I'm a 53-yr.old mother of three, and I
have chronic Hepatitis C and am bipolar
(manic depressive). Both conditions complicated the problems with
my daughter--I ran out of energy quickly,
and the fighting exhausted me. The
first page of the diary connected with
this goes into the Hepatitis C further.
ln 1997, I was a single mom. My kids
are 22, 23, and 29; the youngest is
now
in the Navy as a nuclear technician. The oldest daughter had given over the
raising of her boys to others, including
the oldest (10) to my husband and me
until last year. The others are 7 and 8,
and the youngest is being raised by his
father. (Update: the two older boys
are now with their mother, and we've
not had any contact from the youngest
or his father in
over a year. Just before Christmas of '04 was the last time we
saw either of them.)
In 1996 and 1997, my (now) 23 year
old daughter ran away
several times, used
both drugs and alcohol, ditched school, was charged and put on
probation for theft and assault on her
(former)
stepmother, and was so moody and angry that I cringed when
she walked in the door. So terrible to
feel that way about your own child!
She dressed all in black, was fascinated
with anything concerning the occult,
and not only had carved a pentagram in
her leg, but also the words, "devil
child". (Years later, the
scar is still visible.) She caused her older sister
to lose one of her twins by kicking her in the
abdomen, left bruises on her brother's
neck from trying to strangle him, and
chased him with kitchen knives.
She couldn't be trusted to be left at our
home alone, since she stole money,
jewelry, lingerie, and anything else that
interested her. When questioning her,
you
had to be careful how you posed the
query; if you asked *** if she had something of yours, she would say
"no"--and feel that it was the truth--
because it was not in her possession at
*that* moment. You had
to phrase your questions carefully, like asking, "Did
you take (specific item)
out of (whatever area) (at any time)?".
Infuriating.
On a brighter note, now that we are healing as a family, she is
able to tell me, little by little, about the
things
that she took, and how
badly she feels for those actions now. She is
determined that she will replaced those
things.
She is maturing a lot, and likes to show
her affection.
I realized that **** had the power in
our family--when had that happened?
When
did she start dictating how things would be done? At what point had the
privileges in her life gotten mixed up
with the rights? Rights include a safe
home, decent meals, & clothing; the
privileges
are the extras, such as dates, television, allowance, and so on. The
rights are automatic; the privileges are
earned.
When **** stopped doing
the dishes (or anything
else, for that matter!), I had simultanously reached
the end of my rope. I had just had
major surgery, my medications were off-
kilter, and for the
first time I thought I would end up hospitalized for my own
mental illness. I went out to the
kitchen, opened the cupboard, and took out a plate,
bowl, and cup; I opened
the drawer, and got a spoon,
knife, and fork.
I put these items on the counter,and told ****, "These are for you to
eat with. If you choose not to wash
them, you will either have to eat off of
dirty dishes, or skip that meal--it's up
to you." I made sure that her utensils
were a little different from the everyday
things used
by the rest of us, so that I would know if she tried to slip her own
things into the sink with our dishes. I
told her that she would have to get her
clothes
to the laundry, if she wanted clean clothes; she would not get time
to watch television, unless she did
chores, such as sweeping the
kitchen. An hour of work got her an hour of t.v.,
etc.
When she left home the last time, we
went in to try and clean up what
she had done to her room. There were
dirty clothes stuffed in her drawers and
other
small places; her mattress and pillows had been slit, to provide more
hiding
places; she had things hidden in the hems of her curtains; there were
knives, sex toys, some Marilyn Manson
posters, and things that made me sick
to find. Her dresser had old food in it
that she had hoarded, and there were
maggots--we just broke the dresser
apart, and threw it in the trash. We
washed down the walls with bleach,
threw away the curtains and other
linens that had been in there, and
hauled the mattresses to the dump.
I got in-home counseling for ****, but
she wouldn't cooperate with them. I
took her to be evaluated, but authoriza-
tions and approvals from the system
were progressing
much more slowly than her behavior, which was escalating
at an alarming speed. I needed more
help, quickly, or she'd destroy not only
herself,
but my marriage and my family.
At the start of 1998, **** was placed in
a locked residential treatment center,
where she was diagnosed as bipolar,
passive-aggressive, borderline person-
ality, and a slew of other things. She
was placed on medications (Depakote
and Wellbutrin), and sent to a therapeu-
tic group home, trying to make the
transition to coming home again,
possibly
this summer. (Update: **** is coming home for good on May 19th,
1999--the order has been signed by
the judge, and ****'s P.O. called her to
confirm her return date this week!)
(Further update: as of this writing, in
Sept. of 2002, **** will no longer take
any of her
meds for her manic depression--she feels that they make her feel like she's
"wrapped in cotton balls", and unable
to react normally.)
My youngest is a good kid, and is the
reason that I know that I have been
a
good mom, in spite of the choices that my girls made. He was a good student,
builds computers, is a strong believer in
God, and a lot of fun. He's also a good
uncle to my grandsons,
and is doing well in the Navy. He re-enlisted for two
more years. He is now stationed in
Georgia,
and is on
nuclear subs.
I thank God for putting my husband in
my life (we married 12/31/97, after
meeting on the 'Net). He's a good step-
father and grandfather, even though he
has
no children of his own. He's a caring, wonderful person, and even
though I didn't think I would ever love
someone enough to marry again, I
hadn't counted on Charlie. Life CAN be
good!
I've never once regretted my decision to choose him.
In the next section, I plan on keeping a
diary of sorts, especially about my 23
year old. Maybe as I go through all of
this, I can either get helpful
advice from readers, or just vent my frustrations.
And maybe, just maybe, my own story
will help others. I invite anyone to
check out my support group page on
Yahoo!, "Parenting Troubled Teens",
listed in
my links at the left. Good people, full of compassion, and caring.
App. 1,300 members at this time (April
2006). If you have any comments or
suggestions, please e-mail me. Stop
by the support group, and feel free to
post messages on the board--I really
appreciate all the feedback I can get!
