honest with me, and ultimately to be there for me. I thought in my youth that I had to use my body to make a man love me. I had one man tell me that he couldn't be with me because I wasn't where he thought I should be in my career (ah, the look on his face when he saw me pregnant with my son...that was hilarious). And to be told by Steve that all I wanted to do was control him, and that to treat me decently would be to unman him. Well keep your manhood, dude.
I have a very long and difficult road ahead of me. I didn't want to come to my mother's house. But apparently in Fairfax County, the shelters have hours of operation, not to mention the cops are effing inept. And I told them that to their faces as they ejected me from MY HOUSE. "We can't make him leave because he's on the lease, but we would advise you to go, ma'am. For your safety." As I left, I told the cops that they were damn good at giving tickets, but absolutely useless at protecting women and children. And every time I see one of those blue cop cars with one of their arrogant occupants, I throw up in my mouth a little bit. I honestly do. From here, I will have to go into a shelter in order to get housing, because I will most likely be on disability before the end of the year. I simply cannot work right now. I am in constant pain, and have no energy whatsoever. My neurologist is tweaking my anti-seizure medication, and I have to get another MRI to determine whether or not I have a lesion on my brain. I shudder to think about the possibility of surgery.
Steven's life is a whole other story. He starts school in September to help him with his development. He won't even have turned three yet. He's talking a little bit more, but he's hesitant with it. He told me he loved me the other day, it had me on cloud nine all day. He has speech therapy now, and I have the county all in my business at this point with all the help I'm going to need to get on my own and keep services going for him. But for him I'd do anything.
Like I said earlier, his father and I are on speaking terms. I think deep inside Steve realizes that he and I are not compatible. He also realizes that he has problems. He also realizes that his life is messed up and needs fixing. I am hesitant, but I let him see his son. Partially because I need a break from time to time, but partially because I know that child is a lifeline for him. But I've made it clear that if he drinks around him I'll paint the walls of that apartment with his blood. I think he believes me. Steve accepts that I will call several times a day and that I demand pictures and updates by text until my trust is established, and it does help that the baby is five minutes away. Still, this past weekend was the first weekend Steve kept him, and I cried and prayed the whole time. But baby came home happy and none the worse for wear. When I dropped him off, he ran into the house, the place he's known as home since birth and didn't even notice me leave. When Steve dropped him off he squealed at delight over seeing me. I feel like Little Man's parents need to love him more than they may dislike each other, and distance definitely deflates animosity. Actually, I pity Steve when I don't have to live with him. Living with him breeds hatred. Probably on both sides.
Living with Steve I had expectations, and Steve probably felt like he could never meet them. Not to mention, we had nothing in common, and I'm sure Steve felt intimidated by my intellect. Most people do, and I refuse to "dumb down" to make someone feel comfortable. I'm not arrogant, but forgive me if I like Tudor history, it's what I like. Leave me to my Renaissance fair, and you stick to TruTV. You like what you like, and I like what I like. Whatever.
It was honestly getting to the point where I was thinking that the only thing we had going for ourselves was that we could settle our debt, have a small wedding, and buy a house so he could be on one level, I could be on another, and our son could float between. What type of life is that? And every time we argued, Steven would start stimming so badly. He doesn't do that so much anymore, he's so happy. The joy of my son is the greatest reward of the past few weeks, no matter how afraid I may feel.
One immediate benefit of all of this is that I gain my spiritual life back. I don't intend to jump back into dating any time soon, but I've learned a lot in the past three years. I see now why you seek out people who share your beliefs and outlook on life. I found myself making so many concessions over the years until I suddenly didn't know who I was, I was angry and had lost track of all my interests and dreams. Strangely enough, I had written a song (first time since my father had died) that turned out to be prophetic in nature. Just a few days before my split with Steve. I thought it had nothing to do with us, but the lyrics rang true. It's called "Why Are You Hanging Around?" I was so thrilled that my muse had returned, not knowing what else was coming.
I look forward to the future. Of course I'm scared, but I want to return to who I was before all this happened. I want to be the mother my son deserves, and I want to be true to myself as well. I know that everything will work out, and though sometimes the feelings of fear and loneliness may overwhelm, I know they are temporary. I just pray on it and move on. Because nothing is worse than being stuck in that situation. I thought I was supposed to stay for my son, I went back for my son, after climbing out of the bedroom window at midnight with him in my arms. I think part of Steve thinks that this whole situation is just a repetition of last year, but he is wrong. I am done. I hope it sinks in gently for him, because one slip up and he will never see his son again. I don't want to be harsh, but I must protect my boy. HE is the most important thing now. I have to preserve my life and health for him, but it is his future that matters.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Back to Square One
I can't say I'm mad though...
I guess this is the way my life is supposed to be, and I kind of want it to be that way. I want to be able to help support my family financially, but given my health problems and the outlook it's given me I'm dead set against working myself into an early grave to get rich. All I want is a house big enough for us to be comfortable in, a car that runs decently, and no debt. I do not want the current American Dream of flashy things that keep you up at night worrying about how you're going to pay for them. I don't want to leave my son that legacy. Especially if his autism is such that he will be considered disabled.
Here's the short story. I've lost two jobs in 3 months due to being sick. What ticks me off the most is that the health problems come from a stroke I had on the job. I won't get into all the shady stuff this job did outside of harassing me in the hospital (they even called to see if the hospital had a notary, demanding I somehow get out of my bed and to that notary so I could get a notarized document in order for my mom to pick up my check...I'm calling the Dept. of Labor on them this week...not to mention all their paychecks are post-dated), and refusing to give me my check once I did get there (I ended up getting discharged last friday).
I'm tired of being treated like a machine. If I were in ideal health, it wouldn't be a problem. Our Nation is used to running 50+ hours a week on "E". But after the 12 hours of running around for someone else, I have no time for my child or my home, and my child needs me. And eventually my relationship with Steve will be beyond repair if we don't find time for one another. And what about my spiritual life? What good does it do me if I'm too tired to crack open my scriptures at the end of the day? What good is a hastily uttered prayer before I fall asleep? What type of walk is that?
My health is deteriorating. My migraines have changed; I've gotten used to being in constant pain and always tired. It's been this way for four years. Social Security told me "you just have headaches", and me not knowing how the system works, I didn't know to appeal. Not to mention I didn't have regular insurance so no doctor could track me. Now I do, and I've had plenty of tests, not to mention this recent hospitalization. But lately my body has just rebelled on me. I've been to the ER eight times since mid-March. The pain meds I take for my migraines are several times stronger than morphine, and that's on top of the blood-pressure pills, the migraine pills...I should be on blood thinners. I've had so many IVs it's insane. The people at INOVA think I'm an addict until they read my history.
I want to be able to do more than just function for someone else. I want to be able to keep my house clean, read to my son. I used to play the piano, study other languages. There was so much more for me out there. Even today I'm still tired, and I have a buttload of doctors appointments to schedule and attend. I can't do this while working. I missed two days of work and then got hospitalized, and my boss sent me an email from the "HR" account saying that I was never at work, I was disorganized, and that I wasn't asking for help. I told her in a nice way to take a hike. She is holding my final check (she wants me to come pick it up so that she and her husband can yell at me, her husband is a tool, he yelled at someone every single day), or else she wants to take $12 out of my check to send it certified mail. That's not going to happen. They're going to end up getting sued. It's illegal for you to do anything other than send me my money, check. I love this country, people get a little bit of power and they think they're kings. Well, unfortunately those checks and balances can weigh kinda heavily...it's going to be funny seeing how this pans out.
My condition is such that a rise in blood pressure could cause another stroke. I just can't deal with corporate politics. I would love to have a daycare, but I don't even have the energy anymore. Steven starts school in September, I want to be able to dedicate myself to him and his progress. And I've noticed over the past year that my short-term memory is leaving me. I don't know what this means for my college education. All I know is that I have to accept this change. At least Steve finally has. This issue has been a running one in our house for years.
So I submit myself to whatever is coming. Whatever that is...let it be, let it come. I don't want to be rich, I just want for there to be enough. And God has always supplied enough. We may not have a car right now, but we will in future. We aren't hungry, we can pay our rent. We have clothes we have more than most. So we'll see what happens next.
I guess this is the way my life is supposed to be, and I kind of want it to be that way. I want to be able to help support my family financially, but given my health problems and the outlook it's given me I'm dead set against working myself into an early grave to get rich. All I want is a house big enough for us to be comfortable in, a car that runs decently, and no debt. I do not want the current American Dream of flashy things that keep you up at night worrying about how you're going to pay for them. I don't want to leave my son that legacy. Especially if his autism is such that he will be considered disabled.
Here's the short story. I've lost two jobs in 3 months due to being sick. What ticks me off the most is that the health problems come from a stroke I had on the job. I won't get into all the shady stuff this job did outside of harassing me in the hospital (they even called to see if the hospital had a notary, demanding I somehow get out of my bed and to that notary so I could get a notarized document in order for my mom to pick up my check...I'm calling the Dept. of Labor on them this week...not to mention all their paychecks are post-dated), and refusing to give me my check once I did get there (I ended up getting discharged last friday).
I'm tired of being treated like a machine. If I were in ideal health, it wouldn't be a problem. Our Nation is used to running 50+ hours a week on "E". But after the 12 hours of running around for someone else, I have no time for my child or my home, and my child needs me. And eventually my relationship with Steve will be beyond repair if we don't find time for one another. And what about my spiritual life? What good does it do me if I'm too tired to crack open my scriptures at the end of the day? What good is a hastily uttered prayer before I fall asleep? What type of walk is that?
My health is deteriorating. My migraines have changed; I've gotten used to being in constant pain and always tired. It's been this way for four years. Social Security told me "you just have headaches", and me not knowing how the system works, I didn't know to appeal. Not to mention I didn't have regular insurance so no doctor could track me. Now I do, and I've had plenty of tests, not to mention this recent hospitalization. But lately my body has just rebelled on me. I've been to the ER eight times since mid-March. The pain meds I take for my migraines are several times stronger than morphine, and that's on top of the blood-pressure pills, the migraine pills...I should be on blood thinners. I've had so many IVs it's insane. The people at INOVA think I'm an addict until they read my history.
I want to be able to do more than just function for someone else. I want to be able to keep my house clean, read to my son. I used to play the piano, study other languages. There was so much more for me out there. Even today I'm still tired, and I have a buttload of doctors appointments to schedule and attend. I can't do this while working. I missed two days of work and then got hospitalized, and my boss sent me an email from the "HR" account saying that I was never at work, I was disorganized, and that I wasn't asking for help. I told her in a nice way to take a hike. She is holding my final check (she wants me to come pick it up so that she and her husband can yell at me, her husband is a tool, he yelled at someone every single day), or else she wants to take $12 out of my check to send it certified mail. That's not going to happen. They're going to end up getting sued. It's illegal for you to do anything other than send me my money, check. I love this country, people get a little bit of power and they think they're kings. Well, unfortunately those checks and balances can weigh kinda heavily...it's going to be funny seeing how this pans out.
My condition is such that a rise in blood pressure could cause another stroke. I just can't deal with corporate politics. I would love to have a daycare, but I don't even have the energy anymore. Steven starts school in September, I want to be able to dedicate myself to him and his progress. And I've noticed over the past year that my short-term memory is leaving me. I don't know what this means for my college education. All I know is that I have to accept this change. At least Steve finally has. This issue has been a running one in our house for years.
So I submit myself to whatever is coming. Whatever that is...let it be, let it come. I don't want to be rich, I just want for there to be enough. And God has always supplied enough. We may not have a car right now, but we will in future. We aren't hungry, we can pay our rent. We have clothes we have more than most. So we'll see what happens next.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Steven
Well Steven is two now. This picture was taken Christmas day, as he opened his presents. Well, we kind of opened them for him and had him look at them. He plays with pieces of them, he's into blocks and cars now; his grandparents got him a red tricycle now, and he loves that. He also likes to torture the new cat we have. Our cat is named Toby, and he's part-feral. Toby is a little bastard, he likes to poop on the floor right in front of his litter box if you don't give him a good rub-down the moment you come home. It irritates the heck out of Big Steve (not that I'm upset about that). And yes, I have somewhat reconciled with him, but that is another story for another time, and that could change any day now. That story is like one of those books that you have to choose the outcome of on every page. The endiing is different for everyone, and the ending is truly up to him, if he wants this that badly, then he needs to get in line with the Father's wishes and get his stuff in order. NOW.
But onto my son...my wonderful son.
Steven just turned two. His father and I got along long enough to give him a wonderful birthday party, we had it at Chuck-e-Cheese's. I will never go there again. Well, yes I will, but that was the longest 2.5 hours of my life. But my son was so overjoyed, so it was all good. He went home and fell out, and so did Mama.
We found out recently that my suspicions were well-founded, and that Steven does indeed show signs of Autism and Sensory Processing Disorder. Steven has had issues with food since birth. That kid threw up on me daily. Right now, he still has a limited diet that he will eat...well except for when he's at daycare; he's in love with his daycare provider, and you know what? That's okay. Due to his issues, I'm determined that he will have a group of people around him who not only love him but understand him, and she is one of those people. I am deeply grateful for her. She has become family.
Honestly, I have not had a chance to wish that Steven were a different child, he has always been who he is. I just want to make sure that we are prepared as parents to offer him the life he deserves. Occasionally I come across a child who is his age who is developing "on schedule", and it hurts a little bit, but I look at it this way: Steven was put in my life to give me purpose, a reason to live. I would not be here if it were not for him, as hard as it was to get him here, as much of a risk towards my life as it was to have him. He brings joy to every person who knows him. And ALL special needs children teach those who care for them to take nothing for granted. So I thank God for my child. Even when he's refusing to sleep at night, touching me with a slobber-drenched sock, or jumping on my head (his most favorite pastime). Steven does not know how to show excitement appropriately, so he just spazzes out. And no one makes him more excited than Mommy, I guess. So I must learn to endure it. :-)
Steve tells me that when he brings him home in the evenings, Steven takes a bottle, climbs on the bed, and surrounds himself in my pillows (because they smell like me). He also told me that he was in the car with him one day and a song called "A Song for Mama" came on, and Steven started singing along. That brought tears to my eyes, and when I hear it now, it brings tears to my eyes. He can't say much more than "Mama", but the fact that he recognizes that in a song and will sing along means so much to me.
Steven is only about 60% along to where he should be at his age, but we see progress every day. It's usually in the form of defiance, but it's still progress. Now that we know what the problem is, it's so much easier to approach him. Steven is a very bright, inquisitive, fast-paced little boy. He's just frustrated with the fact that his world does not seem to fit him right. I remember when his good pediatrician out at Kaiser (Steve's good gub'ment insurance) recommended that I have him screened for autism, I thought to myself, "how will other children treat him, will they pick on him?" I still have memories of how I was tormented as a child, and I will not tolerate that happening to my child. Goodness, some of the people I grew up with still had a healthy dose of disdain for me when they saw me at our ten year reunion. But they're buttwads anyways, and that's all they'll ever be. I asked a mommies group I'm part of what they thought, and one mother chimed in and said Steven would most likely be oblivious. And he is. For the most part, other kids don't exist to him until he's ready for them to. He will just ignore the crap out of you, and if you annoy him enough, he'll sock you one. So I think he'll be okay.
As far as his development goes, his speech is very limited, it dropped off at about the 18-month mark. Cognitively, I think he knows far more than we are aware, but since he does not talk, we cannot tell. He's very stubborn, so we have yet to learn just what he can do. But is participating more and more at daycare, so that is a positive sign. His therapy starts tomorrow, his therapist sounds like a really nice lady, and both Mommy and Daddy are excited. We will have to split the therapy sessions, because I'm working now. I got a temp-to-hire job out in Chantilly, and it pays really well. Today is a quiet day due to the weather, and so I decided to blog a little bit because it was long overdue.
Here's a picture Steven and I took at his birthday party. It was wonderful to see him so happy, and to see his eyes so clear. One of the things that I've noticed as his disorders have progressed is that a sort of film has dropped over his eyes, he's often off in his own world, and it makes me so sad. But occasionally you reach him, occasionally, he reaches out, and it's truly wonderful. I am so blessed in my little baby boy.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Refugees
It's 7:30 in the evening, Steven and I are in our temporary home after a long day of police reports, baggage claims and car breakdowns on 495. I am frazzled and my son is confused, this is not his home and Mommy is not herself. He's been climbing on chairs all evening, and I was beginning to lose my patience and cave under the pressure when he made me laugh by eating a pizza roll. He's never eaten such a thing. When it comes to finger foods, he's always been a chicken nugget kinda guy. He's smearing the remains on the floor and he's due for a bath soon. So is the kitchen floor...tomorrow. Meanwhile a paper towel will have to do.
I never thought I'd be the victim of domestic violence. I never thought I'd be one to hit back. I was a timid child growing up, but the past three years have changed me dramatically. To be abandoned by family when my life was on the line, to be reduced to poverty with no end in sight and to be essentially lied to for the duration of my relationship with my son's father has made me someone that I do not want to be.
Steve is in what was once our home. I miss it somewhat, but I do not miss him. I am scared, where will we lay our head long-term? Steve was served with a protective order today, and he must have resisted arrest or tried to hide, because they booked him, took him to the jail and set him up for court. He wants me to plead on his behalf. I shall ask the judge to make him go to Alcoholics Anonymous and therapy. He's a broken man with a broken past, he put his hands on me and I fought back. I fled out of the bedroom window in the middle of the night, my sleeping son in my arms because the county police had failed me when they ordered me to let the man back in the house. There is no turning back now.
Steve loves his son, there is no doubt. And I do pity him. But he cannot be around my son in the mental state that he's in. Especially when he repeatedly threatened the life of his son's mother. No sir, you may not snap my neck. You may not get near enough to me to do so. Steve wants to see his son over the holidays, sure with supervision. I'm not trying to use my son as a chess pawn, this isn't about money. I want my son to lose that look of fear that's in his eyes every time my voice is raised. There was once a time when he paid me no attention at all. But now his gray/green eyes widen with fear, even though I'm just trying to peel him off the wall as usual. Ever since Saturday, Mommy's raised voice means danger. My son cannot talk but he knows how to hide.
I have no idea how to undo the damage except to keep him close to me. He sleeps by my side at night, and I try to keep his routine as familiar as possible; Mickey Mouse episodes all day, baths each night and books before bed. He sleeps curled up at my side and for the past few nights has not had any night terrors. It's a blessing, given the circumstances.
I never thought I'd be the victim of domestic violence. I never thought I'd be one to hit back. I was a timid child growing up, but the past three years have changed me dramatically. To be abandoned by family when my life was on the line, to be reduced to poverty with no end in sight and to be essentially lied to for the duration of my relationship with my son's father has made me someone that I do not want to be.
Steve is in what was once our home. I miss it somewhat, but I do not miss him. I am scared, where will we lay our head long-term? Steve was served with a protective order today, and he must have resisted arrest or tried to hide, because they booked him, took him to the jail and set him up for court. He wants me to plead on his behalf. I shall ask the judge to make him go to Alcoholics Anonymous and therapy. He's a broken man with a broken past, he put his hands on me and I fought back. I fled out of the bedroom window in the middle of the night, my sleeping son in my arms because the county police had failed me when they ordered me to let the man back in the house. There is no turning back now.
Steve loves his son, there is no doubt. And I do pity him. But he cannot be around my son in the mental state that he's in. Especially when he repeatedly threatened the life of his son's mother. No sir, you may not snap my neck. You may not get near enough to me to do so. Steve wants to see his son over the holidays, sure with supervision. I'm not trying to use my son as a chess pawn, this isn't about money. I want my son to lose that look of fear that's in his eyes every time my voice is raised. There was once a time when he paid me no attention at all. But now his gray/green eyes widen with fear, even though I'm just trying to peel him off the wall as usual. Ever since Saturday, Mommy's raised voice means danger. My son cannot talk but he knows how to hide.
I have no idea how to undo the damage except to keep him close to me. He sleeps by my side at night, and I try to keep his routine as familiar as possible; Mickey Mouse episodes all day, baths each night and books before bed. He sleeps curled up at my side and for the past few nights has not had any night terrors. It's a blessing, given the circumstances.
Monday, September 20, 2010
"Every Family Has It's Dysfunction..."
Yeah, but the mentality of my mom's family is back in the turn-of-the last century. Seriously.
I don't live life relying on horoscopes, but one in particular (which always seems to have an antecdote to think about) said that with regards to my family, something may have to be torn down in order to be re-built properly. That's basic spiritual thought; most of us have constructed our lives based on false assumptions, and sometimes outright lies. It may not be totally our fault, but if you find that life is not working out the way you would like, and you yearn for better, you might actually have to tear down some constructs in order to create better ones.
That is happening in my family right now.
My generation has known for years that my mom's generation has some issues. The women all despise my grandmother for some reason, I thought for a moment that they were going to actually examine this, but in light of recent events, I see that is not going to happen. It has gotten so bad that they are abusing my elderly grandmother. They do really well with getting her to her doctor's appointments, but when it comes to the emotional quality of her life, they suck.
They refuse to let her go to church, or even to Wal-mart. My aunt, whom my grandmother lives with refuses to put a chair lift in so my grandmother can get up and down the stairs, because she doesn't want to "ruin her decor". So my grandmother crawls backwards down about 30 steps each day to get to the main level. There are no full baths on the main level, so she would either have to sleep in the basement or on the top floor, but all in all that 8,000 square foot house is not handicap accessible. And that's going to have to change, because it was this particular aunt who swore that my grandmother (and her baby sister who has her own set of insecurities and issues) belonged with her. Well, fast forward 6 years or so, and everyone is burned out and my grandmother is a "problem". They don't even have a legitimate home health aide in there who can assist my grandmother properly, it's my rich aunt's personal assistant. I tell you, all of this is going to change.
The real problem is that no one is listening to my grandmother. They're all so angry about their childhoods...which took place 50 years ago! They talk to Grandma like she's a child...or worse, they call her outside her name. They tell her to her face that they don't care what she wants or wishes, and accuse each other of taking Grandma's money while they do it themselves. All the while insisting that the nieces and nephews respect and revere them...and ignore the pasts of child abuse, deliberate lack of education (and insistence on lack of education for their kids), and drug use. It's time for the madness to stop, I say!
Well it's all definitly coming to a stop, because I called the authorities on them. My cousin and I have each filed separate complaints with the county Adult Protective Services division. And we'll be going to get my grandmother on Thursday so she can spend the week away from that gilded prison (and go to church, the one thing that brings her joy)...and unfortunately we'll have to go with police escort. My wealthy and snobbish aunt complains that no one comes to see her mother, but she doesn't realize that we're all tired of being treated like puppies on a white carpet. Don't touch this, don't chip that. I tell her every chance I can that her material things do not impress me.
I wrote a plea to my mother and the two aunts who can actually turn on a computer and asked them to seek counseling or mediation as sisters, so they could address the emotional issues they have with my grandmother, and ultimately treat her better than they have been. Typical behavior continues, blaming everyone but onesself, refusing to seek help. My wealthy aunt and the youngest aunt decided to insult my intelligence by telling me that I'm lying about things people have born witness to. So I let them both have it. The family is shocked, once again I'm crazy (sometimes I wish I had never said I was in therapy, if they hadn't have heard that, they probably wouldn't be calling me that). But I'm not the one abusing my elderly mother.
When I was a child, before I could even read, I asked my mother for my birth certificate. I swore up and down I was adopted. I still feel that way, honestly. These people do not act the way I feel a family should act. And I'm ultimately tired of it. I'm tired of being seen as wrong because I want to do what's right. I'm tired of the fickle behavior, you agree with me to my face and then you go back and agree with someone else to their face.
This is going to get ugly, but I hope that out of all of this, some healing can come. My grandmother may have made some mistakes, but she's an old woman now. None of the women in my mom's family who have kids want their children to abandon or abuse them, so they need to think about that when they do things that hurt and dismay their mother.
I don't live life relying on horoscopes, but one in particular (which always seems to have an antecdote to think about) said that with regards to my family, something may have to be torn down in order to be re-built properly. That's basic spiritual thought; most of us have constructed our lives based on false assumptions, and sometimes outright lies. It may not be totally our fault, but if you find that life is not working out the way you would like, and you yearn for better, you might actually have to tear down some constructs in order to create better ones.
That is happening in my family right now.
My generation has known for years that my mom's generation has some issues. The women all despise my grandmother for some reason, I thought for a moment that they were going to actually examine this, but in light of recent events, I see that is not going to happen. It has gotten so bad that they are abusing my elderly grandmother. They do really well with getting her to her doctor's appointments, but when it comes to the emotional quality of her life, they suck.
They refuse to let her go to church, or even to Wal-mart. My aunt, whom my grandmother lives with refuses to put a chair lift in so my grandmother can get up and down the stairs, because she doesn't want to "ruin her decor". So my grandmother crawls backwards down about 30 steps each day to get to the main level. There are no full baths on the main level, so she would either have to sleep in the basement or on the top floor, but all in all that 8,000 square foot house is not handicap accessible. And that's going to have to change, because it was this particular aunt who swore that my grandmother (and her baby sister who has her own set of insecurities and issues) belonged with her. Well, fast forward 6 years or so, and everyone is burned out and my grandmother is a "problem". They don't even have a legitimate home health aide in there who can assist my grandmother properly, it's my rich aunt's personal assistant. I tell you, all of this is going to change.
The real problem is that no one is listening to my grandmother. They're all so angry about their childhoods...which took place 50 years ago! They talk to Grandma like she's a child...or worse, they call her outside her name. They tell her to her face that they don't care what she wants or wishes, and accuse each other of taking Grandma's money while they do it themselves. All the while insisting that the nieces and nephews respect and revere them...and ignore the pasts of child abuse, deliberate lack of education (and insistence on lack of education for their kids), and drug use. It's time for the madness to stop, I say!
Well it's all definitly coming to a stop, because I called the authorities on them. My cousin and I have each filed separate complaints with the county Adult Protective Services division. And we'll be going to get my grandmother on Thursday so she can spend the week away from that gilded prison (and go to church, the one thing that brings her joy)...and unfortunately we'll have to go with police escort. My wealthy and snobbish aunt complains that no one comes to see her mother, but she doesn't realize that we're all tired of being treated like puppies on a white carpet. Don't touch this, don't chip that. I tell her every chance I can that her material things do not impress me.
I wrote a plea to my mother and the two aunts who can actually turn on a computer and asked them to seek counseling or mediation as sisters, so they could address the emotional issues they have with my grandmother, and ultimately treat her better than they have been. Typical behavior continues, blaming everyone but onesself, refusing to seek help. My wealthy aunt and the youngest aunt decided to insult my intelligence by telling me that I'm lying about things people have born witness to. So I let them both have it. The family is shocked, once again I'm crazy (sometimes I wish I had never said I was in therapy, if they hadn't have heard that, they probably wouldn't be calling me that). But I'm not the one abusing my elderly mother.
When I was a child, before I could even read, I asked my mother for my birth certificate. I swore up and down I was adopted. I still feel that way, honestly. These people do not act the way I feel a family should act. And I'm ultimately tired of it. I'm tired of being seen as wrong because I want to do what's right. I'm tired of the fickle behavior, you agree with me to my face and then you go back and agree with someone else to their face.
This is going to get ugly, but I hope that out of all of this, some healing can come. My grandmother may have made some mistakes, but she's an old woman now. None of the women in my mom's family who have kids want their children to abandon or abuse them, so they need to think about that when they do things that hurt and dismay their mother.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Prison Break...Or Not
Life is a daily lesson. I feel like each day that I get out of bed, I'm learning one hard lesson or another. For a minute, life kind of calmed down. New lesson learned: it can't always be that way.
Steven is growing like a weed. He climbs things like he's a little primate. Every door he closes, he reaches for the little lock on the knob. I've sat in rooms where he's reached up for the door handle and let himself out, only to run down the hall and away from me. Note to self: do not take him to the OB/GYN (he usually goes with me to my doctor's visits). It would be very hard to get off that table to get my son. Ha!
I cut his hair on Saturday. His fro has been getting out of control. It used to look like this:
Now it looks like this:
It's a lot easier to comb now, but I do miss his Kramer fro. It was unique...even if it couldn't be styled. Oh well, when his hair grows out, it'll grow out evenly this time. That is, if he doesn't try to mop the floor with his forehead again.
Labor Day weekend we went down to Ladysmith to my parents' "summer house". Man, it's peaceful down there. And we needed the vacation. Hopefully one day we'll actually be able to go out of state on vacation. I have a feeling we will. Steve and I have plans, it's just implementing them that can be hard sometimes.
We enjoyed a nice, quiet, long weekend just outside of Richmond. Traffic going south on 95 wasn't that bad, and we got to chill out and have fun. Little Man ran through the whole house, Steve got to relax, and I got to read and scrapbook. We even took Little Man swimming down at the lake. They have a nice beach there, and he liked it so much we took him twice. It felt so good, watching him run up and down the beach, screaming with joy. He even stopped to "talk" to people. Well, he would just pick out a cute woman and go sit in her lap. Folks were totally enamored of him.
Daddy and Little Man waiting for Mommy and Grandparents to get back from the store in Ladysmith.
My little Beach Baby!
We all had so much fun...We came back Monday afternoon, and it wasn't too much longer before reality set in. By Wednesday my landlord was trying to evict us over $53 dollars, an amount we didn't dispute, but an amount that should have been paid back in July. All I wanted to know was, firstly what the fee was, and when they finally told me, why it wasn't charged back in July. Their bookkeeper made a mistake, and rather than admit that, she and her managers chose to be degrading.
They've been a bit upset with me, because I keep pointing out that they use "the increasing cost of goods and services" as their excuse to raise the rent, but if you are an old tenant, your apartment just gets shabbier and shabbier. Because the problems are not ones that endanger health and saftey (by their standards...my son can get into the hall closet, climb the shelves, and get to the medicine if he doesn't fall first because the door is broken!), they do not get addressed. It is at the point now where it would be cheaper to pay a mortgage and the bills that come with it than to pay rent. I've actually found houses that are twice as large as our apartment for half the price. Now if only we could get a home loan. It'll happen. God is preparing the perfect house for us. I feel that within myself.
This past week has been extremely stressful for me. I'm beginning to understand just what type of caste system really exists in this country. Many of those who have money choose to look down on those who don't. The poor are "lazy", "ignorant", or just looking for a handout. We're all uneducated, we all choose not to better ourselves. I fully understand that poverty in the United States is nothing like poverty in other countries. For that I am truly grateful. But that doesn't mean that it's not hard.
Obviously I can get in contact with others via the internet. We pay our bills, we used part of our school refund check to get a better computer, as both Steve and I study online (and I've finally narrowed down the concentration within my major, more on that later). We pay the rent. We manage to feed ourselves and clothe little man. Clothing for the big people only comes when something has completely worn out, or the money fairy pays us a visit (perhaps once a year). Wal-mart is my best friend. I'm so psyched that they're building a Super Wal-Mart down the street, I LOOOOVE their grocery store. I doubt I'll shop anywhere else. I'm all about saving what pennies we have. :-)
Still...it hits home at least once a day what we can't do, especially for Little Man because we are considered "under the poverty level". We do our best to be resourceful, I give thanks for our blessings, but it is still hard. I sometimes feel like we just can't stretch our resources any further, and wonder just what we did wrong in this situation. Maybe we did nothing wrong.
But I see more clearly how the poor are viewed, now that we are considered that. At the same time, I realize the blessing of being considered "poor" in America. That's rich somewhere else. I remind myself of that when my friends are travelling the globe and wearing nice things. My son is happy. He has no idea what his parents are going through. He has his needs met. Heck, he dresses better than we do, and I see nothing wrong with that. Those $4 tops and bottoms at Target are cute! We find ways to go and do things as a family that don't break the bank. We eat well, even if it's the same thing every month. At least we can afford to get fat. The boy never runs out of his whole milk, and there are plenty of diapers for him to pee through (and boy does he). Whenever we can get away and the Green Goblin (our car) can get us going South, there's always Mom's place. Scrapbooking isn't that expensive. We've learned to want less.
Still, we look forward to the day when we can own our own home. Steve qualifies for a VA home loan. We're looking but we can't buy yet. Still....one day, my son will have a backyard to play in, and any sisters or brothers he might have coming after him will have a room of their own. If something breaks, we'll be able to fix it.
I'm dreaming of that white picket (or chain link) fence.
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