First, the good part. I filed a complaint with the county about the dog barking. While it hasn’t stopped completely, the offenders let their dogs out one at a time in the morning before 6 am. There appears to be 2 instigators, and when they don’t have any partners in crime, the early morning raucous has diminished. The midnight barking has also mostly disappeared. Small victory.
Most of my days are good. The bad days are normal, and I work to turn them around. Every day is better for me. Today, we are supposed to have a 70 degree or higher day. I intended to soak up some of that vitamin D.
However, I seem to complain, or work out my darker thoughts on here. There is more to me, and I recognize it, but I have to let go of some thoughts before they fester. Those pesky thoughts that are lurking around, waiting for a gap in my line of defense. (To fill you in as to why I reference war tactics, I have been watching my share of WWII documentaries)
I was almost ready to post about days two and three to my series, Thirty Random Days to Organized Chaos, but the Chaos part struck again. I was so proud of my office progress. I even prepared our taxes without spreading paperwork all over the place.
I spent hours yesterday, hunting for a $50 charge to my son’s bank account. I didn’t set up repayments of student loans to be automatically deducted from his account. Since he has graduated, there is very little money in his account. This is a specific ploy by his dad and me to push along the job hunt. Eventually, he will want money to spend.
Needless to say, there are piles of papers scattered willy nilly all over my table next to the desk–but the desk is clean. 🙂
I would like to keep the most revealing parts of the shenanigans of my kids lives as private as I can, but still be myself. However, that boomeranger? He has returned to hit me in the ass, one too many times. Dealing with him has depleted my mom tool box. Guilt, Love, Reason, Putting my foot Down, Withholding Privileges, Guidance, Help, Listening, Patience, and Sicking his Dad on him—all useless.
What he is hearing from us is blah-blah-white noise. What I see on his face—a blank screen.
Other than tough love, aka booting him to the streets, I have no other choice but to EXPOSE him–and his little girlfriend too. If they even read this, I hope it shakes them up. They are only hurting themselves, and we are not going to be enablers any longer.
Out of the kindness of our hearts, we have been helping Long-term Girlfriend. I know this is an approach a lot of mothers or fathers out there will disagree with, but we let her live with us. We have supported her for years, financially, and unsuccessful attempts at personal help in the form of love and helping her to seek mental health support. Both of them are seeing counselors. Both do not have jobs.
I would like to say that I don’t understand depression, but I know it all too well. If we turned our backs on these two, they would become statistics. Two of the mentally ill homeless population. How can a parent do that to their child? Actually, how can we do this to a person we have come to love as our own? If I were a billionaire, I would scour the streets and scoop up all the mentally ill and find a way to get them help.
Our son signed a waiver for his therapist to discuss any serious concerns with his dad. The other day, he received such a call, my son told me about it. After he returned to his burrow, I dropped to my knees. Wind taken from my sails, tears falling down my cheeks, and fear like I haven’t experienced since I was wheeled off for my lung surgery.
That $50 charge? I asked my son if there was any document that he put his bank account number on, while exiting college. Oh, he said, I should have told you…that is to pay Long-Term Girlfriend’s student loan.
Oh my gosh! Nice Mom is joining forces with Fed Up Dad, the one I have been tempering because I didn’t want to push either kid/adult over the edge–Fed Up Dad doesn’t know what depression is like, I do. Our mission is a swift strike, and keep striking until they start to act like the adults they are.
Because I recognized that my oldest son was most like me in the mood department, I have learned to analyze every step I make. Will I push him away? Will my comments destroy what little self-esteem he has? I was there for him. Always. He has told us numerous times that he wouldn’t have made it through college, mentally, if it hadn’t been for me and his dad.
I love both of them from the bottom of my heart. If I could, I would take their depression or anxiety and deal with it myself. But love only goes so far. Love can turn into preventing others from recognizing their personal responsibility to recovering from a mental illness.
It’s beginning to feel a lot like manipulation, laziness, and being taken advantage of.
Oh, please give me strength…………….