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.

Writing Is My Mistress

I recently have posted a few pieces of poetry because it and the novel I am working on have consumed a lot of my life.

We are still looking for a house and getting very impatient. We have to have an accepted contract by the end of this month at the latest. Tomorrow I am supposed to go look some more and hopefully I will find “the one”.

My psych increased my main anti-psychotic med and it will take a week or two to find out if it makes me “normal” as that is the ultimate goal, that and being able to take care of my daughter. If it helps even a little bit my wife and I will be trying to have another baby.

So all of that and keeping the house (cleaning and cooking) should leave me with no time, but I steal away and find time to write. Sometimes I don’t sleep and sometimes I skip cleaning and cooking. I try my hardest, but sometime I even neglect my family to write.

I have gotten more than several rejection letters over the last month (10) and I am trying to not let that put me down. I am still waiting on five others, but I don’t have high expectations. I decided to send out 15 submissions at a time and wait. The next round is coming and I don’t have enough to send out. I need 3-5 pieces for each submission unless the journals/magazines take simultaneous submissions.

So expect to see pieces of poetry more often as I will be posting my scraps here to keep a record of them. If you have a comment that could help me improve please speak your mind. If you think I should give up entirely I am not sure I want to hear that.

Here is another piece to read:

Cold But Not Alone

Belched beer,
regurgitated booze
all reminds me
of home,
of him.

Warmth at
my hairline,
a caress
of my ass –
sliding around
to the front
as I slip
from his
grip
only to fall
over his legs
wrapped
around me.

A boy can only take so much.

Bricks burn
when hot enough
and screams
get so high-pitched
you can’t
even hear them
anymore.

They both deserved to die;

him
for being him
and her
for not being
who she
should have been.

And I ran.
I ran
until
I could see
the smoke
no more.

I ran
until
I was
no more.

I ran
until
the boy
became
a man.

And then
this teenage man
was alone
and cold
and lost,

but there was hope to be found in the alleys,
hope shoved in my hand
and pointed
at another man
only existing
in the wrong
part of town.

So blood.

Hands dirty
and never
could they
be clean
again.

So I ran,
but not far.

I found a spot
under an overpass,
where Amelio
proclaimed,
forever in red paint,
that he
loved Kelly

and that was my new home.

I collected
things,
mundane things,
to make my nest,
my new home

and I found friends,
friends who found me,
who offered
more conversation
than anyone
I had
ever met
before.

But then
the cars
started looking
at me

and people
were screaming
at me

and I didn’t
know what to do,

so I hid
with my remaining friends,
feline, fauna and Hector
and we shut out the world together.

Hector,
the hippie from Los Angeles,
just wandered out into traffic
and I have to go after him.

Not In A Good Place

Since medications were stolen, I am not only going through withdraw, but having major anxiety attacks. I am not sleeping and I can’t shake the feeling of large bugs crawling under my skin, just pushing and pushing their way out. My moods are all over the place and the paranoia is so bad that I am barricading the doors and widows and refusing to leave the house. I even tore the house apart today looking for audio or visual devices (I found none).

I didn’t react this bad when I came off of heroin 10 years ago. Suicide is not an option, well its an option just not a valid one – I wish it was at times.

My wife and I are also not seeing eye to eye. She can’t handle my issues right now and I don’t know what to do.

I need help and my psych and therapist just aren’t doing the job. My dog is helping, but only a bit. I did think about throwing her out the widow when she went and did her business on the floor but I stormed off, yelled, put a hole in the wall and cleaned it up.

Then I patched the hole. Then the guy I may or may not have killed came to talk to me about God.

Anger is not my forte. I don’t know what to do with it, how to handle it, or how to vent it so I don’t hurt anyone.

Do I need to check myself in?

Do I need that much help or will it go away in time?

Trying For Order or When Will I Burn Out

No matter what I do I do it with conviction and purpose (right or wrong). I do it with fervor and expect it to change someone’s outlook, life, etc. However, I usually lose interest in it or sputter out of steam quickly because I put so much into it so fast.

I hope this will not be the same, but I hope that about everything. This blog has lasted longer than most of my endeavors and I am striving for it to continue to last. I do so hope that some of you enjoy reading my daily musings.

Off track for a minute and then back to what I hope stays the course and goes the distance.

A question was asked, what defines writing as literature if all writing is not literature. My response was simple.

Literature is defined as: writings in which expression and form, in connection with ideas of permanent and universal interest, are characteristic or essential features, as poetry, novels, history, biography, and essays.

So in short, writing that has a form (traditional or experimental) AND expresses an idea, concept, purpose, belief, or even a notion is Literature.

My opinion is that if something can be taken away from the reading experience that is worth more than the random thoughts of the writer than it is literature.

I also think that blogging can sometimes be considered literature, but only rarely. I believe some of my posts are just me writing what comes to mind, but I think others are actually literature. I am interested as to what your opinions are on the matter (audience participation is good).

Okay back to the thing (thanks for all those that stayed with me).

I started a daily schedule for myself. It is not all inclusive as I hate change and if I planned out every second and something happened I would be afraid that I would have a melt down.

The first day it went well. I added physical activity to it (another thing I want to stick to – not just physical activity, but I will get to that in a bit) and by the end of the day I had completed everything I set out to and I felt good, more energized than I have been in a very long time. My mood was also spectacular.

Today (second day) I followed my schedule as closely as I could, but my ability to adjust to change was called into question. I had errand after errand thrown at me, an appointment with my psychologist that I forgot about, and ran to pick up a gift for my wife (not to try to make up, but to try to make her happy because she needs to be happy). I had a minor blow up (internally) when I spoke to my wife at the end of the day and she was nothing but negative and I had a minor melt down about 30 minutes before toddler bedtime (due to toddler being toddler), but overall I was even happier and (hard to believe) even more energized.

I know this is going to help, that is plainly obvious. I just really hope I can keep it up as my wife won’t assist me (she has too much of her own stuff and she doesn’t believe she should have to help me), my mother is not good at that and is not enough in my life to really do any good and my friends fall under the “not in my life enough” category as well so I am stuck doing it on my own. WISH ME LUCK (seriously).

The other thing, that I said I would get back to, that I have started is something that my wife started with me and while she doesn’t want help and is going to be reluctant to give me help,at least we are doing it together and that is incentive enough (I hope) to continue it. It is Weight Watchers. I am 5’9” and 232 lbs. I am obese. I know there are people bigger than me, but I also know some who are smaller than me and are still considered fat. I need to do it and it will help my self-image.

The last thing is an acne treatment from my upper back and shoulders. I have horrible skin. It looks worse than a sixteen year old going through late puberty that works at a grease factory in which he/she washes themselves in.

So those are 3 things that I have started (not including the blog) that I really want to (and in some ways need to) stick with for as long as it takes. The question is how long before I burn out on it all or will this time be different because the meds are starting to level out.

If you pray, pay for me please. If not do your thing. If you have no thing, please think positively when you think of me.

Wanting Attention And A Cry For Help

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

She had no intention of killing herself. It was just to get attention. Ignore her and the behavior will go away.

He only took enough pills to land him in the hospital. It was just a cry for help. Why should I even pay attention to it? Isn’t that just feeding into it?

An attempt at suicide is not a joke. It is not something to take lightly. Even if you know that the individual had no intention of killing themselves, they felt the need to risk it all just to get some attention. And how do you know that the attempt wasn’t just that, an attempt to take their life.

Most people who fail at their attempt try to make a joke of it or blow it off in some way. Most of them try to get you to believe that they just needed attention because of anything from not getting enough love as a child or just being ignored in school, at work or in life in general.

Having attempted suicide many times, I know that some of the times I either pretend didn’t happen or lie through my teeth about them. At the time I had made my peace, gotten intoxicated enough, got so low that I could not find a way up or all of the above and more and ending it all seemed like the only thing to do.

The most common form of suicide is not self-suicide (taking one’s own life by themselves). It is actually what I refer to as life ending behaviors (LEBs). Doing things that “give a rush” by pushing the limits of life and death. These events include everything from skydiving, free climbing, bungee jumping and other inconspicuous activities to things like Russian roulette, experimenting with illegal drugs and abusing legal pharmaceuticals.

There are millions of websites out there telling you what the warning signs are and I encourage all of you to read them. If you see them in someone you love, do something about it. If you see it in yourself, seek help – immediately.

Self abuse is no better and can lead to suicide if not treated. To treat these things a mental health professional is required. Even if you are one yourself, seek out someone to assist you with therapy and pharmaceuticals, if needed.

No one tries to kill themselves just to garner attention (even if it seems that way) and no one swallows a bottle of Percocet just because they are crying out for help. An attempt is an attempt no matter the surface thought behind it, the seated thought is that life is not worth living because …

Here is a piece about a “cry for help”.

Sticking my finger down my throat,
I swallowed an entire bottle of them.
I realize life is worth living.
I don’t want to fucking die.
I just need to vomit and I’ll be better.
They’ve already been absorbed, I’m screwed.
I don’t want to go to the hospital.
Where’s my fucking phone?  It’s just three numbers.
I can feel my heart rate slowing down
Get excited, raise that blood pressure.
and my extremities are going numb.
They’re just cold, rub them a lot.
Back to the wall, ass on the ground, unmoving.
Get up!  Dance!  Punch something!  Anything!
The darkness takes me and I have one last thought:
I only thought I wanted to die, I swear.

Suicide Prevention Line: 1-800-273-TALK

National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE

The Confessions And Concerns Of A Liar

Disclaimer: I may lie about some of this, but I will make every effort not to.

I have lied about everything from stealing from my parents as a youth to how many times I have been camping. From the meaningful to the mundane and everything between and on either side; if you can think about it then I have lied about it.

I am not sure when it started or why, but I have been lying for as long as I can remember about one thing or another. When it began it may have been by choice or for personal gain, but now it is difficult not to lie and most of the time, as far as I can tell, it does not benefit me in anyway. When writing this blog it started off difficult because I was determined not to lie about anything, it just seems to get harder over time. In my daily life I have been working hard to not lie or correct myself when I do because the lie just spouts forth from my mouth without me realizing what I am saying until I actually say it. Then is when I realize I have lied and I try to correct myself; in the past I may not have realized I lied until minutes, hours, days later – if ever. I also believe that if I did realize it I didn’t care enough about the other people because of my lack of emotional responses and lock of respect for others and myself.

When emotions came flooding back in I started to feel regret and shame for all the lies I have told. I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to make amends. Something. But my life was built on lies. I couldn’t even tell what was true and what was a lie, I still can’t. I thought about it hard. I wrote down everything I could. I never talked to anyone about it and I still haven’t – not sure I ever will. What I realized is that over 70% of my life is a lie. If I come out with the truth I am not sure I would have anyone, including my wife, in my life anymore – who she knows doesn’t really exist, who everyone knows (except those who read this) doesn’t exist. I will never publicly list the lies that I know I have told, but I have thought of sealing them somewhere (in a safe deposit box or something) and having it released upon my death, but I believe that would hurt too many people and I have no interest in doing that anymore.

I do not believe in heaven or hell so I do not believe that if I don’t “repent” I will burn forever, but it does weigh heavy on me.

So I was curious about whether or not lying was considered a illness in and of itself or if it was just another symptom of the lovely illness I have. I do personally know of cases where the lying is there but little to no other symptoms. I know of three. One is a little bereft of emotion, but the other two are well adjusted. I think one does it to benefit herself and does it by choice but gets an almost high with it. The other is also a female (not sure if that matters) and, I believe, she doesn’t even realize she is lying. At first I thought it was a poor memory, but she would tell several different version of the same situations and even the real situation; that’s when I knew it was a lying situation.

Lying has typically been categorized into Compulsive and Pathological.

  • Compulsive is considered to be a habitual and automatic response. Something that is unplanned, impulsive, has no purpose, and it is thought that the individual has no control over the lies that are told.
  • Pathological is thought to be associated with little to no empathy and the lies are often used to manipulate a situation and others. The individual is often very self-involved.

Neither Compulsive nor Pathological Lying is considered a disease in the DSM (Diagnostic & Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). A disease is widely thought to be something that is uncontrolled by natural means. Pathological Lying seems to be something that could be controlled, but Compulsive Lying is involuntary, habitual and the individual has no control of the lies that spew forth from them.

This is a concern of mine as nothing is being done to curb the uncontrolled lying in so many individuals. Until is is declared a disease or illness little to no research will be done to correct it. No drugs will be invented to assist the individuals and mental heath professions will have no standard on how to respond to the situation.

Dr. Charles Dike is a forensic psychiatrist and a professor at Yale who is working to have compulsive lying (which he renames Pathological Lying because it sounds more clinical) included in the next edition of the DSM. He has plenty of opposition and it is unlikely that it will be included, but at least someone is shining a light on something that has been ignored for too long.