Posts Tagged ‘ Operations in Insanity ’

Of a Life Lost

2006 wasn’t good to me.
I turned 18 that year and I graduated from high school, but after that it was pretty downhill. I struggled through my senior year, having been diagnosed as bipolar the year before, being subsequently overloaded on meds and frequently hospitalized. The trend continued after graduation and I went away to college. I was only there a week, when the campus psychiatrist said I had to take leave and enter an eating disorder treatment facility. I convinced my parents to keep me out of treatment, but in return I had to leave their house. I was on my own.

Very on my own.

More hospitalizations, more and more meds. Then the headaches started. In january of 2007, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Not cancer, but still horrifying. Two weeks later, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

My world had ended.
I was an 18 year old unemployed college dropout, living on disability, and very sick. I had no family, mine having long abandoned me. I had no friends, having alienated everyone around me. I spent all of february psychotically depressed. Perpetual panic attacks and mocking voices punctuated the time, eventually culminating in my february 27th suicide attempt. Everything I had was lost, including my future.

That night, I turned off my phone and swallowed over 200 pills. Thousands and thousands of milligrams of psychotropics and narcotics. I took handfuls of pills, puked, passed out, repeated. I cut my arms, took more pills. I kept going and going until I couldn’t bring my hand to my mouth any longer, and then I laid down.

Hours passed.

On february 28th, I was found. I was taken to the emergency room, then transported to a larger one. I spent the next few days floating in and out of consciousness, some section of myself continuously pulling me out of the coma.

Something in me wanted to live. Something in me begged my heart to beat, my eyes to open. On march 2nd I woke up. I saw my arm, the cuts held tight with steri strips, bruises from multiple needle pokes, and an IV site, I followed the line up, then noticed an EKG lead, followed it up to the monitor. To the right of the monitor – my father. He sat there and he smiled through tear-soaked eyes.

I knew then that I was loved.

After recovering in the hospital, I returned home and started again. My suicide had been successful, that girl died that night. Three years later, I’m a new person. No meds, in school, a new mother. I don’t regret my actions. Death gave me life, new perspective. Everyday I’m grateful for being given a second chance, and I make the most of every minute. I’m actively involved in my medical care – now knowing I’m neither schizophrenic nor bipolar. My future was not taken away from me – It was given back.

New life, Indeed.

You’d think it’s obvious

Yesterday at 7:00 am, there was a knock at my door. Who was it? Daddy McTrouble, of course, living up to his moniker. There was no phone call, no text message, no unread facebook message, just him bursting into my home. He says he wants to help me get ready for school. Fine. He reads a few stories to Eden, stared at me awkwardly and slept on my couch.


You see, Trouble is incapable of actual helpfulness or really anything other than shooting zombies. I’ve tried to explain to him how his flakeyness hurts Eden, but he never listens. He doesn’t see her when he abruptly comes over and then abruptly leaves again, and she’s confused and upset. He doesn’t understand that, while most kids thrive on structure, Eden breathes it. She doesn’t take kindly to schedule changes or impromptu anything, let alone an impromptu father. I’ve told him 1,000,000,000,000 times that if he wants to be in her life, it needs to be consistent. Does he listen? No.

Maybe I should just look the door from now on. I mean, seriously, what do I have to say to get through to him? All in or all out, baby. Either be reliable, present and a co-parent or get away from us. It is not fair or reasonable for him to expect me to allow him to treat us this way. He wants to act like he’s such a great dad, but occasional lunch dates and a facebook photo album do not make someone a father.

What was her first word?
What is her preschool teacher’s name?
Which is her favorite toy? Her favorite story to read?
When is her bedtime?
If you can’t answer those, then you’re hardly a father. If you can’t respect Eden’s quirks and put yourself on her schedule, then you’re hardly even a friend.

Sultan of Scream

It’s 5:00 pm.

I’m sauteeing things, boiling things, dinner time is fast approaching. That can only mean one thing….Eden needs a hug. And by “Hug”, I mean “Cling to Mama’s torso like a koala and refuse to be set down”. Not liking to be told I can’t hold her and cook dinner at the same time — EdenMonster goes into berzerker mode! Screaming, kicking, pulling on my legs so hard she literally pulls my pants down (yeah…I know…it’s funny). Through it all, I finish dinner and I strap my nutty child into her booster seat and hand her a plate. For the next 15 minutes, she yells, cries, and, in an attempt for sympathy, invents booboos to be kissed (she’s clever all right…I can never say no to booboo kisses). Thankfully, she eventually calms down long enough to scarf down 1100 pierogies and a grape.

All is right in the world.

During this 30 minutes, I learned 3 things.
1) I should wear belts more often.
2) I must stop buying ceramic dishware.
3) EdenMonster will one day either A) Sing for the Metropolitan Opera, or B) Front a grindcore band.

Girl’s got pipes.