I admit it. I've been lax this week too. Somehow the week has been getting away from me and before I know it the sun is setting on Thursday and I haven't posted my blog entry. Things have been going rather smoothly lately and I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. On the other hand A is up to two showers a week and they are lasting roughly five hours instead of the normal three.
We survived the cat ordeal of few weeks ago. The cats are still with us. I will fight to the death for them as I would for A, even if we have to move. They have lived here almost as long as we have, now over two years, and they haven't done anything to harm anyone. A still jumps at the sound of steps on the stairs or a knock at the door, but so far no one has wanted to come in.
All in all I should be enjoying the peace, but I've lived so long without it I don't know what to do with myself! I ask for your patience if you're a regular reader. Check back often. I'm sure I will eventually remember what day it is and post something. I do apologize because I did say I would be regular with my posts. Thank you for stopping by. Leave me a note if you've enjoyed anything I've had to say. Oops. The bathroom door just opened. I have to go cook some rice for my hungry boy.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
The week got away from me and I missed last night's post. I'm sorry. Things have been so crazy for the last week and I was completely focused on a doctor's appointment tomorrow because I missed one a couple of weeks ago. We were in the middle of a crisis and I lost track of the days then too. The rest of this may explain why.
I can’t really complain too much about A and his things, because I have them too, but once in a while our things butt heads with one another and it’s awful. A has a hard time adjusting to new pets. When he was about ten we lost his favorite cat. At that point all of the cats we had were there when he was born so he grew up with them. When Natasha died though he lost his best friend. She was wonderful, didn’t play favorites, just made sure everybody got loved in turn. My husband and I were at work when A called to say something was wrong with her. I went home to check it out and took her to the vet. They wanted to keep her overnight and try giving her fluids. The next morning when they checked on her she was gone. Later that year my husband went to California to work temporarily and brought home a new cat. A wasn’t ready. He was upset that his dad would bring home a new cat to take Natasha’s place. We tried explaining that she couldn’t do that. She came to make a place of her own with people who would love her. It still took over a year before he could really be affectionate to her.
When he and I came here we had three cats with us, two he’d grown up with and the new one. The two old ones died within a month of each other. The mama ex-feral cat I have now had a batch of kittens out on our porch. All but one of them disappeared by the time they were two months old. One night she and his dad and another stray that hung out with them left the poor little guy all alone out on the porch and he was crying up a storm. Mama cat had been helping me acclimate him to touching, petting, and picking up for cuddles. He was so sad, and LOUD! So he came in the house. A didn’t like it because he was “dirty.” He’d been outside. It was over a year before he would pet him and be nice. Until then he chased him and made very unfriendly noise at him. A doesn’t remember that because they the best of pals now.
After we moved out of my boyfriend’s house I went back and caught Mamacat and her latest batch of kittens. Two out of three survived that time. Again, A can’t stand them and is mean to them because they were outside. Mama was pregnant again when I caught her and she had the kittens on the floor of my bedroom. I found homes for all but one of those kittens and one of the middle kittens I’d caught with her died when she was ten months old. That was two years ago. Now he tries to pet the youngest one and can’t figure out why she runs. I couldn’t be because he’s spent most of the last two years chasing her and yelling at her. Anyway our family now includes the one my husband brought from California, Mamacat and one “kitten” from each of her three litters. The oldest of the younguns is A’s pal, the other three are afraid of him, though Mama lets him get away with quite a bit.
Enter our landlord. We have pretty much avoided inspections because A gets freaked out and doesn’t calm down for a week at the mere prospect of someone who is not him and is not me coming into our apartment. The manager let me write a letter explaining the situation and asking that they skip our apartment. Most of the time they respect that. Well, we were out one day. Mamacat and the two were shut up in their room. It was a hot day and the place smelled. The litter boxes are right by the door as you come in. So when I went to pay my rent (instead of saying something two weeks ago when it happened) I was told they would have to go or we’d be evicted. So I am running my self ragged trying to find a place for them to go. It’s killing me because when I make a commitment to an animal it’s for life. They become like my children. Because A doesn’t like them and doesn’t want them here he’s overjoyed at the prospect of them being gone and dismayed that I’m not doing something every waking minute to get rid of them. I have called a rescue. They haven’t called me back. All they have is voicemail. The local shelter is not a no-kill for cats and I am not going to turn them over only to have two years of my hard work and love walked into a euthanasia room. Not only that they have a fee to take them. If I’m going to pay a fee I’d rather board them. That same fee will pay for three days of boarding. A says “that’s not an option.” I can’t blame him because he’s truly afraid of being homeless. I’ve called my boyfriend, who has always been on my side when it comes to cats. He was with me when both of my babies died and the age of 18 and 17. He held me while I cried. He knows. Why doesn’t my own son, who has been with me since birth and grew under my heart not understand I can’t just through them out to be eaten by coyotes or whatever is out there? They were here for TWO YEARS without a problem. What am I supposed to do? Anybody who says “They’re only cats” without suggesting a real solution will be booted off. They are not ONLY cats. They are loving, living creatures who depend on me and deserve loving homes. Why should I have to give them up because I love them and A doesn’t? Why does he get to make the rules all the time when I’m supposed to be in charge? Along with all of this I've been breaking my back trying to get as much cat hair out of the carpet as I can because I'm having the carpet cleaned. I was planning to do it anyway before the manager gave me the bad news. I seldom have enough to buy groceries let alone have the carpet cleaned.
UPDATE: I never found a home for them. The cats are back with me after being boarded for a week. My wonderful, supportive boyfriend paid the boarding fee for me when my card wouldn’t work and was frozen. That’s another $500 I owe him on top of many, many other bail-outs. A is beside himself with fear. Three days after the cats came home we got another notice and he’s still in a panic. They are installing carbon monoxide detectors in apartments that are all electric and have no CO emissions. He asks me everyday what are we going to do with the cats if there’s another inspection and when they come to install the detectors. I have no answers. I can only take it one day at a time as it presents itself. I’ve been looking for rent-to-own homes hoping we can move out of here and have the freedom to take care of ourselves and our cats without intrusion from others. My credit is so bad though I don’t know how I can do it. All I can do is hope and pray.
I can’t really complain too much about A and his things, because I have them too, but once in a while our things butt heads with one another and it’s awful. A has a hard time adjusting to new pets. When he was about ten we lost his favorite cat. At that point all of the cats we had were there when he was born so he grew up with them. When Natasha died though he lost his best friend. She was wonderful, didn’t play favorites, just made sure everybody got loved in turn. My husband and I were at work when A called to say something was wrong with her. I went home to check it out and took her to the vet. They wanted to keep her overnight and try giving her fluids. The next morning when they checked on her she was gone. Later that year my husband went to California to work temporarily and brought home a new cat. A wasn’t ready. He was upset that his dad would bring home a new cat to take Natasha’s place. We tried explaining that she couldn’t do that. She came to make a place of her own with people who would love her. It still took over a year before he could really be affectionate to her.
When he and I came here we had three cats with us, two he’d grown up with and the new one. The two old ones died within a month of each other. The mama ex-feral cat I have now had a batch of kittens out on our porch. All but one of them disappeared by the time they were two months old. One night she and his dad and another stray that hung out with them left the poor little guy all alone out on the porch and he was crying up a storm. Mama cat had been helping me acclimate him to touching, petting, and picking up for cuddles. He was so sad, and LOUD! So he came in the house. A didn’t like it because he was “dirty.” He’d been outside. It was over a year before he would pet him and be nice. Until then he chased him and made very unfriendly noise at him. A doesn’t remember that because they the best of pals now.
After we moved out of my boyfriend’s house I went back and caught Mamacat and her latest batch of kittens. Two out of three survived that time. Again, A can’t stand them and is mean to them because they were outside. Mama was pregnant again when I caught her and she had the kittens on the floor of my bedroom. I found homes for all but one of those kittens and one of the middle kittens I’d caught with her died when she was ten months old. That was two years ago. Now he tries to pet the youngest one and can’t figure out why she runs. I couldn’t be because he’s spent most of the last two years chasing her and yelling at her. Anyway our family now includes the one my husband brought from California, Mamacat and one “kitten” from each of her three litters. The oldest of the younguns is A’s pal, the other three are afraid of him, though Mama lets him get away with quite a bit.
Enter our landlord. We have pretty much avoided inspections because A gets freaked out and doesn’t calm down for a week at the mere prospect of someone who is not him and is not me coming into our apartment. The manager let me write a letter explaining the situation and asking that they skip our apartment. Most of the time they respect that. Well, we were out one day. Mamacat and the two were shut up in their room. It was a hot day and the place smelled. The litter boxes are right by the door as you come in. So when I went to pay my rent (instead of saying something two weeks ago when it happened) I was told they would have to go or we’d be evicted. So I am running my self ragged trying to find a place for them to go. It’s killing me because when I make a commitment to an animal it’s for life. They become like my children. Because A doesn’t like them and doesn’t want them here he’s overjoyed at the prospect of them being gone and dismayed that I’m not doing something every waking minute to get rid of them. I have called a rescue. They haven’t called me back. All they have is voicemail. The local shelter is not a no-kill for cats and I am not going to turn them over only to have two years of my hard work and love walked into a euthanasia room. Not only that they have a fee to take them. If I’m going to pay a fee I’d rather board them. That same fee will pay for three days of boarding. A says “that’s not an option.” I can’t blame him because he’s truly afraid of being homeless. I’ve called my boyfriend, who has always been on my side when it comes to cats. He was with me when both of my babies died and the age of 18 and 17. He held me while I cried. He knows. Why doesn’t my own son, who has been with me since birth and grew under my heart not understand I can’t just through them out to be eaten by coyotes or whatever is out there? They were here for TWO YEARS without a problem. What am I supposed to do? Anybody who says “They’re only cats” without suggesting a real solution will be booted off. They are not ONLY cats. They are loving, living creatures who depend on me and deserve loving homes. Why should I have to give them up because I love them and A doesn’t? Why does he get to make the rules all the time when I’m supposed to be in charge? Along with all of this I've been breaking my back trying to get as much cat hair out of the carpet as I can because I'm having the carpet cleaned. I was planning to do it anyway before the manager gave me the bad news. I seldom have enough to buy groceries let alone have the carpet cleaned.
UPDATE: I never found a home for them. The cats are back with me after being boarded for a week. My wonderful, supportive boyfriend paid the boarding fee for me when my card wouldn’t work and was frozen. That’s another $500 I owe him on top of many, many other bail-outs. A is beside himself with fear. Three days after the cats came home we got another notice and he’s still in a panic. They are installing carbon monoxide detectors in apartments that are all electric and have no CO emissions. He asks me everyday what are we going to do with the cats if there’s another inspection and when they come to install the detectors. I have no answers. I can only take it one day at a time as it presents itself. I’ve been looking for rent-to-own homes hoping we can move out of here and have the freedom to take care of ourselves and our cats without intrusion from others. My credit is so bad though I don’t know how I can do it. All I can do is hope and pray.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
LONG POST ALERT!!!!
I’ve started this post over in my mind at least three times. I started out “I’ve lived in fear for most of A’s life.” Then I realized “I’ve lived in fear most of my adult life.” Then I thought about it some more and realized that I’ve really lived in fear for most of my entire life! When I was little I was as fearless as the next child. I climbed onto the fence of the bull pen and then couldn’t get down and somebody had to come and rescue me before the bull figured out I was there. I don’t remember wearing shoes in the summer until I was at least ten. I stepped on a lot of bees. And cigarette butts that were still burning.
I don’t remember feeling fear until I had to go to school. Like most kids when I got to a certain age I got excited about going to school. As a toddler I lived next to a country school house and I watched the kids at recess. I loved going shopping for pencils and stuff for school. When I got there I learned very quickly that other kids could sense a weakness and take advantage of it. I’d grown up around adults and had never been teased before. I took it very personally and cried, which naturally made things worse. After the first month of school I was transferred to a different school closer to home. The very one I had lived next door to when I was younger. We’d moved into a house “in town” when I was five and in the meantime a house had been built where our garden was, but I knew the school well.
There were two other kids who had been sent to the wrong school and we all started at the new one together. Otherwise I didn’t know any of the other kids. Because I was unfamiliar with teasing and bullying I lived in fear for my life. My mother tried to teach me the old “sticks and stones” saw, but that really didn’t make the words hurt any less. It didn’t help that I nearly died over the winter and missed a great deal of school. When I got back I had to stay in at recess to catch up on my work. I had a few friends, but only one lived near me and I was too little to walk to her house to play.
Things didn’t change much as I grew because the bullies grew too and got even bullier. In ninth grade the boy who sat across the aisle from me in study hall took a disliking to my dress and when the teacher wasn’t looking he would give me a punch to the arm. By the end of the day I had a bruise that covered my entire upper arm. Even though it was the spring and it was hot I wore long sleeves to cover it up. One of the girls in my home ec class saw part of the bruise when I rolled up my sleeves and told the teacher. The teacher made me show her the whole arm and marched me down to the principal’s office and he made me wait there while he called the boy down and made him apologize. I’m not sure what fear turns into when it gets worse than terror, but I felt it.
I spent most of high school afraid that there would never be someone for me to marry. These were the early days of women’s lib when it was hoped that I could be whatever I wanted to be, but the reality would probably be I’d end up being a wife and mother - IF I could find a husband, which didn’t seem likely there. So off to college I went. I went to a small technical college in a big city, at least it was big to me then. I’ve lived in much bigger cities since then. But I digress. There I was afraid I’d get lost. I was afraid I couldn’t find my classes or get there on time. I was afraid of so many, many things I can’t remember them all. I made it through orientation, made a new friend, and found my way home again! First day licked. Second day I walked into typing class - on time I might add - and saw the scruffiest hippiest looking man I ever saw in my life. My first thought was that it would kill my dad if I brought him home. He was in every one of my classes. I had to fight every shyness cell in my body to speak to him, but after the fourth class in a row I had to know if he was going to be in all of them, so I asked. He was. After the next day we spent every break together and started going out. We got married nine months later. Partly because we fell in love, partly because I never thought I’d find anybody else, and partly because I wanted to show everybody at home I could find somebody and get married before I was 19 or 20. The wedding was one month before I turned 19.
Then I lived in fear that he would leave me. He threatened to regularly for 23 years. Anytime he felt like I was getting beyond his control he would threaten. We actually separated several times. Once he threw me out of our apartment and I had to go back to my mother’s because he wanted me to quit my job and I didn’t want to. He got his way because I didn’t have any choice but to pack up and go 100 miles back to my parents. A month later we were back together again. We separated again nine months later for financial reasons. We each got better jobs in different places and started saving up so we could have a place of our own again. I got hurt at work, he came to see me and because we didn’t end up having sex he asked for a divorce. It felt like a punch to the gut. I’d been working so hard to get back together and he’d been dating! So I filed for divorce. He came up for the hearing, one thing led to the other and the divorce was over. Back together again. It took six months. After that he liked to pull out the D card every once in awhile. More than once I was ready to go along with it, but he wouldn’t move out. I didn’t think I could make it on my own. I had no idea about spousal support after a certain number of years.
Then A was born. Perhaps the greatest fear of all came after I found out I was expecting A. First I was afraid I couldn’t carry him the whole time. I was afraid I would lose him, like the others. A was baby number four and the only one I carried past the first two months. Then I went into preterm labor at six months! He was saved, but I lived for three months on bed rest - not as easy as you’d think! Then he didn’t move! You couldn’t make that kid move for anything! Not even the occasional foot sticking out of my belly! Nothing! After he was born I was afraid of SIDS. Then it was abduction. I never let him out of my sight. The hardest thing was baby and me classes. He was going to have to be an only. There was too much risk to my life to try again. I didn’t want him to grow up like I did without any other kids around.
Aside from the fear for A these were wonderful, happy, challenging years when we were a real family. His dad got a great job. We bought a beautiful house and two cars. Dad left for work at a little before seven. A was pre-programmed to wake up at 6:30 (I swear he was born waking up at 6:30 every morning!). He would climb out of his crib and race down the hall to see his dad before he left for work. He went to a day care where he was well watched and protected.
We lived in a small town, the kind where everybody knows everybody else, even if it isn’t by name. They had a fall festival with a one K race for kids. A wanted to run in that race so badly. He was an athletic kid who loved to run and climb on anything, including the piles of dirt and machines at the construction site across the street - under strict supervision! He trained for that race by running around our block with me following him. The day of the race comes and dad picks a big fight over whether he should run or not. Dad says no. I don’t want to let him down so we leave dad in a snit. Problem: the plan was for Dad to be on one end of the race and I was going to be on the other. Now there’s only one of us. There is a landmark at the end of the race and A is told to go to that landmark and not leave it until I get there. He knows about stranger danger. I can walk faster than a four year old can run can’t I? It’s only three blocks. I take photos of the race starting then get out of the way and head for the other end at a fast pace. I don’t make it in time for the end of the race. A is no where to be found. I find neighbors and ask. They haven’t seen him. I panic. I walk back to the other end in case he’s gone to find me. No A. Back to the finish where I fall apart asking everybody I can find. Finally a policeman is coming to help when someone asks if that’s him across the street. IT IS! I run to him crying my eyes out in relief. He can’t imagine what’s wrong and the woman holding his hand tries to explain. She saw him faltering toward the end and went out to encourage him, then took him to look for me. I must have passed them at least twice. I can’t believe what I’m hearing, but he’s safe in my arms trying to comfort me, to get me to stop crying because it’s ok. He never leaves my sight again until he’s 13 at the county fair with a group of friends and still I was afraid the whole time!. I can still feel that panic and terror today as I’m writing this.
I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from that sick feeling of terror. It never leaves me. Even when I leave him outside in the car to wait for me while I shop of get him a book or get our food. He’s almost 18 and I don’t think I will ever stop being afraid that he’ll hurt himself and I won’t be there to help him. I know he can defend himself now and he can call for help. He’s six and a half feet tall and weighs nearly 200 pounds! He knows how to defend himself. I think I’ll be afraid for him until the day I die.
I’ve started this post over in my mind at least three times. I started out “I’ve lived in fear for most of A’s life.” Then I realized “I’ve lived in fear most of my adult life.” Then I thought about it some more and realized that I’ve really lived in fear for most of my entire life! When I was little I was as fearless as the next child. I climbed onto the fence of the bull pen and then couldn’t get down and somebody had to come and rescue me before the bull figured out I was there. I don’t remember wearing shoes in the summer until I was at least ten. I stepped on a lot of bees. And cigarette butts that were still burning.
I don’t remember feeling fear until I had to go to school. Like most kids when I got to a certain age I got excited about going to school. As a toddler I lived next to a country school house and I watched the kids at recess. I loved going shopping for pencils and stuff for school. When I got there I learned very quickly that other kids could sense a weakness and take advantage of it. I’d grown up around adults and had never been teased before. I took it very personally and cried, which naturally made things worse. After the first month of school I was transferred to a different school closer to home. The very one I had lived next door to when I was younger. We’d moved into a house “in town” when I was five and in the meantime a house had been built where our garden was, but I knew the school well.
There were two other kids who had been sent to the wrong school and we all started at the new one together. Otherwise I didn’t know any of the other kids. Because I was unfamiliar with teasing and bullying I lived in fear for my life. My mother tried to teach me the old “sticks and stones” saw, but that really didn’t make the words hurt any less. It didn’t help that I nearly died over the winter and missed a great deal of school. When I got back I had to stay in at recess to catch up on my work. I had a few friends, but only one lived near me and I was too little to walk to her house to play.
Things didn’t change much as I grew because the bullies grew too and got even bullier. In ninth grade the boy who sat across the aisle from me in study hall took a disliking to my dress and when the teacher wasn’t looking he would give me a punch to the arm. By the end of the day I had a bruise that covered my entire upper arm. Even though it was the spring and it was hot I wore long sleeves to cover it up. One of the girls in my home ec class saw part of the bruise when I rolled up my sleeves and told the teacher. The teacher made me show her the whole arm and marched me down to the principal’s office and he made me wait there while he called the boy down and made him apologize. I’m not sure what fear turns into when it gets worse than terror, but I felt it.
I spent most of high school afraid that there would never be someone for me to marry. These were the early days of women’s lib when it was hoped that I could be whatever I wanted to be, but the reality would probably be I’d end up being a wife and mother - IF I could find a husband, which didn’t seem likely there. So off to college I went. I went to a small technical college in a big city, at least it was big to me then. I’ve lived in much bigger cities since then. But I digress. There I was afraid I’d get lost. I was afraid I couldn’t find my classes or get there on time. I was afraid of so many, many things I can’t remember them all. I made it through orientation, made a new friend, and found my way home again! First day licked. Second day I walked into typing class - on time I might add - and saw the scruffiest hippiest looking man I ever saw in my life. My first thought was that it would kill my dad if I brought him home. He was in every one of my classes. I had to fight every shyness cell in my body to speak to him, but after the fourth class in a row I had to know if he was going to be in all of them, so I asked. He was. After the next day we spent every break together and started going out. We got married nine months later. Partly because we fell in love, partly because I never thought I’d find anybody else, and partly because I wanted to show everybody at home I could find somebody and get married before I was 19 or 20. The wedding was one month before I turned 19.
Then I lived in fear that he would leave me. He threatened to regularly for 23 years. Anytime he felt like I was getting beyond his control he would threaten. We actually separated several times. Once he threw me out of our apartment and I had to go back to my mother’s because he wanted me to quit my job and I didn’t want to. He got his way because I didn’t have any choice but to pack up and go 100 miles back to my parents. A month later we were back together again. We separated again nine months later for financial reasons. We each got better jobs in different places and started saving up so we could have a place of our own again. I got hurt at work, he came to see me and because we didn’t end up having sex he asked for a divorce. It felt like a punch to the gut. I’d been working so hard to get back together and he’d been dating! So I filed for divorce. He came up for the hearing, one thing led to the other and the divorce was over. Back together again. It took six months. After that he liked to pull out the D card every once in awhile. More than once I was ready to go along with it, but he wouldn’t move out. I didn’t think I could make it on my own. I had no idea about spousal support after a certain number of years.
Then A was born. Perhaps the greatest fear of all came after I found out I was expecting A. First I was afraid I couldn’t carry him the whole time. I was afraid I would lose him, like the others. A was baby number four and the only one I carried past the first two months. Then I went into preterm labor at six months! He was saved, but I lived for three months on bed rest - not as easy as you’d think! Then he didn’t move! You couldn’t make that kid move for anything! Not even the occasional foot sticking out of my belly! Nothing! After he was born I was afraid of SIDS. Then it was abduction. I never let him out of my sight. The hardest thing was baby and me classes. He was going to have to be an only. There was too much risk to my life to try again. I didn’t want him to grow up like I did without any other kids around.
Aside from the fear for A these were wonderful, happy, challenging years when we were a real family. His dad got a great job. We bought a beautiful house and two cars. Dad left for work at a little before seven. A was pre-programmed to wake up at 6:30 (I swear he was born waking up at 6:30 every morning!). He would climb out of his crib and race down the hall to see his dad before he left for work. He went to a day care where he was well watched and protected.
We lived in a small town, the kind where everybody knows everybody else, even if it isn’t by name. They had a fall festival with a one K race for kids. A wanted to run in that race so badly. He was an athletic kid who loved to run and climb on anything, including the piles of dirt and machines at the construction site across the street - under strict supervision! He trained for that race by running around our block with me following him. The day of the race comes and dad picks a big fight over whether he should run or not. Dad says no. I don’t want to let him down so we leave dad in a snit. Problem: the plan was for Dad to be on one end of the race and I was going to be on the other. Now there’s only one of us. There is a landmark at the end of the race and A is told to go to that landmark and not leave it until I get there. He knows about stranger danger. I can walk faster than a four year old can run can’t I? It’s only three blocks. I take photos of the race starting then get out of the way and head for the other end at a fast pace. I don’t make it in time for the end of the race. A is no where to be found. I find neighbors and ask. They haven’t seen him. I panic. I walk back to the other end in case he’s gone to find me. No A. Back to the finish where I fall apart asking everybody I can find. Finally a policeman is coming to help when someone asks if that’s him across the street. IT IS! I run to him crying my eyes out in relief. He can’t imagine what’s wrong and the woman holding his hand tries to explain. She saw him faltering toward the end and went out to encourage him, then took him to look for me. I must have passed them at least twice. I can’t believe what I’m hearing, but he’s safe in my arms trying to comfort me, to get me to stop crying because it’s ok. He never leaves my sight again until he’s 13 at the county fair with a group of friends and still I was afraid the whole time!. I can still feel that panic and terror today as I’m writing this.
I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from that sick feeling of terror. It never leaves me. Even when I leave him outside in the car to wait for me while I shop of get him a book or get our food. He’s almost 18 and I don’t think I will ever stop being afraid that he’ll hurt himself and I won’t be there to help him. I know he can defend himself now and he can call for help. He’s six and a half feet tall and weighs nearly 200 pounds! He knows how to defend himself. I think I’ll be afraid for him until the day I die.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Yesterday something fell off a tub in the hallway as he was walking by and it touched him! That tantrum because he didn’t know what to do to fix it caused 7 holes to be punched in a bifold door in the hall. That wasn’t enough damage so he cut his arm. I can’t take this pressure! I know it only lasts a little while.
By the time I got back from the store with the underwear he was all smiles. He showed me the difference between the two brands of underwear and they were significant. The new mediums were larger than the old ones, yet smaller than the old/new large. Hopefully they will fit and I won’t have to hear him complain and cry for the next two weeks. Since there basically are only two brands I don’t know what I will do if they don’t fit or “wear funny.”
I honestly don’t know how I avoid killing us both to end the misery and the hopelessness I feel. I was feeling so hopeful. He had been doing better, going into the book store and the grocery store, talking about getting his GED and a job. There hadn’t been a tantrum in nearly a week. He started learning to knit. Now I feel like the whole thing is in the dumpster. I feel like I’m stuck in this apartment until I die because I can’t afford to pay for the damage he’s caused. I feel like I can’t mention any progress because it will all go away if I do.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
At the peak of A’s, I don’t know what to call it, OCD activity? We could hardly walk through the living room for the paper, ruined books, playing cards, and other detritus that he just dropped or flung on the floor. He didn’t keep track of his belongings and most of the time if it was on the floor it was dirty and therefore garbage, but if I touched it he’d have a screaming raging fit and I’d have to wash my hands, repeatedly.
He slept on the coffee table because he could wash it every day and you can’t do that with a mattress. He took three and four hour showers every day. All of his bedding and any clothes that were on the floor had to be washed everyday, whether he’d worn them or not. And he wanted every load to be washed twice. The kitchen light had to remain on all the time as well as the one above the front door. He would not eat anything that my boyfriend cooked. I would either have to buy or cook him something else. All of this while recovering from back surgery. He did nothing to help. He was too busy trying to maintain some kind of comfort zone all the while adding to the pile of garbage that was causing everyone else so much discomfort.
He would get an idea for something and obsess about it until I got the materials he needed. Then if it didn’t work there would be a meltdown and the stuff would just end up in the pile across the room. When I couldn’t stand it anymore it would take nearly a week, on my hands and knees, sorting through the piles, to clean just the one room.
When we moved into our own apartment it took me two weeks to clean the living room and another two weeks to clean his bedroom, which I was not allowed into when we lived there as it was a “dirty” area and he wouldn’t know what I touched or moved. He would go in once or twice a week to sleep in a cleared out space that he had to build himself a “nest” for piling blankets and sleeping.
He was like a toddler in that anything he wanted or thought should be his became his. After we moved and I was cleaning his room I found so many of my things scattered around the room under piles of clothes and books. Things he had no business touching or unpacking, but he thought were fair game because they were in HIS room so they must be his. We had briefly moved back to our old home and things I’d packed to send for later were put in his room so they would be out of the way. When we came back I didn’t get the chance to take care of them before he decided the room was off limits. I thought they were safe in there, silly me. One of the things was a family Bible, over 150 years old, that was in plastic box for safekeeping. I found it in several pieces scattered around the room.
His anger knew no bounds. I compare him to the Incredible Hulk now, but he was much worse then. Several of the walls in my boyfriend’s house have holes punched in them by A’s fist. My computer desk, which matched my boyfriend’s and was an IKEA closeout, has holes in the top that were made by both A’s head and his elbows. He started playing Go, an Asian board game similar to chess, online and when he lost he would take it out on my desk.
He always expects to achieve high results on everything, even if he’s only a beginner or he’s trying something new. He expects it to work perfectly from the first time. He’s tried games, magic, origami, inventing. He does brilliantly at everything, especially once he gets the hang of it. The problem is getting him through the beginning stages. Because he’s so intelligent, he seems to think he should just be able to do whatever it is the first time and not need practice.
Since we have been on our own - two years now - he has cut his showers down to once or twice a week. He no longer needs to wash his bed every time he remakes it, though he is still more comfortable sleeping on the board than on a mattress. He doesn’t always smash things to oblivion, though sometimes... His sleeping area is neater. He still can’t recognize the difference between a clean room and a cluttered one, but he cut down on the scrap paper pile. He still asks me if his hands are clean after washing them. He has cut down on the number of blankets and sheets on his bed so it only takes about three loads to wash them all. It used to be five. However things still get “dirty” by some pretty confusing ways. Last week he dropped a book on his lap and because he thinks he leaks urine the book had to be thrown out because it got “dirty” by falling into his lap. Things aren’t as severe as they were, but they can get pretty “different” sometimes. As more “things” go away others crop up, but they are getting fewer and farther between and easier to deal with. Not long ago he would not have even thought about getting out of the car when we went somewhere. In the last few weeks he has gone into Walmart (at 4 A.M.) and the book store several times. He even went into the grocery store with me one day. He’s talking about taking the class to get his GED, which he should have had a year ago, but couldn’t even think about going into a classroom, and getting a job at Barnes & Noble. I’m not sure what would happen if he didn’t get a job there, or if he did! But he’s thinking about it and that’s what counts. Stepping forward, even if it’s with baby steps, at whatever pace he sets, as long as it’s forward.
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