JOHNNY CASH BROUGHT MOTHER’S JUST DESERTS

My 13 year old has been in residential treatment since July.

She has been labeled with a string of various acronyms. Three doctors have tested her and all results have come back with Sociopathic tendencies which refrain them from allowing her to return to me or society. Her being  separated from family only makes her more manic so she’s acting out there, which only perpetuates their decision.

My little girl  was the only one of my children that was completely discipline resistant. While a baby, if she wanted something and I would not let her have it, she would have violent fits, and although I still would NOT give in, she would keep it up for days, Unlike most babies that forget as soon as you offer a distraction, she would fixate on being told no. As she got older her hitting and shoving children resulted in being suspended various times and her tendency to get off the bus and run away trying to get back home resulted in her being placed in special ed. By the middle of first grade I started homeschooling her. Trying to do what’s right, I got her a therapist and she’s been in treatment her entire life.

Labeled as severe ADHD she was on adderall until she was about 10, then she was diagnosed as BPD. The bipolar drugs made her see and hear things that were not there and she start cutting. I took her to the psychiatric hospital three times in hopes they would keep her long enough to have medication regulated, but she would be sent home in a week or less with a new drug. Deciding her life was not worth the risk, I pulled her off the drugs and kept her regulated through an all natural diet in which she detested me for, but it kept life tolerable for months at a time. In 6th grade I put her in public school because I did not feel confidant progressing any further. She was able to control herself for longer periods by this age.  School was going so well, she was far above her level. I felt I would be robbing her if I tried teaching her high school lessons so the only thing to do was put her in public school and have her tested.  I let them know her issues but they did not take me seriously as she looks like such an angel. She met a bad boy and things went straight to hell. Within a few months events unfolded that landed her where she is today and there is nothing I can do.  I’ve had to swallow this pill of truth in the past months. The Grief has taken me though a hell I did not know existed outside loosing my husband, she is alive yet I grieve her childhood. I see children playing and laughing and it fills me with such a profound sense of loss.

My sister called me crying one day asking me to watch the video chandelier by Sia. She told me to wait until I was done working for the day, but I really needed to see it. She didn’t tell me why but I figured it was really important. I’d heard the song and didn’t see how it was relevent to me, but I watched anyway. Tears poured down my face. There was my child. In all her beautiful blonde rage, rampaging through the house trying to rid herself of something she can’t see. It was her, there on the screen, and for the first time I felt like I understood my baby. And I wanted to hold her, but I couldn’t and I wanted to talk to her, but I can’t. The pain was unbearable. I was suddenly so immensely lonely, the ghosts of my husband and my daughter’s voices and faces everywhere. I got on OK cupid, created a profile, and proceeded to fuck the pain away. It worked for about three months. Every stranger’s skin made for forget for a few hours who I was, where I’d been, what was happening. It became an addiction. I did not realize this was a form of self harm until the day I heard Johnny Cash on the radio.

My breakdown hit me quite unexpectedly. I’d been driving along happy as a clam after getting my booty call fix and Johnny Cash’s “Hurt” comes on the radio. The lyrics cut through my walls like hot steel. My vision was blurred by tears. I tried to choke it back because i was driving, but nothing I could do would stop the hysteria building inside me. I was passing by my sisters street. I call her screaming I need her she tells me come on, come now, hurry. I am pretty sure in all my sisters years, she has never seen me cry. I hide it well. Not that night. I pull in almost hitting her mailbox.  I fall out of the car into her arms and sob the tears of four decades.

Years in my sisters arms pass. She is silent as she has never ever seen the interior of the fortress walls. She does not know what to say. I said “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. This song came on and I just fell apart. They may take her for good. What am I going to do? What’s going to happen to her?” She tells me we can fight this. We will get lawyers. I say thank you thank you and I hug her.

I look up and my mother is on my sisters Porch. She is looking down on us with the most heartbroken look on her face.

And the crazy bitch says

“I just can’t believe Kimberly is who you’d call if you got upset. I guess this is what I get. My daughters don’t need me.”

Now folks, I may like Human Puppy Dogs, I might like dressing up in latex and tipping ashes in a willing subs mouth, I might like brushing a guys teeth and washing him in the tub. But if I were truly crazy, I would have acted upon my instinct to go up on that porch and punch my mother square in her 300,000 dollar face.

But instead I say, “Aw mom, Kims was the closest place to go”

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