Short Update

A short update is all I have time for. I am writing incessantly and I am reviewing constantly for Divertir publishing and then there is the writing group that I started that I am back working for that is taking all my time. Between all of that and cleaning the house and occasionally taking care of the toddler and spending what little time I have left over with the wife I don’t know how to breathe anymore.

I love it all though. If I could find a job I would love it even more. Would not cut anything out, I would just rearrange stuff to give me time to work. Give me a job universe and I will give you my all.

As far as a job goes I need a desk job so I can sit due to my arthritis and degenerative disc thingy, not to mention the nerve disorder. I also need something relatively low stress because of the schizophrenia and the anxiety attacks.

There’s my update. Ask me questions, really, and I will answer them. Please ask me questions.

Three Lies I Tell Myself

I can be normal.

I suppose it depends on your definition of normal, but I will never meet the status quo and that makes me sad so I tell myself that one day I will even though I know that I will not. Sometimes it is better to openly lie to yourself instead of completely accepting something that will crush part of who you are.

I will be Superdad.

I will be the best dad I can be, but that will never be enough for some people. I have days when I think it won’t be enough for my kids either. I have already failed my six year old, will I fail my two year old as well? Will good enough be good enough for me and my kids? Will I be what they need or will I fall short giving everything I can? I will never be Superdad, I will be lucky if I am Decentdad.

I will one day be healed.

This is the big one. I will never be healed. I will be “sick” for the rest of my life. I will be a burden to those around me forever. I will always be that guy with schizophrenia. AND as an added bonus I could pass it on to my kids. Yea!

We tell ourselves lies to soften the blow of reality, but when we live in a world of lies reality has a way of breaking through and crushing us. I try not to be crushed, but I fail most of the time.

My Two Year Old Is Driving Me Further Insane

My two year old is probably like most two year olds, but I am not like most fathers and it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to tolerate her. The screaming causes me to scream. The mimicry causes me to smile, but get aggravated when she repeats it over and over again which leads to more screaming.

The thing that gets me fired up the most is when she openly defies her mother or me. That gets her a whipping and/or time out. Sometimes I send her to bed over it. I cannot tolerate it. It makes my blood boil. I hate to be disrespected and that is what she is doing. I have tried explaining it to her, but even though she seems to get it she does exactly what she just got in trouble for ten seconds later.

I know she is testing her boundaries, but she reached the end of them a long time ago. She does not respect us and she does not fear us (which is good), but I need something to change and quick because my hair is falling out AND turning grey and I am having to double up on my Klonopin (at the suggestion of my doctor).

My therapist thinks I need a break and I have taken them and they help, but it is back to the same when I return. I can’t take a permanent break as I can’t stand being away from her for more than a night or three (six has been the max and it sucked). So I miss her, but I want to get away from her. I love her, but I hate what she is doing. I don’t know what to do anymore.

Help me, please.

The Introduction Of The New Me

Over the last seven years my life has changed dramatically. I got married to the love of my life and life itself seemed wonderful. We had a blissful honeymoon and I thought that was how the entirety of my life would go (I believe she did as well). We were both disappointed.

My mental illnesses got worse and worse. I became more and more susceptible to the stress around me. Jobs started lasting less and less time (I had never lasted long at a job because I got bored or my anger got the best of me, or I had the rare anxiety attack and I never went back because I was embarrassed). I spent quite a bit of time in and out of the hospital because of the anxiety attacks that were coming on weekly or sometimes even more frequently than that.

I lost my last job because I had too much time away due to the inability to handle stress and determined that school was my best bet. I would change majors from Culinary Arts to something less stressful. Instead, while living with my in-laws I had my breakdown.

Over the next two months I degraded so fast that neither my wife nor I knew what was going on. She became cold and I became distant. Everyone was out to get me and I could not leave my desk chair other than to go outside to the comfort of my secluded balcony to smoke. It was obvious that I needed help so, with my wife’s help, I got it.

To make a long story short as I have gone over most of this before, I eventually found the psychiatrist I am with now. I eventually found the right mix of medications and I eventually started to feel normal.

I wanted out of the house. I want out of my desk chair. I started to do more around the house. I started spending time with my daughter. I started being a somewhat normal human being.

Last week I decided that it was time for me to go back to work. Due to child support from my first marriage, I need to make a certain amount just to bring in what I am bringing in now with my disability and the jobs that disability will find for you are a joke.

So I am job hunting. I haven’t worked since 2007. I am a published writer so I use that as my work experience for the last several years, but a lot of employers don’t look kindly on that. I will find a job. I will contribute to my household. I will be a active member of society. I will introduce the world to the new me.

The Many, The Downcast, The Children

(The Few, The Proud, The Marines)

In the land of the free and the home of the brave
sat a young man locked in his room so full of hate.

He wanted to know how anything could ever be okay
ever since his daddy died and his momma flaked.

It used to be games of planes, trains, trucks and guns,
but then his daddy left to play with sand, fleas and bombs.

His momma used to say, “Daddy’s havin’ so much fun”
when in reality it was momma’s fun that had just begun.

There came a nonstop barrage of new men
and then he was locked up in his room again

hearin’ all those moans, screams and cries
knowin’ then that his momma’s words were lies.

When the day finally came, they told him daddy died
and reality finally became everything he had denied.

Now, years later, with a new man on the throne
he found that pistol daddy had made his own.

Mamma never noticed a single day in his life
and new daddy barely noticed the loss of his wife.

Stressing Over A Two Year Old

A two year old was made to induce stress in any living human being that cares for it on a regular or even a semi-regular basis. They refuse to listen, do the exact opposite of what you tell them to do, repeat what you don’t want them to repeat and more.

I know I am not alone in saying that I get so stressed out that I have to walk away from the situation at times. At least I can walk away at times, for a single parent with little to no support life with a toddler must be something like what a believing person would imagine as hell without the fire and brimstone – okay maybe a little fire, but that is a different story.

I also know that I am not alone in my inability to handle the little stresses and anxieties of life let alone the big ones. I, like quite a bit of the world, have a severe anxiety disorder. Yes mine is a very severe case, but I am medicated enough to make it a normal case and I still can’t handle not finding my shoes in the morning after the, you guessed it, two year old moved them “somewhere”. I certainly can’t handle the screaming, spitting, hitting and licking that my two year old exhibits on an hourly basis, not with all the Klonopin in the world.

She is always right, kind of like her mother, and she thinks she should always get exactly what she wants, kind of like her mother. She can’t understand consequences yet and wouldn’t care if she could.

She wakes up too early, naps too rarely and goes to sleep only if she is drugged. I haven’t slept more than six hours a night in over two years and I really wish that was different.

At the store she is a terror and that is being nice. She refuses to sit in the cart, runs off when she is on the ground, hides, refuses to hold anyone’s hand and screams at the top of her lungs for no reason other than to piss me off. She does a lot of things just to piss me off. My wife takes a laid back approach, but I refuse to let her walk all over me like she does my wife. She gets what she wants, when she wants it and still throws fits.

Spanking doesn’t work. Time out doesn’t work. Taking away TV or toys doesn’t work. If we put her to bed early she just screams and throws everything in her room if she can’t open the door.

She is a redhead and I know that comes with a certain temperament, but dear deity I won’t have any hair in a couple more months due to stress.

Routinely I have to walk away. I used to smoke, but my wife whined until I quit. Now I scream, a lot. I can’t write much because with the level of stress I cannot collect enough thoughts to get something legible down.

Today we went to Chuck-E-Cheese. For those of you that don’t know what that is, image eighty games for kids and tunnels for them to crawl through aided by singing and dancing characters and pizza, cake and ice cream. Hell for parents.

I spent most of the time running after my daughter trying to catch her. I lost her, literally lost her, four times in four hours. I cried three times and my wife sat there and complained. I wanted to die. My stress levels were so high I started to pass out … while driving. My wife doesn’t understand. Now she wants me to have my right to have a license go back under review. If I lose my license I am screwed and she doesn’t understand how screwed we will be. I can drive wonderfully as long as I am not overly stressed or under medicated or over medicated.

Stress sucks, but it is built in to having a toddler. I am getting better, but I doubt I will ever be perfect.

Did I mention I want another one?

The Loss Of Personal Freedoms

As a parent I find that my spelling has improved immensely as my two year old cannot yet spell and, at times, it is the only way my wife and I can communicate. The fun part is when we have an argument in front of the toddler where we have to control our anger, breathe and spell out hateful and spiteful words so the parrot (kid) does not repeat them. If we slip up you better believe that she will repeat that word over and over again, especially to those whom it will offend the most. So our freedom of speech goes out the window.

A gun safe can be safe, but it is not impregnable, especially for a nosy toddler. Freedom to bear arms – gone.

The freedom to do what you want, when you want to is also gone as you have to watch what is done and when it is done so that the toddler or older child does not think that just because mommy or daddy or other relative did it that it is alright for them to do it as well.

Staying up late is pretty much out of the question as well. We put the child to sleep and then wait for her to fall asleep, watch a show and go to bed. I am in bed no later than 11 pm every night because my alarm (the crying toddler) goes off at 6 am every morning and if I want any sleep as I use the restroom several times a night, I need to go to bed even earlier than 11 pm. I am usually in bed by 9:30 pm. Early considering I used to stay up until 2 or 3 am and then not get up until 11 am or noon. Freedom to sleep on my schedule is also gone.

Now everyone does not follow these rules, but I would have to say that good parents do. Good parents do not have their child out until midnight or later. Good parents do not argue or curse in front of their children. Good parents do not leave firearms, knives, or other instruments of harm where their children can get to them if they keep them in the house at all. Keeping you kid out on a rare occasion is not being a bad parent, but doing it every night or even more than one or two nights a week (this is even extreme) is too much.

I am not a perfect parent, no matter how hard I try. I do not keep a perfectly clean house so that my child can get into nothing, but I try. I have a firearm, but it is in a safe on a shelf in our bedroom where the child is not allowed and would have to stack two chairs on top of one another to get to it. She would also have to take the key off mine or my wife’s key ring. I do occasionally keep my toddler out late, but it is maybe twice a month and it is only a few hours past her bed time as when we break the routine we pay dearly for it. We would not keep her out later if that was not the case. If she would sleep somewhere other than her bed or at her mammaw’s house then we would also consider staying out later, but she won’t so we don’t.

No one is perfect, but some of us strive to be and I commend those people. Those who just don’t give a rat’s ass are the ones whose children I feel sorry for.

We lose certain freedoms, but we gain a precious child who we help shape and mold into a wonderful human being.