I have had a few epiphanies of my own lately. About the trauma, fight-flight-freeze, chronic stress, constant struggle to stay afloat. The 4 years that my kid was in high school were all crazy with stress. I-hope-my-baby-doesn't-kill-herself-today stress. And accusations and failings and falling short when the needs didn't stop long after the resources were depleted. You can't pour from an empty cup. But you can create accusations and hate and bitterness and blame. ouch. I don't blame myself too much too often because I was depleted on every level. Spirituality? bankrupt. Mental Health? bankrupt. Self-care? bankrupt. Physical Care (crazy shit like... sleeping an adequate amount of time, eating meals, and showering)? bankrupt.
A good thing to come from all this suicidal ideology and hospitalization and what-not.... insurance. My kid has insurance. And this covered the cost of a psychological evaluation (this type of testing begins at the very least at $1500 but probably more). Which led to a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. Read up about that. It's a heavy label. But also a necessary one. This time the label was good because.... it changes the treatment... meds for one thing. We changed some medications around. Knowledge for another thing. Knowledge is power. Knowing what's kicking your ass somehow gives you the power to control it, change it. At least this seems to be true for my child.
I'm getting ready to get into some heavy shame. I feel my body getting flush and red and just plain heavy just thinking about it. And teary. But that isn't too surprising.
I've been on the defensive for so long, defending my child, but defending me as well-- my position, my trauma, my hurt, my pain-- that it's damaged my processing abilities. And today I can see that my baby loves me. And sometimes I wish that wasn't true because it hurts SO BADLY to think of every way I have failed her. It is a sick, sick thing. In my fierce love and devotion to my little Punkin, I somehow got caught up in me. And my needs, and my hurts, and my emptiness. And every cry for help from her brought a knee-jerk reaction from me about how it wasn't my fault. I fought so hard to get my own feelings validated that I lost my love for my child. No wonder she nearly gave up No wonder she was so angry. No wonder she just wanted me to notice her. I don't know how to let you know that every day, every waking and sleeping moment, were about Punky in a way that caused a terrible and bitter blindness to the very thing I was fighting the world for. The life of my child.
I metaphorically and literally abandoned my BPD child who has intense abandonment issues already. I'll just let that one sit there. As much as I want to try to enhance and add more adjectives, it's pretty descriptive and accurate all by itself. In fact.... let me repeat it.
I metaphorically and literally abandoned my child who has a disorder that is inherently caught up with abandonment issues.
I'm a blubbering mess right now. Trying to figure out how to continue this mess of a blog. Maybe this post needs to be finished.
I will live with this parenting fail for the rest of my life and I'll bet you I won't get cocky anytime soon about how great of a parent I was/am to my children.
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